“Good.Maybe it can do the pump’s job while it’s at it.”And bring me a decent coffee.Maybe a Reuben too.
He frowns.“Plastic doesn’t work like that, man.”
Oh, jeez.I turn away.Mario’s nice enough, and a solid worker, but we’ll never have the same banter I once shared with Leo, which got me through each grueling day.
I rest my forehead against a cool steel beam for a moment, my mind looping back to the idea Leo had about starting our own business.The way he described it sounded so damn good.
Imagine that—actually liking what I do.Not this rat race and the pressure of a forty-story tower chewing me up and spitting me back out.Just fixing up people’s homes, so they’re exactly how they imagine them.Maybe even building them from scratch eventually.Handing someone the keys to their dream.
Like Mom and Dad.I already know how happy they’re going to be in that beautiful house.In that beautiful place.
With that beautiful neighbor.
My whole chest wrenches up.
If I shut my eyes and tune out the noise and polluted air, I can almost pretend I’m there.The wind that whistles through the tunnel of scaffolding fades, replaced by the gentle ocean breeze at Inner Shores.I can see the calming stretch of blue sea, smell the salty air, and feel the warmth of the sand enveloping my toes.
I can see her gap-toothed smile as she rides her surfboard.Hear her joy-filled laugh inside the warm walls of Mugs.Feel her soft fingers threading through mine as she tugs me close.
“Davis!”
I snap out of my stupor.
Lauren, one of the crew, is waving me over from the far end of the building site.A small crane looks like it’s about to tip over, leaving a steel beam swinging.
I jog over there, shouting, “Move it!Watch the beam!”My voice cracks over the roar of machinery, and more sweat stings my eyes.
How many minutes are left today before I can leave this hellhole behind?
It’s closing in on dinnertime when I finally tear off my hard hat and make a beeline for my truck, turning down an offer to join some of the others at the bar across the road.Thank heavens for small mercies—the rain only just started sprinkling.
I pull out my phone, but I don’t see a call from Chloe.
Instead, there are two missed calls from a number I don’t recognize.There’s also a voicemail message.I tap to listen.
“Hi, Ethan,” gasps a female voice that sounds vaguely familiar.“It’s Willow.”
The tremor in her voice sends my stomach straight to my dirt-caked boots.
“Can you call me back?”she chokes out.“Something’s happened.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE
CHLOE
It should beimpossible to sleep with all the beeping machines, but I’ve had no trouble at all.Probably has something to do with the heavy pain meds they’ve been feeding into my IV since the surgery.My eyelids feel like they’re weighted as I pry them open, staring up at the fluorescent lights.The foil balloons from my mom and her beau, Beau, sway from the bedside table.
The flowers the barnacles sent sit beside them, along with cards from Lily Jane, Mrs.Nelson, the Beemans, and countless other Mugs customers.
Inner Shores really showed up for me, yet all I feel is hollow as I press my head deeper into the lumpy pillow.
Rick hadn’t skipped town after all.He’d found a liquor store, drank himself into oblivion, and then got behind the wheel of his truck.
Lucky to be alivehas been thrown around ever since I woke up after surgery on my broken arm.
Could’ve been so much worse.
My body might ache, as if I was stuffed into a tumble dryer on high, but my heart hurts worse.Not from finding out Rick was arrested, but from knowing the only person who I truly want to see right now is so far away.
