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Bree nodded. “Please,” she said softly. “And while you’re down there, and before they start, make sure Travis took stock of all the explosives and none have gone missing.”
Haven’s eyes widened, before her head whipped toward the twin boys. “They wouldn’t.”
Then they both said together. “Yes, they would.”
Haven turned on a laugh and headed toward the men on the shore.
I watched as Travis and Haven spoke for a minute and then he leaned forward and kissed her, and then yelled over her shoulder, “Hey, Burt, get down here and help us set these off.”
“Coming!” the blind man shouted back.
I watched Burt tap his way down to the shore, weaving slightly, likely from both the uneven ground and the copious amounts of hooch I’d seen him throwing back from the corner of my eye.
“What do I light first?” he asked loudly and gleefully. I looked over to Bree in alarm and she just shook her head before we both burst out laughing. Moments later, my phone buzzed in my pocket as a text came through. I removed it and read the message from my uncle, letting the words settle, feeling the strangest mixture of happiness and sorrow. My uncle’s boat was fixed. It was time to go home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Gage
God, I was spinning, faster and faster. And not because of the ear-ringing booms that had punctuated this day, culminating in blasts of sizzling color in the sky above the Metropolitan Club. I eased around a corner and came to stop at a traffic light, glancing at my phone in the center console, and then tightening my grip on the steering wheel as I released a pent-up breath.
The party had featured a full bar, a live band, and a professional fireworks show. The pool area had been decked out to the nines with red, white, and blue fresh flower arches, and an enormous flag cascading from the balcony on the second floor. The team from London that my father had flown in were a likable crew with a good sense of humor. The music was good. The food was great. The liquor—though I hadn’t partaken in much—had been plentiful.
And I’d been miserable the entire time.
God, she made me dizzy from the start.
Since I’d dropped her off the night before, I’d picked up the phone a dozen times to call Rory and invite her to the club’s Fourth of July party where our family celebrated every year, but something kept stopping me. Part of it was that Blakely was going to be there. I had promised to give it until my going-away party to make a decision about “us,” and yet, how could I focus on Blakely when all my attention was already on another woman? Even if there was no future with that woman? How could I give Blakely a fair chance now when the feeling of another woman’s skin was still driving me to distraction? Even so, it would be plain awkward to bring a date to a party I knew Blakely was attending with her parents. What a mess I’d made.
However, Rory hadn’t contacted me either. Maybe she was having similar misgivings about spending more time together too. Maybe she’d realized that now that we’d scratched that maddening itch, we should start pulling away.
It was best for everyone.
I came to another stop and rubbed my temples as I waited for the light to turn. Since we’d been apart, the hours had passed as slow as molasses and in a yearning-filled stupor. Jesus, I’d pressed the pillow Rory had slept on to my nose so often, her lingering scent had worn off. She wasn’t an itch, who was I kidding? I ached for her. And my emotions were all over the place. One minute, it seemed harmless just to call and check in, and then it seemed like an awful idea to let this go any further than it already had.
What was happening to me? I’d never felt this torn before. The way I felt about Rory was honestly terrifying, and the part of myself concerned with self-preservation said it would be better for everyone if I cut this off now. And yet every time I tried to stay away, I ended up folding.
Part of me wished that test had confirmed she was my sister.
Then again, I had this awful feeling that that wouldn’t have changed anything, even if I didn’t really want to investigate that thought in any further detail.
The flash of my young self, hiding in the stairwell that led to the kitchen and watching from a mirror on the wall while Chef LaCourt hummed and mixed and tossed and whisked, blared brightly in my mind. The way I’d tiptoe away when I heard my father arriving home.
You’ve let things go that you loved before, and you’ll do it again.
Because there’s really no other choice.
I’d told Blakely that I liked being a hero. And it was true. I derived satisfaction from making others happy and proud. But how could I be everyone’s hero when everyone wanted something different from me?
I pulled to a stop, the car idling as I stared at the house I’d arrived at.
Faith’s house.
I barely remembered making the conscious decision to head here. And yet, here I was so some part of my mind had obviously directed my car to this spot. To Rory.
I got out of the car and walked slowly up the path. Maybe I wouldn’t even knock. This was a bad idea. She was probably sleeping anyway. I’d driven here, but that didn’t mean I had to take it any further than that.
“You’re lucky I’m not armed.”
