Page 102 of Fire Island
I gather up my belongings and select a couple of reads, not really knowing how long he’ll be here. Just in case he’s here longer than a few weeks...
“You done?” he snaps.
I toss the last book onto the growing pile in my arms and turn to him. “Ah, yup.”
He waves to the door.
Wow, okay.
I hold my stare on him for a beat before heading back to the house.
Well, that was pleasant.
The fire crackles in the fire pit, and I pull the light blanket around my shoulders, my gaze stuck on my book, the book light hanging precariously from the side as I flip the page with more enthusiasm than I can hold back. Cal walks behind me, dropping a kiss to the crown of my head. “Good book?”
I nod quickly and wave him away.
He chuckles, dropping into the Adirondack seat beside me. His son, who has been sitting out here with me for the last twenty minutes, scoffs. And it’s the shortest sound he’s made since I sat out here. I swear to god, if Reese talks to me again while I’m reading, I’m going to sail—drive?—him back to the mainland in the dark myself.
And like clockwork . . .
“So, this is your Friday night, hey?” His words have a slight slur, the kind tipsy brings.
Glancing at him, I don’t respond before tracking back to the paragraph I was on.
“Bud, unless you want your balls served up for your breakfast, don’t interrupt the woman while she’s reading.”
“Yeah, unlike her husband, I’m not pussy-whipped.”
I snap my head up.
Husband.
I swallow past the emotion swelling with the idea.
Reese’s stare finds my face, and he frowns before sipping his beer. “What is it all about? Money? You into old guys or something?”
The warm fuzzies I had a second ago are sucked right out of existence. Confused, I can only try to form words that won’t eventuate.
“Watch your mouth, Reese.” Cal’s voice is low, and when I turn back to look at his face, it’s pure stone.
“Whatever, I need to piss.”
He pushes out of the chair and wanders inside. Cal rises and moves to go after him. I rest a hand on his forearm. “It’s okay, he’s probably out of sorts with everything that’s happened.”
“No, Evie. This is your home. He’ll learn the boundaries and maybe some goddamn manners.” My hand slips from his arm, and he stalks inside.
A moment later, Reese reappears. Instead of an apology, which I had assumed Cal went inside to tell him to give, he sinks into the chair and takes another beer from the pack and twists the top off, tossing it into the fire.
“What are you, like five years older than me? What’s your angle here?” He points his beer toward me. “I would go for gold digger, but there’s nothing worth digging for on this island. So what is it? What’s your angle, Eve Holland?”
I set my book down, fumbling to turn off the light as I formulate my response. Cal simply leans against the doorway to the house. His large figure catches both of our attention. “Her angle is kindness and selflessness. But I doubt you have matured enough to possess those traits yet. Another syllable of disrespect from you, and you can find your own way back to the Bay first thing in the morning.”
Reese slumps back in his Adirondack chair, chugging another sip. He runs a hand through his shaggy hair and closes his eyes. I study his face for a moment, waiting for another insult to slip. But he seems to be put in his place.
I pick up my book and continue where I left off. The hurt sinks in as the silence takes up every inch between the three of us. I know he’s rough around the edges. I know he’s hurting from having his life upheaved in the most complicated way possible. I knew this would happen, and it’s more uncomfortable than I imagined.
Cal sits by me, his face tense, his gaze alternating between me and his son.
