Page 30 of Over & Out (Redbeard Cove #3)

Chris

“ Y ou okay?” Adrian leans forward on screen, whispering, as if we aren’t the only ones on the call.

“Totally,” I say, glancing over the laptop at Cindi, who’s whistling as she organizes Hopper’s vitamins for the next seven days. She was whistling as she skipped off to refill the order yesterday too. She and I are not the same.

Adrian leans back, folding his arms. “‘Totally.’ Yeah, that sounds truthful.”

I feel a lump growing in my throat, which I guess is better than the absolute rage my brain has seemed to err to since I got back from LA. Separately from Hopper, because apparently he headed to the airport mere minutes after I left his place.

“I want to hear about baby things,” I say. Inspired by Tru and Kevin, Adrian and his partner Len have been talking about adopting. There are plans in the works to visit an agency .

But Adrian levels a look at me. “It’s fine, Chris. No change since yesterday.”

Right. It was only yesterday we talked about it. Time has been moving like molasses since that night on the cliffside.

My stomach churns. The fact that I seriously thought Hopper might pull some Duke move and call to me outside my hotel window, begging forgiveness, is mortifying, even if it’s only in my head.

Not only did he not do that, but we haven’t talked about what happened.

The texts he sent that first night—all night—ended the next day.

It felt so cold I swear I’ve still got frostbite.

Adrian is staring at me with an eyebrow raised, so I force a smile.

“I’m fine, seriously. Filming started this week, so things are quiet around here for now.

” Quiet is an understatement. With Hopper on set for upward of twelve hours almost every day, I don’t have much to do that isn’t busywork.

I even feel like I’ve done all of that. I’ve organized the whole office, confirmed every event on Hopper’s calendar for the next year, and even alphabetized the books on the bookshelves—which belong to the house and not to Hopper.

Considering what happened—and that the actual work part of the job has dried up so much during filming downtime—it’s taken everything in me not to quit.

But once again, I think of Tru. She’s four days overdue and texted me last night that she was going out of her mind with boredom.

She even asked if I had any work for her .

I sent her a meditation recording, and she responded with a picture of her side-eyeing me, which at least made me laugh.

“Enjoy the downtime,” she told me. “Go get a massage. A new outfit. Take the time to recover from whatever shit he’s handed you the past few weeks.”

The shit he’s handed me.

Thank God that was a text so she didn’t have to see me throw my phone across the room with a little scream. If only she knew how little shit he gave me. How much I loved being with him until it all went to hell. That stupid fucking asshole.

Adrian peers at me sympathetically now. “Not getting along with Mr. Forearms, huh?”

I blink, realizing Adrian’s let me stare off into space for the past several minutes.

“Forearms?” I say dully.

“You’ve never noticed his forearms? Come on. They’ve been on magazine covers. Whole blog posts have been written about them. I think someone even wrote a poem about them.”

I have, actually, admired Hopper’s forearms. Just like every other part of him, they’re beautiful. And sexy. And full of absolute shit.

I grit my teeth. “Adrian, aren’t we supposed to be talking about the Iggies?”

He smiles, as if he’s the one with the focus problem. Bless him for being so kind to me. Maybe I’m not the first girl he’s had to navigate through this.

“Of course,” he says, while I quietly sink lower with that doomsday thought .

Luckily, Adrian’s not easily bothered by my mood. He understands how difficult it can be working with Hopper. Even if it’s not for the reasons he thinks.

“So what do you think?” Adrian asks. “The hunter green? Or wine?”

Len is a designer, so we’re talking clothes for next month’s event, which will be right at the end of my term. The meeting is fun enough that I’m mostly distracted from Hopper for the next half hour. That is, until I hear the front door open, and voices trail in from the foyer.

Male voices.

My stomach plunges. I sit up straight on the bar stool. I think about those days at the amateur dirt bike competitions, when the mostly male competition would heckle me as I walked to my bike. I always walked tall, chin up, sometimes scratching my cheek with a middle finger.

That helps a little.

“So we’re set for Mabel’s accessories, then?” Adrian asks, clearly sensing the shift in me.

“Mm-hmm.” Blood rushes in my ears as I see Hopper’s form appear on the screen.

He’s behind me. It’s the closest he’s been to me since that night, but he only remains there for a moment.

He doesn’t even bother looking at me. Aziz does, though.

He glances up at Hopper’s back as he heads to his room. The minute the door shuts, he leans in.

“Who pissed in that guy’s Cheerios this week?” he whispers to me and Adrian.

Adrian sighs. “It’s been bad? Chris hasn’t given me any details, like the very good assistant she is. ”

I scoff. Hardly.

“It’s the worst I’ve ever seen it,” Aziz says. “He’s a fucking bear. Chris, you have to know what’s going on.”

“You know what? I don’t, actually.” That’s the truth.

I was there for what happened, but I don’t know why he reacted the way he did.

Is he squeamish? Shallow? Did he never really care about me and only wanted me for my looks?

None of it really sits right, least of all that part.

He did want to explain himself that night.

But when I ignored him, he stopped trying.

So I’ll add petty to the list of his terrible traits.

“I’m done with trying to understand him,” I say.

I was sure the comment would sound strong and aloof, but it comes out kind of sad, like I’ve been trying and failing to do just that.

“I don’t think anyone really gets him,” Aziz says sympathetically.

But that only annoys me more, because the last thing I need is pity.

I stand up before I bite poor Aziz’s head off too.

Neither of them cut me. Maybe I’m the one being a bear.

“I have a few errands to run,” I tell them both.

To Aziz, I say “If Hopper needs anything, Cindi will be back from town soon. And I’ll have my phone.

” My tone makes it clear I’d rather he didn’t.

“Good plan,” Adrian says. “I’ll check in with Mabel to see if she knows what’s up. In the meantime?—”

But he doesn’t get to finish that thought, because we both look up as Hopper comes out of his room.

My insides knot. He’s dressed in workout gear.

Basketball shorts and a big tank top that hangs loosely over his perfect body.

I’m sure he’s going to ignore me again, but instead, his eyes land straight on me.

His forearms flex as he clenches and unclenches his fists, and yes, of course I can see why someone waxed poetic about them.

I wish he would crack his knuckles. An ex of mine cracked his knuckles incessantly. I grew to hate it.

I hate Hopper Donnach.

My stomach twists at the lie, but I refuse to look away. “Was there something you needed?”

He almost looks pained—just for a flash of a second—before turning back to pure steel. “No.”

He turns on his heel, heading for the gym area.

Aziz grimaces. “I’m sorry,” he mouths.

“Me too,” I say bitterly. Then I head for the door.

I take my own car, just in case I decide not to go back. I don’t know where I’m going at first. I could go home. I have a few chores to take care of around the house. Or I could put my Christmas decorations up. But what’s the point?

Knuckle-cracker actually asked me that once. “You live alone and have no family. Why bother?”

“Because,” I’d said, “if we let life steal every last bit of joy from us, then what’s the point?”

I was in a much better state of mind then. We didn’t last long after that, but then again, no relationships I’m in ever do. Who wants to date a girl who has weird rules about where to touch her? Who won’t take her shirt off during sex? Who runs at the first sign of the easy exits closing up ?

I go past the turnoff for home.

I consider reaching out to my friends, but none of them are really available.

Dolly takes the holidays off, making Miles even more crotchety than normal.

The time zones make it hard to talk to Lana, who’s now knee-deep in her Australian adventure.

When I checked in on Shelby the other night, she told me she’s been going through hell with Jess’s teething.

Annie’s in New York again, and Mac? I can’t even think about seeing him, because he’ll just make me cry.

He’ll look at me with kindness, and then when I tell him what’s going on, he’ll want to go and beat up a movie star like the good big brother he is.

Feeling like a lonely loser, I drive around aimlessly for a bit, stuffing my face with a bag of trail mix Cindi handed me as I walked out the door.

She’d walked in before I could slip out.

“You need to eat something, honey,” she said, as if someone had died.

It kind of feels like someone has. Drizzle pings against the windshield, the sky a dull, hopeless gray.

I have the dark thought that maybe I never belonged even here, in my hometown.

Even though I was born here, I spent my teen years in and out of Swan River, bouncing from house to house down the coast. I only ended up back here after I aged out of the system.

I’m being such an Eeyore I almost laugh.