Chapter Eighteen
“Remember all that fuss over Flynn and Max St. John, back when he first left? He came to blows with Teddy and everything. Well, there’s no smoke without fire is there?”
AFTER YEARSon call, Flynn woke up when the phone rang, even if it only rang twice. He rolled over, sat on the edge of the bed, braced his hands on his knees, and waited for it to ring again. It didn’t.
The bed hadn’t had time to get cold yet. If Flynn rolled over and went back to sleep, it would still be warm. It was a tempting thought, but he got up. The floor was cold under his bare feet as he padded over to the chair where he’d tossed his jeans earlier.
His phone was in the back pocket, along with a handful of change that fell out and bounced over the floor. There was only one missed call. Flynn rubbed his hand over his face, stubble-rough against his palm, and wondered why the hell Nate was calling him at 2:00 a.m. He supposed there was one way to find out.
He hit the callback button and let it ring. While he waited, he turned to look out the stretch of glass. It was dark outside, and the moon hung bright and low in the sky. It was a night you could never have in a city, where there was always some invasive glow. As though it had just been waiting for its cue, the image of Teddy’s check popped into Flynn’s head.
If he took the cash, he lost the view. On the other hand, greed nudged him. If he took the cash, he could find a new one.
Before he could get lost in the maze of options the money would open up for him, Nate picked up the call.
Flynn didn’t give him a chance to say anything. “What do you want?”
The sigh on the other end of the line sounded… cold. “I changed my mind.”
“That’s up to you.” Flynn tucked his phone against his ear and climbed into his jeans. He hitched the denim up over his hips and buttoned them and then grabbed his T-shirt to give it a sniff—petrol, sweat, and a hint of bitter smoke that reminded him of Nate. It didn’t take long for Nate to crack. The sigh was loud in Flynn’s ear as he gave up.
“My car broke down.”
“That’s because your car is a Fisher-Price toy.”
“I need a lift.”
Flynn swapped the phone from one ear to the other as he pulled his T-shirt on. A twitch of vanity made him shove his hand through his hair to brute-force untangle it.
“You can’t ask Max?”
“Not really. Look, I shouldn’t have called. I know that’s not—”
“Shut up, you idiot.” Flynn put the phone on speaker and sat down to get his boots on. He stamped his feet into them, but didn’t bother to tie the laces. “Where are you?”
“The folly.”
“What the hell are you—” Flynn stood up and started down the stairs. “Never mind. You can tell me when I get there.”
“Thanks. It’s fucking freezing here.”
Flynn snorted and hung up. He shoved the phone into his jeans and grabbed his jacket from the door. The keys were already in the pocket, a weight dragging it down at one side. He was halfway down the worn steps when something occurred to him.
He backtracked into the lighthouse. Teddy’s envelope was still on the table. He hadn’t been able to think of a safer place for it, so he picked it up and folded it in half.
Flynn was probably going to tell Teddy to shove his money, but he wasn’t 100 percent certain. No one else needed to know about the offer until he decided—especially not Nate.
He put the envelope in the kitchen drawer. It was where all the mail lived, so technically he wasn’t hiding it, even if he had stuck it under everything else.
Once the drawer was shut, he went back out to the jeep. The engine coughed as he started it, and the noise was shockingly loud against the night’s stillness. Unless you counted the gulls and the occasional fox, Flynn didn’t have a neighbor for miles, but he still felt the urge to apologize to the countryside.
To get it out of his system, he yawned hard, his eyes squinted shut and his jaw popping, and threw the jeep into gear. It was usually an hour to the folly, but there’d be no one on the road. He could probably make it in thirty.
IN THEend it took forty minutes, thanks to a sheep he had to get out and physically shoo back into a field. Flynn pulled in at the foot of the hill. Last time he’d been there, decades before, for some half-assed play the school put on, the parking lot had been a crooked patch of rutted dirt halfheartedly covered with gravel.
They’d paved it since, although the cheap layer of concrete had already cracked and pocked in places. At the far edge, next to the staggered stone steps, a shiny black Ford Estate was parked with its hood popped to expose the engine.
Flynn didn’t even need to look to make his diagnosis. The minute he opened the car door, he could smell the acrid stink of burned oil and hot metal. He sighed and dragged his hand down his face in old frustration.
