Page 5 of Over & Out (Redbeard Cove #3)

Chris

M ac breathes through his nose as he closes the door to his office. Which means he’s upset and trying to hide it. Mr. VIP is still sitting out there, probably mollified by some fancy steak for breakfast.

“Mac—”

“No.”

“Mac. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t?—”

“Don’t.” He sits behind his desk, rubbing his temples. “I know you’ve been going through a lot.”

My stomach twists. This is not what I expected him to say. Even a concerned Mac would give me a “what the hell was that” or “what did you do to my goat?”

But this crushed look on his face? Suddenly it hits me. “Oh my God. You’re firing me!”

The thought never occurred to me until right this minute. Not when I told off a movie star in his restaurant. Not when that boiled goat hit that woman’s shoe. Now .

I haven’t seen Mac this upset in a long time.

Except at the word firing , he looks devastated. “ Fire you? Chris, what the hell are you talking about? No, I’m not going to fire you for one bad day.”

“It hasn’t been just one day. I’ve messed up every day since I’ve been back.”

“That’s hardly been your fault, has it?”

I lean over in my chair, my head suddenly throbbing. “I’ve been screwing up since I got back.”

“I told you, Chris. You need to rest.”

“No.” I stand, unable to stop clenching my fists. I’m not having this argument again. “I need action. I need intensity. I need…” I need Betty. I need to ride my bike. But I sold Betty after the accident.

“I know you thrive under pressure,” Mac says. “But maybe it’s time to figure out how to thrive without it.”

I shake my head. “I was fine before. Riding my bike was?—”

“How you relieved it, I know. And you thought throwing yourself into work was the next best thing, right?”

I nod glumly.

“But clearly, it’s not working. It’s not working so much so that you let that prick get to you.”

“You’re not mad that I upset a movie star in your restaurant?”

“The dude with the worst reputation in Hollywood?”

“I’m surprised you even know who he is.”

Mac blows out a puff of air. “You got Shelby into that Duke stuff. Then he trashed that hotel room in Swan River a few months back?— ”

“He what?” I gape. “What was he doing in Swan River?” Swan River’s a town forty minutes south of Redbeard Cove, an hour’s ferry ride from Vancouver. It’s bigger, but not big enough to host movie stars.

“I have no idea. But it was a mom-and-pop type inn. They had to hire contractors to fix it.”

I blanch, imagining just how upset someone would have to be to do the kind of damage that required renovating.

“He’s a loose cannon, Chris. I’m impressed you gave him as good as he gave you.”

I swallow. “I’m not sure I would have given him anything if I’d known who he was.” Or what he was capable of.

“Come on. The Chris I know doesn’t take shit from anyone.”

“The Chris you know is gone,” I say bitterly. “And I don’t know if she’s ever coming back.” I slump back down in the chair, a lump in my throat.

There it is. The bare truth. The fun-loving personality I so carefully curated, with my carefree disposition and adventurous hobbies and devil-may-care-attitude, is gone.

It vanished like a mask slipping off, revealing the real person underneath: a terrified, lonely girl with a bleak and heavy blankness where her heart should be.

I try to swallow down the lump, but it sticks in my throat. The last time I felt like this, I was in a hospital room, at age twelve, having lost my whole world. A few months later, I was living with strangers. Ones who weren’t always good.

Mac twists his wedding ring around on his finger, a habit he’s picked up since Shelby put it there.

I don’t think he realizes how he lights up when he looks at that thing.

He softens around the edges because he’s thinking of the person who completes his soul.

I love them both so, so much. But right now, seeing the flash of happiness on Mac’s face only makes the hollowness in my chest gape like a black hole.

What they have is not for me. Everything I love always turns out to be a lie.

“Are you sure you can’t ride your bike again, Chris? I know the doctors said you shouldn’t race competitively anymore, but what about just for fun?”

I shake my head. “My shoulder’s unstable. I could ride around a parking lot, maybe. But the twists and turns of the dirt track, the jumps, the landings…even if I get my stability back, I could fall.”

Mac’s face slackens, and I know he sees right through me. Even though it’s just Mac, humiliation wafts off me like a bad smell.

“I’m just a little rattled,” I say.

I’m not rattled. I’m fucking scared. I know it, Mac knows it. He just doesn’t know how deep that fear runs. No one does.

Biking was everything to me, and though it sounds so stupid to think like this about a hobby, I don’t know who I am without it. It was how I blew off steam, but it was also how I felt things. How I stayed strong. How I kept my demons at bay.

“Your dad taught you how to bike, didn’t he?” Mac says softly, and I curse myself for telling Shelby that during a moment of girls’ night vulnerability. But I didn’t tell her it was a secret .

“Yeah,” I say, the lump in my throat thickening, making tears threaten to fill my eyes.

I picture my dad whooping for me on the sidelines as I made my first jump. The sound of a cracked beer on our tailgate later, a clink of the can to my lemonade. You did it, pumpkin!

The track was where I felt safest, even when Dad let me down.

So far only one person besides my friends hasn’t.

Black helmet. Strong arms.

I’ve got you, sweetheart.

That person is such a distant memory, though, that he might as well be a character. Like the Duke.

A knock on the door startles both of us.

Mac frowns. No one knocks around here, not unless Mac is in here with Shelby. Then, ew , we all knock just in case.

But with any of us? Even with a closed door, Mac has an open-door policy.

“Must be Lana,” Mac says. After he came to smooth things over out there—and pull me into the office for this talking-to—Lana showed up. Mac clearly called her in as a favor. Maybe before Dick even showed up, seeing I was struggling.

I’m closest, so I get up. I could use a Lana hug.

But when I open the door, I freeze. It’s not Lana. It’s the woman from the table. Hopper Donnach’s…what, manager?

“Oh,” I say. “Hi.”

“Hi. Chris, is it?”

I knit my brows. “Yes. How did you?— ”

“The other server. I slipped her a hundred. Which reminds me?—”

She opens her clutch and pulls out a wallet, handing me a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill.

“Are you?—”

“You did great. So great, in fact, that I’d like to see more.”

“Excuse me?” I say.

“Excuse me?” Mac parrots.

She glances at him, then angles the bill at me. “Please take it, or I’ll have to give it to him for training you so well.”

I grab the cash. “I trained myself.” Once again—so mature.

The woman smiles. “I trust you did. Can I talk to you outside?”

I look over her shoulder, my stomach tightening.

“It’s fine,” she says. “Hopper’s gone. He has a meeting. He went without complaint this time, and I have you to thank for that.”

I’m annoyed I was worried about him being there. “Thanks, but I have to get back to work.”

“No you don’t,” Mac says behind me. To the woman, he says, “She’s taking the rest of the day off.”

“So she’s not fired?”

“No she’s not goddamned fired. What kind of?—”

The woman smiles, unmoved by Mac’s attitude. “Shame. Should have guessed you were one of the understanding ones.”

To my shock, Mac snaps his mouth shut. He’s deeply confused. And so, frankly, am I. “Is there something we can help you with?” I ask.

She extends a hand to me. “Tru Thompson.”

I accept it. “Christine Maplewood. But only the government calls me that.”

Tru smiles. Then she introduces herself to Mac. He also shakes, but he looks deeply wary.

“I need to borrow her,” Tru says to him. “It’ll only take a moment. If it’s okay with you, Ms. Maplewood?”

Mac turns his mouth down so far he’s going to get a face hernia. But he knows better than to tell me what to do. And honestly? I’m curious. I need to hear what this woman possibly has to say to me after all that.

“Sure,” I say, even though whatever it is, it better be for her. I have no intention of doing that man any favors. Maybe I can sell the story for a few bucks, earn enough to only have to work single shifts for a while. “For a moment.”

“Privately?” Tru says.

“Mac,” I say. “Do you mind?” I give him my best little-sister smile.

My boss throws his hands up. “Sure. Why the hell should I stay in my office?”

After he huffs out, I smile at Tru. “He’s harmless,” I assure her.

“Oh, I know. I can always tell.”

Is that why she works for Hopper? Is he not the asshole he presents? No, he most certainly is. I witnessed it. But my curiosity is more than piqued now. I angle the chair next to me away so Tru can sit. She lowers herself into it with her hand on her belly .

“So,” she says once she’s settled, “I haven’t seen anyone stand up to Hopper like that in a very long time. The only people who don’t take Hop’s shit like that are already in his employ.”

My eyebrow lifts. “Really? I mean, I believe it with you.” I remember the way he looked like a scolded dog when she said his name back there.

He didn’t even balk at apologizing to me.

Weak as it was. “But I guess it makes sense he keeps a staff of simps around to cater to his every need. Except you, of course.”

Tru surprises me by looking almost sad. “He’s really filled that role, hasn’t he?” Before I can ask what she means, she steeples her fingers and says, “Listen. Ms. Maplewood.”

“Chris,” I correct.

“Chris. Let me cut to the chase. I’m not here to make more apologies for Hopper.”

“Of course not.”

She tilts her head. “Do you know why I’m here?”

“The thoughts in the lead are you want to pay me some money not to tell the gossip columns what happened out there, and/or you have some kind of memory erasing wand you’re going to hit me with because that man is the devil and he has that kind of technology lying around in his lair.”

Tru tilts her head back and laughs. “Oh my God, that would be amazing. Could you imagine?”

She winds down and clears her throat. “Honestly, I’m not sure you could get much money for a story about Hopper being an asshole, as there are plenty of those to go around. ”

There goes that idea. And I guess the other.

So now it’s my turn to quirk my head. “Okay, so what are you here for, Tru?”

“I’m here to offer you a job. I want you to work for Hopper Donnach.”