Page 27 of Tides of Change (Seacliff Cove #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Garrett

The house felt too quiet, a hollow, echoing kind of silence that pressed into my chest. Saturdays were usually a noisy affair—Noah running around, building caves out of couch cushions, or begging me to watch another episode of Bluey with him.

But today, he was in San Francisco with Harper, marveling at the lionfish and laughing at penguins waddling along the rocks.

I should have been grateful for the break, glad he was safe and having a great time—Harper’s texted pictures proved as much. Noah’s smile beamed back at me from a photo. A stuffed penguin perched in the crook of his arm. My chest tightened with an ache that bordered on ridiculous.

But I missed my boy.

Weeknights with him were too short—dinner, homework, bedtime. And now, with this darn stalker targeting Ethan and hovering like a dark cloud over my life, too, I couldn’t risk having Noah home on the weekends. Not until I had that bastard behind bars.

My jaw clenched as my thoughts spiraled, and anger bubbled up from a deep well of frustration that I was off the case.

I scrubbed harder at the countertop with the sponge in my hand, my fingers gripping it like a lifeline.

The soapy water spilled over and pooled into a messy puddle that dripped onto the floor.

“Fudge,” I muttered under my breath and tossed the sponge into the sink with a little too much force.

I grabbed a dish towel and mopped at the countertop, more aggressively than necessary.

The frustration wasn’t about the mess, though—it was about him .

The faceless creep who had turned our lives upside down.

The man I hadn’t been able to find fast enough and now would probably fall through the cracks.

My family deserved peace. Ethan deserved peace.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I paused and wiped my damp hands on the towel before pulling it out. The message lit up my screen.

Ethan

Could we go for a walk on the beach? Maybe out of town? Trying to figure out a plot twist.

A small smile tugged at my lips and broke through the storm cloud in my head. Leave it to Ethan to make everything feel a little brighter, even when his book stumped him.

I quickly typed back:

Be over in 5.

I grabbed my keys and headed to Ethan’s.

At a beach a few miles north of Seacliff Cove, the wind whipped off the ocean and carried the sharp tang of salt and the distant cries of gulls.

I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my jacket and glanced sideways at Ethan.

He’d hunched his shoulders against the chilly breeze, his curls ruffled and messy around the edges of his ball cap.

He spoke animatedly about plot holes and red herrings.

Most of it went over my head, but I sensed that what he needed was a listening ear, someone to bounce ideas off of.

I could do that. Occasionally, I interjected with what I hoped was an intelligent question, but otherwise, I let him talk about his sticky plot problem.

The pounding of footsteps behind us broke through the sound of the waves. A runner, moving fast, barreled into Ethan.

“Hey!” Ethan yelped as he went down hard onto the sand.

The guy—a man with a dark hoodie pulled low over his face—stumbled, barely catching himself. “Sorry!” he barked over his shoulder, but he didn’t stop.

Adrenaline shot through me like a bullet. “Stay here,” I growled, already breaking into a sprint.

“Garrett! Stop! That’s not him!” Ethan’s shout carried on the breeze.

The guy was fast, but I was faster. My sneakers dug into the sand as I closed the gap between us. I launched myself and tackled him to the ground. He grunted as we hit the sand, and I whipped out my badge, shoving it in his face.

“Who are you?” I demanded, my voice low and dangerous. “Why were you following us? Why did you attack Ethan?”

The man raised his hands defensively, his face twisted in confusion. “I wasn’t following anyone! It was an accident!”

I tightened my grip on his arm. “Accident?” I spat the word. “You’re not getting away with assault.”

I glanced back to see Ethan hurrying toward us as he brushed sand off his jacket. My heart squeezed at the sight of him—rumpled, vulnerable, too damn close to danger.

“Let him go,” Ethan said, his tone soothing but firm. “He’s not the stalker. He’s too big.” He shook my shoulder.

I turned back to the runner. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and definitely not the wiry figure from the security footage.

I exhaled through clenched teeth and released my grip. “Fine. But if I find out you’re lying, I’ll track you down myself.”

The man scrambled to his feet. “You’re insane,” he muttered and glared at me before jogging away.

“Are you okay?” I stepped closer to Ethan. My hands found his shoulders, then his arms, checking him over for injuries. “Did he hurt you? Are you dizzy? Did you hit your head?”

“I’m fine.” His mouth flattened into a tight line. “I promise. But…” He shook his head.

But I couldn’t stop. My fingers brushed over his jacket, then his sides, then his arms again, searching for any sign of damage. My heart thundered in my chest, louder than the waves crashing nearby.

When I found nothing wrong, I exhaled heavily, pulled him into a hug, and wrapped my arms tightly around him. I didn’t care that we were in public. I didn’t care who was watching.

“He scared the hell out of me,” I murmured into his ear. “He could have?—”

Ethan stiffened in my arms and pushed back with his hands against my chest. His face was flushed, but not from embarrassment or the chilly wind—it was anger.

“You can’t do that, Garrett,” he snapped, low but sharp enough to cut through the sound of the waves, mindful of our wide-eyed audience.

I froze, caught off guard. “Do what?”

“That.” He gestured toward the sand where I’d tackled the runner. “Overreact. That guy wasn’t the stalker—you should have seen that.”

“I was trying to protect you,” I shot back and felt the heat rise in my face.

“Protect me? Garrett, you went full-out deputy on some random jogger.” His eyes blazed, hurt laced through the anger. “You didn’t even think. You just reacted . That’s not protecting me. That’s putting yourself at risk.”

The words hit me like a slap. My jaw tightened as I tried to push down the frustration bubbling up. “I wasn’t going to let him get away if he was the stalker,” I said more quietly, but no less defensively.

Ethan shook his head, his shoulders tense. “You didn’t listen to me. You didn’t trust me when I said he wasn’t the guy.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped me cold. He wasn’t just angry—he was hurt.

“I know you want to solve this case, officially or not,” he said, his tone softening. “But you can’t bulldoze through it. It won’t help either of us.”

For a long moment, I just stood there, the wind biting at my face. I clenched and unclenched my fists at my sides. He was right. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right.

“I’m sorry,” I said finally, the words heavy on my tongue. “I just…I can’t stand the thought of anything happening to you.”

Ethan’s expression gentled, but the tension didn’t entirely leave his shoulders. “I know. But you have to trust me. Can you do that?”

I nodded and swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Yeah. I can do that.”

Ethan studied me for a moment, then sighed. “Come on. Let’s go. I’m cold.”

As we started walking again, the weight of his words settled over me. He was right—I couldn’t overreact. I was allowing my feelings for Ethan to color my reflexes. I needed to step back and act like a professional.

But I couldn’t find it in my heart to step back. He was beginning to matter more than I ever expected.

I held out my hand. “Let’s warm up with a pumpkin spice latte.” I knew a place nearby. It wasn’t The Coffee Cove, but it would do.

He slotted his hand in mine, and my heart steadied. As we left the beach, I felt a surge of pride at having him by my side, Sarge’s warning be darned.

The familiar creak of my front door announced our arrival as I nudged it open with my shoulder.

I juggled my keys and my coffee. Ethan followed close behind, his quiet footsteps loud in the house’s stillness.

The faint scent of roasted beans wafted between us, mingling with the crisp salt air that clung to our jackets.

“Shoes off, coat on the rack.” I flashed him a sheepish grin, my cheeks heating. “Please,” I added. “I’m used to reminding Noah.”

Ethan smirked. He set down his pumpkin spice latte, toed off his shoes, and shrugged out of his jacket.

He took a moment to glance at the coat rack, where my uniform jacket hung neatly beside Noah’s small hoodie.

The juxtaposition was enough to make anyone smile—or at least that’s what I told myself when I noticed the corners of his mouth twitch.

“Make yourself comfortable,” I invited, as I led the way into the living room and sank into the cushions of the couch.

He sat beside me, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his shoulder. “You were saying something earlier about the plot,” Ethan started. “Before the jogger…” He trailed off, his voice faltering.

I didn’t let him finish.

“Ethan,” I said quietly, and waited until he turned his head to meet my gaze. “I don’t want to talk about that right now. As much as I admire your talent, I’m not interested in dissecting your book.”

His brow furrowed, and he shifted toward me, coffee cup lowering just enough for me to catch the way his lips parted, maybe to ask a question, maybe to protest.

I didn’t give him the chance. I plucked the cup out of his hand and placed it beside mine on the coffee table.