Cruel Water (Portland, ME, novels Book 2) Read online

  “Yesterday morning. Only to find my contractor needs another week to get the house habitable, so I checked into a hotel.”

  “That sucks. Didn’t the guy start when you left?”

  “Yup. Guess my hope that my not being around would expedite things backfired. Oh, well. One week I can handle.”

  “Sorry about that.” Tim looks at me over the rim of his coffee cup. “Had I known, I could’ve kept an eye on things for you.”

  I hear the careful implication. I know he would’ve, that’s never the point. There is a reason I don’t have many friends, and the ones I do have, I seem to keep at a safe distance. Tim is a good man, someone I could trust with my life, let alone the care of my house. Rationally I know this, but it’s still something I instinctively reject.

  “Hindsight and all that,” I reply lamely.

  “You’re an idiot,” he states, but with a grin to soften his words.

  Yeah. I fucking am.

  We finish our breakfast talking about mundane stuff, weather, sports, and work. Safe topics of conversation until Tim asks what I’m doing tonight.

  “Nothing planned, really. Why?”

  “Remember the over-thirty ball team I play for? The Anchors? I don’t know how long it’ll be before you have to head out of town again, but we’re looking for some fresh blood. We’ve got a game tonight, if you’re interested. Short a few guys, so you can get your cleats muddy if you want. See how you like it, even if you can’t commit, it might be a fun thing whenever you’re in town.”

  “I might pop by, where is it?”

  “Dougherty Field, just the other side of the highway. And we always hit our sponsor for a beer after,” he says with a wink.

  “Yeah?” I smile back. “Bet that’s the best part of the night, am I right?”

  “You’ve got it,” he confirms, slapping a few bills on the table. “So I’ll see you at seven tonight? We usually end up at The Skipper by about nine-thirty.”

  I work hard to keep my face straight. The Skipper, where a certain blue-eyed blonde mans the bar. Fuck.

  “See you then,” I manage with a lift of my chin, before adding my own money to the table and walking out.

  The entire day I spend convinced I’d blow Tim and his game off tonight. The prospect of seeing her, too much of a temptation. I don’t know why the thought of her comes with giant danger signs, but the mere fact I can’t stop thinking about the feel of her, or her taste, tells me to stay away.

  It’s almost a surprise when I park my bike beside Tim’s truck at the baseball diamond at ten to seven. It’s just a fucking game, I don’t even have to go out with them after.

  So why does it feel like I suddenly find myself at a crossroads in my life?

  “Ike!”

  I’m still straddling my bike, helmet in hand, deciding whether there is still time to turn around, when I hear Tim calling. Looks like my decision is made for me. Swinging my leg over the seat, I switch my helmet for my cleats and glove in one of the saddlebags and walk over to the diamond, where Tim is standing with a group of guys all wearing the same jersey.

  “Tim. Guys,” I greet when I reach them.

  Tim makes the introductions and when he gets to the captain of the team, Gunnar, who also happens to be the owner of The Skipper, I look up to find a pair of intense eyes scrutinizing me.

  “Tim tells me you’re a local?”

  I answer with a confirming nod.

  “Then how the fuck is it, this is only the second time I see you?” he barks, squeezing the shit out of my hand he is still holding onto.

  Well fuck. He must’ve seen me last night.

  “Didn’t realize you two had met before,” Tim pipes up.

  “Met wouldn’t exactly be the right term. Let’s just say he stood out, spending the entirety of last night eye-fucking my bartender.” With a last firm press of his hand, he finally releases mine, and I can’t help flexing to restore the flow of blood. If I’m not mistaken, I’ve just been handed a warning.

  “Matt?” Tim says with eyes about to roll out of his skull, earning him a slap to the back of his head by Gunnar.

  “No, you moron ... Viv.”

  Tim’s eyes shoot to me, squinting, as if trying to read my face. “You be careful with Viv, she’s fucking special.”

  Two good-sized guys stare me down. It should piss me off, but it doesn’t. All I can think is—Good, she has good men looking out for her. Followed immediately by a pang of jealousy, wondering what exactly she means to these guys. The last thought through my head, as I kick off my boots and pull on my cleats, is that the name Viv suits her. That’s when I kick my own ass for being a pussy and with a smile on my face, I grab my glove and take the field.

  -

  Three hours later, I’m nursing a beer at the big round table in the corner by the window of The Skipper. Scowling.

  When I asked Gunnar who the new bartender was when we walked in—a petite, pretty, little thing with reddish hair, longer than I’ve ever seen on any adult—he about took my head off. “That’s my wife, you asshole. Hands and eyes fucking off!”

  I’d only brought it up because asking to know where my blue-eyed beauty was, would’ve been too obvious.

  “And just in case you were wondering, Viv is off for an undetermined amount of time. Family issues,” he added.

  My second beer almost gone, I’m ready to pack it in: my body sore from being out of shape and getting way the hell too gloomy.

  “Gonna be back next Wednesday?” Paul, one of the other guys on the team calls after me, when I say my goodbyes. I turn to find Tim’s eyes on me as well.

  “Sure. If I’m in town I’ll be there. I’ll let Tim know.”

  Viv

  With my father calm enough to stay still for the scan, I quietly slip out of the room and stumble to the first washroom I find. The coffee that has been churning in my stomach for the past twenty minutes finally finds its way up, and I drop to my knees heaving into the toilet. A purely physical reaction to my emotional turmoil. Vivvy. That fucking name. Ever since my fifteenth birthday, it made me ill to hear it. To my relief it got shortened to Viv over time. As I got older, on the odd occasion he’d revert to the old nickname, I would stare him down. He never used it again after I left the house at eighteen.

  My stomach blissfully empty, I rinse my mouth and take a sip of cold water. A quick scan in the mirror shows my eyes, red-rimmed and dull with worry and the pain of long suppressed memories.

  “Everything okay?” Owen’s voice startles me as I turn the corner to the waiting room. He pushes away from the wall he was leaning against and steps up to me, lifting a hand to pull a strand of hair behind my ear. I can barely contain an inadvertent flinch, but he catches it anyway, lifting his eyebrows in question.

  Stepping back, I swipe my own hair from my face. “I’m fine. He’s fine, just a bit confused. They should be done with him shortly.” I step around him and with my hand on the door to the waiting room, start pushing it open.

  “Wait.”

  The word is whispered, but still causes me to drop my hand and allow the door to fall shut again. When I turn around, I see uncertainty and confusion mar my brother’s face.

  “What did he want?”

  I shrug my shoulders, not quite sure of the answer myself. I look over his shoulder down the hall, doing my best to avoid his eyes.

  “I can’t help but wonder what he was doing on the opposite side of the hallway outside your room, Viv.”

  Underneath Owen’s question I can hear a hint of fear and with a strength I summon from thin air, I straighten my shoulders and spine. Looking him straight in the eyes, I force a smile. “I can’t imagine,” I answer, pushing the door open resolutely this time, not giving him a chance to react.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Viv

  “Are you on your way?”

  My mom’s worried voice on my answering machine slices me. I’ve been a coward these past two weeks, avoiding visiting my father in the
hospital, that is, aside from the times my brother Dorian hauled me there physically. He’s been staying at our parents’ house and is making sure Mom is taken care of, having taken an extended leave of absence from work. My other brothers have all gone back to work. Nolan was up from Boston, for a few days, before returning home and the older two have been in and out of the hospital. Everyone has been giving me a hard time for not sitting in his hospital room, along with the rest of the family every day. Everyone except Owen, who has kept quiet, simply watching me closely when I did show up under duress.

  I’ve done my best to organize home-care for my father, making sure he has someone coming in daily to help get him showered and see to it that he’s set to continue his physical and speech therapy from home. It’s the least I can do for Mom, who will at some point be faced with caring for him alone. Even though he is already showing progress in his physical recovery, his confusion has not gotten any better. His physician warned us that given his age, dementia as a result of stroke is not uncommon, but not reason enough to keep him hospitalized. He’s being released today, hence my mother’s message.

  I quickly dial her number, prompted by guilt. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Vivian, your father is coming home today,” she blurts out excitedly.

  “I know, I heard. Owen’s driving?” I ask carefully.

  “Yes. We’re driving in convoy. Dorian is going with Aaron in his car, but said you’re welcome to come with them, unless you prefer to ride with us?”

  “Actually, I was thinking I’d rather wait at the house. I can make sure there is coffee warm and something to eat.” I know this is not what she wants to hear, and I feel guilt clogging my throat when I hear her deep sigh.

  “If that’s what you want, dear.” Dejection sounds in her voice.

  “I was thinking of picking up some pain au chocolat from Standard Baking?” A shameless ploy to distract her with their favorite bakery in town works, because Mom enthusiastically adds to the list.

  “Fabulous idea! Can you pick up some madeleines, as well? Your father still has a bit of trouble swallowing and the madeleines are nice and soft. Oh, and some of their five-grain bread too, please.”

  “No problem. I’ll buy out the store, since the boys will be there with their customary hollow legs.”

  A niggle of guilt remains as I listen to her snicker. “Good plan. We’ll see you soon, then? I’m hoping to get home by three.”

  “See you then, Mom. Love you.”

  The distracted, “Love you too,” is barely distinguishable as she hangs up the phone, already getting worked up about getting him home, I’m sure.

  I’m suddenly struck with a deep sense of loneliness. Ridiculous when you think about it: I have a large family, fantastic friends I get to work with every day, and therefore no reason to feel that way. Still, I have found myself thinking about rough, calloused hands, a scruffy jaw and piercing, pale gray eyes more than just a few times in the past couple of weeks. My bar shifts at The Skipper were spent jumping each time the damn front door opened, never finding those eyes meeting mine. They remind me of the waters right off the wharf, just before they turn rough. Smooth, silvery, and very unpredictable. Silence before the storm.

  -

  I shake my head to clear those thoughts and turn back to slapping on my minimal make-up before I run over to the pub to help with morning prep. I was lucky to find this fabulous apartment a couple of years ago, right at the end of Holyoke Wharf, and therefore within easy walking distance of The Skipper. I have a car, but it generally stays in the underground garage during the day. I’ll need it this afternoon to haul the bakery order over to my parents’ house, though.

  The sun is out and the silty smell of the water fills my nostrils and settles my spirit, as I make my way down the alley behind the pub. The back door is already unlocked, and I push my way inside to find Syd elbow deep in chopped vegetables.

  “Hey. What are you doing in so early?”

  She swings her head around at the sound of my voice and smiles big, in contrast to the tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “Onions,” she clarifies, grabbing a towel and wiping at her face. “I’ll never get used to it.”

  I chuckle, slightly relieved. For a moment there I thought—well—I don’t know what I was thinking. Syd had quite literally crawled out of a dark, dank gutter since I first met her. Despite her tragic past, she managed to find her happy place with Gunnar, his kids, and at The Skipper. I’m ashamed at the pang of jealousy that occasionally stabs me when I think about the full life she managed to build. Just because I’ve resigned myself to live in some kind of numb suspension, doesn’t mean she shouldn’t reach for the moon. She totally deserves it.

  I hang up the hoodie I threw on to ward off the morning chill and don my apron. Hauling a bin of potatoes from the cold storage, I wash my hands, move in beside her at the large counter and start peeling. My emotions already all over the place lately, I’m not up to examining my reaction, just now, too closely. I work silently beside Syd for a while when she elbows me in the side.

  “A penny?” she asks, causing me to snort.

  “Not worth it,” I shoot back.

  “Well, something has you disappearing inside your head lately. Wanna talk about it?” Her tone is light, but the intent underneath is very sincere. I’ve been open with Syd about Frank, my ex, and how I struggled to get away from him. I share other stuff with her, but there are some things I’ll never bring up, simply because I’m working hard at denying their existence.

  “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain tall, built, and handsome, silver-eyed stranger now, would it?”

  The paring knife slips from my hand and clatters on the stainless steel counter. Syd’s soft chuckle has me look at her wide-eyed.

  “Bingo ...” she says, gently smiling.

  “How—?”

  “He was in again last night, with the ball team. Except he wasn’t so much interested in the beer or the conversation, but had his eyes focused on the bar, apparently hoping for you to magically appear. Unfortunately, it was just little old me, and Gunnar about took his head off for staring, for the second time.”

  “Again? Second time? I don’t understand,” I mutter, confused as hell. Oh, I know exactly who she’s talking about. But what I don’t get is that he’s been here again? Is he looking for me?

  “He came with the team two weeks ago and kept checking behind the bar then, too. Gunnar says he’s a new guy on the team. Does something in ship building, not sure what, and seems to have a healthy interest in you, according to my husband. He was away on business and showed up again last night, obviously looking for someone other than me behind the bar.”

  Not sure whether to feign ignorance or answer the obvious question in Syd’s eyes, I opt for a shoulder shrug and muttered, “Huh.”

  “Viv? How do you know Ike?”

  Should’ve known she wouldn’t let it go at that. Ike? That’s his name? Sighing I turn to face her. Confession time, it’s easier than trying to keep something from her.

  “I don’t really know him. Didn’t even know his name. He was in here the Tuesday night before my father had his stroke. Sat at the bar and other than his first order of beer, never said a word, just stared.” An involuntary shiver runs down my back at the memory of those clear, intense eyes focused on me. “He was waiting for me outside after my shift and took me on the back of his bike to his hotel. That’s all I know.”

  Syd scrunches her eyebrows together. “What do you mean, that’s all you know? You didn’t give him your number? What’s wrong with you? The man is delicious.”

  My turn to raise my eyebrows at her. “Better not let your husband hear that. He’s a bit possessive, if you hadn’t noticed. That would turn ugly fast.”

  Syd tilts her head and sets her hands on her hips, looking at me expectantly. Nope—not letting go.

  “Fine.” I throw my hands up, capitulating. “We never spoke. Never said a word. Hell, I didn’t
even know his name was Ike. At some point I fell asleep, something I never, ever do, and was woken up by Owen calling me about my father. I grabbed my clothes and hightailed it out of there, without looking back.” I turn back to my potatoes resolutely, but my friend is not done.

  “Not looking back, huh? So how is it that you knew immediately and exactly who I was referring to?”

  My hands still mid-air, I drop my chin to my chest.

  “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him,” I whisper, admitting something I hadn’t wanted to admit even to myself. One fucking night with a perfect stranger: no history, no names, and no future—that’s all it was supposed to be.

  “Yessss!” Syd blurts out, enhancing with a fist pump.

  “No!” I counter, causing her to turn to me with an angry scowl.

  “You listen here, as long as I’ve known you, you have never expressed an interest in any guy. Not really. Finally one piques your interest, and you’ve obviously piqued his, but you’re going to ignore that? Dammit, Viv. Not every guy is like that asswipe you scraped off. I mean, look at Gunnar, or Matt, even Tim, and he is friends with this Ike guy.”

  Her last words cause an immediate physical response: instant nausea. There is no way I can even conceive of anything with him now. Shaking my head I look at her. “Not for me, Syd. I don’t do relationships of any kind, you know that.”

  Her eyes soften but her chin lifts stubbornly. “But ...”

  “Morning, ladies,” a familiar booming voice comes from behind.

  Both of us turn to find Dino leaning against the doorway; a man of few words, chef extraordinaire and good friend. The smirk on his face as he makes his way over to pull his apron off the hook, tells me he heard more than I’d like. Dino is our resident sage, with an uncanny ability to see deeper than most of us are comfortable with, and on top of that hides a hefty romantic streak behind that imposing, brooding exterior. There is no way he won’t meddle. Fuck me.

  “There she is!”