Page 4 of Fire Island (Fire Island #2)

Four

CALLUM

I’ve lost three whole years. The restlessness in my gut that flip-flopped into existence like a dying fish when I woke up here flares back to life.

Dammit.

I mean, it’s not like anything ever changes in my life, but hell. The ass-faced Jamieson stands on one side of my hospital bed, Iris on the other. Em hovers outside, worry etched over his face.

“Do you remember your lodger, the one who came to stay for nine months?” Iris asks, her face strung on the marionette strings of tentative hopefulness.

Sorry, little sis, nada. Not a damn thing.

“Who?” I ask, and her face falls. God, you could see that one movement from Mars.

“What about the Fresnel? It needs replacing?” Iris prompts.

“Yeah, well, thought it could have lasted another year or two.”

Iris raises an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah, I guess it’s time is up, then.”

“So,” Jamieson starts, “from what we can gather, your memory’s been affected. You have lost the last three years, give or take, a few months.”

“Will it come back?” I ask, brows dropping as my gut sinks.

“That depends. Everyone is different. With time, most of it should return. It can come back in bits and pieces or all at once. Sometimes another traumatic event will spur the old memories back into existence. But it doesn’t mean you go out chasing thrills to get your memories back.

” His face turns harsh. As if my history of doing stupid shit in this town is not history at all.

“Don’t get your panties in a knot, Jamieson, no intentions of any such thing. I just want to go home to my island and get back to my days of solitude.”

Iris shifts on her feet. “About that.”

Jamieson leans in. “You will need to have someone with you for the first few months. Just in case.”

“In case what?”

“Relapse, a sudden loss of motor skills, or acute dementia after the fact.” Jamieson is looking at Iris when he says this. I grind my molars and tug the blankets from my legs.

Over the devil’s frozen carcass am I being babysat. Iris has other things to do. Better things to do.

“Nope, ain’t happening.”

“Callum McCreary, you sit down right now, or so help me god I will give you one on the other side to match.” Iris’s wild green eyes bore into mine.

With a twitch of my lip and a low, heady groan, I sink onto the mattress. I refuse to climb back under the sheet and hide away from the world.

“I can’t release you unless you have someone to stay with you for the next few months. Sorry, bud, hospital protocol.” Jamieson looks at me as he says this, like somehow we’re now friends.

Fuck you, bud .

“Fine,” I breathe. “I’ll stay at the café with Iris. But you’ll be getting the bill when she loses her shit and cracks me a new one.”

Jamieson has the audacity to laugh, like I’m being dramatic.

Fucker .

“He’ll be fine with me. Thank you. Can I take him home this afternoon?”

“I don’t see why not. Be a few hours before the last set of rounds and he gets discharged. Then he’s free to go.”

“I’m right here,” I drawl.

Iris pecks my cheek before heading for the door. “Text when you’re ready, Cal.”

The room falls into silence as they leave, and I sit on the chair, not wanting to be the vulnerable pleb in the bed, as I wrangle with the reality of losing three years of my life.

It’s not like anything significant would have happened in the last three years. Each day on Fire Island is a carbon copy of the one before it. Lighthouse, garden, chop wood, eat, sleep, and repeat.

Three months of being holed up in Iris’s tiny-ass café quarters is going to drive me nuts.

She’ll be worse than a damn prison warden, if I know my little sister.

Maybe I can convince the warden to let me wander the docks aimlessly. At least the sunshine and the salty sea air will settle this unnerved restlessness that’s been bearing down on me since my eyes opened in this cool, clinical white room.

That’s all a man needs. Sunshine, fresh air in his lungs, and a purpose.

The first two are easy. And the sooner I get better, the sooner I can get back to my purpose. The lighthouse. Hope Em’s been taking care of the old girl.

As I look over the items Iris left on my bed, I pluck up my phone to check the messages. One from Em from a few weeks ago. About a boat going missing. Another from Iris looking for someone called Eve at the festival. Must be one of her friends. She has so many.

The docs do their afternoon rounds, and they hand me the discharge papers, double-checking Iris is collecting me and coddling me for the next few months.

They arrange for me to visit outpatient or my GP to get the stitches out and a follow-up scan.

Agreeing, I watch as they mutter between themselves before moving on to the next poor sod trapped in this place.

I send Irry a text to come get me the hell out of here.

Iris stands in the doorway of the guest room, my bag in her hand, her lips rolling together. “You sure you don’t want to take my room?”

“Why? It smells like you. Ew, girl germs.” I throw her my best grin. The bandage around my head shifts.

“Okay, if you say so.” She steps out of the way and waves an arm, as if welcoming me to the too-small room with its tiny excuse for a bed.

I walk in, taking in my cozy confinement—the view out the window, the chair by the door with throw blankets, the bed that’s made up with a light blue cover and too many fucking pillows.

“If you need anything, I’m downstairs, okay?” She drops my bag by the door and closes it as she leaves. I’ve traded one small room for another.

At least this one comes with better company.

I sigh, dropping onto the side of the bed.

I rub my head, tugging off the bandage. I leave the dressing, since the stitches would most likely gross Irry out.

I run my hands through my hair. I would love to talk to Em.

He’s been suspiciously absent since I woke up.

I pull out my phone and flick him a text.

When nothing shoots back right away, I assume he’s out on shift. I toss my phone onto the bedside and lie on the bed. The pillow is soft, and I slide my hands under my head. Tired from a day of waiting and doctor talk, I roll over and close my eyes.

Inhaling, a familiar scent floods my senses. It’s almost feminine.

My eyes snap open.

I sit up, chest heaving.

And I have absolutely no idea why . . .

Is this what happens with a brain injury? Random scents and sensations are going to set me off at any time now? Until I get my three years’ worth of memories back?

Dammit .

Tightness claims my airway, and I rub the space over my heart, fully expecting an ache to bloom. I sit up and hang my head, letting it fall into my hands. What am I going to do if I can’t get them back?

What am I missing?

Iris won’t offer up anything useful—I quizzed her on the way home in the car. She said Jamieson told her not to try to fill the void with her version of events, that I have to remember them on my own accord.

Fucking great.

That could take a lifetime.

All the while I feel like I’m operating at half speed. Half capacity.

Running my hands through my messy hair, my palm shoves across the stitches. I wince.

Dammit .

I can’t take this. I can’t sit around doing nothing .

I walk downstairs and into the café. It’s bustling with afternoon and after-school patrons. Iris is busy talking to a couple on the far side of the café. I take that as my opportunity to slip out the door.

I make it all but two feet before the door when I hear, “Callum McCreary, where the hell do you think you’re going?”

I turn back to find my sister, one hand on a popped hip, pot of coffee gripped in the other. The brows she’s raised almost meet her hairline. “Hmmm?”

“Fresh air,” I mutter, turning back to the door.

“You have ten minutes before I send Em after you!” she calls to my back as the door closes behind me.

A little wobbly on my feet, I head for the marina. The cobbled street feels familiar. It’s reassuring to be sure of even the most basic things. I cross the parking lot and slip down the steps to the walkway. Boats bob in their slips, masts swaying in the ocean breeze.

I make my way toward Firefly’s slip, only to find it empty when I eventually make it there. She must be at the island.

Remembering Emmett hauled my sorry ass onto shore for medical help, that makes sense. I sit on the dock and dangle my legs over the water. Hands gripping the edge, I gaze around the marina I have lived in and out of for the last twenty years.

Slow, steady footsteps plod to where I sit.

I’d know that easy gait anywhere.

Em.

I don’t look up. I can’t.

I know I’m only still here because of him. He slaps a hand on my shoulder as he sits by my side. “The warden let you out, hey?”

I chuckle, but it’s strained.

A stone grows in my throat when I rustle up the courage, the gratitude, to look at the man who’s been my brother for decades. His grounding dark eyes find me, full of kindness and worry.

“Guess you’re never gonna let me live this particular rescue down,” I manage to rasp.

Em simply looks out into the water.

“Iris would’ve had my head on a rusty platter if I came back in without you, Cal.”

Now, the half chuckle, half sob, grinds its way up my throat.

Fuck me.

He nudges my shoulder with his. “The lengths we go to stay on her good side.”

A laugh overcomes my emotion, and we laugh together at the thought of the little boss lady who rules our lives with a manicured iron fist.

We wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’m serious, Cal. There’s no way I was coming home without you, bud.”

It’s all I can do to nod.

“Geez, can you imagine my life if I did? I mean, my balls would go first. Irry is ruthless, man.”

I crack up, hysteria taking over at the thought of those two. When the laughter peters out, Em’s amusement fades, and he continues, “Besides, that old lamp only runs for you, temperamental thing it is. It was acting up two nights ago. Seemed fine last night, but I’ll keep an eye on her for you.”

Now I turn to study his meaning. “What’d you mean, acting up?”

“Blinking in and out, but she settled. Shining through the night shift. Guess it was just a glitch. But I got to tell you something.” Emmett stares out at the water.

“Well?”

“I was there the day before she started acting up. To check on things, you know. And the house... it’s trashed.”

“Who the hell would do that?”

Em gives me what I assume is a meaningful look, but I don’t get the underlying sentiment.

“I didn’t find anyone there. Just the mess. If they were there, they were either long gone or heard me coming and hid. Don’t know why they’d do that.”

I frown, wondering what kind of person crosses the water to a man’s isolated island to mess things up and leave. Probably fucking Errol. Lord knows he holds a grudge as long as the prehistoric era. Guess he thought it was deserved.

Maybe. Maybe not.

“Was Firefly there?” I ask, realizing he would know where she is.

“Nope. Found her adrift a couple days back to the south. One of the passing shipping lane vessels called it in. But?—”

He tugs his cap from his head as he runs a hand through his hair. “She must have run aground at one point. There’s damage and sand lodged into her side. I limped her home, just. She’s in the dry dock. One of the maintenance guys is fixing her up as a favor.”

“Don’t want any favors, Em.”

“For me, not you. Besides, that’s a technicality. You have bigger concerns. The Restoration Society has questioned your capabilities after the accident, and along with them hell-bent on making Fire Island redundant, you and Irry have one hell of a fight on your hands to keep her up and running.”

“Dammit. I knew they were iffy about the whole situation, but I really thought the heritage and safety of folks would win out there.”

Em shifts on his seat, crossing his legs as he runs the brim of his cap through his fingers. “You remember anything from the last year?”

I snap my gaze to his.

His face is twisted with worry, but something else wars with it.

Like there’s more at stake than just me.

The lighthouse?

Did something happen to the lamp?

“Nothing yet,” I say. It’s the truth.

“Sure. It’s just that I didn’t find anyone on your island when I went over, Cal. Nobody was there.”

Nobody else on my island is the status quo. What is he blithering about?