“Who’s to say we would?”
“We couldn’t get it together the first time,” he says. “What makes you think we can get it together this time?”
His words sting, but they also ring true. What was I thinking, coming here?
“Forget I even asked.” I know that it’s over, that our dream isn’t going to happen.
“I’m glad you did,” he says, looking just as dejected as I’m sure I do. “But hey, you need to get behind the burners again, man.”
I shake my head. “Nah, I’m good. Fishing makes a living, especially during tourist season.” I check my watch. “You should get going. I’ve taken up too much of your time.”
“Okay, yeah.” The plate of nachos hardly touched, we both stand, and Eric holds out his hand. I give it a good shake as he says, “Don’t be afraid to reach out again.”
“It goes both ways.” I give him a sad smile.
After we say our goodbyes, I go out to the truck and text Brig, letting him know I’m ready to get the hell out of here. I should have known this was going to be a waste of my time. Yeah, it may have been nice to see Eric again, but there’s still so much shit between us. Too much shit. And even though he said he didn’t want to take the risk, I think that what he really meant was that he didn’t want to take the risk with me.
I pull into the harbor, the salty sea air doing nothing for my goddamn mood. We got back to Port Snow last night, but instead of calling Eve to see if she wanted to hang, I went straight to bed and woke up early this morning to hit the waves. I made a good catch, but the solitude I normally crave has only put me in a worse mood.
I know why—it doesn’t take a psychologist to break it down. There was a glimmer of hope at the end of this monotonous tunnel I’ve been trudging through ever since we lost the restaurant. And with one sentence, Eric squashed it all.
He didn’t want to take the risk . . . with me. That simple, sickening truth circles through my head.
Brig did a number on me in the truck, trying to get me to tell him what happened, what was said, but I kept silent until he gave up, leaving me to focus on the road. But it didn’t stop him from texting the whole family—including Dad—that I was in a shit mood, so they probably all know what happened.
This morning, Brig said that Dad would maybe want to work with just me but wanted to see if I could patch things up with Eric first. Even if that were the case, I don’t want the job. I wasn’t lying when I said Eric was the one who made me great. He pushed me, helped me think outside the box. And after three years of staying far away from the food industry, I really don’t think I could do it without him, and really, I don’t want to.
Which leaves me here, fishing for fucking lobsters.
The prospect of working with Willy popped into my head last night, but I tamped that down immediately. I don’t want to fish forever. Which means I need to figure out what else I want to do with my life.
I started a list last night.
Accountant. That’s safe but requires school.
Permanent Lobster Landing employee. I fucking hate tourists, so that’s out of the question.
I have a knack for candle sniffing. Maybe Sticks and Wicks is hiring.
I also know how to be a jackass to people. I wrote that down as an option. Professional jackass. People pay me to be an asshole to friends and family so they don’t have to. I could create an app for it . . . because I know how to do that—insert eye roll.
Christ. It all feels hopeless.
This morning Jen said I could start giving cooking lessons at the community college up in Pottsmouth. No fucking thank you.
Griff told me to become a firefighter since they’re always looking for more help. I mean, I’m not a wuss by any means, but walking into burning buildings and dealing with terrified people doesn’t really speak to me.
Rogan said I could help him renovate houses. I turned that job down just as quickly as I did the first time he offered. I appreciate it, but home improvement gives me zero stirrings in my groin.
And of course there’s Brig, with his grand idea of going into business together. He uses the backyard of his garage for events, and business has been booming. He wants an in-house caterer, which is a good idea but not something I’m remotely interested in doing. Going from a five-star chef to caterer . . . I’d rather be out on the sea.
So I’m back at square one.
I dock the boat, lower the anchor, and tie up before turning toward the lobster cages. Instead of taking these to the Inn today, I told Harold over at the Lighthouse Restaurant to come pick up what he wants, and then I’ll sell the rest to Jake, since he’s started making lobster rolls on the weekends.
“Hey.”
Startled, I turn to find Eve standing before me on the dock, arms crossed over her chest, a very unhappy look on her face.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” I ask, blocking the rising sun with my hand as the boat sways in the harbor.
“Well, I hadn’t heard back from you, but I heard from everyone else that you were back, so I figured I should come see for myself.” She shifts her stance, anger dripping from every word. “Why didn’t you come over last night?”
“It was late.” I turn toward the cages and start making short work of them.
“When has that ever stopped you?”
“It did last night,” I answer in a short, clipped tone, one that she notices right away.
“So I haven’t seen you in days, and now you’re going to be an ass?”
See, that paid-asshole job would make me a shit ton of money.
“I have to get these lobsters to Harold, Eve. I don’t have time to discuss whether or not I came over last night to fuck you.”
She’s silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on my shoulders. That was a shitty thing to say, but my mouth has a mind of its own right now. My back is still to her, and I wonder if she’s left—until I look over my shoulder and find her staring at me in shock, mouth agape.
“Is that what you think this is? You just fucking me? Because I was under the impression that we were much more than just fuck buddies.” I meet her gaze, and her eyes—so similar to Eric’s eyes—are like ice.
Fuck.
Sighing, I take a seat on an empty lobster cage pushed up against my boat and rest my head against the old, worn-out Plexiglas side. “We are more than fuck buddies, Eve. I’m just going through some shit right now, and I don’t need you harping on me. Okay?”
“I’m not harping on you, Reid. I’m trying to find out if my boyfriend, who I care a great deal about, is okay or not. You’re being so hot and cold with me. Warm and loving one minute and then distant and frigid the next. All I want to do is help, but every time I talk to you, it’s like a different Reid shows up to the conversation. Two nights ago you were telling me how much you miss me, how much you wish I was in your arms, and right now you can barely even look at me. What’s going on?”
“It’s because I can barely look at myself in the mirror!” I shout, my hand flying out to the side. “I despise everything about myself, so why would I want to be near someone who thinks I’m worth their time?” I take a deep breath and stare at my feet, trying desperately to calm down. “You need to leave before I say something really stupid. Please, just fucking leave.”