Page 73 of Fire Island
She holds Cal’s fiery stare. “He does.”
“Does he know where to find Cal?” I hear myself ask.
“I told him his biological father lives in Fire Island.”
Biological father.
The balls on this bitch.
“Yeah, I think that’s about all we can take for now.” Em moves closer to Iris, who looks set to rip Ava’s head from her shoulders.
I would pay good money to see that.
“Here is my card, if you have any questions. All I ask is that you let Reese come to you, if and when he decides to.”
Without waiting for a response, she glides out the door. The bells jingle as the door closes behind her.
The four of us stand, stunned, our stares penetrating the white wooden door, shock sinking her filthy talons deep in each one of us.
Twenty
CALLUM
He would be around twenty.
Twenty fucking years I missed out on. For what? So Ava could marry money?
I see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
I raise the axe above my head. Sweat trickles down my spine in the heat. We don’t need firewood, but if I don’t smash something, I’m going to lose my goddamn mind.
The axe falls. The wood splinters. The groan that leaves me with the swing takes a tiny piece of hurt with it. I know Evie’s worried about me. The fact that she’s been sitting in the sun pretending to read the same page for an hour gave her away.
But hell, I love her for it.
She’s selfless in all the ways I need her to be right now. And I fully intend to be there for her when she needs me, while praying she never goes through anything like this.
Night and day, Ava and Evie.
My memories of Ava don’t match the woman she is today. I can only assume that is the makings of her parents. Of being a seventeen-year-old girl with a baby. Having her life and plans upended.
But to stay away this long . . .
“Cal?” a soft voice coaxes to my left.
The axe hangs in my hand, my stare fixated on the chopping block. No wonder she’s worried. I’m not exactly handling things well.
Fuck.
“Come inside for a bit?” she says softly.
When I turn to face her, her face is red, flushed from sitting so long in the sun. Her top is sticking to her skin, sweat beading at her brow and her neck glistening with it. A bead breaks and runs down between her breasts. She slips a hand over mine, holding the axe. I release it to her hold, and she leans it against the block. “Time to cool off.”
She laces her fingers between my own, and I follow as she leads me into the house.
Inside, two glasses with ice sit on the counter. A light snack of chopped crudités and cottage cheese in a small bowl waits.
“Sit.” She drops my hand and reaches for the snacks.
