Page 11 of Fire Island (Fire Island #2)

Ten

CALLUM

“ E m’s here, Irry,” I call up from the diner.

“Yep, I know. He’s here for you,” she yells down the staircase. “We’ll be down in a minute.”

We .

That’s right, her and her author friend.

Pretty little thing.

With her standing in Iris’s pajamas last night, I’d have to be dead to not notice her gorgeous frame.

The fine angles that make up Eve Holland.

Iris gave me the rundown on her and her situation this morning, early.

The girl herself slept late. I wrap a hand around the coffee mug on the table in front of me as Eve appears through the door behind the counter.

Like last night, she looks a little lost, and a whole lot of meek.

Not my fucking type.

Good thing she’s not staying.

“Morning,” she says with a tight smile before sliding onto a stool at the counter and giving me her back.

“Morning, yourself,” I mutter.

Emmett swallows a mouthful, leaning back in his chair. “You’ll be happy to get home, bud.”

“Not a moment too soon, Em.”

He huffs a laugh and drains his cup. “I’ll be back out to collect you in a week for your scan. But, so you know, Iris has someone lined up to stay out there with you. Doctor’s orders.” He glances to the counter. “Just in case.”

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”

He forces a smile, and when his focus stays on Eve at the counter, the penny drops.

“No, Em. No damn way.” I shake my head at him.

A grin stretches his handsome fucking face. “Thought you’d say that. Iris is pretty set on the idea. Plus, Eve needs a place to stay, and you?—”

“Why can’t she stay here? Where the hell is she supposed to sleep?” I raise an eyebrow at him.

He stares at me for a beat, confusion written all over his face. “Ah, I made up the bunk in the shack. She should be good there for a while. And Iris needs the room.” His gaze drops to his hands.

I lean back in my chair, resigned to the fact that she’s coming with me, hoping the old shack with no electricity or modern conveniences will scare her right back to the Bay with her tail between her damn legs.

“Besides”—Em imitates my position, giving me a shit-eating grin—“you could do worse, bud.”

I mean, he has a point. I could have been stuck with some old hag of a live-in nurse.

I’ll count my blessings while I have them, thank you.

Iris rounds the counter carrying a small overnight bag that I assume is Eve’s as Eve slides down from the stool. The writer slides her phone in her pocket before shouldering her handbag.

I rise from the chair. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

Iris slaps my arm, hard. “You will be on your best behavior, lest your actions catch up with you when your memory does.” She points a finger at me and walks for the door, sweeping up Eve as she goes.

Force of nature, my little sister. Always has been.

Em files in beside Iris, taking the bag from her hand. She smiles up at him.

Always looking after her. Where would we be without Emmett? He’s been my shelter in some of the worst storms of my life.

The walk to the docks is short, and Iris says her goodbyes as we board Firefly. It’s strange to be a passenger on my own boat. Em does the prestart checks, and I give the old girl a once-over. Eve settles into the bench seat behind the captain’s chair, making herself comfortable.

“You don’t get seasick, do you?” I ask, dropping down beside her as Em powers the throttle and we move from the slip.

Eve turns to me. She’s tense, like this close, she doesn’t know what to do with herself. “Um, no, I don’t.”

“Good.” I turn my focus to the water that opens up in front of Firefly. Em sends her into the blue, engine roaring. Another piece of home slips back into my soul.

Twenty minutes later, the tall structure I’ve called home for the last two decades comes into view.

The tightness that’s been winding me up since I moved into Iris’s spare room unravels at the sight.

Eve moves to my left, and I swear she holds back a smile.

Her hands wring in her lap and her leg jumps, the bottom of her elegant flat shoe scuffing the ground as it moves.

“Home sweet home, bud.” Em pulls Firefly to a stop by the jetty, and I stand and toss the lines over.

They land square around each post I slide the buffers over and brace myself as they make contact with the wooden jetty.

The movement of the water beneath the fixed infrastructure makes my head spin.

I grip the door to the cabin and wait for it to pass.

A little residual side effect of the concussion, no doubt.

“Are you okay?” a soft voice says from behind.

I turn back to see deep browns studying me where I stand.

“Yep, fine.” I cross the deck and haul my ass onto the jetty before Miss Prim-and-Proper can start asking questions. Hell will ice over before I go back to being coddled at my little sister’s. She means well, but I don’t need looking after. Never have.

Little twentysomething will soon find that out.

“Cal, wait, bud.” Em meets me at the edge of the boat. “Let Eve have a look around while I give you some updates.”

How will she know where she’s going?

But, okay . . .

“I’ll meet you up there.” Eve steps over, carrying her small bag, and walks up the jetty onto my damn island. Just like that.

She pauses as the grass meets the sandy border to the island, looking up.

“So, I’ve stocked your fridge and cupboard and cleaned up best I could. But a few things were damaged by the looters while you were gone.”

Looters. Assholes who thought it would be a trip to fuck with my stuff while I was held up in the fucking hospital. What the hell is wrong with people these days?

“Whatever it is, I’ll fix it.” I turn to follow Eve, not wanting her invading my home, regardless of its condition.

Em grabs my arm. “The lamp’s gone, Cal. Smashed to pieces. The Coast Guard is trying to get you another one, but it’s going to take a while.”

“The hell?”

“Someone took a wrench to it, it seems. The glass is shoved into a pile on one side of the lantern room.”

Fire laces my veins.

“Fucking hell.” I shove my hands through my hair, molars grinding. “That damn thing can’t be replaced. We tried. The Restora?—”

“Yeah, Irry told me. So we are trying another route. We’ll figure this out, Cal.”

“Fuck me. What kind of imbecile does something like that? People rely on the light for safety.”

“Yep,” Em says, wincing as he looks toward the lighthouse. “They had to have been pretty desperate, I’d say.”

“Desperate? More like heinous.”

“Anyway, don’t stress about it. We’ll find another one.”

“Shit, geez, thanks. Let me know how it goes.”

“Yeah, will do. You better go settle your nanny into her accommodations.” He grins at me like a damn idiot.

“Right,” I grunt, heading for the house.

Firefly powers up and heads back into the open water. I glance back, an ache blooming in my chest as she cruises away. I reach the house and walk inside. It’s not that different from the night I left it. A few things are out of place, but overall, it’s neat and tidy. Em did a great job.

A knock pulls me from my inspection. Eve stands in the doorway, her glasses gone. Her hair is up, and she changed into shorts and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Almost like she came to help clean up.

“You needing something?” I ask, fixing the books on the shelves that are not in my alphabetized system.

“I came to see if you needed help?” She looks around the house, almost with a longing expression.

“I’m good.”

I turn my back to her and continue sorting the books.

“Sure, okay. Well, holler if you need me?” She sounds so meek, like she’s apologizing for fucking existing.

Then it occurs to me, she has no kitchen over there in the hut. She’s going to have to eat with me. I’m going to have to feed her while she’s here.

My gaze drops to the floor by the coffee table. The ghost of a giggle flits through my mind. My hand tightens around the book I hold. I jerk my head to the side, dislodging the remnant of what feels like a memory.

Something sweet. Something fueled by . . . need.

Fuck.

I swing my attention to the doorway.

But it’s empty.

She’s gone. And the slip of a memory of whatever or whoever fades before I have the chance to catch it.

With the living room put back the way I like it, I make my way upstairs.

The bedroom door is open. The bed is neat and made up, better than when I left it.

The dust bunnies under the bed drift around on their own accord.

The window by the desk is open. I round the bed and check over the contents of my desk. Opening the drawer, I find EarPods.

Odd.

I don’t own any . . .

Maybe the looters dropped them, and Em thought they were mine? The man should know better. He should have tossed them in the trash. Closing the drawer, I pad to the bathroom. The small, clean space looks fine. But dread swells when I think of the next thing I should inspect.

The lantern room.

Bracing myself for the worst, I climb the stairs.

The door has screw holes that weren’t there before. Like someone boarded it up or added latches or something. I pull the door open and step inside.

The desecrated carcass of the Fresnel I poured hours of love, care, sweat, and tears into shines in the morning sun.

Those fuckers oughta damn hang.

Her elegant, majestic body lies in tiny, jagged pieces to my right, brushed into a pile. Just as Em said. And I wonder why he left the mess when the rest was taken care of.

I walk through the room, and glass dust crunches under my boots.

The sound breaks my fucking heart. I run a hand over the few remaining lower panes that sit in the base, broken but still attached.

“Fucking criminal.”

“I’m sorry.” The words breathe from behind me.

I spin back to find Eve standing in the doorway, hands gripping the doorframe as if it’s the only thing holding her up. Her focus is stuck on the pile of glass on the floor. How long has she been there? Her mouth is a thin line, eyes tight and brows drawn, her chest heaving.

I study her where she stands. The glasses are still gone. Maybe she has contacts? Her dark hair frames her beautiful face claiming angles that would be hard to forget. Sweet curves, a narrowed waist that dips in before her hips, and legs for goddamn days.

When I raise my gaze to where it should be, she’s staring right at me.

Hell, it may as well be through me. The expression on her devastated face snuffs out any inkling of need my body was heading toward.

She looks like she’s been through hell. Yet here she is, helping me.

I should turn down the asshole a little.

Shouldn’t I?