Page 18 of September’s Tide (Island Tales #2)

Chapter Thirteen

The sky outside the window was a dull, unforgiving grey, a perfect match for the mood sinking into David’s chest like wet concrete.

He’d woken early with a stiff ache in his back, a dull throb that refused to ease no matter how many times he stretched or how long he let the hot water beat down on him in the shower.

It wasn’t sharp, but persistent, another minor torment added to the list. Probably just a bad sleeping position, he reasoned.

The bed at the Lighthouse had been perfect until now. But this morning?

Everything felt off.

Maybe it feels worse because I slept alone last night.

Taylor couldn’t stay every night, he reasoned. Living in each other’s pockets wasn’t part of the deal.

Except what they had going had progressed far beyond Taylor’s initial suggestion. David could be honest with himself in the cold light of day.

This was already way more than just sex.

The siren call of the coffee machine was too great to ignore. Each step down the stairs pulled a wince from him, the twinges in his lower back making even the act of walking feel like too much.

He paused in the living room and glanced toward the windows. Thick clouds clung to the sky like a warning, heavy and low, the kind that promised rain and didn’t bluff. So much for a morning hike. Or any kind of distraction, if it came to that.

“Well, perfect,” he muttered. “Just bloody perfect.”

His brittle, bitter tone surprised him.

He poured his first cup before the coffee pot had finished gurgling, cradling it between his palms. Can it warm my mood too? At least the supermarket in Ventnor sold decent beans. If he’d flown halfway across the world and wound up with instant, he might’ve gone full-on Godzilla.

He sat on the couch, sipping and staring at the storm clouds pressed up against the glass, making the place feel almost claustrophobic.

You’re sulking. That stupid little voice in his head was unrelenting.

“I am not sulking,” he muttered, knowing full well that was a lie.

His phone sat on the table, its black screen taunting him.

Useless fucking brick.

The damn signal had been sketchy since he’d arrived.

Most days it couldn’t even handle a basic search, let alone a call, and he’d gotten out of the habit of even checking it, because what was the point?

David put his cup down and picked the phone up more out of habit than hope, thumbing the power button just to go through the motions.

And froze.

Five new messages.

His heart gave a thud once, then again, only harder.

All five were from Clark.

A spike of ice lanced through his chest. He stared at the name on the screen as though it had conjured itself from a nightmare. He almost deleted them right there. God, he should delete them. But his thumb hovered.

Why now? Why after all this time, all the silence?

Michael’s voice crept in uninvited, from that last phone call.

I just thought maybe you acted a little… hastily, that’s all, and that you might have reconsidered, you know, maybe thought better of it, maybe even thought you’d made a mistake. Maybe Clark ? —

“Yeah, maybe I should’ve let him keep fucking the bartender,” David said aloud, the words laced with disgust.

The notification burned on the screen.

You know you won’t get a minute’s peace until you see what he wants.

With a snarl of frustration, David tapped the first one open.

David, I hope you’re okay. I know I’m the last person you want to hear from right now, but I just wanted you to know I’ve been thinking a lot about what happened and I’m so, so sorry. I hope one day you’ll find it in your heart to forgive me. That’s all, babe. Take care.

David scoffed, his lip curling. “Wow. A guilt trip and pet name in one. Impressive.”

Delete.

He scrolled to the next.

David, I’m a little concerned about you. No one has seen you for a while. Is everything all right? Just let me know you’re okay.

“Oh, so now you care?” He rolled his eyes. “You didn’t seem concerned when your dick was wedged in someone else’s ass.”

Delete .

David, I’m really starting to worry here. Where the hell are you?

David let out a bark of laughter, the sound humourless and sharp. “Right where you left me, Clark. Wishing I’d never invested a single minute in us.”

Delete .

Two left.

I should stop now. I really should. His thumb moved anyway.

The fourth message was longer, the preview already making his stomach twist. He opened it and watched as it rolled into a fifth, sprawling out like a confession written in desperation.

David, it’s clear to me now that I made the biggest mistake of my life.

Even if it was the one and only time I cheated on you, I shouldn’t have done it, and I deserve everything you threw at me.

But I still feel we are meant to be together.

We fit, babe. Ask yourself some questions: in your heart of hearts, do you miss me?

Do you miss us? Cos I miss you. I miss your arms around me.

I miss you inside me. God, I miss that. I miss hearing your laugh, seeing your smile.

Give us another chance, David. We can get over this. I love you. —Clark

David’s throat clenched. His stomach turned.

The sheer fucking gall of it.

The carefully constructed guilt, the nostalgia, the sensual bait. All of it calculated. Clark knew exactly how to get into his head.

And goddamn it, it worked.

Because now his brain was sprinting through memories he’d rather leave buried: Sunday mornings in bed, Clark’s laughter in the kitchen, the way he used to wrap himself around David as if he never wanted to let go.

He slammed his coffee down hard enough the mug rattled on the table.

No.

That wasn’t love. That was convenience. That was comfort laced with lies.

And yet here he was, letting it sink its claws in all over again.

“I don’t need this crap!” he shouted, the sound bouncing off the walls of the quiet house. “Fuck you, Clark! Fuck you for putting me through this again!”

The pain in his back flared as he jerked upright, but he didn’t care. He held down the button on his phone, watched it fade to black, then hurled it onto the couch as though it had personally betrayed him.

He sat there breathing hard, his knuckles white.

Outside, the sky darkened further.

Inside, David sat in the silence, letting the storm build.

The weather had put a firm stop to any hope of more sightseeing, but Taylor wasn’t about to let a little grey ruin his day, not when he had a plan. And, wonder of wonders, it had absolutely nothing to do with seducing David.

Well, not entirely .

A smile tugged at his mouth as he walked the shingle path toward the Lighthouse, salt wind curling through his hair.

God, that man is addictive . He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since waking up, those broad shoulders, that deep voice, those hands.

Jesus, what those hands could do…

But this wasn’t about dragging David back to his bed.

He’d seen the waves cresting in the bay and the decision had been instant.

He wanted to surf. And if David hadn’t done it before?

Even better. Taylor liked teaching. He liked the closeness, the laughter, the inevitable spills into the sea.

He could picture David’s face alight with excitement, dripping wet, laughing at himself.

By the time he reached the deck and knocked on the door, he was practically vibrating with anticipation. He tried the handle, and it opened.

“Good morning,” Taylor said with a grin.

Then the words caught in his throat.

David stood in the kitchen, his back rigid, his expression stormy. Dark circles smudged under his eyes, his jaw tight. There was a charge to his presence, something volatile barely leashed.

Taylor’s smile faltered. “Everything okay?” Stupid question, because everything was clearly as far from okay as it was possible to get.

“What do you want?” David’s voice was low and rasped, as if it had been dragged through gravel.

Taylor blinked, momentarily thrown by the coolness of David’s tone. “I was just wondering if you wanted to go surfing. The waves are amazing right now.”

“Not today, okay?” David snapped.

Taylor raised his hands in a calming gesture, his heart skipping a beat. “All right. Just thought you might want to do something fun?—”

“Just leave me the hell alone.”

The words cracked through the air like a whip. The sound of the door closing a heartbeat later was just as loud.

Taylor flinched as the blinds came down on the bifold windows, snuffing out the view. For a few seconds he stood there, staring at the place where David had been, the echo of his voice still ringing in his ears. Something sharp poked Taylor’s ribs. He swallowed hard.

What the hell was that?

He turned and walked slowly down the steps, through the gate, along the path, his legs heavy, each step sinking deeper into the chill in his chest. It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t. But the way David had looked at him, as if he was an intrusion, a nuisance…

That stayed lodged in Taylor’s chest.

It’s just sex, remember? He fucks you. That’s it. That’s all it is.

But even as he thought it, the words felt brittle, a weak little lie barely holding shape.

Back at the house, Taylor didn’t go inside. He went straight to the shed out back, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. The familiar scent of wax, neoprene, and sea salt wrapped around him like a comfort blanket. He stripped quickly, pulling on his wetsuit with sharp, efficient movements.

He needed the water, like now .

His board under his arm, he headed down to the beach. The tide was perfect, the waves cresting and curling just right. Normally, this was the kind of morning that made him feel invincible.

He launched himself into the surf, the cold water a welcome slap against his skin, and paddled out hard and fast. He needed to outpace this…whatever this was, clenching tight around his chest. David’s voice kept echoing in his head.

That look on his face. The flat steel in his tone.