“I know this isn’t the life you initially saw for yourself, but sometimes that’s just life. We don’t always end up where we want, but somehow, it’s exactly where we were meant to be. And for what it’s worth, your father would be so proud of you. What you’ve done here...” He gestures around the dock, crowded with boats coming and going. “You’ve elevated this business beyondanything your father could have dreamed. As a parent, that’s all we really want. For our children to be better than we were.”
“I appreciate that, old man.”
“Old.” He snorts. “I’m still in my prime.” He gives me a toothy smile. “You’ll let me know what you decide about the boat?”
“I will. Give me a few days.”
“Take your time. You know how to reach me once you decide.” He leans down to pick up his toolbox. “I’ll be around tomorrow if you want me to look at Northern Star,” he says, referring to another ship of mine that got a little banged up in the storm, though it didn’t fare nearly as badly as this one.
He doesn’t know it, but Northern Star is actually named after his daughter. My father let me name her after he purchased her. It was shortly after London had left, and I was feeling so lost that I didn’t know which way was up or which way was down. My father told me that whenever I felt trapped in rough seas, just look for the northern star and it would help me find my center and ultimately lead me home.
What I never told him was that London was that for me. My compass, my axis. The one thing that would always ensure I would find my way home. Because my home was her.
She was my northern star. Hell, she was every star in the sky. My entire world. Or at least, she was. But that was a long time ago...
“Will do.” I nod, watching Randy pivot and exit the ship a few short moments later.
I try to refocus on work.
Try to think of anything other than London Voss, but now that I know she’s back, that she’s just a few short miles from where I am at this very moment, it’s the cruelest form of torture. It was one thing when she was in New York, following thedreams that she didn’t want me to be a part of. But knowing she’s here, in Wren Cove... I’m not sure how to feel.
Angry. Sad. Excited. Worried. Conflicted. All of the above.
“Why do you look like someone just took a big dump in your Cheerios?”
I glance up to find my brother Alec exiting the bridge. I’d almost forgotten he was here.
By the looks of him, you’d think he slept on the boat with the fish. His white shirt is dirty and stained. His jeans aren’t much better. His normally clean-shaved face has at least a week’s worth of scruff growing, and his short brown hair is standing up on all ends.
“Why do you look likeyourolled in said dump?” I fire back.
“Because I spent all night on a fishing boat, and then came here as soon as we docked to look at the navigation system, remember?”
“You need a shower and a shave.”
“Might need to take your own advice, brother.”
“What, this?” I run my hand through my full but shortly kept beard. “It’s a beard. You should try growing one sometime. Better than whatever the hell you’ve got going on.” I poke fun at him, knowing how much he hates that he can’t fully grow one yet. His cheeks still grow in thin and patchy.
“Screw you. It’s not my fault that I was cursed with bad genetics.”
“Pretty sure we have the same genetics. Brothers, remember?” I shake my head knowingly.
My parents had three children, all boys, all vastly different.
Walker is the baby. The athlete of the family. Looks like he spends hours in the gym a day, because he does. And is honestly a bit of a spoiled, entitled brat. Thank you, Mom and Dad.
Alec is the ladies’ man. Tall, naturally good build. Crooked smile that just does something to females. Just an all-aroundpretty boy who never says no to a good party. Likes to bust my balls at every opportunity and takes almost nothing seriously.
And then there’s me. The oldest. The rebel in my teens. The one who gave my parents gray hair before their time. I’d like to think I’ve come a long way since then. Now my brothers just refer to me as the boring brother. The responsible one. A title I never saw myself earning when I was younger. But London leaving changed me. Like lightning to sand, something else was created. And then my father died and all of this—the company, my brothers, my mom—it all fell on my shoulders.
Not that I’m complaining. I wouldn’t change a thing about my life now. Well, maybe I’d change a few things, but for the most part, I’m content. I wouldn’t say I’m an overly happy person—that’s a hard feat when you’re still mourning the loss of a parent—but I’m trying to get there, one day at a time.
“You know what I mean.” Alec huffs out in playful aggravation.
“Randy just left.” I turn the conversation to more serious matters.
His expression fills with understanding.
