if she’s remembering that time of her life and then she frowns. “We didn’t date long.”
“I’m not surprised,” Presley mumbles in her direction, but then twists her head back to mine. “Maybe I need to meet the brother on a more personal level?”
I laugh. “He asked about you.”
Her face lights up like the sun. “Really?”
“Yep.” I lift my eyes to Avie again. “But I thought you and him—” I pause and motion with a head nod to my moody brother. “—were doin’ it.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, but he’s pissing me off.” She looks over her shoulder at him and Mal as they disappear into his office and close the door. “I still think they’re fucking.”
“No way,” Dylan adds, but stares at the door like she’s not quite sure of her denial. “You think?”
“Maybe not right now,” Presley adds, “But I think both of them have considered it a time or two.”
I don’t know if she’s right, and I’m not sure I care. I also wouldn’t be surprised, but it’s clear Avie has no intention of telling me anything. My thoughts drift back to Lincoln. My heart thuds passionately in my chest, a distinct beat he creates.
Maybe it might be time to know who Burt is, to know who gave me life when theirs was ending? Maybe it’s time to at least thank the donor’s family? To put an end to this uncertainty and the feeling of it all being temporary.
I’m starting to think maybe I’m at the point where I need to know.
THE NEXT MORNING, I deliver two cupcakes to Fletcher’s house hoping Atlas might appreciate it. I’ll admit, I’m eager to see him again.
Slow rumbles of distant thunder float through the town, swallowed by the roar of waves. Smoke rises from the chimney in plumes, intertwining with the morning fog and the salty spray of misty rain. Fletcher answers the door, his graying beard bringing out the green in his eyes. “Darlin’, what brings a pretty little thing like you by so early?”
“I brought you cake.” I hold the plate out to him I’ve neatly covered in Saran Wrap.
Still dressed in pajamas and his hair matted to one side, Atlas peeks his head around Fletcher. “Cake?” He looks up at his grandpa. “Can I have cake for breakfast?”
“Why not?” Fletcher shrugs one shoulder, stepping back to open the door wider. Wrinkles bore deep in his face as he smiles. “Come on in. Coffee’s on.”
The house smells of rich oaky scents and the fresh aroma of coffee. Atlas grabs my hand, small fingers curling into my palm. “Is it your birthday?”
“Nope.” Fletcher pulls out a chair for me, and I sit next to the window and the shelf of photographs. “It was Kylo’s last night, or before, but we celebrated his birthday for him last night.”
Atlas sits next to me, his eyes on the cake Fletcher places on the table with a fork. “How old is he?”
“Eighteen,” I tell him, my eyes drifting to the television in the living room. It’s the news showing the incoming weather system we have coming in. Fall in the northwest is notorious for windstorms. So far, we haven’t seen one yet, and it’s the beginning days of October.
“Win for me,” he says, his dimpled smirk deepening. Atlas digs into the cake, not bothering with getting a separate plate, but instead, peeling back enough plastic wrap he can stick his fork in it. I watch Atlas for a moment and then lift my eyes to the television again.
The headline?
PACIFIC NORTHWEST BRACES FOR MAJOR STORM WITH HURRICANE-FORCE WINDS.
“Is this the first talk of this storm? I haven’t heard anything until now.”
Fletcher turns in his seat, the fireplace crackling and popping in the distance. “The gale warnings came in yesterday,” he notes, his voice void of concern.
I can’t stop the nerves from surfacing. Lincoln and Bear are out there somewhere.
Fletcher notices my expression. “Relax, honey. I built that boat with my own hands, and Lincoln’s a hell of a skipper.”
Though I want to feel relieved, it doesn’t come. That kind of anxiety doesn’t just surface out of anywhere. It’s the kind that’s buried deep in your bone marrow, reminding you that no matter how good a captain of a boat is, or the structure of the boat itself, sometimes mother nature has other ideas.
My knee bounces and my eyes drift. I land on the photograph of the brothers with their father, and the one next to it of Athena and Lincoln.