“Please. You’d be doing me a favor. Half of my interns are scared of the dark.”
It probably wasn’t true, but it coaxed a real smile out of me. “Then I’m in.”
“Good.” She gathered her trash and stood, slipping her sunglasses back into place. “I’ve gotta head back before someone tries to GPS-track a loggerhead. Text me later. We’ll plan the night watch.”
“Will do.”
She leaned down to hug me, quick and fierce. “It’s good having you back, Mads. Don’t vanish again.”
“I’ll try not to.”
I watched her cross the street toward her battered SUV. For a minute, I let the noise of the place wash over me.
I lingered after she’d gone, finishing the horchata in slow, deliberate sips. The fans ticked overhead. Somebody’s radio flickered to a new song. A breeze lifted the edge of the tarp and let it drop, and for a blessed minute no one looked at me at all.
The walk back to the marina seemed shorter this time, sun sharp on the water, dock boards radiating heat. The Second Wind came into view, scuffed and stubborn and exactly where I needed her to be.
Movement to my right tugged my focus. The neighboring slip held a sailboat—sleek where my uncle’s boat was boxy, clean lines and masts that made precise marks against the sky. A man stood on deck with a coil of line over one shoulder, back to me. He had black hair, cut close to his head, and shoulders that said strength without trying to.
For just a moment, I felt a stirring of heat as I admired the flex and stretch of those muscles beneath the tight black t-shirt. I wasn’t here looking for anything with anybody. My life was the very definition of hot mess. But I was woman enough to appreciate the view of a very fine-looking neighbor. And if it reminded me of things I hadn’t had the time or energy for in longer than I cared to remember, well, it was nice to know I wasn’t dead.
He turned at the sound of my steps, and recognition slammed into me, along with an equally powerful punch of hell no. Because my next-boat neighbor was Rios Carrera.
The world tipped, then righted.
He looked different, and he didn’t. The boy I remembered had been all restless edges and careless charm layered over anger he couldn’t afford to show. This man wore silence like armor. His gaze locked on mine and held. No greeting. No surprise offered up for me to make sense of. Just watchfulness and something closed.
I had not prepared for this. I hadn’t even known to. Every drop of moisture evaporated from my mouth as a hundred memories shot through me with the speed and sting of fish under a dock: my voice repeating other people’s sentences because it kept the table calm; the way I’d stared straight ahead in the grocery store while two women spoke loudly about “boys who hurt girls,” knowing he was two aisles over; the night my father said, “They wouldn’t look at him if there wasn’t a reason,” and I’d said exactly that the next time I’d seen him. As if the system could not be wrong. As if being good meant agreeing.
Shame rose like a tide. I could either let it drown me or wash me clean.
“Hey.” The word came out steadier than I felt. “Looks like we’re neighbors.”
He didn’t move. The coil of line rested neat and controlled against his shoulder. Up close, the years showed in the finer lines at the corners of his eyes and a hardness in the set of his mouth I didn’t remember. Whatever scars he had, they were his, and I wouldn’t name them for him.
I could have turned. I could have pretended I hadn’t seen him. Every muscle in my body wanted distance.
That part of me had gotten too much of what it wanted.
I stopped mentally editing to try to make this palatable. The truth needed to be spoken, even if it hurt me. “I know this is too little, too late, but I owe you a major apology. I was horrible to you after Gwen disappeared, and you had nothing to do with it. I’m sorry I added to the dogpile when everyone else on this island was already tearing you apart. I’m sorry I didn’t stop to question anything. I was wrong. Period.”
A gull piped somewhere above us. A fender groaned against pilings. The sailboat shifted a few inches and settled again.
He kept looking at me. Not past me. At me. Heat gathered at my hairline and slid, slow and humiliating, down my neck. He didn’t owe me words. He didn’t owe me absolution. I wasn’t asking for either.
When the silence stretched, I nodded awkwardly. “Right. Well. I just wanted you to know that.”
I turned, stepped onto the Second Wind, and set my hand on the familiar latch. The metal was warm. My fingers shook, a little tremor that made the clip rattle louder than it needed to. The door gave. I kept my shoulders square and didn’t glance back.
Inside, the cabin light made a soft pool on the counter. The fan ticked. I shut the door, leaned my forehead against it for a heartbeat, then pushed away and crossed to the small sink.
My heart was still running. It would stop eventually. I had done the thing that needed doing. No perfect words or rehearsed pauses. Only a necessary truth.
And the world hadn’t spun off its axis.
Perhaps that was the lesson to take from this. I could speak truth and survive the consequences.
I wished I’d learned that years ago.
