But things had changed.
He’dchanged. Not so much changed but opened his eyes to the truth. His truth and Harrison’s truth weren’t the same.Anotherdeviation.
Instead of dwelling on that and making himself feel sick, Emerson focused on the boat. The amount of work it would need was daunting. He was an eighteen-year-old kid. What the fuck did he know about boat repair?
Yeah, I should probably sell it.
At the reading of the will, his first instinct had been‘fuck no—I don’t want anything from that bastard’but his father had put a hand over his and given a look that had screamed‘shut the fuck up.’Raised to be a good boy who listened to his parents, Emerson had shut the fuck up. Fuming, he’d sat through the rest of that long-assed meeting, ready to bolt the second it was over.
The longer he’d sat with the news of his sudden windfall, though, the more his mind whirled at the possibilities. If his uncle had lived there, maybe he could, too. Not all the time, but on his nights off from the station when home was too loud and he needed quiet. He’d never been alone in his life, not with seven siblings, his papa, and father all cramped into that small house—and now bunking with a group of other men at the fire station.
The boat could be his safe haven. Something all his own.
Only, he hadn’t expected it to be in such bad shape.
Figures. Asshole.
Emerson climbed down from the deck, the craft swaying under his feet. He spun in a slow circle taking it all in. When he stopped, the door leading down below was directly in front of him. Walking forward, he reached for the knob.
“Em—I told you I have to get back for my shift,” Harrison said.
“Go if you need to,” Emerson said. “I’ll catch a trolley back.”
“Why stay?” Harrison asked. “You didn’t even want this piece of crap.”
“I just want to look,” Emerson snapped.
Harrison sighed.
“Fuck, Harrison. Just go. No one asked you to come in the first place.”
His twin’s gaze whipped to his, pain flashing in those identical eyes. When had they become this? They’d once been near inseparable, but they’d drifted so far apart, even while sharing the same bedroom. Now that they were both stationed on opposite ends of the province and spent most of their time at work, they hardly saw one another anymore. If he moved onto the boat, there would be even fewer chances for them to cross paths.
He missed Harrison, even as he stood there staring back, but didn’t know how to fix it.
Emerson opened his mouth to apologize but couldn’t force the words out.
“Whatever,”Harrison muttered. “See you later.”
He stood for a few seconds listening to his twin’s footfalls growing more distant, pain lancing his chest. The boat listed from side to side on a swell before growing peaceful again. He closed his eyes, angry at himself for being thankful to be alone.
After he opened the locked door with the set of keys the attorney had given him, he ducked his head and walked inside. A growl rose up his throat. The inside was worse than the outside. He lifted his hand to his nose, the stench horrendous.
To his immediate right, a tiny galley kitchen was overloaded with dirty dishes, rotting food, and trash. The main salon looked like an underachieving hoarder had lived there. The built-in sofas, dining table, and counters were loaded with crap. The narrow space thankfully didn’t allow for much, but what it had was filled to capacity. He walked deeper and peeked in at the three cabins and two heads—all of them a mess.
Where did he even start?
Was it worth his time?
His nose told him it wasn’t, so first off, the odorhadto go. After a quick search, he fished out a box of garbage bags from the galley storage and tossed everything in the sink there—plates and dishes and all. He’d buy new if he had to. No way he could ever stomach eating off them, no matter how much he scrubbed. Once the kitchen was cleared away, he started going through the salon, pitching almost everything that wasn’t nailed down.
A couple of hours later, the combined salon and galley area was cleared out—and he finally sensed there was potential as he looked around. Some cleaning supplies and elbow grease, and the inside might be salvageable. He spent the next hour tossing the stuff from the main cabin into trash bags. Most of the clothes were threadbare and not worth donating. The only thing he kept was a small box of what looked like old family photos, some featuring his dad and grandparents—or his brothers.
When the room only had the mattress—which he’d replace—and the photos left, he searched it, checking to see if there was anything he’d missed. It was then that Emerson noticed a built-in cabinet he’d overlooked. He reached for the latch, but it was locked. After digging out the keys, he tried a couple until he found the right one. He swung the door open and found piles of magazines inside.
Who the fuck locked away magazines? As soon as he pulled one out, his eyes widened and he realized it wasthosekinds of magazines.
Emerson frowned, grimacing at the thought of finding his uncle’s spank bank. Grossed out, he dropped the magazine and it fell to the floor, the pages flying open. He glared down at it but froze when he realized what he was looking at.
