The names hit me like a splash of cold water. “Wait… that Kincaid? Bennett as in my best friend in middle school, and Grayson as in the jerk who broke Gab’s heart?Thatguy is their brother?”
I vaguely remember Bennett talking about his much older brother—with all the reverence due a Greek god, mind you—but I never met him. He was already in college when Bennett and I were friends.
Stella confirms with a sage nod. “Bennett’s evil twin. Without the twin part.”
“Correction,” Gabby cuts in. “Grayson is the evil one. Bennett’s just a jerk who loves to get under your skin.”
“Wonderful,” I mutter. “The Kincaids are locked in alifelong battle for Most Annoying, and Nash is going all in.”
They both give me a look.
“Trust us,” Stella says. “Nobody wins that game.”
Their laughter fades, but the knot in my chest doesn’t loosen.
I glance at my phone again just as Terrence’s name flashes across the screen. My thumb hovers. One tap and it all changes. Or ends.
My life is unraveling, one thread at a time.
I look to my two best friends in the whole world—both sweet and strong and stubborn, just in completely different ways.
Stella, with her jet-black hair and fierce brown eyes, is all sharp lines, bold honesty, and unflinching confidence. She walks like she knows exactly where she’s going, even when she doesn’t.
Gabby, on the other hand, is softness personified—blonde hair that catches the light, eyes that always seem to be smiling, and a heart big enough to hold everyone else’s chaos. Where Stella’s tall, Gabby’s short. Where Gabby’s gentle, Stella’s intense. And somehow, between the two of them, I’ve always found my balance.
If my life is gonna unravel, it couldn’t happen in better company.
CHAPTER SIX
Nash
The Brass Lantern is comfortably dim—scuffed floors, chipped barstools, cold beer, and the scent of the best fries I’ve ever had beckoning my taste buds. The walls are cluttered with drawings, jokes, and notes of encouragement left by patrons over the years, faded pictures from Stillwater Bay’s past, and a chalkboard promising Tuesday Night Trivia, the handwriting as drunk as the guy who wrote it.
Behind the bar stands Cal Monroe, owner, bartender, retired Navy, and quiet keeper of half the town’s secrets. Cal and Dad went to the same high school, then served together after. They weren’t close in the usual sense, but there was mutual respect. Tempered steel recognizing tempered steel. After Dad passed, Cal didn’t say much,just showed up at the funeral in his dress blues and stood by the family like a silent sentinel.
Cal’s been running the Lantern since I abandoned my plan to join the military and went straight to college instead. He’s got a beard like sea foam and thunder, arms inked with faded tattoos, and a gaze that’ll pin you like a butterfly if you try to bullshit him. He sees me now and gives the smallest nod before reaching for my favorite whiskey. No words. No questions. Just two fingers poured neat and slid across the bar like he already knows the kind of day I’m having.
“Rough day, Doc?”
“Just livin’ the dream over here.”
He snorts, wipes his hands on a bar towel, and jerks his chin toward the back. “Bennett’s in your booth.”
That’s Cal-speak forI see you, but I won’t make you talk unless you want to.It’s weirdly comforting. I grab the glass and head for the booth near the jukebox, then slide in across from Bennett, who jerks his chin at the TV mounted above the bar.
“That is exactly what your ego didn’t need.”
I glance up just in time to catch the end of a news segment I declined to be part of. A woman stands beside a bed in a hospital room, holding the hand of the teenager I cut open in the parking lot two days ago. His color looks better, face no longer swollen beyond recognition. Breathing. Alive. The camera zooms in on his mother’s face—pure, bone-deep relief.
“I don’t know what would’ve happened to Oliver ifDoctor Kincaid hadn’t acted so quickly,” she says, her voice thick. “That man is a hero.”
Bennett lets out a guffaw, tipping his beer bottle toward me. “See what I mean? Nash Kincaid. Local hero.” He waves his hand through the air like he’s reading it off one of the notes taped to the wall.
“Says the cop.”
“That’s totally different.”
I lift my glass and arch a brow before taking a swig. “Enlighten me.”
