Page 10 of Windlass (Seal Cove #3)

Mornings, before she tackled admin, she spent time in the yards.

It was important to keep a pulse on the flow.

It was also a lot more interesting than paperwork.

Today, she took over the small dog yard and gave Vanessa a chance to clean runs and individual kennels for their overnight boarders.

As she refereed interactions between dogs, she thought yet again about her roof.

If they could get more regular day care clients, would that be enough?

There was room before they hit capacity, but maybe not without hiring someone new, which would cancel out the surplus.

The reality of the matter was that she simply didn’t make enough money to support all her bills.

Maybe a tarp would work? She’d float the idea by Stevie later. Surely the two of them could do it safely enough, now that Lilian wasn’t around to freak out about heights.

“Easy, Pumpkin,” she told a quivering cockapoo desperate to chase a small Chihuahua mix who had tired of the game.

She had what she wanted: friends, a safe place to live, and a steady income. The thing about losing something big, though—like, say, your family—was that she knew just how easily those things could vanish. Having the very roof over her head leak was fucking with her sense of security.

She wasn’t sure where she’d be if Great-aunt Heather hadn’t spited the rest of the family out of her will and left everything to Angie.

Maybe she still would have started working at the Seal Cove Veterinary Clinic, but maybe not.

More likely she would have moved in with Lana, or someone like her, and started the downward spiral that had been sucking at her heels her whole life.

The only reason she hadn’t ended up on the streets after she left home was the kindness of her then-best friend’s family.

That kindness had lasted a year and a half, right up to the day Kristin’s mom walked in on them.

At least the woman had had the Christian charity to wait long enough for Angie to find a room to rent, rather than just kicking her out the door, even if her religious beliefs hadn’t extended to welcoming a queer daughter.

At least she had her job. Working hard was the one thing she’d always been good at. Too bad it never paid well enough.

Her phone buzzed.

Lana. Of fucking course. She stood to prevent the dogs from squabbling over her attention and walked down the yard to break up the mob, calling out the names of a few persistent troublemakers.

Lana had a nose for weakness, or perhaps a sixth sense.

She was still, all in all, a step up from Angie’s previous partners.

Her friends didn’t understand that. Stormy sort of did, though she had an annoyingly sympathetic habit of pointing out “step up” did not equate to “good, healthy, or even remotely worth your time, Sugarplum.”

Lana served a purpose. She pictured Lana’s sharp, austere face with its cold beauty. Girls like Lana had been hurt and liked to hurt others. Girls like Angie had been hurt and liked to be hurt. Different symptoms of the same disease.

The itching began beneath her skin, followed by a pressure in her chest that tasted like a scream.

She tried to focus on the dogs. This was her job.

Her life. Her feet were here on the ground—she’d heard that was a technique that helped, focusing on your feet, not that it had ever done much for her—and the air moved in and out of her lungs.

She lasted until Vanessa returned. Then, excusing herself for a moment, she stepped not into her office but out through the front door and into the horse barn, where she was sure to be alone.

She leaned back against a beam and let her head hit just a little too hard.

Her palms pressed into the rough wood. Each breath came harder and faster than the last.

“Um. Are you . . . okay?”

Angie’s eyes snapped open. Fuck . She’d forgotten about the kid. Jaq stood with a broom in her hand, staring at Angie with a look that suggested she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Hi.” She didn’t need to explain herself to a child. The word came out strangled. She tried again. “I needed a minute.”

Jaq nodded. “I’ll go pick the pasture.”

“Yeah. Good idea.” Her chest ached fiercely. She didn’t have much time left. “Actually, I’ll head up to the loft. You’re good here.”

Without waiting for Jaq’s response, she headed for the stairs and darted up, tripping and catching herself on the last step.

The openness of the wide space with its heavy beams and stacks of hay bales welcomed her.

So did her bag. Forgoing wraps and proper form, she launched herself at it, landing punch after punch until her chest burned with exertion instead of a brewing panic attack.

Only one knuckle had split by the time she stopped.

She pressed it to her lips and tasted blood, coppery and harsh.

Who needed therapy when you had something to hit? Adjusting her shirt and redoing her hair, she prepared herself for her return to work. Her phone vibrated again. She checked it, both because she had to in case it was work-related, and because she was a masochist.

A photo of Morgan shoulder deep in a horse’s ass with Stevie’s caption, Should we warn Emilia what she’s into ? popped up on the screen.

If Lana had a sixth sense for weakness, Stevie had a sixth sense for when Angie needed her.

Pretty sure she already knows , Angie typed back, a smile tugging at her lips.

Should we ass-k her? Stevie replied instantly.

AR: OMG. That was weak .

SW: Do you want me to . . . put a plug in it?

AR: Put a plug in your mouth, nerd. She continued to hold her phone instead of tucking it back into her pocket.

Her lip hurt; she realized she was biting it, and stopped.

It would be so easy to pretend nothing was wrong.

Nothing was wrong, really; she’d just had a moment.

That didn’t mean she would call Lana later.

Except she was lying to herself, and she knew it. Before she could change her mind, she typed, I need a distraction ASAP.

Dancing bubbles replied. She waited.

SW: On it like a bonnet.

Air whooshed out of her lungs in relief. When had she started holding her breath? She wiped a few stray tears off her cheeks and with fingers wet with salt swiped Lana’s message left, deleting it from her phone without reading.

Stevie summarized Angie’s request for a distraction to Morgan, who responded with a considering, “Huh,” that seemed somehow suspect. She’d analyze that later. For now, what mattered was heeding Angie’s call for help. “Cards?” Stevie flopped onto the sofa.

“Alternatively, we could watch a movie,” Morgan suggested. She looked tired.

Stevie was tired too. They’d had a long day, which had ended badly, and she did not want to think about the colic case they’d had to euthanize because the owners had waited too long to call the vet. She hated days like these.

“Quick movie, then,” said Morgan. It was nice having her around again. Things felt normal. Easy. “I’ll stay till Emilia gets off.”

“That’s what she said,” said Stevie, and Angie gave her a high five.

“Tonight’s her late shift, you ass. You need better jokes.

” Morgan grabbed the remote and began flipping through streaming services.

Stevie didn’t care what they watched. She leaned back into the couch and pulled a blanket over her lap, disturbing Marvin, who lay at her feet.

At least it wasn’t raining on the couch for the time being.

“I love that one.” Angie stopped Morgan’s scrolling.

“Of course, you do,” Morgan said affectionately, and she clicked play on the zombie romantic comedy. Stevie gave it five minutes before Morgan fell asleep in her customary chair.

Angie settled back into the cushions and tucked her feet up under her.

Stevie offered her half of the blanket. Angie pulled it over her lap without meeting Stevie’s eye, and inched closer until they sat like they used to before everyone moved out and everything changed, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip.

Friendly. Friends. She had to remember they were friends first, friends above all else, friends, because like some cats, Angie was liable to bolt at the first sign of entrapment.

James chose that moment to enter the room, sniff, flick his tail, and saunter on past after meeting Stevie’s eyes.

“James just glared at me,” she whispered to Angie.

“He’s jealous,” Angie said, yawning. “You took his spot.”

Stevie snorted. “He let me pet him yesterday in exchange for a piece of bread.”

“Why are you feeding my cat bread?” Angie laid her head on Stevie’s shoulder, nestling closer. Her hair tickled Stevie’s cheek.

“Because he’s a loaf.”

“Mmm.”

Stevie glanced around the darkened living room. Morgan, predictably, was already asleep. Angie stirred slightly.

Please don’t move away .

Angie murmured, “Is my hair in your way?”

“No. You’re fine.”

Meanwhile, the movie’s dialogue, which could have been better, sounded like white noise.

Couldn’t Angie feel how right this was? Couldn’t she see how easy things could be if she would just .

. . what? Stevie didn’t know, precisely, what was stopping Angie.

She had theories, and she had her friends’ theories, but as to what actually passed in Angie’s head, she had no idea.

She’d give more than was healthy or wise to know what those reasons were.

If they were valid, she would respect them, and probably move out so she could move on and continue being Angie’s friend.

And if those reasons were the sort Stevie sometimes believed them to be, spined like a porcupine and purely defensive, she would at least know .

Each breath brought the smell of Angie’s shampoo, and beneath that the familiar, warm smell of her hair, which Stevie had seen in all stages of washed and unwashed, heavy with salt water, tied up and let down, limp with exhaustion and frizzy with humidity.

She wanted more. It was not enough to be a shoulder. She hated how she took each scrap and treasured it, turning it over and over, looking for meaning that wasn’t there, and yet she couldn’t help it. Angie was here, curled up next to her, trusting Stevie with her sleep.

Beneath the blanket, Angie’s hand found hers and wove their fingers together.

Stevie closed her eyes. Who was she kidding—she was helpless against this woman, and worst of all, Angie knew it, which meant there was meaning to find later in the darkness of her empty bed as she examined this simple touch from every angle.

She ran her thumb over Angie’s knuckles once, just once, then held her hand until Angie’s breathing shifted into sleep.