I snatched my hand back like I’d been burned, mumbled something incoherent about needing to check my crab traps, even though it was the middle of the damn afternoon. I retreated fast, the sensation of her skin still searing my fingertips long after I was back in the supposed safety of my house.
What the hell is wrong with me?
The question had become a relentless refrain. It had been a long, long time since any woman had provoked that kind of immediate, visceral reaction in me. Years. And certainly not one who represented everything I usually went out of my way to avoid. Chaos, complication, and the very real threat of emotional entanglement.
I tried to work it off. TookLine Dancerout for a run laterthat day, even though I didn’t have a charter, pushing the throttles until the twin diesels roared and the hull slammed against the building chop, the salt spray cool and sharp on my face. But even the vast, indifferent expanse of the sea offered no escape. Iris’s delicate face was superimposed over the endless blue horizon.
Sleep was no better. When I did manage to drift off, my dreams were a relentless, Technicolor replay of all that had happened and more that hadn’t. They left me waking in a tangle of sweat-soaked sheets, my body aching with a frustration that was almost unbearable, the phantom scent of her still clinging to my pillows.
Now it was late afternoon a couple of days later. I was on the verge of heading out to the sander again when Braden showed up in my kitchen. He carried a growler of his latest experiment in one hand, two glasses in the other.
“Heard you were communing with your inner hermit again,” he said, bypassing any greeting and heading straight for my table to pour the beer. “Figured you might need some actual human interaction. Or at least my charming company and some quality craft brew.”
“What do you want, Braden?” I grumbled, not bothering to turn from the window where I’d been staring, unseeing, at the rustling palm fronds.
He finished pouring and handed a pint glass to me. “Just checking on my favorite brother. You’ve been even more of a ray of sunshine than usual lately. Which is saying something. Anything you want to talk about? Like, say, the mysterious woman next door who seems to have you tied up in more knots than a tangled fishing line?”
I took a long pull of the beer. It was good, hoppy and bitter, but it did nothing to soothe the jagged edges of my mood. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m just in a mood.”
“Sure.” Braden leaned against the counter, taking a sipof his beer, his eyes—those damn perceptive Coleridge eyes—studying me. “So the fact that you look like you haven’t slept in a week and are currently exuding enough negative energy to power a Caribbean island has nothing to do with the new neighbor who, I’ve heard, is both very attractive and has a rather sweet disposition?”
“How would you know? You’ve never seen her,” I snapped, then immediately regretted it.
Braden’s grin was slow, wolfish. “A little bird. Or rather a big one. Named Hunter. Who heard it from Brenna. And others who have met her. This is Dove Key, Austin. New people stay unknown about as long as a block of ice on a July sidewalk. I can see why that particular combination of good-looking and very nice would cause this reaction in you. So spill.”
“There isn’t anything to spill,” I bit out, the memory of her tear-streaked face flashing through my mind, an unwelcome pang of what I was pretty sure was protectiveness. “She’s my obnoxious neighbor. And the whole thing is none of your goddamn business.”
“Ooh, defensive.” Braden’s grin widened. “Getting a little proprietary about the neighbor, are we, big brother? Is this more than just a boundary dispute?”
“Shut up, Braden.” My voice was low and dangerous. I didn’t know why I was so on edge, so ready to lash out. It wasn’t just Braden.
It was her.
It was everything.
Braden’s smile faltered. He put his beer down, his expression shifting from teasing to something more serious, more concerned. It was rare to see him drop the easygoing facade, and it caught me off guard. “Hey. Okay. Seriously, man, what’s going on? You’re… you’re wound tighter than I’ve seen you in a long time. You look like you’re terrified tolet yourself have something good because you’re already convinced it’s going to end. Trust me, I know the look. I wrote the damn book on it, remember?”
“Too bad we’re not talking about you, huh, asshole?” I snapped.
Braden held out a hand, then added, his voice softer, “I’m just saying, I have a feeling you’re thinking about the past. Which always makes me a little worried…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to. We both knew what he meant.
The air in the kitchen thickened, heavy with unspoken things, with old ghosts. The casual, sunlit space filled with the shadows of the past, shadows I’d spent years trying to outrun. Or bury, whichever was easier at the moment.
I turned away from the window, my fists clenching and unclenching at my sides. “I’m fine. Just… a lot on my mind. Boat stuff.” It was a weak excuse, and we both knew it.
Braden didn’t call me on it. He just nodded slowly, his gaze still searching, still worried. He picked up his beer again, but the earlier lightness was gone from his expression. “Uh-huh. Boat stuff. Well, if the boat stuff gets too heavy, you know where I am. Or Eli. Or even Ben, when he’s not trying to save the entire population of Monroe County one call at a time.” He gave me a brief, conciliatory smile. “We’re still your brothers, Austin. Even when you’re being a world-class asshole.”
The unexpected gentleness in his tone, the quiet understanding, was worse than the teasing. It chipped away at my anger, leaving behind a raw, aching vulnerability I didn’t know what to do with.
“I know.” My voice was barely a croak. I cleared my throat. “Sorry for snapping. Just tired.”
“You’re forgiven. Get some rest, man,” Braden said,draining his beer. He clapped me on the shoulder, a brief, solid pressure. “And maybe lay off the neighbor’s cookies for a while. Sounds like they’re giving you indigestion.”
He tried for another grin, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. Then he was gone, leaving me alone again with the silence and the relentless, consuming thoughts of Iris Holloway.
Braden’s visit and concern had somehow made it worse. I paced my house like a caged animal, the four walls now feeling like a prison. I couldn’t read. Couldn’t focus on the TV. Couldn’t even stomach the thought of food. Every sound from next door amplified the edgy, humming energy that was making my skin itch, making my blood heat.
