25. Nolan #2
“And the investor group?”
My jaw tightens. “They’re offering exactly what the marina needs.”
Dean nods once. “At what price?”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. It’s clear he already knows.
“How close are you?”
The question hangs between us.
“Closer than I’d like.”
Dean studies the marina in the distance for another long moment before speaking again.
“You know,” he says, “there are more than two choices.”
I glance sideways. “Doesn’t feel like it.”
“That’s fear talking.”
The words land harder than they should.
“You think I should just gamble on the future of the marina?”
“No. I think you’re assuming the only people willing to finance this place are the ones asking you to change it.”
I stare at him, and he shrugs.
“Independent commercial lenders exist for a reason.”
I feel myself tense as a faint smile touches his face. “Relax. I’m not offering to invest.”
My shoulders loosen before I can stop them.
Dean chuckles.
“Thought you’d appreciate hearing that first.”
A searing sensation creeps into my neck. I let out a slow breath. “I’ve already talked to three commercial lenders.”
Dean stays quiet.
“Two wanted me to sell off waterfront acreage to improve the numbers. The third wanted personal guarantees that would’ve tied me to this place for the next twenty years.”
I look back toward the marina.
“I’ve spent nights digging through preservation grants, coastal resiliency funding, SBA programs...half the applications seem designed for people with full-time grant writers instead of people trying to rebuild a marina.”
I shake my head.
“I know those options exist.” I laugh once. “I just haven’t found one that actually fits.”
Apparently, I wasn’t as subtle as I thought.
“You’re looking at this like a contractor and a traditional bank would.”
I glance toward him. “How else am I supposed to look at it?”
“As a preservation business with seasonal cash flow.” Dean takes another drink of coffee.
“You’re looking in the right industry.” He nods toward the marina.
“I just think you’re asking the wrong people.
Certain lenders specialize in independent coastal properties—marinas, historic inns, family resorts.
They understand hurricane reserves, grant timing, and uneven revenue. ”
“You know one?”
“I know where to start looking.”
I look back toward the water. “That sounds expensive.”
“It sounds informed.” He lets the words settle. “If your numbers work, they’ll care more about the long-term health of the business than whether it has luxury condos attached to it.”
Hope stirs before I can stop it.
“Why are you telling me this?”
Dean watches a father help his son untangle a fishing line farther down the dock before answering.
“Because somebody once reminded me that asking for guidance isn’t the same thing as asking to be rescued.” He finally looks at me. “I figured you might need that reminder too.”
With a solid pat on the back, Dean pivots and heads toward the ice cream shop down the street. Most likely to meet with his wife and their family.
My chest aches as I cut down toward the marina with my hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets.
Tourists drift between storefronts around me, laughing over ice cream and souvenir bags while music spills faintly from restaurants preparing for the dinner rush.
Life. Simple, ordinary life. The exact thing I’ve been trying so hard to protect. Yet lately, every decision I make feels further away from it.
My phone buzzes twice in my pocket. I already know it’s Hadley before checking.
I stop beside the marina boardwalk before finally pulling the phone out.
Hadley
I’m sorry.
Hadley
I know you’re trying.
The breath leaves my lungs sharply.
I stare out across Back Bay while guilt presses like concrete against my ribs, then another message appears.
Hadley
I just don’t want fear making your decisions for you.
The truth of it physically stills me because that’s exactly what’s happening.
I type three different responses before deleting them all. Nothing sounds right. Nothing feels big enough to explain the panic sitting under my skin lately.
Before I can overthink further, Walter’s truck pulls into the marina lot beside me.
Of course.
Apparently, the universe has decided I need constant emotional supervision now.
Walter climbs out before eyeing me across the parking lot. “You look worse.”
“Thank you.”
“Your girlfriend yell at you?”
The word girlfriend still hits me directly in the chest every single time. Not because it’s new anymore, but because suddenly, I’m terrified of losing it.
“She wasn’t wrong,” I admit.
Walter studies me carefully.
“That usually means you really screwed up.”
I lean against the marina railing, staring toward the western slips where sunset light struggles weakly through dark clouds gathering offshore.
Without thinking better of it, I say, “What if I can’t save this place without changing it into something terrible?”
The question hangs heavily in the salt air between us. Walter doesn’t answer. And that silence scares me more than if he had.
“What if you’re asking the wrong question?”
I glance sideways.
Walter gestures broadly toward the marina.
“You keep talking like the goal is preserving every board the same forever.” He looks toward the docks thoughtfully. “That ain’t what people love about this place.”
An uneasiness swirls through me. “Then what do they love?”
Walter snorts like the answer should be obvious. “The people, idiot.”
His comment hits hard enough to steal my breath.
The charter captains.
The dock workers.
Families returning every summer.
Kids fishing off the slips.
Community.
Belonging.
Hadley’s voice echoes through my head again. You’re starting to forget why you loved it in the first place.
Christ. She’s right.
Not about the deal itself necessarily.
Somewhere over the past few weeks, I stopped thinking about the marina as home, community, life, and started seeing it as something I could lose.
Fear changed the way I looked at everything.
The truth leaves me exhausted.
Walter watches me for another moment before asking, “You told her everything yet?”
Guilt crashes through me again.
Not all of it. Not the revised numbers. Not the investor timeline. Not how close the marina actually is to becoming financially unstable again after the storm.
Walter exhales heavily toward the water.
“Son.”
The disappointment in his voice physically hurts now.
“I was trying not to dump all of it on her.”
“You mean you were trying to control how she reacted.”
Exactly that. I’ve been deciding what Hadley should know based on what feels emotionally manageable for me.
Not for her.
Not for us.
I scrub one hand harshly across my jaw.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
Walter looks genuinely surprised.
“The relationship?”
“No.” My voice roughens. “The being present. Staying.”
That’s the real fear underneath everything else. The horrifying realization that I’ve built a life so precious that its loss would be devastating.
Walter leans beside me against the railing. I glance over tiredly.
“I think you’re so scared of losing your home that you’re accidentally making it harder for the people in it to reach you.”
I still kept slipping back into old survival instincts anyway.
My phone buzzes again.
Hadley
Come over tonight?
Hadley
We don’t have to solve everything.
The sky over Back Bay darkens with the approaching sunset and rolling storm clouds, and as I gaze at the message for a considerable time, a dreadful realization dawns on me before I can halt it.
If I keep letting fear drive me, I’m going to lose the best thing that’s ever happened to me long before the marina actually disappears.