“Valentine.” He shrugs lightly, as if we’re discussing the weather. “Josephine. Jo. Your Jo. She’s back.”
I stare at him, trying to keep my rising temper in check. I can feel the anger beginning to swell, ticking in my jaw like a metronome. “And?”
“And?” He shakes his head. “That’s all you’ve got to say? I tell you the love of your life just blew back into town and you don’t have a single question? You don’t want to know what she said? Or how she looked? Which was damn good, by the way. All that blonde hair blowing in the wind…” He looses a low whistle. “I never really appreciated how gorgeous she was, back in high school. Couldn’t understand what you saw in her that was so different from any other girl at Exeter.”
Of course not, I think scathingly. You were too busy trying to screw everything in a skirt to notice a wallflower like Jo.
“Anyway, I thought you’d want to know she’s back. Didn’t get the sense she’d be sticking around long, though.”
I say nothing in response. I couldn’t if I tried. My throat has closed up, full of all the words I can’t say.
Chris stares at me with exasperation. When he realizes I’m not going to respond, he throws his hands up into the air. “I don’t get you, Reyes.”
“Great,” I say stiffly. “Can I go now, officer?”
His stare turns hard. “You know, the funny thing is… Valentine doesn’t seem to know about your accident last summer. In fact, from the sound of it, she thinks you’re living out your baseball dreams on a pitching scholarship at Bryant University.”
Again, I say nothing.
His steely stare never wavers. “If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. Maybe I’ll go talk to Josephine instead. I’ve got a feeling she would love to hear what you’re really up to these days—”
I close the distance between us in two quick strides and grab him by the front of his fancy blue uniform. My right hand spasms in pain as my fingers curl into the fabric. “So help me God, Tomlinson, if you say a single word to her—”
He shrugs off my hold, glaring at me as he steps out of reach. “Chill, Reyes! Christ, I know you’re angry at the whole damn world — and Lord knows you’ve got every right to be, after what you’ve been through — but I’m your fucking friend!”
My breaths are coming too fast, sharp bursts of air through flared nostrils. “I’m sorry.”
He nods. Reaching up, he smooths his rumpled collar. “Good. You can make it up to me with a beer at The Salty Dog.” His eyes drift to my rubber fishing boots. “You got a pair of sneakers stashed somewhere on that rust bucket you call a lobster boat?”
Thirty minutes later, I take a large sip of my beer on the front patio of The Salty Dog. Across from me, Chris does the same. The waitress didn’t bat an eye when he ordered two drafts of Harpoon IPA — evidently, his uniform was the only identification she needed to serve us.
“Cheers, mate.” Chris clinks his glass against mine. “Been too long.”
I grunt out an agreement and take another long sip. Frankly, I can’t recall the last time I’ve patronized an establishment other than Biddy’s. It’s strange to be seated at this picturesque seaside cafe, with overflowing flower boxes lining the street, tourists and local families jammed into the wrought-iron tables all around us. The smell of fried seafood fills the air like perfume — fish and chips, calamari, jumbo shrimp.
My stomach rumbles.
“I like the beard,” Chris says lightly, scratching his own clean-shaven jawline. “Grow your hair a bit longer and you’ll look just like Jason Momoa in Aquaman. The women of Manchester-by-the-Sea won’t know what hit ‘em.”
I snort.
“I’m serious! Our waitress was totally checking you out. Didn’t you notice?”
I hadn’t.
Chris laughs. “Of course you didn’t. You never did notice anyone except…” He trails off before he says her name. His smile fades a bit. “Man, I don’t want to bring your head down by talking about this stuff. I just think you owe it to yourself — and to her — to have a conversation. Maybe if you got a little closure you could move on from this… phase… you’re going through.”
“Phase?”
“Some would probably call it a major depressive episode. Not me.” He holds up his hands in surrender at my scathing look. “Just, like, maybe… a licensed therapist. Or anyone with eyeballs.”
I force a smile. It feels foreign on my face. “Better?”
“Worse, actually.” He frowns at me. “I’m not kidding. I’m worried about you, Reyes. You haven’t been taking my calls. Lots of the guys from our old team are home on summer break — we hang out on the weekends. You should come. Everyone would love to see you.”
“I’m busy.”
“Lobstering,” he says flatly. “Right. Of course. The only thing you seem to care about, these days.”
“I have to make a living somehow.”
He sighs. “Whatever, man. I’m not your career counselor. I’m just one buddy looking out for another when I see him starting to go down a dark path.”
“I don’t need you looking out for me. I’m fine.”
“Are you? You don’t look it. Frankly, you look like hell.”
“Aw, shucks.”
“Just calling it like I see it. Obviously you’re not coping well with everything that’s happened. But now that Valentine is back… maybe it’s a chance for you to move forward. That girl was crazy about you for years. I’m sure that hasn’t gone away, even if you haven’t spoken in a while.”
I shake my head. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Tomlinson.”
“Then explain it to me.”
My beer is almost empty. I signal the waitress for another. She smiles brightly as she bounces toward the bar, her dark ponytail swinging with each step. “There’s no point talking about something I can’t change.”
“How do you know it wouldn’t change things? If you told her what happened—”
“This is none of your fucking business!” I bark a shade too loudly. Several tourists’ heads whip around toward our table, curiosity in their stares. I lower my tone. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be such an ass about this. It’s just…”
“Don’t apologize. I should know better by now. Where Jo Valentine is concerned, you’ve never been able to keep your cool.”
The waitress delivers my beer. I give her a nod of thanks before downing a large gulp. Chris watches me drink, not touching his own glass. He eventually clears his throat to break the silence. “You know, you don’t seem surprised to hear she’s back in town.”
“Was that a question?”
“Just an observation.”
I set down my half-empty glass. “I saw her last week.”
“Seriously?! What did she say?”
“I never said I talked to her. I saw her. Out sailing around the islands one afternoon.”