Chapter one
“So!” Katie’s voice over the phone was obnoxiously cheerful. “How’s the wound licking going?”
Morgan resisted the urge to groan as he started to pace in the other direction. “That’s not what this is.” Through the massive window beside him, the Pacific Ocean gleamed blue in the afternoon sunlight, with little whitecaps giving it a sense of texture here and there.
The view was fantastic. The phone call, not so much.
“No?” His sister’s tone took a wry turn. “Because running off to a private island off the Oregon coast, where the only people allowed on it are you and a guy who’s been living there since Uncle Phil was a kid, seems a lot like wound licking to me. And I get it,” she continued before Morgan could object to her blatant honesty. “I really do. Bentley did you dirty, you got humiliated in the boardroom and the public sphere, San Francisco ate your unicorn and spit you out along with its corpse, and—”
“Jesus, can youstop?”
“And you’re sad,” she went on gently. Morgan hated that his sister felt the need to be gentle with him; it wasn’t how she rolled. “And feeling betrayed, and I don’t blame you for taking Uncle Phil up on his offer, Morgan. I don’t, I just … I don’t know how isolating yourself is going to help.”
“I’m not isolating myself,” Morgan argued half-heartedly as he looked out the window of the lighthouse toward the distant shore. Parrish Island was a little over two miles out to sea, far enough that he could easily see the coast but not so close he could get to it without some serious planning. Or a helicopter, but he’d left that perk behind along with his shares in the business he’d built from the ground up. “You said it yourself: there’s someone else living here.”
“Yeah, but have you seen him yet?”
Morgan sighed. “No.” Not that he’d really tried. He knew the guy was out there; for the past five days, ever since he’d arrived, Morgan had woken up to a fresh-caught fish left in the cooler on the lighthouse’s front porch. It was an odd welcome gift but a sign that his roommate—island-mate, whatever—was out there somewhere. He kept meaning to go and find the guy’s house and thank him in person, but he’d had to clean, and then there was unpacking, and he still had all of Uncle Phil’s old stuff to organize and figure out what to do with, and …
And he was making excuses. “I’ll find him today,” he said.
“You promise?”
“I promise, now will you get off my case?”
“Yeah, I guess.” They were quiet for a moment. “Have you talked with Bentley at all since you got there?”
The nascent warmth in Morgan’s chest evaporated like it had never existed. “No,” he said stiffly. “And I don’t intend to.”
“That’s good. Just, you should know he’s called me twice, wanting to talk to you.”
The warmth came back, only this time it came in the form of rage. How dare Bentley reach out to Morgan’s family? After everything he’d done, everything he’d put them through, the extremely public breakdown of their relationship and the company—
“Tell that son of a bitch to go fuck himself,” Morgan snarled. “Tell him he doesn’t get to play nice with you after everything that happened. Tell him if he tries to talk to you again, I will spend every last dime of my payout”—my fucking blood money—“on lawyers who will sue him into nonexistence. Tell him—”
“I’m not going to tell him anything,” Katie said wryly, “because I’m not taking his calls, honey. He left me messages, that’s all. I’m not actually responding. I can’t vouch for Mom; you know how she can be, but I won’t break the silence.”
“Oh.” No, of course she wouldn’t. If Morgan was sure of anything at this point, it was that his sister was on his side. His mother? Not so much, but Morgan was doing his best to ignore her too right now, so hopefully it wouldn’t matter. “Good. Still, I’m sorry he’s bothering you.”
“I’m sorry he’s botheringyou.”Enough to make you run away, she didn’t say, but Morgan still clearly heard. “I’m glad you’re not talking to him. Don’t think about him, don’t even turn on your phone unless it’s to talk to someone who’s not Bentley. You’re right, staying on the island will be good for you.” She sounded more cheerful now. “It’s a great opportunity to get away from it all, and hopefully your neighbor is just a nice, antisocial old man like Uncle Phil, who can give you enough conversation to keep you from going stir-crazy. How long are you going to be out there, again?”
“I don’t know,” Morgan said. “Probably until the holidays.” He’d planned for a month but bought like he was staying for six. Overthinking, as usual.
You always overthink it!Bentley’s voice echoed in his mind.Just relax for once, will you? Trust me! You don’t have to be in charge of everything all the time, okay?
Yeah, look what being trusting and relaxing had gotten him.
“Okay, sounds good,” Katie went on, pulling him out of his memories. “We’ll have room for you at Thanksgiving, you know that. And Christmas if you’re ready to relocate by then.”
Morgan smiled. “Thanks. You’re the best.”
“I know,” Katie preened. “And don’t you forget it.”
“I never could.” They said their goodbyes, and then the call was over and it was just Morgan again, staring out of the top level of the lighthouse and resisting the urge to check his email for the tenth time.
There’s nothing anyone can say that you need to read.After all, he’d been very firmly bought out of the business, all the deals done and contracts signed. His family knew the number where they could reach him, like Katie had, and that that was the best way to get in touch.
It was a privilege he was thinking about revoking when it came to his mom, though. After the first three calls ended either in pleas for him to reconcile with Bentley: “He was so good for you, honey! The sun to your moon!” or requests for even more money than he was already giving her, he’d started letting her go to voicemail. It was easier to feel guilty about sidelining her than having to listen to her critique all his choices in person.
