Sharp, ugly laughter erupted from the group—reminding me of the scavenger birds wheeling overhead, waiting for something to die so they could pick the bones clean. The sound echoed off the storefronts and bounced back at me from all sides.
Mrs. Reilly leaned forward and cranked down her window. When she pinned me with her stare, the weight of it struck like a physical blow, all that carefully cultivated blame and hatred focused into a laser that could have burned holes through steel. “You ought to be ashamed.” Her voice carried the crisp authority of someone who’d never questioned her right to judge. “Walking around like you belong here, like you have any right to breathe the same air as decent people.”
The words landed like a slap across the face, and the men nearby chuckled with the satisfied sound of people who believe justice was served, however crude. Mr. Reilly said nothing from behind his sunglasses, but his silence spoke louder than words. It was permission. Encouragement. A green light for anyone who wanted to take their frustrations out on the convenient target the police and his family had painted on my back.
I stood there with heat crawling up my neck like a rash, my heartbeat hammering so loud in my ears it nearly drowned out the jeers. Every muscle in my body coiled tight, ready for fight or flight, though neither option would solve a damn thing. Madden sat frozen in the backseat, her eyes darting between her parents and me like she was watching a tennis match where someone was about to get their head taken off. I saw her mouth fall open and caught the moment she seemed to realize words were coming out.
“They wouldn’t still be looking at him if there wasn’t a reason.” Her voice rang clear and certain as a church bell tolling the hour.
The words weren’t overtly cruel—not compared to what I’d heard from others—just delivered with the unshakeable conviction of someone who’d never had reason to doubt what the adults in her life had taught her. A smart girl repeating smart-sounding logic that seemed as solid as the ground under her feet. No doubt she’d absorbed those words and worse from her parents’ dinner table conversations, their careful explanations of why the world worked the way it did and who deserved what. There was zero reason I should’ve expected her to contradict the people who’d raised her, fed her, shaped every thought in her head since birth.
And yet the remark hit me like a gut punch, stealing what little air I’d managed to hold on to.
The window hummed closed with mechanical finality, sealing the Reilly family back into their climate-controlled bubble. The SUV rolled forward with the stately pace of people who’d made their point and could afford to take their time savoring it, leaving behind nothing but exhaust fumes and the kind of silence that weighed heavier than noise.
The laughter that followed was low and satisfied, the sound of people who’d just seen their entertainment for the evening and found it exactly to their liking.
“Guess the Reillys said it plain enough,” someone muttered, and the group began to disperse, their work done.
I turned my face toward the sound of the sea and started walking. The air tasted like rain and salt, though clouds hadn’t yet rolled in. Every muscle in my body wanted to bolt—to catch the first boat out and never look back—but I couldn’t. Not with Gabi still in high school, too softhearted for her own good, and Caroline running herself ragged trying to keep the lights on. Dad might not raise a hand the way he used to—not since I’d grown big enough to hit back—but the threat was always there, sitting in the next room, waiting.
So I stayed. Worked. Endured.
Home wasn’t far—a weathered house near the marsh where the grass hissed with crickets. Caroline would already be there, working through the evening cleaning schedule before heading to her second job at the tavern. Gabi would be at the table with her homework, pretending not to watch the clock. Dad would be in his chair, silent and simmering, same as ever. I’d get home, wash up, make sure my sisters were safe, and keep my mouth shut.
Leaving would’ve been easy.
Staying was what hurt.
But if I left, who’d protect them?
The sun slipped lower, turning the sky toward the mainland the color of a burn. I stopped at the edge of the road where the marsh opened wide. My throat felt raw. I looked toward the water and said it again, the way I did most nights, quiet enough that the wind carried it away.
“I didn’t hurt her.”
The tide didn’t answer.
It never did.
One
Thirteen Years Later
RIOS
The air was thick with humidity that clung to my skin and made every breath taste faintly like the sea. The OBX Brewhouse glowed against the deepening dusk, strings of Edison bulbs casting a warm glow along the edges of the cedar siding. I heard the crowd before I saw them. Music rolled through the open doors, and laughter spilled out over the crushed shell parking lot.
I hadn’t planned on being here tonight. Hell, I hadn’t planned to be on Hatterwick at all. I should’ve been hip-deep in my investigation, closing in on evidence that would nail the perpetrators to the wall. But the Navy had put the kibosh on that, calling me on the carpet in D.C. to answer for daring to upset the status quo.
The fuckers.
So when the Wayward Sons text thread had lit up this morning with Sawyer giving Ford shit about the ring and Ford confirming that tonight was the night and wishing Jace and I could be there, I’d found my way back to the island.
Unannounced. Uninvited. Pretending I wasn’t already a knot of nerves.
I spotted Ford leaning against Sawyer’s big contractor’s truck in the parking lot, both hands braced on his thighs as if he couldn’t quite catch his breath. Sawyer was right there, hand on his shoulder, probably giving him a pep talk.
“Do I need to find you a paper bag?” I drawled.
