ADEN

The minutes that I’m not with Celia pass at an irritating pace. I hold back from dropping all my responsibilities and not breaking the speed limit to get to the cottages. I even considered not taking a shower, which is messed up.

When in the hell did this woman manage to crawl under my skin? I forget who I am when we’re together, and as fucked as that is I feel better than I’ve felt in a really long time. I can’t even think about her without grinning. Maybe it was spending so much time together, my body got used to having her within reach. Or maybe it was the awkward way she left, chased away by Cal’s disapproving stare. Whatever it is, being without her leaves me twitchy and uneasy. I’ve spent hours in a ditch staring down the scope of my rifle and that wasn’t as maddening as the distance between us.

Which is why I’m hauling ass through the cabin of the boat, grabbing my keys and sunglasses to get to the cottages to see her. It’s only when I’m jumping from the back of the boat to the dock that I catch movement from Jenkins’s sailboat.

My good mood dissolves instantly. The old man’s only been gone four days and the vultures have already descended. Not on my watch. With light steps I creep to the boat and manage to slide aboard without being noticed. There’s a shuffling inside the cabin.

I stand in the doorway and brace. “Drop whatever you have and come out with your hands up, asshole.” My muscles jump and prep for a fight.

A slender body pushes out from the shadows. A woman, her eyes wide.

I try to relax my stance to keep from scaring her any more than I already have. “Who are you?”

“I’m Becky Muller, Billy’s daughter.”

“Oh shit.” I step back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Who are you?”

I reach out my hand. “Aden Colt. I was friends with your dad.”

“You must be the man the hospital said he was with.” I nod and she shakes my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m sorry about your dad. If it makes you feel better, he talked about you all the time.”

She blows out a breath and frowns. “I wish I could say that helps, but I haven’t spoken to my dad in over ten years. My brother said I should just let all this stuff go, but I had to come.”

I knew his relationship with his kids was strained. He was a washed-up sailor with a drinking problem, a bad temper, and a boatload of regrets, and after losing the love of his life he gave up trying. It didn’t take a genius to realize that his stories about his children were always those from their childhood.

“Do you need some help?” I nod to a small box that has a few of his things in it. A watch, an old photo of his wife, and a couple records.

She picks up the box and clutches it to her stomach. “No, I got it.” She turns back to study the humble living quarters of the man who loved her but didn’t have the balls to get his shit together and missed out on half her life. “Actually . . . I don’t know what to do with his boat. Could you help me sell it?”

Sell his boat? This thing meant more to him than anything, which might be the reason Becky looks like it’ll bite. The resentment makes sense, but damn, it’s fucking sad. “Sure.”

“Oh, and his ashes. He didn’t have a will, but I think he’d want to be spread out over his favorite fishing spot? I don’t know where that is, and I have to get back to my family in Denver.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

She smiles sadly. “Thank you.”

“Please, let me take that.” I scoop the box from her arms.

“You don’t have—”

“I know, but your dad would’ve given me shit for not being a gentleman to his little girl.”

She frowns, and ducks back inside to grab a few more things. His Padres hat, his antique copper maritime telescope, and his tackle box that’s faded and covered in close to fifty years of dirt, grime, and fish blood.

When she’s finally ready to go, the box is almost overflowing with things. Staring at it, all I can think is that life is too short to live with these kinds of regrets.

She hands me Jenkins’s fishing pole. “Here, I was going to give this to my son, but I can’t fly with it. I think you should have it.”

“No, I can’t take that.” I grab the pole and take in the torn grip and rusted reel. “It was his favorite. Your son should have it.”

“It’s too much trouble.”

“I’ll send it to you. Really, it’s no big deal. Jenkins would haunt me forever if he knew I was using his lucky pole.”

She smiles, but it’s shaky. “Thank you.”

About an hour later I’m loading the back of a rental car with two small boxes of Jenkins’s stuff. That’s it. All he’ll have to be passed along to those who never got the chance to know what kind of man he was. Two boxes. And as much as the items they contain will shed light on the subtle things about Jenkins, they’ll never tell stories of his love for his wife, his love of country, and the demons that held him back from being the kind of father and grandfather I know he could’ve been.

Just like the children of the men I buried.

Watching their wives at the graveside, clutching a folded flag to their chest as their sons and daughters clung to them. So young, and they’ll never know the kind of men their fathers were. That they sacrificed their lives for someone so undeserving, someone who is right on track to make the same mistakes Jenkins did.

I’ve pushed away my family.

Alienated myself from the world.

I hole up in my boat just like Jenks did.

At this rate I’ll die alone like he did too.

The sound of Becky’s car door pulls me from my thoughts.

She hands me a business card with her name on it. “I’ll call the morgue and have them contact you when his ashes are ready.” Her eyes give away a hint of sadness, the truth that she’s struggling more with her father’s death than she’s letting on. “If you could text me your number.”

“Sure.” I pull out my phone and hit the text icon when I notice I have a new text from Celia.

My pulse quickens and I quickly fire off a text to Becky.

Her phone pings. “Thanks.”

I nod and step back. “I’ll let you know what the ship brokers say about selling his boat.”

“I appreciate that.”

After a few silent seconds she nods and gets in her car and I turn to my truck.

Life can change so quickly and in such abrupt ways that we never get a chance to see it until it’s over.

I’ve let one too many suns set on my feelings for Celia without telling her what she means to me, how she calms the war in my soul and silences the screams.

I can tell she’s hesitant to rush into something.

But I live with enough regret as it is.

Last thing I want is to regret never trying.

SAWYER

It’s been almost an hour since I sent Aden the text about missing him and because he hasn’t texted back I’m second-guessing the logic behind sending such an honest message. I should’ve thrown some kind of sexual joke in there to lighten the seriousness, maybe? My worst fear is that he’s staring at his phone wondering how to respond appropriately.

This whole thing between us went from casual to something so much more really quickly. Too quickly.

Statistics have proven that the best relationships develop out of great friendships. That patience in getting to know one another is more lasting. Does that mean this urgency and intensity I’m feeling is nothing more than misplaced lust?

Mark and I were friends first. We took things slow. And I never felt even a fraction of what I feel when I’m with Aden, hell, I don’t even have to be around him to feel the pull toward him.

What does it all mean?

I dial my sister’s phone number for what seems like the hundredth time today and after two rings it goes to voicemail.

“. . . volcano diving in Hawaii and it’s too hot for—”

I hit END and dial my mom’s cell.

“Hey, Sawyer.” She sounds tired.

“Mom, I’ve been trying Cece’s cell all day but it goes straight to voicemail.”

My mom sighs.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry. We had a doctor’s appointment.” There’s the sound of a door shutting in the background and I imagine my mom tucking away somewhere so she won’t be overheard. “It’s her vision. The tumor is growing rapidly; she’s only able to see shadows.”

I swallow hard and fight the urge to cry; after all, this isn’t something I didn’t know on some level was coming, but to think she can no longer see makes everything so . . . real.

“What . . .” I clear my throat. “What does that mean?”

“It means that the pressure on her brain stem is increasing. They can’t tell us how long she has because there’s no telling what the pressure could affect.”

“Is she in pain?”

“No, honey, she’s lost a little of her spunk, but that’s about it.” She sniffs followed by the sound of something rubbing against the phone, as if she’s dabbing a tissue on her cheeks. “When will you be home?”

“The movers come day after tomorrow, first thing. My flight leaves at seven o’clock in the morning.” Everything behind my ribs hurts.

“Okay, that’ll be good.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“Sure. Hang on.” There’s more shuffling in the background and the opening and closing of doors. “Cece, honey, Sawyer’s on the phone.”

More muffled sounds like sheets rustling. “Mom, could you grab me a glass of water? Hello?”

“Hey, Cece.”

“Finally a little privacy. Mom’s been hovering.”

I chuckle at the irritation in her voice. “Mom told me about your vision.”

“It’s not that bad. I can still watch TV. How about you? Have you ruined my reputation over there yet?”

I smother the urge to cry at my sister’s blatant diversion and slip down onto the couch. “Not yet. Oh, I met Cal.”

Silence, and then, “Oh shit.”

“You told him you were sick. He knew I wasn’t you.”

“Eh, he’s a cool guy, I knew he’d play along. If I told you Cal knew you’d never have agreed to go.”

Play along, sure, but this isn’t a game anymore. I chew my bottom lip and fight off the urge to cry. Again.

“Sawyer, what is it?”

“I think, I mean, I don’t know because I’ve never really felt anything like this, but I think I’m in love with Aden.”

There’s not a hint of sound coming through the other end.

Not even breathing.

“Celia, did I lose you?”

“What did you just say?”

“I’ve fallen in love with Aden, but he thinks I’m you and—”

“Tell him the truth, Sawyer, tell him it was my idea and—”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

I stare out at the ocean thinking it wasn’t too long ago that I was terrified of the massive sea and now I’m going to miss seeing it every day. “He was lied to about something, he hasn’t totally confided in me, but something tells me this kind of deception would be unforgivable.”

“But how do you know unless you try?”

“Cal made me promise I’d never tell. He knows Aden better than I do.” And even though there’s truth in those words they taste sour in my mouth.

“Tell him, Sawyer. Tell him it’s my fault, that I put you up to it. If he hears the reasons why he’ll understand. And if he doesn’t then he must not feel the same and you’re better off knowing that now.”

“There’s more.”

“What?”

“Jenkins died.”

“What? How?”

I tell her about how we were out on the boat and everything that happened after, making sure to gloss over the sex marathon.

“Aden’s been through so much I can’t bring myself to be the cause of more pain. Besides, it’s not me he cares about anyway. It’s you.”

“Sawyer—”

“It’s true. If he knew me . . . he wouldn’t like the real me.”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I thought this would be fun for you, that you’d let loose a little and live it up. Leave it to you to find some heavy emotional crap to deal with.”

That makes me laugh. “Right?”

“So what’re you going to do?”

“I’ll enjoy my last couple days here and then come home and get back to the real world.”

“Back to boring, huh?”

“You call it boring, I call it predictable.” Even though going home just means walking from one broken heart to another.

“Do what you need to, but Sawyer?”

“Hm?”

“Remember what this feels like, okay? Don’t forget what it’s like to fall hard for someone and never settle for anything less than this feeling.”

I don’t think it’s possible to ever feel this way about anyone again. “I won’t.”

“Good.”

“Now, no more changing the subject, tell me about your doctor’s appointment.”

She goes on to tell me that all the doctors are kooks trying to scare her into dying when she feels great. I smile at her ability to shrug off the warnings and keep up hope that she’ll fight death as long as her body will allow.

Death sentence be damned, if anyone could be the exception it’d be her.

I catch movement from outside the window. “Oh my God, Cece,” I whisper. “He’s here.”

“Shit! Okay, go. Have fun. Tell him who you are!”

His heavy feet hit the steps.

“I gotta go!”

She laughs hard. “Make him wear a condom—”

I hit END with the irrational fear that Aden could hear her from the other side of the door, just as it swings open without him knocking.

I shoot to my feet fearing he’s angry because he somehow found out the truth, but when I see the look in his eyes, I know it’s a different emotion that’s driving him.

He takes me in from head to toe and I step back at the primal hunger that shines in his eyes. “Where are you going?”

In the small space there’s nothing behind me but the bedroom. He must read my thoughts and a slow grin pulls his lips.

He shuts the door and stalks toward me. “Got your text.”

“You didn’t text back.”

“You miss me?”

“Yeah.” The word falls out on a breath.

“How much?” He’s right up to me now, his breath hot against my lips.

I tilt my head back to meet his eyes and when we’re like this there is no Celia, it’s only me and him and every single thing we make each other feel buzzing between us. “More than I should.”

His hand sifts through my hair and I lean into his touch. There’s never been a man who’s communicated such stability and safety with a single caress like Aden does. “We’re not in public.”

“I know.” And so does my body as it reacts instantly to the promise in his words.

“I want you wrapped around me.” He leans down and presses the softest kiss against my lips. “I want to feel your heart racing against my chest and know that it’s because of me.” He nips at my bottom lip. “Hearing you moan my name chases away everything, freckles.” He walks me back a step. “Nothing exists but you.”

Once we’re in the bedroom I pull away and he watches me shrug off my clothes. His eyes widen when my bra drops to the floor followed by my panties. “I don’t want to forget you.”

He pulls his shirt off over his head, his wide muscular chest on display and tensing with anticipation. “I’ll make sure you never will.” He pushes down his shorts and closes in until the warmth of his bare skin presses against mine. “I’ll mark your fucking soul.”

I force myself to stay present, to not think about having to say goodbye, and more importantly to not dwell on things I can’t change. For now, I have this powerful, caring, deserving man in my arms, and that’s where I choose to stay.

His lips touch the shell of my ear and he whispers, “The way you’ve marked mine.”