Not for the photos.
Not for the gallery.
Not even for the light.
For him.
TEN
KENDRICK
“Let’s get out of this town,” I say, the thought popping into my head out of nowhere. “Drive out of the city. Away from the crowd.”
Justin snorts at me and raises the beer to his lips. “Only you would call a town of our size a city.”
I line up a pool shot I should be able to make in my sleep. I miss by a mile.
Justin whistles low. “Wow. You’re terrible tonight.”
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“No, really,” Evan adds from the bar. “It’s impressive. Like watching someone play left-handed with their eyes closed.”
Wyatt throws a dart without looking. It lands cleanly in the outer bullseye. “Man’s lovesick.”
“I’m not lovesick,” I say.
Everyone at the table: “Sure.”
I grip the cue a little too tight.
This was supposed to be a distraction—guys’ night because Aaron is on his honeymoon and Justin didn’t want me broodingalone in my cabin. Instead it feels like the worst idea anyone’s ever had. The tavern is loud and cheerful and full of energy, which is exactly the opposite of what’s happening inside my chest.
Justin leans on his cue, studying me. “What time is it?”
“Midnight,” I grumble.
Also known as two hours and fifty-five minutes since Emma boarded her red-eye out of Anchorage. Back to New York. Back to her life. And then on to whatever wild, beautiful place she’ll chase next—maybe Iceland, maybe Nicaragua.
None of them are here.
“Or close to here,” I mutter under my breath.
Wyatt’s expression softens. “Sorry, man.”
“Don’t be,” I say. “She told me she was leaving.”
Justin eyes me. “But you didn’t believe she meant it.”
I don’t answer, which answers everything.
The door swings open behind us. All the guys glance over. A tall figure steps in—broad shouldered, dark hair, a duffel bag slung over one arm. New face. New build. Definitely not from around here.
Justin perks up. “Brendon, right?”
The guy nods, crossing the room. “Yeah. Captain texted me. Said some of the crew hangs out here.”
“Welcome to Swift Mountain Fire,” Evan says, clinking his beer against Brendon’s. “Ignore everything Kendrick looks like right now. He’s usually less… murder-adjacent.”
