“I don’t want to work at the cafe again,” Connor said. Nick’s attitude might be the chink in the armour needed to fell Trevor. “I’m not stupid; I’m not going to cause a scene anywhere. And it won’t do Nick any harm to have a break from me on the weekends.”
“I understand where you’re coming from,” Trevor said carefully. “But Edith and I discussed it and agreed this seemed like the best course of action.”
“For who exactly?” Connor challenged. “I know the requirements of my probation, and twenty-four-seven supervision isn’t part of it. I only need to be watched to ensure I’m the one doing the work.”
“This way gives us peace of mind,” Trevor said. He was telling Connor no, and he wasn’t happy to be doing it.
“You can have your peace of mind for tomorrow. I’m not doing this again next week,” Connor replied. The agitation from the day still pumped through his blood now. Being called stupid and brainless and being treated with so much disdain was irksome. Made worse by the fact Connor didn’t know what he was doing, and Nick was calling him stupid for doing something wrong was because he had, in fact, done something wrong.
Trevor frowned. He opened his mouth as if to object once more, but he sighed. “I’ll have to talk to Edith about it.”
Chapter Nine
Aimless driving brought Connor to the docks. Connor scanned the fishing boats lining the water’s edge. Aside from a few older models, no yachts lay anchored in the bay yet. It was still too soon in the season for the rich to descend upon them. That meant there was nobody for Connor to persuade for a trip on the seas.
Connor walked along the weathered boards, breathing in the salty air as he searched the horizon. Sometimes they parked out on the water, but all he saw were fishing boats. Near the end of the dock, a small group of men drank on a vessel. Connor walked by without comment.
“If it isn’t Ben’s boy,” a voice said.
Connor paused, looking. He recognised all the fishermen. Rotten drunks that caused trouble every summer and had been barred from every bar on the bay.
“It’s Connor,” he said.
“Connor.” The one that had called out, a scrawny older man, grinned yellowed teeth his way. “What are you doing? Your daddy’s boat is parked over there.”
The man nodded to the next dock over. Ben’s boat was under lock and key, with all the equipment kept behind locked doors or bolted down. Connor knew how valuable and delicate all the equipment was because he’d never once convinced his dad to let him take the ship out. Maybe if he’d been successful, he’d have spent less time partying and more time exploring the coast.
“He’s the only one allowed to drive that one.” Connor swept his gaze to the men behind the scrawny guy; they all had beers, but the deck was tidy, and one of them had been untying from the dock. “You’re heading out in this?” He nodded to the forming grey clouds on the horizon.
“It’s all rain and no wind today.”
That didn’t make the prospect any more appealing. For others, anyway. Connor could be out in a typhoon and enjoy it as well as he would a sunny calm day.
“Scared of a little rain, boy?” The man grinned again.
“Petrified,” Connor replied dryly.
He laughed. “Come aboard. You can steer.”
Connor’s gaze darted to the other two men, considering. He’d put up with an awful lot just for chances to go out on the water during the summers. But he might not have any opportunities to deal with annoyances this year in exchange for time on the water. He might only have old fishermen who didn’t care that he was a supposed bigot and probably liked him all the more for it.
Connor almost smiled. What a rotten thought to have.
“Alright,” Connor agreed. He easily hopped onto the rail and lowered his feet to the deck.
“You’ve got good sea legs, don’tcha?”
“Everyone that grew up here does,” Connor replied. They were in the shelter of the bay, but the boards underfoot swayed in the water. Shivers prickled up his arm at the familiar feeling. Now,thisfelt like coming home. Connor glanced at the bay’s troublemaker, the one that had let him feel this for the first time. His skin was sallow, probably due to drink and bad habits, and there was a distinct yellow sheen to what should have been the white of his eyes.
They were bright and alert, despite everything.
“What’s your name?” Connor asked.
“Dave.”
“I’ll take the steering, then?” Connor questioned.
Dave nodded him on. The other two were more interested in their cooler than Connor. He crossed to the steering wheel, familiarising himself with all the controls. Dave untied them, and they cast off into the ocean. Connor expected an engine run by these sorts to cough and choke, but it started smoother than half the yachts Connor had been on, and a powerful engine had the boat cutting through the ocean like a knife through butter.
