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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

VALE

“I’m fine,” I assure Alena for the hundredth time. “I promise.”

“I can stay.” She stands in my doorway. “I can call in sick. Loch can, too.”

“You’re not wasting your sick days on me. Go back to North Carolina and save Smokey the Bear, and I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“You sure?” Her face twists. “We have a guest room in our cabin. You can stay. Hike. Fish. Canoe.”

“I can vacation in a Dick’s Sporting Goods hell?” I wince. “That’s a hard pass.”

She laughs. “How are we best friends? My idea of heaven is roughing it, and your idea of heaven is rough sex?”

Memories of Nash eating my pussy like a feral dog flash in my mind, shooting heat to my core. “I’m fine,” I pant.

She furrows her brow.

“I mean… ” I stammer, “We’re best friends because we’re so damn different, but I promise, no primal play and heinous hickies until after your wedding, if ever again.”

After Alena’s wedding, I’ll move. I don’t want to stay in Charleston, where I might run into Nash or his Bratva brothers. I can move to Atlanta, finally finish my PhD, and start over. I can earn my license as a sex therapist and open a practice there.

Yeah, that’s the plan.

Anything to escape this feeling.

“Okay.” She gives me one last hug. “Then answer my texts and calls, and don’t scare me again. Promise?” She flips the bird at me.

“Promise.” I flip her back.

It’s a middle-school tradition.

After Alena leaves, I take a shower. I force myself to eat a leftover cheeseburger, and that only reminds me of Nash and our nights at The Mercier Hotel.

Dammit! What’s the shelf-life of heartbreak? How long does it last? I’ve never felt this way, and now I know why people do the most dysfunctional things over love. Because it really sucks losing it.

And when you lose the love of a not-mafia-mafia man, but you’re sworn to secrecy? It sucks worse than math.

I can’t talk to Alena about it. I can’t dissect every emotion with my twin, either. Where are my amateur counselors when I need them?

For hours, I try to find answers. I start reading The Pleasure Zone: Why We Resist Good Feelings I’m worried about Nash. A violent squall rages outside, the waves pitching us high before we drop back down to their shadowy trough.

“Nash.” I rush to the galley opening, poking my head out to the lashing rain, the howling wind making the drops feel like a thousand knives stabbing my face.

“Vale!” he barks, standing at the helm, his fists clutching the steering wheel. “Stay below!”

He aims the vessel into the waves, trying to avoid a capsize, but I don’t listen. I sit on the floor by the opening. I have to see him. I have to know he’s okay.

He’s soaked, rain pelting his face, not fully protected by the windshield. He clenches his jaw, staying focused ahead, slamming the throttle down as he fights each swell, over and over. I stay focused on him, praying he won’t be thrown overboard until finally … it ebbs.

The squall passes into gentle rain, the wind and waves calming, too. We find sheltered water, but the sky is still grey, with no sun in sight. This system will last days as Nash slows the vessel, maneuvering the boat back into its slip.

A dockhand helps him tie off before Nash kills the engine. Then he glances down and sees me sitting at the bottom of the galley stairs, gazing back up at him. He grins. “You never listen, do you?”

“I was too busy ignoring you.”

His grin grows. “Get busy finding the candied ginger chews in the kitchen. They’ll settle your stomach, and then we’ll talk.”

He grabs a shammy to start wiping down the helm while I’m barely sick enough to obey.

I brush my teeth first, the mint paste helping to calm my nausea, before I rummage through cabinets, searching for the ginger candies and the meaning behind what Nash said.

I can’t let you go again … and I don’t want to go.

So, does that mean he’s changed his mind? He wants us to try? He wants us to be together?

Then what now? We can’t hide forever, and I don’t mean from Turner but from Alena.

We’ll have to tell her. We’ll have to break her heart and hope there’s enough love for us there that it will heal. But then again, Alena will feel so betrayed by our secret.

So many secrets.

How many can someone forgive?

Unlatching the cabinet by the microwave, I peer in, pushing aside boxes with teabags, sugar, coffee, and filters. I can’t find the damn candies, but then, behind an old bottle of honey, I find…

Aviator sunglasses?

I pick them up, my hand suddenly trembling with recognition, with brutal memories. I’d know these sunglasses anywhere.

Chad.

They belonged to Chad.

What are they doing on Nash’s boat?