Page 33 of Hearts on the Line

I know he means to make me laugh, but I can’t. I throttle down, but the squeal only gets louder, followed by a clunk that echoes across the deck.

“I swear to fuckin’ God, guy…” He throws his hands up on his head and spins around, checking the horizon before stuffing a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it.

We’re still a couple of miles out, the harbor just a blur of color against the shoreline. I pop the hatch, and the smell of hot oil and salt water hits me in the face. The belt’s fraying, threads spinning out like cotton candy, ready to snap completely. I can see where it’s been wearing against the housing, probably for weeks. Another thing I should’ve caught sooner if I wasn’t so busy trying to keep everything else from falling apart.

Brooks leans over my shoulder. “You think she’ll make it in? I’ve got a gig in Worcester tonight.”

I stare at the belt. The weight of everything suddenly crashes down on me. The restaurant is bleeding money, the boat is dying by degrees, Sloane is sleeping on my couch.

When we both know she can’t.

“Only one way to find out.”

I close the hatch and bring the throttle up just enough to keep us moving, every muscle in my body tense. The water’s calm, but I’ve been on this stretch of the Atlantic long enough to know that it can change fast.

The engine gives another cough, louder this time.

Dammit.

Some days, it feels like everything’s just barely holding together. Some days, it feels like I’m the only thing standing between the total collapse of our family legacy.

And some days, I wonder what would happen if I just let it all fall.

Chapter 11

Sloane

Iwake up feeling like death. The coffee’s waiting in the fridge—thank God—but my brain and hands aren’t communicating well. The glass tips, crashes to the floor, and cold brew explodes across Ethan’s kitchen.

Dammit.

I pull myself together and head to Wharf House Coffee, only to find Sarah isn’t working today. Of course not. The one time I could actually use a friendly face.

Two women at the counter lower their voices when I walk in, but not enough. I keep scrolling on my phone until someone behind me makes another comment.

“That’s Jimmy Arden’s girl. Ran away from her wedding to that Monarchs player. Real sad. Staying with the Murphy boy.”

“The hockey player?”

“No, Ethan. Not Jack.”

“Shame what happened to him. If he had a good head on his shoulders, he would have gone pro like his brother.”

I spin around to face them, and they’re suddenly interested in their Danishes.

I adjust my sunglasses, slide a tip into the jar on the counter, and take my large iced coffee to go. I’m almost out the door, too, before it opens and I walk straight into Sean.

He snickers, gripping my arm to steady me.

I was feeling better. Now I just want to be sick.

“Heard you put on quite the show last night, Arden.”

“Hmm.” I scoot over, thankful that the friendly café dog takes pity on me and rests its head against my thigh. “Annie…”

“Heard you got kicked out of Markey’s. Ethan had to carry you back to his place.”

As much as I want to pull my sunglasses down to glare at him, I stop, knowing full well the sight of my black eye will only encourage him.