He nods once. “Your father understood that.”
The mention tightens something in my chest, sharp and fast.
Vin nods. “And they are. With them out of the picture, it’s business again. The docks don’t need drama. They need predictability.”
I take another drink, let the weight of that settle.
“Boudreaux’s still part of that,” I say. “Whether I like it or not.”
Vin doesn’t argue. “He handles the labor side, placements, shitty union relationships. He keeps people working. You bring in the freight. You create the volume that keeps the whole thing alive.”
Different roles. Same ecosystem.
“We don’t have to like each other,” I say. “We just have to do our jobs.”
Vin’s mouth tilts slightly. “Exactly. Everyone makes money if everyone does what their supposed to do”
I look down at my glass, watching the liquid shift. The city outside is still moving. Ships still coming in. Containers still stacking.
I drain the rest of my drink and set the glass down. “I was surprised you weren’t there when we took them out.”
Vin meets my gaze without flinching. “Didn’t think you needed backup. And someone had to stay visible. Phones are lighting up, so I was making sure everything was accounted for.”
The answer makes sense. It always does with him.
Still, the question lingers longer than it should. I let it pass.
“Good,” I say, standing. “Stay on top of it. I’m ready to get back to work. I’m done living in reaction mode.”
I’m notsure how I got here.
My hands brace against her front doorframe, palms flat, forehead pressed to the wood like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
I don’t remember knocking. I don’t remember deciding. One moment I was in the car, the next she’s there, eyes wide, already scanning the street.
“Ridge,” she says, sharp and low. “What are you doing here? You know we said it wouldn’t be safe for you to show up here like this.”
She doesn’t wait for an answer. Her hand grips my sleeve, and she pulls me inside, shutting the door quickly behind us.
I stumble, just barely catching myself. It strikes me then, in a distant, sideways way, that I’ve never actually seen where she lives. All this sneaking, all this wanting, and I’ve never crossed this threshold before.
“You have a beautiful home,” I say, the words slow and clumsy in my mouth.
She snorts.
“Shut up. I doubt you can see anything. What did you do tonight?” Her nose wrinkles. “You smell like rubbing alcohol and cigars. Sit down.”
The lamp on the side table throws soft light across the room. It’s warm and steady when everything else is a little fuzzy and tilting. The floor has decided to shift without warning, causing the bourbon to churn in my gut.
I catch the faint trace of her sweet vanilla and something sharper underneath, and it makes thinking harder than it already is.
She kneels in front of me, fingers going for my boots.
“You don’t have to do that,” I murmur. My voice drags. “I just… I wanted to tell you goodnight. I couldn’t end today without seeing you.”
She looks up at me, expression unreadable, then softer than I deserve. “Sweetheart, the day ended hours ago.”
She pulls one boot free, then the other, setting them neatly aside.
