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I text my mom to let her know my car is dead and where I'm going, then shove my phone back in my purse. My fingers already ache from the cold, so I hurry in the direction of the man I once innocently declared I would marry one day.
He just laughed and ruffled my hair.
He better not try that tonight. I’m all grown up now, and I won’t take no for an answer. One way or another, Ford Gamble is going to agree to do this favor for me. And then maybe we can also talk about why he ghosted my family last Christmas and why he was a no-show for my nineteenth birthday party, too.
ChapterTwo
Ford
A wicked stormis churning up the ocean tonight. I’ve brewed an extra-large pot of coffee to get me through to dawn because, on nights like this, my lighthouse is the difference between life and death for boats caught out to sea.
In a storm, it’s better for them to stay far from the coast, and my job is to make sure they know where that coast is. And where I am, perched high on a cliff above the Oregon coast, on the outskirts of Conception Ridge.
You don’t need to stay up.I fucking hate that voice in my head. The one that tells me the lighthouse is automated and alarms would wake me up if the system stopped working.
I could leave, too. Go to the McIntoshes’ house for their fucking sweet-as-apple-pie carol singing and board games night like I used to. Dan and his wife always included me, ever since Dan and I returned from our last tour overseas. He got married, and I signed up for this job.
You’ll spend your time alone, the posting warned.
Didn’t bother me at all. I joined the Army to escape my demons, and the Army just gave me more. I learned I’m not cut out for people. Except for the McIntosh family. We have a bond.
Had a bond. You broke it.
That. Fucking. Voice.
I sigh and get up to pour another cup of coffee. Check the forecast. It’s getting worse now.
Back at my computer, I see a text message from none other than Dan’s wife, Susan.
I’m so sorry that Neely’s crashed your Christmas Eve of Solitude! We were out caroling when she called about the car. I just tried your phones and couldn’t get through. The storm is nasty.
Alarm rises as I reach for my phone. Susan’s right. The phone lines are having trouble connecting. I try Neely next, with the same amount of luck.
Why would Susan think Neely is here?
Neely, nineteen and a half, and all grown up in so many ways. But she still lives at home, and her parents worry.
I worry, too. From afar.
I grab my flashlight and head down to the ground floor. I’m wearing a heavy wool sweater and a similarly thick hat, but I still grab my parka before ripping the door open, hoping to find the McIntosh girl on my doorstep.
I don’t.
Fuck.
I can’t text Susan back and tell her I don’t know where her daughter is. I pull the parka on and stalk down the path. My lighthouse sits at the top of a hill with a line of trees at the base. On the other side of that. . .
Neely’s new job. Of course, I know she’s working there. I greedily consume all Neely updates from her parents and her social media accounts.
If her car broke down, she should have gone back to work and waited there. It’s not safe out in the storm—and she’s not safe with me, either.
The same moment that dark thought ripples through my mind, I see her stumbling toward me.
I shout her name, and she lifts her bowed head, the hood of her jacket flipping off. Even at this distance, I can see her face is twisted from pain or maybe the cold. And then her foot wobbles beneath her—is she wearinghigh heels?—and she falls, landing on her ass and then going prone on the ground.
Taking off at a run, I get to her side in ten of the longest seconds of my life.
My horror increases as I realize her legs are basically bare beneath her coat. She’s wearing tights and heeled boots, and I’m guessing some kind of too-short, inappropriate for the weather dress.
