Page 32 of Hearts on the Line

“Yeah, of course.”

I don’t love the weird response, but before I can say anything, Brooks drops the trap overboard and leans against the rail, folding his arms across his chest. “So.”

“So, what?”

“You get home okay with your girlfriend?”

I glare at him. “She’s not⁠—”

“Crashing at your place until the Charger’s fixed?” He smirks, but there’s an edge to it now. “The one you’re fixing. You going to take all summer and buy yourself some time with her, or what?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“I saw how you looked at her last night.”

I ease off the throttle and swing the boat toward the next set. The engine protests with another whine, and I make a mental note to add belt replacement to the list of things I can’t afford. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He walks toward me, shaking his head with a shit-eating grin stretched across his handsome mug. “I do. Trouble, Murphy. You’re still so gone for that girl.”

The words hit harder than they should. Hit harder because they’re true, because Brooks was the only one to stay when things fell apart. He wasn’t sober enough to remember all the shit, but neither was I. After my shoulder surgery, after the assault charges were dropped, I had nothing except some bad demons to keep me company.

“I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.” He wipes his hands on a rag, blue eyes narrowing. “Just don’t get hurt again. Last time…” He shakes his head. “I’m finally getting my life back together, and I’m not sticking around if you’re stubborn enough to blow up yours again.”

I grip the wheel tighter. The thing about Brooks is he doesn’t say this stuff to bust my balls. He means it. Which almost makes it worse. Makes it feel like caring about Sloane is just another way to let everyone down.

“I can handle a few weeks.”

“What if it’s not though?” The certainty in his voice makes my jaw clench.

“It will be.”

It has to be.

“You’re going to fall for her all over again.” Brooks straightens, suddenly serious. “She’s got a fucking ring on her finger from some other guy, and you just let her crash into your life, ready to roll over again.”

“Drop it, Brooks.”

“Annie’s leaving, and your parents are gone. Someone has to say it. You’re drowning, man. The restaurant, the boat, this whole martyrdom thing you’ve got going. And now she shows up, and you’re acting like it’s⁠—”

“What?”

“Like it’s another thing you can juggle. But Sloane isn’t the restaurant or the boat. If you lose them…”

“I’ll end up at O’Brien’s fixing cars and changing oil.”

“Better than painting houses and working on a lobster boat. If you lose her again…”

I don’t answer. I don’t know if he’s wrong, but the truth hits a little too close. The boat chooses that moment to act up again.

It’s subtle at first, just a stutter in the hum of the engine. Then another. Then a sound that makes my stomach drop. It’s a high-pitched squeal of a belt slipping, metal on metal, the kind of noise that means real money to fix.

Money I don’t have.

“Shit.”

“Remind me to never buy a boat if I make it big time.”