“Don’t be an asshole,” Brant said as his father walked in.
“That’s like asking a bear not to shit in the woods,” his father said.
Roderick “Roddy” Remington wore his thick gray-brown hair too long and sported a short, scruffy beard. He favored loud Hawaiian shirts opened three buttons deep, ancient shorts with frayed hems, and sneakers he’d had forever—and as far as Brant was concerned, he was the coolest father on the island. Roddy had grown up with Grant’s father, and they’d gone to college together, which was where they’d met Steve Steele. Steve had moved to the island with them after college and married Jules’s mother, Shelley, and the three families had done everything together ever since.
Grant laughed. “How are you doing, old man? I haven’t seen you around this morning.”
“I’m friggin’ fantastic. I went for a morning sail with my gorgeous wife and watched the sunrise, did a little smooching.” He petted Scrappy’s head. “Mm-mm. I am one lucky devil.”
“Yes, you are,” Grant agreed.
“Sounds like a perfect morning, Dad.” Brant wished he could have done the same thing with Cait.
“And it just got better, son. Jamison called a few minutes ago. He’s got a meeting in Boston tomorrow and he’s coming for dinner tonight. Tessa’s picking him up, then stopping in P-town to get Rowan and Joni, and flying them all in around six o’clock. Randi’s hosting a barbecue. Think you can make it?”
“I’ll be there.” As Brant said it, he realized that if Cait needed him, he’d head back to the Cape without hesitation. “Unless Cait needs something.”
His father arched a brow. “You finally stopped pussyfooting around and told that pretty little lady how you feel?”
“I’ve been telling her, but she’s going through some shit, and she wants to weather the storm alone.”
“And how do you feel about that?” his father asked.
“Like I want to take her in my arms, help her deal with whatever she’s battling, and never let her go. But she won’t tell me what’s going on, which means I’m left guessing, and my thoughts are pretty dark.”
His father’s expression turned serious. “Do you think she’s in imminent danger? I’ve got friends on the Cape police force if we need to intervene.”
“I’m not sure, but I get the sense it’s something she’s gone through and is still dealing with rather than something that’s happening to her now. I could be wrong, but she’s got friends watching out for her. I met them. They’re good guys. Dark Knights, like Levi. I just wish she’d talk to me.” He couldn’t shake the image of her going from clear-eyed and happy to lustful to shaking uncontrollably.
“I know a little something about not wanting to burden others with your shit.” Grant set Scrappy on the floor, and the pup padded over to his doggy bed by the workbench.
“I’d love to hear your thoughts,” Brant said.
“I don’t know if they’ll be much help,” Grant said. “But if it’s something from her past, then she probably doesn’t want to make her problem your problem. There’s all sorts of guilt and shit wrapped up in that. At least there was for me. So once you open that can of worms, be ready for a shitload of other things to come crawling out.”
“That’s good advice for any bad situation, current or past,” his father agreed. “There’s always more going on than you think. You sure you want to get involved, son?”
“I want to do whatever it takes to help Cait through this. It killed me to see her so upset, and when she sent me away, she said she wasn’t sure she really wanted to do it. But honestly, Dad, there’s no choice to be made. From the moment we met, I felt connected to her. Grant was there.” He looked at his buddy. “Do you remember what you said to me at the end of that night?”
Grant nodded. “I said I’d never seen you look at a woman the way you looked at Cait, and that hasn’t changed. For what it’s worth, Pix thinks you two are meant for each other, brought together by the universe and all that starry-eyed stuff she believes in.” Pixie was his nickname for Jules.
“In that case, what can I do to help?” his father asked.
“Tell me I did the right thing by giving her the space she asked for, because I’ve been questioning it every second since I left.”
“I can’t tell you that, son, because I didn’t look into her eyes when she said it, and women and men speak different languages. We’re visceral. Unless we’re testing the waters or something, we say exactly what we mean. But when women speak, nothing can mean everything, and go away can mean if you leave, we’re done—or it can mean exactly what they said. Hell, I’ve been married to your mother forever, and I still get it wrong half the time.”
Grant laughed. “He’s right about the languages.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Brant said.
“But here’s the thing,” his father said. “It sounds like you two are already tethered together. Whether that’s by the universe or by the powers of lust or love, I have no idea. But I believe if you two are meant to be, there ain’t no storm powerful enough to tear an anchor as strong and stable as you out of the ground. And if that’s the case, then once the storm passes, she won’t be able to help but find her way back to you.”
Brant held his gaze. “And if I want to battle that storm with her instead of letting her flap out there in the wind and rain by herself?”
“Then bring a raincoat, son.” His father cocked a grin. “Because going against a woman’s wishes just might bring on a shitstorm, and that’s a whole other problem.”
A nest of bees had been swarming in Cait’s stomach since last night. She hated that she’d fallen apart and sent Brant away. By midday she’d been snappy and too irritated to concentrate. She’d canceled her evening clients and caught the five o’clock ferry to the island early to apologize to him. She needed to return the doggy sling Brant had left at the bar anyway. But the thought of seeing him made her ache almost as much as not seeing him did, and as she coasted down the hill on her bicycle toward the cottage community where he lived, she was still talking herself into and out of seeing him in rapid succession.
She veered right at the bottom of the hill, pedaling toward the yellow-and-blue SEAVIEW COTTAGES sign. She was so nervous, she’d probably babble like a moron when she saw him, but she wasn’t sure she’d get through another night without making things right. Brant was incredibly good to her, so patient and caring, he deserved a better explanation than the discombobulated one she’d given him outside the bar. She’d been spinning the truth all day, trying to come up with the best version to tell him so he understood enough to realize he was better off without her without revealing all of the ugliness she’d been through.
She turned into the community and stopped by the main house, a cute two-story cedar-sided home with a wide front porch and an OFFICE sign hanging from a post out front. She looked down the street at the nearly identical cedar-sided cottages with colored doors and shutters, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember which one was Brant’s. She climbed off her bike and pushed it along the sidewalk, trying to find something that called out to her. She spotted his truck in a driveway up ahead. The butterflies in her belly had turned to bees last night, and now, as she made her way to the cottage, they morphed into swarming hornets.