Page 173 of At First Catch

Rain slides down the windows. Somewhere below, a dock line knocks against a piling.

Nolan stares at our joined hands for a long moment. And I wait, because I’m starting to understand that waiting is sometimes the closest thing to reaching him.

Finally, he says, “The marina might not survive another major hurricane season without outside money. A lot of what we’ve done so far has been cosmetic. New decking. Repairs people can actually see.”

He exhales hard.

“But the pilings under the west docks are reaching the end of their life. The bulkhead still needs reinforcement. Those aren’t projects I can keep pushing to next year.”

His jaw tightens.

“I’ve been trying to secure the rest of the financing before hurricane season. If I can’t, I’m gambling that one bad storm won’t hit first.”

His laugh is humorless.

“That’s not a bet I’m willing to make with this town.”

Hearing the truth spoken plainly makes the fear real in a way my imagination couldn’t.

The marina might not survive.

This place.

The docks.

The lights.

The heart of the future he’s been building.

The future we’ve been building.

I go still beside him, but I don’t pull away.

I don’t panic.

I don’t fill the silence with reassurance I’m not sure either of us would believe.

I just listen.

Nolan’s throat works once.

“The investors know I’m cornered,” he continues. “Which means every deal starts coming with more strings attached.”

“What kind of strings?”

He laughs once under his breath.

Nothing amusing about it.

“Everything I hate.”

Luxury branding.

Corporate oversight.

Membership exclusivity.

Turning the marina into something polished and expensive instead of local and alive.