“I didn’t know it was your boat,” she offers. When I don’t respond, she fixes her jaw in a pissed-off expression. “Whatever,” she says, and shakes her head. “You do you, Jamie. Like you always have.”
My heart drops. Her voice is cold, detached, and somehow that hurts worse than if she yelled at me.
“Yeah,” I agree sarcastically. “Well, it’s too bad you stole and wrecked my boat, or I could have taken you out for a ride.”
The sheriff curses under his breath and reaches to take Noa’s arm, pulling her inside the office. “Stop talking to the victim,” he warns her in a hushed tone, sounding like a worried parent.
When he turns back to me, the sheriff looks older than I remember—the lines around his eyes cut deeper, exhaustion seeming to cling to him.
“James Matthews,” he says, more tired than surprised to see me again.
“Jamie,” I correct quietly.
He nods slowly, his gaze traveling over me. “Right,” he murmurs. “You always hated the formal stuff. Haven’t seen you since you stopped coming around the Surf Shack.”
I lower my eyes, not sure how much he knows.
He sighs through his entire body. “Anyway,” he adds. “Your boat is impounded for now, but we’re working on getting it released from the coast guard. You should be able to pick it up at the dock tomorrow.”
There’s a pause, as if he’s weighing every word before saying it.
“Now, we can file an official report,” he continues. “Or you can go through insurance. Restitution is on the table too, if you want it. Your call, but—”
“No charges,” I cut in. “I just want my boat back.”
“Understood,” he replies quickly, seeming relieved. “You’ll have it back tomorrow.” He hesitates, then adds, “That’s really decent of you.”
He gives me a short nod, then turns and disappears into his office, the door clicking shut behind him.
Decent.I’m glad he thinks so, although my motivations aren’t really centered around being decent to the people who stole my boat. Less paperwork means less chance my father will find out it was ever missing. Inside the office, voices start to rise as Noa and the sheriff shout at each other.
I stand up, glancing at the door. I can’t believe Noa tried to sound innocent, as if I’m some tourist who doesn’t know any better. I’ve been around for wild nights with the Chasers before, so I’m not clueless. And it is definitely not the first time she’s stolen a boat.
Walking toward the desk, I see Shawn watching me with a smirk. She quickly averts her gaze when I catch her.
“Don’t bother saying anything,” I call to her, and she covers her smile with her palm. “I have every right to be mad at her right now.”
She holds up her hands in surrender, but I know exactly what she was thinking. She’s wrong. Noa is the one who messed up this time, and it doesn’t matter that I used to be in love with her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
—NOA
James Matthews.I can’t believeJamie is back in my town, and more than that, I can’t believe I accidently stole his boat. It’s strange to see him, a mix of anger and nostalgia. Butterflies and tears. Endless tears. And sure, maybe I would be more regretful if I hadn’t seen him cozied up with Jordan Miles. What a traitor.
“Noa, are you even listening to me?” the sheriff demands.
I look across the desk, the air between us thick with tension. The lights hum, casting everything in a yellowish glow. Sheriff Castillo—my uncle—is suffocating me with his disappointment.
When we were growing up, he was our favorite uncle—the one who’d tell stories about my mom’s wild teen years or beat my dad in a game of cards on the dock. I remember him tossing me and Ellis around in the ocean when we were little, his easy charm making everything feel lighter. He never seemed to take life too seriously, always ready with a quick joke. But now, that softness feels like it’s been swallowed up by his uniform, his duty, and the lines he’s drawn between us. The sheriff I see now, the one who’s too busy to look for my brother or care about the things that really matter, feels like a stranger.
“What the hell were you thinking?” the sheriff demands, leaning across his desk. “Your father is going to kill you.”
I sit back in the chair, crossing my arms over my chest. I’m supposed to be talking my way out of this, but I’m too angry. I just can’t decide if I’m mad at him, mad at myself, or both.
“We were thinking it was time for a change,” I tell him. “I know you see how the Collective treats us. How they’ve always treated us.” His eyes weaken slightly. “So,” I add, “we decided to do something about it.”
“Like what?” the sheriff asks. “Get locked up on a random island in the Everglades? You all could have died.”
