after the whole “I want to adopt your son” speech, but then again, I’m never nice.
“He can’t stay here permanently.”
Dad lifts an eyebrow. “Why not?” he quickly replies. “I raised you boys on my own.”
Technically, no, he didn’t. He raised Rhett on his own. Bear and I were raised by our mom for the most part. But I tread lightly because I know where that conversation will lead. “Because he’s my son and he belongs with me in Ilwaco. I only brought him with me so he could spend some time with you, not live here for good.”
His focus drops to his cup in his hand. “Lincoln, you know I’m only looking out for him.”
“I know, Dad.” I stop and run my hands through my hair. “She wanted me to raise him.” He stops, his eyes lifting to mine. “Me. I want him with me and I can’t be here.”
I’m not entirely sure he understands why I can’t be here, but then again, he does. Because he’s the one who found her.
I think of her then, and I hate that I do. I want to forget she even exists, but I can’t, and after today, I made sure that will never happen.
Plot - To plan a navigation course using a chart.
My mind is all over the place. I can’t pinpoint a thought, let alone how to process one, but the truth? I can’t stop thinking about him. I’m drowning in the one I can’t forget. I feel irrevocably different in ways I can’t express.
After three hours of sleep, I take a shower, leaving the room filled with steam. It does nothing to stray my thoughts from the one consuming them.
Returning to the bar that afternoon for my shift, I still obsess about him. Just the thought of his touch sends a flutter through my chest. I don’t regret it. Nope. Not at all. For once in my life, I hadn’t played it safe, and it felt amazing. I feel amazing. So amazing I find myself delving into the secrets I can’t possibly keep.
The early afternoon sun peeks in through the windows, the usual misty marine air lifting. “I took someone home last night,” I blurt, my face warming with my admission. I shouldn’t be embarrassed that I did, and I’m certainly not, but my body doesn’t know that.
Presley stops refilling the ketchup bottles and her annoying “oopsie” every time a bottle lets out a flutter of air. “Whaaat?” Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “If you tell me Devereux, I’m going to squirt this ketchup at you.”
“Ew, yuck. I’d never.” I toss a handful of paper straws at her face and then cover my face with my hands. “Lincoln Hardy.” And that’s where I leave it. I want to see what she’ll say.
Presley can barely conceal her excitement. “The fisherman from table four with the tattoos?”
“They all had tattoos,” I remind her, tracing the cracks in the wooden lip of the bar.
Presley’s hand shoots to her hip. “You know who I’m talking about.”
“If you’re talking about the one who kept staring at me, then yes, him.”
Her jaw slacks. “Holy crap.”
“I know.”
And then she presses for details she can’t help but want. “Was it good?”
A burst of heat blooms through my entire body when I think about how good it was. His touch, his kisses, everything about it was amazing, and over before I knew it. I checked the time when we entered my bedroom, and when he left. Twenty-eight minutes.
That’s all the time I had with him, yet it felt like a lifetime with him. It’s like saying my life changed in a blink of an eye—if it took you twenty-eight minutes to blink. I guess if you’re a sloth, that might be true.
“Hey, crazy.” I lift my eyes to Presley. “Was he good?”
I let out a breath that’s in between a sigh and moan. It’s not pretty and I can’t help myself. “Yes, so good.”
“Details.” Her smile’s infectious. “I need all the details.”
I tell Presley everything. Somewhere in the middle of my recollection of last night, Mal shows up and I have to retell it.
“You used protection, right?” Mal grins, picking at dried toothpaste stuck to her black T-shirt. “Because if you didn’t, I hope you have twins.”
I gasp, fighting off a smile. “Why would you wish that upon me?”
“Misery loves company” is her answer, just before she disappears around the corner to talk to Avie.
He’s in his office avoiding Presley, and more than likely me.