Page 19 of Stick Break (Boston Bucks #8)

Rip

A fter signing the rental papers for the ski boat, we head down the sun-warmed wharf. The scent of salt and gas mingles with sunscreen and grilled hot dogs from the shack nearby. I jump in first and hold out a hand to Charley.

She pauses at the edge, eyeing the boat like it might bite. “If I die doing this, I hope you know I’m haunting you forever.”

“You’ll have to get in the boat to do that,” I say, grinning. “Come on. I got you.”

She takes a steadying breath, then grabs my hand, and there’s a flash of something in her eyes as I pull her in. Trust. Nerves. A little thrill. Maybe all three.

Once she’s on board, I tighten the straps on her life jacket and glance down to double-check the fit. “You good?”

“I think so,” she says, but her eyes flick toward the water. “You doknow how to drive this thing, right?”

“I have a boating license.” I give her a mock-wounded look as I put my hand over my heart. “What kind of man do you take me for?”

“Maybe I should ask what license you don’thave,” she says. “Honestly I still can’t believe you marry people.”.

I chuckle, leading her to the big, cushioned seat beside mine. “You might get your chance to sunbathe naked.”

Her mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”

I gesture to the bow with my chin. “Just saying, that front deck’s practically begging for it. We get out far enough, no one around...”

She swats my arm but laughs. “You’re clearlydeterminedto see me in my bikini.”

“Determined to see you out of it,” I growl.

She smirks. “You do realize Mrs. Callahan is probably looking out her window at us right now.”

“She won’t be able to see once we’re out there.” I point to some distance in the ocean. “Unless she has military-grade binoculars, I think we’re safe.”

“I’m not putting anything past her.”

I start the engine, and the boat vibrates beneath us, purring like it’s itching to run. I untie us from the dock and ease away slowly, the water lapping gently against the hull.

“You comfortable?” I ask as she wiggles in her seat, shoving her hair into her hat and lifting her face to the sun.

“Shockingly, yes,” she says. “Though I reserve the right to panic if we go too fast.”

“This will be fun. I promise.” I slowly pick up speed, letting her get used to it.

She squints into the horizon. “Wait, are there sharks in these waters?”

I laugh. “This isn’t a movie, Charley. ‘Jaws’ was filmed in Massachusetts, not Connecticut.”

“Close enough.”

“Relax. You don’t even have to getinthe water.”

“Right.” She breathes out and visibly relaxes. “This is actually really nice, Rip. Like… ridiculously nice.”

My body warms as I steer us past a couple on jet skis, wave to a pontoon full of drunk twenty-somethings, and catch her smiling. Then a guy flies by on water skis, cutting across the wake with ease.

Charley’s eyes track him. She sits up straighter. “That looks…kind of fun.”

I tilt my head. “You look like you wantto try it.”

She snorts. “Uh, no. My balance is limited to yoga.”

“Come on. You’d kill it.”

“Do you water ski?”

“Yup.”

“Surf?”

“Yes.”

She studies me with narrowed eyes, like she’s not sure whether to be impressed or annoyed. “Show-off.”

“Hey, I’ll prove it. You, me, beach, one board—I'll even let you watch me wipe out in glorious slow motion.”

She grins. “NowthatI’d pay to see.”

“We probably can’t make that happen. At least not on this trip,” I say, and though I keep my voice light, she hears what I don’t say—that I’m talking about my injury. About how she’s never going to see me water ski or surf. Not this week. Probably not ever.

She nods, a small frown tugging at her mouth, and for a beat we’re both quiet.

There’s this mutual awareness hanging between us—once this trip is over, so are we.

Back to real life. Back to her silence and hiding.

Back to me pretending I’m not injured, or pining after a woman who keeps me dangling like a shiny lure.

If I do see Charley again, it’ll be on a screen. But even that’s not a guarantee. Her ex did a number on her—scandal, betrayal, a full-blown smear campaign. She vanished from the spotlight, and now I’m not so sure she wants any part of it, and that sucks for her.

Another boat zips past, kicking up a foamy wake. I wave casually, and Charley cocks her head at me. “You’re really not embarrassed wearing those water wings?”

I glance down at the bright orange floaties snug around my biceps. “Nope. Might not ever take them off.” I shoot her a wink. “Could be the next evolution of hockey gear. I take a hit, bounce off the boards like a human ping pong ball.”

She snorts. “You’re a menace to society, Rip.”

“And proud of it.”

Her grin lingers, soft and wide, and something about seeing her like this—sun warming her face, hair escaping the hat in wild strands—makes my chest go tight. She's beautiful when she laughs. She's even more beautiful when she forgets to be scared.

The engine hums beneath us as we drift farther from shore, wrapped in the shimmer of sunlight on the water. After a few minutes, she slips off her hat and leans her face to the sun like a sunflower finding its way.

We reach a secluded stretch of the ocean, and I cut the motor. The world goes still, save for the gentle lap of water against fiberglass.

“Not too far,” I say when she glances back at the shoreline. “You could probably swim it if you had to. But you don’t.”

“I trust you.” She says it simply.

I gesture with a nod. “Want to stretch out I’ll set anchor and help you out of your seat. You won’t fall. Promise.”

She raises a brow. “Trying to get me horizontal, Rip?”

“Always,” I deadpan, and she bites her lip as she offers me her hand.

I drop the anchor with a clunk, then grip her fingers and guide her toward the front of the boat. We both ease down onto the cushioned floor, side by side.

“Not so scary,” she says softly.

“Not nearly as scary as Mrs. Callahan with her binoculars and judgmental glare.”

“Speaking of…” I take in the way the sun kisses her face as I shift a little closer, until our shoulders brush. Her hand slides across the cushion, grazing mine—just a touch. But then she threads her fingers through mine, and damn I like it, a lot.

“We need to come up with a plan,” she murmurs.

I turn my head toward her. “Where would you like to get married, Char?”

She gasps dramatically and presses her hand to her chest. “Ripley Hart. I thought you’d never ask.”

“Smart ass.”

She laughs, but it fades quickly. Her expression shifts, thoughtful now. She turns her head, meets my gaze.

“I really thought I’d be somewhere different in my life by now.”

I squeeze her hand gently, anchoring her—not just to the boat, but to me.

“You thought you’d be married?” I ask and when she nods, I continue. “You were engaged?”

“No,” she says, and the boat rocks gently as if it knows we’re drifting into deeper waters. “But I was dating a guy for a long time.” I shift slightly, and the motion rolls me into her. Our arms brush. She doesn’t move away. “I thought marriage was the next step. You know, natural progression.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, instinctively.

“It’s just the way things went down.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal, but the tightness in her voice says otherwise.

“You’re not sorry?” I press gently.

She exhales. “Let’s just say I’m glad I found out who he really was before we ever walked down the aisle. Timing sucked, but truth is better than a lifetime with a conniving, jealous jerk.”

I squeeze her hand. “I’m glad you found out too. But that probably doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Her gaze slides to mine, and for a heartbeat, we just see each other. There’s no act, no banter—just understanding. Shared scars.

“You get it,” she says softly, not as a question.

I nod once. “Was there someone else?” I ask, my mind on my relationship with Lyra.

She gives a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah. His ego.” She looks out over the water, jaw set.

“Turns out he couldn’t handle my success.

The more I rose, the more he tried to pull me down.

When he realized he couldn’t, he set out to destroy me instead.

All because he couldn’t stand not being the brightest one in the room. ”

Her voice doesn’t crack, but it’s close. She’s holding it together—barely.

I sit with that for a moment, the weight of it settling between us. “Bastard.”

She lets out a huff of breath that might be a laugh. “Yeah, that’s one of the nicer things I’ve called him.”

“To his face?”

“No.” Her voice softens, laced with disappointment. “Just…quietly. Alone. After. I wanted to scream at him. After everything, especially when my parents basically took his side.”

She glances down at our hands like she’s ashamed of something. “Instead, I ran away. Hid out. And crashed in your bed.”

My chest tightens. I let out a long, low whistle. “That’s brutal.”

She nods. “Yeah.”

We sit in the silence, boat swaying gently, sun casting lazy gold over everything.

“You know,” I say, glancing around. “We’re out in the middle of the water. Nobody around. You could scream. Say all the things you’ve been holding back. Scream it to me. The fish. The water.” I point. “That one grumpy-looking seagull.”

She laughs—a real one this time, soft and surprised. “Tell me something, Rip.”

“Anything.”

“Were you engaged? You and…”

“Lyra,” I supply, watching the way her brow twitches at the name. “Lyra Truman.” I laugh at that because it’s hysterical, really. Lyra who lies, yet her last name is Truman. “No,” I say. “We weren’t. But… like you, I thought I’d be somewhere different by now.”T

“Was there someone else?”

“Yeah,” I admit. “There’s always someone else with Lyra. Some guy she keeps going back to. But every time it falls apart, she shows up at my door and every time...”

“You love her.” It’s a quiet statement as her fingers curl more tightly around mine. “It’s not returned?”

I nod. No sense in denying it. “The truth is, she loves one thing, and it’s her career. It always comes first. She’ll do anything to get ahead.”