Page 52 of Dirty Fighter

Bruce is watching our progress, his hands looking like some involuntary reaction has taken over in an attempt to guide us down the slope. Waves to the left, stop signal, OMG STOP signal, keep coming…

“I can’t believe I’m finally going to meet him.”

Nod. “You can spend the whole afternoon with him.”

I squint at the hunched form again. “He can make it up these stairs in this weather?”

Is he waiting for us to help tie him off and give him a hand out of the boat?

Jason’s head swings around, brow furrowed. And it clicks.

No.

NO.

But it’s written all over his stupid, gorgeous face.

That. Dick!

Digging my heels in, I pull back with a gasp. “Jason, so help me. If you’re trying to put me on that boat with him…”

After kissing me like he literally could not stop himself from doing it? After I told him from the first night that I wasn’t leaving?

“Not trying,” he states flatly, taking my hand again, a steely determination in the eyes I was swimming in mere moments ago.

The look he’s giving me would probably have the average opposing player second-guessing all their life choices. But I’ve been seeing this look for so long, I’m immune. Besides, this look has nothing on the one my mother whips out at the first inkling of rebellion.

Try again, buddy. “Oh, really?”

He blinks, all those big, scary my-way vibes crumbling beneath the confusion of challenge. “Rowan, the fact that Bruce is in someone else’s boat means he couldn’t get the Mae Belle out of the harbor. Which means there’s no telling when the power or phones will be restored. And in case you missed it, you were half a second or less from being impaled by the three-inch-wide branch that’s now embedded in the ground, dead center between where your gloves are still stuck in the mud. What if I hadn’t gotten there? What if you needed medical attention and the only damn thing I could do to help you was fire a flare that may or may not have been seen from shore?”

Impaled? And now I can see it’s not just confusion in his eyes, it’s worry.

I mentally retract calling him a dick in my head, reassigning the label to myself. Only it doesn’t change what’s going to happen in the next five minutes. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I’m sorry I didn’t listen and put myself in danger. And I know that you are trying to keep me safe.” I shake my head. “But I can’t leave.”

We stare at each other, rain streaming down our faces and soaking our hair. Then— “The hell you can’t. There’s no power. No refrigeration⁠—”

“It doesn’t matter.” I gently pull my arm free of his grasp, and to his credit, he lets me go.

But he isn’t done. “Marsha will understand. But right now, it’s not safe for Bruce to stay out. We have to make this quick, and we have to do it now.”

“My mother most definitely would not understand. But this isn’t about her.”

I tuck my nose into the collar of this gigantic raincoat and take a breath, thinking about why I came here. What I still need to do.

“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head.

He swallows, looking down to the waiting boat. “I have no idea how long it will be before the power is back or your phone works. I have no idea how long it will be before Bruce can even get across again. You’ll be stuck here. With me.”

18

Rowan

I’m holding Ed’s coat in my lap on the bench in the utility room, the first-aid kit I used for the scratch on my leg beside me as I wonder how everything could change so completely in the span of an hour. Maybe less.

It feels like it’s been days. Weeks. Years since we ventured outside to survey the damage, and even longer since he kissed me like I was his next breath.

Jason stomps in, dripping and bringing a wet gust with him, before slamming the door.