with all of its pristine walls and floors and cabinets and counters, was stifling. I needed air. I needed space.
I ran upstairs, shrugged on a jacket and my sneakers, threw my drawing supplies in my backpack, and fled as quickly as my feet could carry me. I hopped on my bike and pedaled just as quickly, not caring about the cool mist falling. All that mattered was getting away from everything that represented Vincent Sharpe.
It wasn’t like I’d held the man in high regard before now. I suspected him of covering up my mother’s murder—if not causing it—after all.
But I hadn’t thought he was capable of sheer ruthlessness when it came to his sons. By threatening to strip Leo’s trust fund if Tristin didn’t move back home, he was pitting the brothers against each other. When their relationship was already several levels past strained.
Had Vincent always been this manipulative, and I’d failed to notice it? I thought back to when I lived in Moss Harbor before, but nothing came to mind. He’d seemed larger than life to me back then, his generosity almost overwhelming.
Then again, I’d had a lack of positive male role models to compare him to, something that hadn’t changed in the last eight years.
Water seeped into my hair and skin as I rode without a destination. But I hadn’t needed a plan to end up at the marina. My subconscious had led me straight to Tristin. Maybe because fall break was less than three weeks away, and that didn’t seem like near enough time to convince him of anything.
Not giving myself time to second guess the decision, I rode straight onto the dock and toward the boat he was living on. I didn’t have to wonder if I’d found the correct one, because he was sitting on the covered part of the deck, reading a book. He looked up when I braked to an abrupt stop and dismounted my bike.
His blank expression didn’t change at the sight of me, but he did set his book aside and stand. “What are you doing here?”
I wiped at the moisture that had collected around my eyes. “I have to talk to you.”
He walked to the edge of the boat, his stride as wooden as ever. “If this is about the fact that you’re dating my brother, don’t bother. I don’t give a fuck.”
Pain sliced through me, but I didn’t let his arrow strike its intended target. That wasn’t why I was here. “It’s not about that. I know you don’t care.”
You made that obvious when you wouldn’t even acknowledge me on campus.
“I don’t know what else you could possibly have to say to me.”
Heat flooded my veins as I gaped at him. What the ever-loving-fuck was his problem? I might have made his life more complicated by creating the situation that led him to be hauled away by the police. But I’d never intentionally hurt him. The opposite, in fact. I’d been trying to make his life better.
Forget the fact that we’d slept together. I’d thought we’d gotten to the point where I could at least call him a friend. Yet, he was acting like we were strangers.
No, that wasn’t right. Because I didn’t think even Tristin would treat a stranger like he was treating me right now.
I laid my bike on the dock and stalked forward. “What the hell is your problem?”
Still, his expression remained detached as he peered down at me. “I don’t have a problem. I just want to be left alone.”
“That’s bullshit. You didn’t spend eighteen months in juvie to return home and live on this boat like a hermit.”
He didn’t respond, and I wanted to throw something at him. Something heavy. But not sharp. I wouldn’t go that far. Probably.
Forcing my anger down, I asked, “May I please come aboard?”
“No.”
I paced on the dock in front him. “So, that’s it? You’re just never going to talk to me again?”
“It isn’t personal.”
I released a laugh that sounded more like a shriek. “Not personal? Are you kidding me?”
“No.” He gripped the railing, but that was the only sign of even mild agitation on his part. “This isn’t about you. It’s about separating myself from my family. I’m done being a Sharpe.”
All of the outrage that had been building in me deflated like a limp balloon. He was done being a Sharpe? He couldn’t mean it.
Yet, his aloof demeanor told me differently. Tristin wasn’t moving home in the next few weeks. Maybe not ever.