Page 3 of Betrayal In Calusa Cove
Fletcher shook his head like a dog. The last thing he needed was to keep replaying that scene over and over again in his head all day.
A tap on the porch screen door made him jump, nearly sloshing his coffee all over his lap. He turned his head. “Jesus, Baily. You scared the crap out of me.” He tried to rip his gaze from the gorgeous woman standing at the door. She wore a pair of loose-fitting blue and white shorts, which he suspected were pajama bottoms, paired with a three-quarter-sleeved matching top. Her hair flowed past her shoulders, and he knew for a fact she hadn’t combed it.
This was the Baily he’d fallen in love with. The natural beauty, all sweet, but not completely innocent, who used to sneak over and climb into his bed after their parents had gone to sleep.
“Sorry. I saw the light come on.” She held up a paper plate. “I brought you an egg sandwich.”
He chuckled. “You really love that little sandwich maker, now, don’t ya?” He stood, unlatched the door, and let her in. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that, but I appreciate it.” He kissed her cheek. While things between them were still strained, they were better.
At least they’d come to an understanding about life in general and the fact that he was never leaving Calusa Cove, nor was he about to sell his parents’ home.
Unfortunately, the turning point had been when he’d told her the truth about her brother’s death.
Well, not at first. She’d been pissed. Furious, actually. As if he could have saved Ken. As if telling their captors the truth wouldn’t have gotten everyone killed.
But then came…Why Ken? A question no one could answer. And every man on the team, at some point, had wished they could’ve changed places with Ken.
Then again, they had all wanted to trade places with Fletcher. But that was a nightmare he wouldn’t wish on his enemies.
“I have a confession to make.” Baily eased into the other chair—the one that used to be his mom’s.
Fletcher just couldn’t make himself get rid of a single thing in this house. He knew it was strange. Everything was old and uncomfortable. But to him, it represented a big part of his childhood—and not just because of his family.
“What’s that?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”
“Interesting.” He winked. “Seeing you first thing is always the best way to start my day.”
“You are so corny, and I promised your buddies I’d come check on you.” She waved her hand toward the end table. “Eat your sandwich. You’ve been neglecting yourself lately.”
He frowned, but that wasn’t a false statement, nor was he surprised that Dawson, Keaton, and Hayes had enlisted Baily to keep tabs on him. The nightmares had been coming almost every night, and that made his stomach churn. In the last two weeks, he’d lost five pounds. Most people handled stress by eating. He did so by starving himself. He’d always been like that. Lucky for him, most of his life hadn’t been riddled by the kind of stress that affected him that way.
The pressure of his military career had gotten to him sometimes. Still, the only way it had ever manifested was by affecting his ability to digest food, especially after those damn flipping nightmares.
He leaned over, unwrapped the breakfast treat, and brought it to his mouth. It was filled with all his favorites. A warm, fluffy English muffin, stuffed with cheddar cheese, bacon, sausage, and a fried egg that oozed the yellow yolk onto his tongue, accompanied by a dribble of hot sauce while the butter melted into the nooks and crannies of the bread. “Wow, that’s good. Thank you,” he managed with a mouthful.
“You’re welcome.” She leaned back, folded her arms, and cocked her pretty little head. “Did you sleep at all last night?”
He took another large bite. Honestly, right now, he could eat three of these things. “I got at least five hours, so better than some nights.”
“Are you talking to anyone about the nightmares?” Baily kicked off her flip-flops and tucked her feet under her butt.
“I did before I moved here, but not since then.”
“Have you thought about seeing someone here?”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “But honestly, the doctor I saw before told me there might always be triggers.” He pointed toward the journal. “Knowing that Ken lied to me—and you—is doing something to me that I can’t explain.”
“I get it. I do. But we might never know the answers, and I’m starting to come to terms with that, especially since I’ve got bigger problems than what Ken might’ve been doing.” She pursed her lips. “He was always a bit selfish. Always wanted out of this town. Always wanted to have money in his pockets and to be treated like he mattered. He wanted to be seen in ways I didn’t understand. It’s exhausting trying to figure it out, and I don’t want to anymore. Reading Tripp’s thoughts drives that point home.”
“You don’t wonder if that loan is tied to something your brother might’ve done?” Fletcher asked.
She shook her head. “He never asked my father to sell—only me. I doubt Ken even knew about that loan. One thing my brother hated was being in debt.”
“That’s true.” Fletcher lifted his mug and took a long, slow sip. “So, what are your plans today?” He raised his hand. “Outside of working.”
“Trinity and Chloe invited me to get my nails done.” She lifted her hands and stared at her nails, letting out a hefty sigh. “I don’t know why women bother with nail polish. All it does is chip off, and that crap you have to buy to take it off smells horrible. I’d rather soak my hands in fish guts than spend an hour at the salon. Total waste of time and money.”
