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I shake my head. “Nothing.”
Joe reaches over and takes off my sunglasses. His frown deepens. “What happened this time?”
“A misunderstanding. I’m fine. You should see the other guy.”
“Abel.” He grabs my hand—the one holding my beer—and brings it to my face, pressing the side of the bottle against my bruised eye socket. “Keep that there. I’ll grab you some ice.”
“Not necessary?—”
“Ice is definitely necessary. At least it wasn’t your nose this time. Stay put.”
“It’s only alittlecrooked.” I tap the distinct plateau of bone that flattens the top of my nose that tilts the whole thing ever so slightly to the left. “And I thought we agreed it gave my face character.”
“We agreed you’d stop begging people to punch you so we could keep it that way,” Joe shouts as he disappears below. A beat later he’s moving back up the steps, carrying a large knot of ice wrapped in a beach towel. Joe still fishes every week, so he’s got an ice maker on board. “Break that nose one more time, and you’ll be less Owen Wilson, more bar-fighting mouth breather.”
“It wasn’t a bar fight.” I drop my beer and carefully pressthe makeshift ice pack to my eye. “It was a sidewalk fight, thank you very much.”
“Sidewalk?”
I shrug. “Nice neighborhood.”
Joe sips his beer. “You get the girl?”
“Naw. Wasn’t mine to get.” I grin, even as I’m gripped by another wave of unease. Riley is not gonna be happy when he discovers I torched a client relationship.
Anotherclient relationship. It’s a... problematic pattern, one that needs to stop. But trouble keeps finding me. Or maybe I keep finding it.
I can just imagine what Jen would say right now. She has no patience for my antics—rightly so—and she’d roll her eyes.Seriously, Abel.
I’d silently beg her to finish that thought. Seriously what?
Seriously, stop sabotaging yourself.
Seriously, stop hanging out with unavailable women and hang out with me instead.
If only.
Even if she weren’t Tuck’s sister. Even if she weren’t a very important piece of my support system. Even if she weren’t classy and kind and educated and deserving of someone who’s the same.
Even then, I couldn’t touch her. Which is why I keep my distance. Or try to, anyway. Bald Head is a tiny place, and Jen is here often. Too often.
Not nearly often enough.
We’ve never had the chance to be together anyway. She went away to Texas for college. Brought home a clean-cut boyfriend whose grandaddy founded some big law firm in Houston. Meanwhile, I moved out to Bald Head to start Dixon Properties with Riley.
After getting dual degrees in graphic design and technology, Jen moved to Wilmington and dated a clean-cut banker, then a private equity guy who wore khakis and cufflinks.
She has a type, and I’m not it.
Long story short, she has her fancy life in the city, and I have mine here on a remote island accessible only by boat, where I work in construction.
I don’t hate myself for loving Jen. I hate myself because I haven’t been able to move the fuck on, despite knowing she wants a life I can’t give her.
“I’ll be fine.” I keep the ice pressed against my face. My skin begins to burn, but the throb goes numb. Good sign. “Thanks for this.”
Joe eyes me, suddenly somber. “You know we’re getting older, son.”
Even after all this time—two decades, almost, since the Monroes unofficially adopted me—the endearment still makes my breath catch. “Yeah?”
