chapterfifteen
Nick
I jog halfway around the island before I calm down enough to think straight.
And, yeah. It’s jogging. I’m not running away. It’s part of my normal fitness routine. And even if it wasn’t, part of winning is knowing when to make a strategic retreat.
Eventually, I stop running, plant my palms on my knees and take one deep breath after another. Here, the beach is narrower, the water calmer. There’s no breeze coming off the Caribbean sea and as soon as I stop moving, the mosquitoes swarm.
I feel like there’s a joke in here somewhere… something about lawyers being blood suckers, but I don’t that I have the clarity of mind to pull it out.
It’s not Cassie I’m mad at, so making jokes at her expense—even in my mind—doesn’t help.
No, I’m mad at myself. I knew going into this that she was going to be a tough nut to crack. I knew she had a hard, crusty outer layer that came from being the younger sister of two bas-ass Navy SEALS and having to fight for every ounce of attention and respect in a busy household. And then going off to college and law school and having to fight even harder to hold her own against people with private school educations and family connections. And that was before that asshole broke her heart.
I knew all that.
I knew it would take time and hard work to worm my way past her defenses. I knew that.
I knew going in. I thought I was ready to play the game.
And then I blew it.
The moment she was standing naked before me, the taste of her on my lips, begging me to fuck her, I lost all my common sense and what few brain cells I had left.
Yeah. I fucked up.
But that doesn’t mean I’m backing down.
But it does mean I need a plan. I need to regroup.
I love Cassie—all the stubborn, brilliant, defiant parts of her. I just need to convince her of that.
So I do the only thing I know to do. I call for backup.
An hour and a half later, Jonah picks up in his boat and takes me back to Libélula Caye. The boat ride is predictably loud and Jonah isn’t particularly a guy who talks a lot anyway, so he doesn’t even ask why I needed him to come get me.
Jonah and I met during BUD/S, the brutal six month training all SEALs go through. He had the nickname Silent Bob, after some character from a Kevin Smith I’ve never seen. Jonah is a big fucker, but also about the quietest guy I’ve ever met.
Still, he is absolutely the kind of guy who will drop everything and take his boat two hours round trip to pick up you from a neighboring island, not once, but two days in a row.
I don’t actually know what shit went wrong that caused him to leave the seals. It’s the kind of thing you don’t ask unless you know a guy really well. I’ve noticed him rolling his shoulder receptively and flexing his hand every once in a while, but I don’t ask.
We make it all the back to the turtle rescue station without him asking a single question. I can only assume my initial text of “I need a ride out” was enough information for him.
Once he’s got the boat tied up to the dock, he still says nothing. But there’s a small fridge in the boathouse. He pulls out a Belikin and hands it to me. Then he nods toward the pools that house the turtles who are being rehabilitated. I pop open the beer and follow him out.
For nearly an hour, I follow him around while he feeds the turtles and cleans out the pool. I sip my beer. I help when he lets me. I keep expecting him to ask what the hell is up—why I needed his help impressing a woman one day and then needed the fuck off the island the next. But he doesn’t.
Instead, I just quietly tag along, using the time to think and get my head straight. Five whole hours pass before Jonah finally talks.
I guess he’s done with whatever chores he has at the turtle station, because he gets out a second Belikin for me and one for himself. After he takes a long draw on the bottle, he says, “Man, you’ve sure been quiet today.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “I’vebeen quiet?”
Jonah’s lips twitch, getting about as close to a smile as I’ve seen. He nods as if he sees my point and takes another drink, then tips his bottle in my direction like he’s encouraging me to talk.
Or maybe to spill my guts.
