The text thread was long, their communication regular, and Chloe skimmed it. Some of it was superficial, some serious, and she easily picked up on their work-play history. Their brotherly chatter was intermixed with military jargon that made sense for two former operators to use. But a few items stood out.
Her name.
His schedule.
And another name—a female name.
Nico: See you in two days?
Jameson: Yeah, uh, more on that to follow.
Nico: Cool. Watch your six on the road.
Jameson: Always do.
Nico: And stay away from that toxic chick you got history with ok? Chloe whatshername.
Nico: Just like you said last week. She’s poison.
Nico: Bad for your health.
Jameson: Yeah, uh, WAY more on that to follow.
Nico: Plus Betsy’s dying for you man. DYING. Remember those yoga pants I told you about? Camel toe for days, dude. Even Amber noticed.
Jameson: Amber noticed because she saw you noticing. Uh-oh.
Nico: It’s not UN-noticeable.
Nico: Nice personality too. Per Amber, you’re a Cosmo couple.
Jameson: ???
Nico: Magazine cover beautiful. I disagree. Betsy’s a ten, but I’ve visited Afghanistan with you. You’re too scary & crazy for Cosmo.
Jameson: Why so chatty? Bet you had to autocorrect Afghanistan. You suck at spelling.
Nico: Lol. See you in two days, pretty boy.
Two days? She looked at the timestamp on the text. It was sent yesterday morning. Hours before Jameson showed up with champagne.
See you in two days. Meaning tomorrow.
Nico: Answer your phone, dude. You should be somewhere in the Carolinas by now.
This text in response to the unanswered call a minute ago. Then his phone beeped another notification, a new message following it up.
Nico: Pick me up some hush puppies. I’ll eat them day old and cold.
Standing in the middle of the kitchen, Chloe stared at the display, her heart in her throat. Waiting for the next text bomb to drop.
None came. That’s how they ended.
You should be in the Carolinas by now.
And that’s how it ended today. With his intention to leave her once again, without a goodbye, good luck, or fuck you.
Dropping his phone on the kitchen counter, the text thread still open, she dressed quickly and left for Something Borrowed before the shower upstairs shut off. Wearing the same clothes she had on last night.
The same betrayal she wore ten years ago.
Jameson Maine was a winner. In looks. In life. In career. And he beat her at a game she’d forgotten the rules to.
She’d been playing for keeps. He’d been playing her.
History repeating itself.
Chloe?
No answer.
Cupcake?
No answer.
My world, wrapped up in one pretty package?
No answer.
How many times had he called out for her in the last ten years?
While asleep? While awake? When life got overwhelming and he needed an anchor to ground him? Shelter from the storm and protection from the pain?
Countless times he’d called out for her, a frantic shout voiced only in his mind. Her name an unbidden plea from his lips. A desperate wish his heart made, despite his head.
And for a short time, he had her again.
Held her. Loved her.
Then lost her. Again.
She’d read Nico’s texts and taken them as truth. Disappeared while he was in the shower. Made good on the threat she issued Day One of his return.
“You gotta leave the property, buddy. I’m not looking for any trouble here.”
It was almost laughable. If the situation didn’t make him want to cry.
She’d called the sheriff to—and he was quoting here—escort Jameson Maine off the property known as Maine Lane.
“You know this is a misunderstanding.” Jameson stood in the doorway, staring at a deputy who didn’t have the skills to remove a ham sandwich from the inside of a paper bag, much less a Navy SEAL from his childhood home.
“Just doing my job, sir.” And shaking in his shined-up boots in the process. “I’d appreciate your cooperation.”
“This your first day?”
“Second, sir.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He sighed, then headed back upstairs to the bathroom to stuff his shaving kit into his duffel, alongside his wrinkled clothes, then zipped it up and grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter.
Good thing he traveled light.
Locking the door behind him, he walked past the deputy standing at attention on the porch.
“This is bullshit and you know it. Don’t you have speeders and shoplifters to catch?”
“The information given to me, sir, states you’re on private property without the owner’s permission. This action is considered a violation, though not a crime, in the state of New York. It comes with a possible fifteen-day jail sentence and a monetary fine, and or community service.”
“You memorized that before you rang my doorbell, didn’t you?”
“Should I find a firearm or other deadly weapon in your bag, sir,” he added, and they both knew he would, “That increases the charge to criminal trespass in the first degree. A felony with far stricter punishment.”
“You wanna talk about a punishment? Did you start your morning shift off feeling frisky? Feeling like you wanted to tango with me?” Jameson watched beads of sweat pop out on his forehead. “I am the fucking owner, and you’re lucky I’m in a good mood. Me resisting would not end well for you.”
Time spent down at the station was the only thing stopping him. He’d hate to throw rank—or punches—when the situation didn’t warrant extreme measures, but any other day and Jameson would have a go at this guy. Let local law enforcement wipe the egg off their face after hauling in one of Uncle Sam’s golden boys for a simple spat with his lady.
And make no mistake, this was a simple spat, and she was his lady.
Chloe was his forever girl.
Tossing the duffel into his truck, his tires spit gravel at the baby-faced deputy as he left, an overly dramatic exit when he’d been minutes from leaving for work anyway.
Not allowing himself to drive straight to Something Borrowed, throw Chloe over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and take her kicking and screaming back to Maine Lane for hours of forever sex, he parked in his usual spot in front of the hardware store.
Grabbing a coffee and settling in, he went over the schedule with Cade, who’d been promoted to manager. The title came with a sweet raise in pay, providing plenty of food and clothing for a sweet baby girl. It also gave Jameson the freedom to travel back and forth between East Hampton and Montauk.
Another hour passed as he reviewed the fourth quarter advertising budget with Evergreen, his new hire as of three days ago. A recent college graduate with a birth name her parents must have chosen while doing hallucinogenic drugs in the wilderness, she would oversee marketing and promotion for both the hardware store and the dive shop.
Yeah. He was staying.
Yeah. He bought the dive shop.
And yeah, he might not have mentioned that to Chloe, what with all the distracting pink flesh she bared to him last night.
One taste of her own personal cupcake, and he was a goner.
Also, finding out he had a nine-year-old child a few days after Roger accepted his offer had backburnered everything in his life, including business.