Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
KIT
The sea is a bastard tonight.
But maybe that’s me who’s a bastard, because I kissed someone who’s not my wife. Worse, I kissed the woman I loved before her.
The wind howls like it’s got something to prove, driving the rain sideways in sheets that sting the skin and blur every horizon.
The lifeboat bucks beneath us, each swell hammering the hull like a grudge.
I keep one hand tight on the wheel, the other steady on the throttle, eyes narrowed against the salt spray.
Pencarrow Point looms somewhere dead ahead – rocks jagged enough to gut a hull and leave nothing but splinters and grief.
Visibility’s shot to hell. Radar’s glitching from the interference.
The coordinates we’ve got are rough, but it’s the last ping from the capsized boat. That’s enough to go on. It has to be.
Behind me, Jude braces himself against the cabin rail.
‘Coming up fast on the break,’ he shouts.
‘I see it.’
‘Yeah? Then steer like it.’
I bite down on the urge to snap. He’s not wrong. I took that last swell too wide. Sloppy. If I were him, I’d call me out too.
‘Wind’s picking up,’ yells Cal, our skipper, from the deck, securing the second line. ‘Feels like a force seven and climbing.’
‘Then hold tight,’ I shout into the rain. ‘She’s gonna dance.’
We drop hard into the next trough. My gut lurches. The engine groans, a low metallic protest, and for a second it feels like the boat might not rise again – but then she does. Always does. This boat’s seen worse. So have I.
Still.
I’m not dialled in. Not the way I should be.
Because every time I blink, I see her.
Isla Quinn.
‘Hey.’ Jude’s voice is closer now. ‘You’re off your line.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Bullshit. You nearly clipped the starboard marker.’
‘I corrected.’
‘You hesitated.’
I don’t answer. Can’t.
‘Jesus, Kit,’ he mutters. ‘Get your head back in the boat.’
I clench the wheel tighter, jaw locked. He doesn’t get it. How could he? He didn’t just taste ten years of regret pressed against a kitchen sink.
Ahead, through the blur, a flare bursts upwards – jagged red light clawing the sky.
‘Visual!’ Cal shouts. ‘Flare’s up. That’s our boys!’
‘Bearing zero-one-five,’ I bark. ‘Brace for push.’
We surge towards the wreck site. The fishing boat’s hull is split like a cracked tooth, half submerged near the rocks. One man clings to the remains of the wheelhouse, two more flailing in the water, slicked with fuel and kelp. No time for hesitation now.
‘Jude – grab the aft line. Cal, you’re with me.’
I cut power and let the swell bring us close. The boat rocks wildly – too much drift – but Cal’s already moving, throwing the first line to the man on the hull. Jude’s working the side rail, eyes sharp, voice steady.
It’s automatic now. Muscle memory. I’ve been on this crew since my twentieth birthday. Never regretted a moment of it.
Pull. Haul. Secure. Shout above the wind. Ignore the burn in your arms. Get them home.
One by one, we drag them aboard. Cold. Shaking. Alive.
The third man’s heavier, barely conscious. Cal and I haul him over the side, both of us panting by the time we collapse back on the deck.
‘Got him,’ Cal breathes. ‘That’s all three.’
Jude confirms from the radio: ‘Coastguard’s got a fix on our location. They’re pulling back to base. We’re clear to return.’
I nod, pushing to my feet. My hands tremble from the cold and the effort – or maybe it’s not the cold at all.
I take the wheel again, but something’s changed.
I’m not focused on the sea anymore.
I’m thinking about a kiss in a kitchen that shouldn’t have happened, but that in the moment felt damn right.
The sea claws at the hull all the way back.
Even with the rescued men on board and the worst of the swell behind us, I can’t shake the storm from my gut. It’s in my hands, clenched white around the wheel. In my head, full of echoes I can’t outrun.
Isla Quinn, in her gran’s dated kitchen. The way her lips looked kissed.
And now she’s in my thoughts when they should be on barometric pressure, fuel gauges, tide lines.
Jude doesn’t speak for a while. But I can feel it, the weight of what he’s holding back like ballast on the deck.
‘You’re quieter than usual,’ I say, just to break the tension.
‘Just wondering if I need to drive this thing next time you decide to steer like a pissed-up rookie,’ he mutters, not looking at me.
I grit my teeth and say nothing.
The harbour lights grow closer. By the time we hit the outer breakwater, I’m back in control – barely. We dock without incident. Bill and two medics are waiting in high-vis coats to take the rescued men. One has a broken wrist, the others are soaked and shivering but upright.
Cal jumps to help. Jude handles the comms.
I stay by the wheel, soaked through, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ache.
Only when the fishermen are safely offloaded and the crew disperses do I let myself exhale.
And that’s when Jude turns on me.
We’re the last ones left on the dock. Rain slashes down in sheets, soaking us both to the bone. The storm still hangs heavy in the sky, a slow rumble building inland like it’s not quite done with us yet.
Jude stands a few feet away, arms crossed, soaked to the skin, eyes blazing.
‘Why can’t you just admit it?’ he says.
I blink rain from my lashes. ‘Admit what?’
‘That Isla Quinn coming back has turned you upside-down. A bit like our fucking boat out there.’
I let out a short, humourless laugh. ‘This again?’
‘Yeah. This again.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with her.’
‘Bullshit.’ Jude steps closer, water dripping from his jacket. ‘You’ve been off since the second she showed up. You froze on the deck. You second-guessed a line you’ve never second-guessed in ten years. You nearly took us too close to the breakers. If I hadn’t called you out—’
‘I was tired,’ I snap. ‘It’s a storm, Jude. Not every wave means I’ve lost my mind.’
‘No,’ he growls. ‘But you’ve lost your focus. And last time that happened, I ended up with a titanium screw in my leg and three months of physio.’ He doesn’t shout it. He doesn’t have to. The words hit like a flare – hot, bright, undeniable.
‘Do not,’ I say, voice low and shaking, ‘put Isla Quinn coming back in the same breath as Jess dying.’
‘Why not? It’s the same storm in your head, Kit. You shut down, you go blank, and the rest of us get caught in the wreckage.’
I advance on him, fury bubbling just beneath my skin.
‘Jess was my wife.’
‘I know who she was,’ he snaps. ‘She was also my sister-in-law. And she’d be the first to call you out for the way you’re acting right now.’
‘Don’t,’ I warn, finger pointed. ‘Don’t use her against me.’
Jude doesn’t flinch.
‘Jess asked me to look out for you. She knew you’d bury yourself in duty. In the boat. In Maisie. And it worked – until now.’
He lets the words settle, lets me hear them over the patter of rain and the far-off creak of dock ropes tightening.
‘She’s just a girl from our past,’ I say finally. ‘She doesn’t change anything.’
‘She’s not just anything to you,’ Jude shoots back. ‘Don’t insult both of us by pretending otherwise.’
I drag a hand through my wet hair, every muscle taut.
‘She’s in my head.’
‘Yeah. No shit.’
‘And now I can’t think straight.’
Jude exhales slowly. ‘Good. That’s the first honest thing you’ve said all night.’
I drop my eyes, rain dripping from my chin. ‘I can’t deal if someone else leaves me.’
The pity in my brother’s gaze makes me feel about an inch tall.
He reaches for my shoulder. ‘Kit. Jess didn’t leave because she wanted to.
If she was still alive and Isla came back, this would all be so different.
I reckon her and Isla would even be friends.
’ He gives me a small smile. ‘But Jess isn’t here anymore.
I wish she was, for you, for Maisie, even for me, because I’m a selfish bastard like that.
But I think Isla needs you. And maybe, maybe you need her. ’ His hand drops.
There’s a beat of silence. The storm thunders somewhere distant.
‘Let someone throw you a fucking rope for once,’ Jude says. ‘Instead of always trying to go down with the ship.’
The words hit harder than the rain. I turn away, staring out at the harbour where the sea still churns, angry but settling. Like the storm inside me.
‘It’s not that simple,’ I say finally.
‘It never is.’ Jude moves to stand beside me, both of us facing the water. ‘Something happened between you and her. That’s what’s got you tied in knots.’
I don’t answer. Don’t need to.
‘Thought so.’ He sighs. ‘Knew it was just a matter of time.’
‘It was a mistake.’
‘Was it? Or are you just scared?’
‘I’m not scared,’ I snap, too fast, too defensive. ‘Her boyfriend rang. I think that puts things into perspective.’
Jude laughs, short and sharp. ‘Right. Because perspective is definitely the first word that comes to mind when I think about you.’
I clench my jaw. ‘I cheated on my wife. It might have just been a kiss, but I still cheated.’
Jude stares at me blankly for a moment.
‘Kit, that is not what you are doing at all. Jess is gone.’
I rake a hand through my wet hair. ‘That’s what it feels like. And it burns.’
‘Kit.’ Jude’s voice stops me. ‘Just … think about what you’re really afraid of here. Is it Isla leaving again? Or is it the possibility that she might not?’
‘I’m going to find my daughter,’ I say and walk away, boots heavy on the wet dock planks. But his question follows me, stubborn as the tide.
The Ship Inn glows like a lighthouse through the drizzle, windows fogged with warmth and voices. I hesitate at the door, suddenly aware of my soaked clothes, the salt crusting my skin, the exhaustion weighing down every limb.
But Maisie will be inside. So I push through.
The warmth hits me first, then the noise – conversations layered over music, glasses clinking, the familiar creaking of the old floorboards beneath boots. Ayo nods from behind the bar, already reaching for a glass.
Then I see them.
By the fire, in the corner booth – Isla and Maisie. My daughter is talking animatedly, hands gesturing in the air the way she does when she’s excited. And Isla is watching her with such focused attention, such genuine interest, that something twists sharply in my chest.
Their hands are linked on the table, Maisie’s small fingers wrapped in Isla’s.
Jess used to look at Maisie that way. With that same blend of wonder and pride and fierce protection.
The guilt hits me like a rogue wave.
But then Maisie spots me, her face lighting up. ‘Dad!’ She waves frantically.
Isla’s head turns, and our eyes meet across the crowded room. Something flickers in her expression – warmth, uncertainty, something more complicated that I can’t name. Her lips part slightly, and I remember with painful clarity how they felt against mine just hours ago, before her BOYFRIEND called.
I force my legs to move, crossing to their table with what I hope passes for a normal smile.
‘Swimming go okay?’ I ask Maisie, dropping a kiss on her damp hair. ‘Sorry I wasn’t there to pick you up.’
Her arms wrap around my legs and squeeze.
‘You’re a hero, dad, I’ll let you off.’ She gives me another squeeze which makes an unexpected lump lodge sideways in my throat.
‘And I did butterfly all by myself. Coach said I was natural.’ She grins, new big teeth centre and proud, her freckles squishing with her smile.
‘Then Nina brought me here for chips, and we found Isla! She’s been telling me about the time you both got stuck on the lighthouse stairs when the tide came in too fast.’
I shoot Isla a look. ‘She has, has she?’
‘Only the highlights,’ Isla says, lifting an eyebrow in what can only be described as a challenge. ‘I left out the part where you swore like a sailor when your phone got soaked.’
A small smile tugs at my mouth. ‘Appreciate the discretion.’
‘Dad, you’re all wet,’ Maisie observes, wrinkling her nose. ‘And you smell like fish.’
‘Occupational hazard,’ I say. ‘Rescue went fine, by the way. Everyone’s safe.’
Isla’s shoulders drop slightly. ‘Good. That’s … good.’
An awkward silence settles.
‘I should go,’ Isla says suddenly, gathering her coat. ‘Let you two have dinner.’ She squeezes Maisie’s hand once before letting go. ‘Thanks for sharing your chips with me.’
‘Why don’t you come over tomorrow?’ Maisie asks, hope bright in her voice. ‘We could finish our game. I was totally winning.’
Isla’s eyes flick to mine.
It’s like the whole pub ceases to exist. It’s just me and her. The air between.
Then I force my way out, back in my head, back to being sensible. I force away the feel of her mouth as it landed on mine, the warmth of her skin beneath my fingertips.
‘Maisie, Isla’s probably busy.’ I clear my throat, before adding, ‘She’s got her own things to do.’
Isla bites her lip and I tell myself I can’t see the crack across the delicate panes of her expression.
She nods, then rises. ‘Goodnight, Maisie. Goodnight, Kit.’
‘Night,’ I manage.
I watch her weave through the crowd, stopping briefly to speak with Nina at the bar before slipping out into the night. Only once she’s gone do I sink into the seat she’s vacated, where the warmth of her still lingers.
‘Dad?’ Maisie’s voice breaks through my thoughts. ‘Are you okay? You’re making your worried face.’
I smooth my expression. ‘Just tired, love. Big storm out there.’
‘Isla said the storm was your adventure for the day, and the rest of the day should be quiet.’ She tilts her head. ‘She says adventures should be balanced with quiet.’
Something about that – Isla giving my daughter life philosophy, Isla understanding the rhythm of emergency and aftermath – makes my chest tight.
‘Wise of her,’ I say, reaching for Maisie’s abandoned chips.
‘She’s nice, Dad. I like her.’
And there it is. The very thing I’m afraid of.