The sight of him made her mouth water. His torso was the color of honey, just lightly kissed by the sun. He wasn’t overly muscular, but he had some definition. As he stared at her, his biceps flexed. She loved that he kept his hair short but had facial hair. She longed to run her finger over the stubble, to feel his breath fan over her, to kiss him and show him that she was still in love with him. But the cost of being together weighed heavily on her mind.
“I should go.”
He came toward her and placed his hand on her waist, pulling her toward him. “If you go, I go.”
“It’s not that easy, Bowie.” She knew exactly what he was talking about.
“Being with you is the easiest thing I’ll ever do.”
“Grady says no one will ever accept us being together.”
“Bullshit. It’s been fifteen years, Brooklyn. We’re allowed to move on, and once people know Brystol’s mine, they’ll be happy for us.”
She shook her head, unable to believe him. He trailed his finger down her cheek until he reached her chin and lifted her head until he could look in her eyes. “Those demons dancing around in your pretty little head need to be exorcised.”
“I can’t help it.”
“Maybe I can,” he said moments before his lips pressed to hers. He withdrew slightly. “I am in love with you, Brooklyn Hewett. If you leave, I go with you.” He kissed her deeply. “And if it means we live in hotels for the rest of our lives, so be it. You’re not leaving without me.”
“But—” As much as she tried to fight her attraction to Bowie, she felt it stronger, deep within her bones. The anxiety she’d felt turned to anticipation. She craved his touch, his body pressed against hers, the way he whispered her name. She wanted it all.
“There are no buts in this, B. We’re in this together, no matter what. I will protect you, be your voice when yours fails you. I will not let you succumb to the guilt you feel.”
“Bowie . . .” His name fell softly from her lips before she closed the small gap between them. His words, his vow, they charged her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and molded herself to him. He lifted her and carried her to his bed, then laid her down gently. Her fingers tickled his barely there beard, and he smiled.
“Your eyes are so beautiful,” she told him as she gazed into his blue eyes. The same eyes their daughter had. “We made a gorgeous girl.”
Bowie grinned widely. “We did. I’ve never forgotten that night.”
“Me neither.”
“Don’t let Grady’s words come between us, Brooklyn. We deserve a shot at happiness.”
She agreed and pulled him closer. “Maybe you can make me forget what he said?”
“Are you sure I’m what you want?” he asked as he lay beside her.
“Without a doubt.”
He sat back on his knees and pulled at her shirt, lifting it over her head. She lay there, letting his eyes rove over her. He came forward and kissed a trail down her chest to her stomach, where he let his lips linger. Her fingers wove through his hair as tears welled. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I am too,” he said.
It was as if those apologies were a turning point for them. They fumbled with the rest of their clothes, almost as if they had never been together before. With each kiss and caress, the butterflies she’d had their first time came back. Her heart beat wildly with anticipation as he hovered over her. She shivered at the sensation of being with him again. She wanted this, and she wanted him.
In the early hours of the morning, as the sun rose, turning the sky to red,
and as fishermen weighed the pros and cons of heading out to sea for the day,
Carly Woods took her last breath.
She was surrounded by those she loved most.
Funeral services will take place at Harbor Church,
followed by a celebration of life at the Whale Spout.
In lieu of flowers, donations can be made to the Cape Harbor Fisherman’s Fund.
THIRTY-THREE
Bowie pulled his razor slowly against his skin, slicing off a couple days’ worth of stubble even though he knew Brooklyn enjoyed the feel against her skin. Their lovemaking had been interrupted by their daughter asking where her mother was. After the call, they both lay there, laughing. It wasn’t the first time a call had torn them apart. His free hand gripped the side of the counter as his shoulders hunched forward and he replayed yesterday in his mind. Happy, elated feelings mixed with sorrow and tears. It was hard to put into words what he felt. Hot water rushed over the razor, cleaning it off. Repeat and rinse, until very little shaving cream remained on his face. He shut the water off and stood upright, studying himself in the mirror. His eyes were puffy, the result of the tears he had shed as Carly died and from a lack of sleep. The hours prior had been hard. Sleep was nonexistent while everyone kept vigil in Carly’s room. Until now, he had never witnessed someone dying, and though she had looked at peace, he had wondered if she really was. He had known the morphine kept most of the pain at bay, but as he had taken his turns staying with her, he had seen her face grimace and her eyes flutter and was curious to know if she was aware, if she was in pain, or if those were involuntary muscle spasms. She had continued to have moments of lucidity, which he would be eternally grateful for. Carly had told Brystol she loved her many times before she had taken her final breath, which to him meant everything, considering what he and Brooklyn were about to tell her. Many times, he had wanted to leave the room, but he couldn’t leave Brooklyn and Brystol, so he had stayed and held on to Brooklyn when she would take a break from sitting by Carly.
Today was a day of mourning. Construction on the inn had ceased until after the funeral, and while Brooklyn and Simone needed to make final arrangements for Carly, Bowie planned to take his daughter fishing. He and Brooklyn felt that with everyone out of the house, the last thing they wanted was for Brystol to be by herself. Fishing probably wasn’t ideal, but it seemed like a fitting tribute to the Woodses. Aside from the Driftwood Inn, that was what they were known for, and Bowie figured Carly would want this.
Bowie took one last look in the mirror, inhaled deeply, and squared his shoulders before he turned off the light in the bathroom. He paused in the doorway, only to turn around, flick the light back on, and look at himself again. Another inhale. “You’re a dad now,” he said to the man staring back at him. “You have a daughter.”
“You have a daughter.”
“A child.”
“A teenager.”
Those were the words Bowie had said to himself, silently and aloud, since Brooklyn had told him. As much as he wanted to hate her, scream at her, tell her she was the worst person in the world for keeping his child from him, he couldn’t. Even thinking those words made his stomach turn. Brooklyn might have left him, their friends, and their town behind, but she wasn’t vindictive. She wasn’t some evil woman who set out to hurt the people she loved.
When he had seen Brooklyn sitting in the ocean with the waves washing over her, he had thought for sure she was trying to do the unthinkable, and for the life of him he couldn’t understand why. On the outside, she had an amazing life, but since her return to Cape Harbor, Bowie could tell she fought demons. There had been so many times when he wanted to lock her in one of the rooms so they could hash out their issues. Mostly, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to bring back all the memories that had faded over time. He wanted her to feel the love they had shared but had never been able to tell anyone about. He wanted her in any way she’d allow him in her life. Mostly, he just wanted to be in her presence because when she was near, he felt alive. He saw life the way he had dreamed many years before.
Bowie smiled brightly at his reflection. Parenthood looked damn good on him—at least he thought so. He was about to face the biggest test of his life, and he was scared shitless. What if Brystol didn’t like him? What if she thought he was the biggest goober and wanted nothing to do with him? Simple, he thought—he’d bring Luke. Brystol . . . h
is daughter, adored his dog, and if Bowie had to stoop to using his dog to win her over, he was going to do it.
He left the bathroom again with a newfound confidence and a bit of pep in his step. Without a doubt, he was going to make the best of his outing with Brystol. They were going to spend the day getting to know each other, hopefully bond, and not dwell on the loss of Carly. The latter was going to be a tough mountain to climb, though. He was confident he could keep Brystol’s mind occupied on the task at hand, fishing.
Before he left, he picked up the teddy bear he had bought for her. He found it in the hospital gift store and knew he had to get it for her. Next to the bear, a black box sat on the counter. Years ago, his mother had given him a necklace to give to Rachel, but it had never felt right, and he had kept it hidden in his dresser drawer. The necklace had been in his family for many generations, and now that he had a daughter, he felt he’d been right in keeping it until now. He wanted Brystol to have something from his family. When he gave it to her, he wanted her to know she was loved and had a family waiting for her. Bowie wasn’t usually an emotional guy, but when he had left Brooklyn the night he had found out he was a father, he’d lost it. Everything he’d held in for years since Austin’s death—Brooklyn disappearing, Rachel wanting a different life, and subsequently finding out about Brystol—had hit him so hard he couldn’t hold back the tears. He opened the velvet box and ran his thumb over the heart-shaped charm with a pearl in the middle of it. As far as he could remember, his great-great-grandfather had had this made after finding the pearl in an oyster. Someday soon, he would give it to Brystol, making her a Holmes.
The drive over to the inn happened in a blur. Being there every day had become second nature for him. Since the first day on the job, the one he had showed up hungover for, he’d been diligent to make sure he and his crew carried their fair share of the weight. It was almost like Brooklyn had needed to rip him a new one for him to realize he was looking a gift horse in the mouth. He had an opportunity to make a name for himself, especially by working with Brooklyn. Even if they didn’t work out as a couple, he was confident she’d support his business, and her endorsement alone would keep him flush with customers.
Bowie parked along the road and held the door for Luke to jump out. He whistled for his dog to follow him through the freshly mulched flower bed, not ideal, but safer for his dog with the construction trucks clogging the driveway. Together, the pair made their way to the front door, where Bowie inhaled, gave himself a pep talk, and tapped his knuckles against the wood.
It swung open immediately. Brystol stood there wearing khaki shorts, an old Whale Spout shirt that Bowie was sure she’d gotten from her mother, and sneakers, with a sweatshirt in her hand. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it quickly. Staring back at him was his daughter, who looked so much like her mother. Brystol pushed her glasses higher up on her nose and stared back as she tilted her head. He shook the cobwebs from his mind and grinned.
“Is your mom home?”
“No, she and Simi are meeting with the funeral home director. I thought we were going to hang out?”
He nodded and felt stupid for asking about her mother. “You’re right; I just . . .”
“Thought you were looking at my mom from twenty years ago?”
“Yeah.”
Brystol shrugged and stepped outside. Luke whined, waiting for her to pet him. She set her hand on his head while she addressed Bowie. “Nonnie says . . .” She paused, and her lower lip quivered. “I guess I have to talk about her in the past tense now, huh?”
He placed his hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “You can talk about her any way you want. You make the rules when it comes to your grandmother.”
She smiled softly, looked down at Luke and finally at Bowie again. “Nonnie always said I looked like my mom when she was younger. Sometimes, when she was tired, she called me Brooklyn. And my grandma sometimes says the same thing, which is why she calls me Little B.”
Little B. He loved that nickname for her and hoped to one day use it, if she would allow it. He motioned for her to walk ahead of him, with Luke leading the way. When they approached his truck, he went around to the passenger side and held the door for her. Of course, Luke took this open invitation to leap in first, planting himself in the middle, and before he went to climb in himself, he made sure everything he needed for their outing was secured in the back.
As he drove through town, heading toward the bridge, he waved at people he saw. Some called his name or hollered a hello to Luke. “You’re popular,” Brystol stated as they came to a stoplight.
“That happens when you live in the same place your entire life.”
“Do you know everyone?”
He thought about her question for a moment before answering. “You know, I think I do, unless they just moved here.”
“Do people move here often?”
“We might get a couple new families once or twice a year. It doesn’t take long for them to acclimate and get to know everyone.”
Brystol looked at herself in the side mirror. “Do you think people would know me if I moved here?”
Yes, especially when I tell everyone you’re my daughter. “Of course, they already do.”
“Small-town tea, right?”
“Tea?” he asked, to which Brystol giggled.
“Tea is gossip.”
Bowie laughed and pressed the gas pedal to move his truck along the road. “Gossip in town runs rampant. Everyone knows something, and sometimes that something is so far from the truth. You grin and move on. But, if you ever want to know the truth, you ask Peggy.” He pointed at the diner as they passed by. “Peggy somehow knows everything and will set everyone straight if they’re making things up.”
“I sort of think it would be fun to live in a place where everyone knows you and they wave when they see you.”
He nodded. Living in Cape Harbor definitely had its perks, but it also had its drawbacks. At times, he hated that everyone knew his business and was surprised Carly was able to keep Brystol’s true identity a secret for as long as she had. Part of him was very resentful she had, because he could’ve had his daughter years ago.
Bowie drove in silence the rest of the way to their destination. When he parked, Luke let out a satisfied bark, and Brystol laughed. He could listen to her laugh all day and never tire of the sound. “Come on,” he said as he opened his door. Brystol did the same, and Luke seemed torn on who to follow. When she called for him, his dog happily went to his daughter, and this made him smile. He could live with his best friend choosing Brystol over him. He took the fishing poles and bait box from the back of his truck and motioned for Brystol to follow him.
“Your father and I . . .” Calling Austin her father stung, but he had no choice at the moment. He cleared his throat and continued. “All our friends fished off this bridge. We used to have to contend with traffic, but the state closed it many years ago because it was more dangerous for the cars to drive over it with all the fishing that was going on.”
“So how do cars get across now?”
He pointed to a bridge a bit farther down. “The new one added about a two-minute drive. No one really complained because most everyone in town loves using this bridge to fish.” They walked to an open spot, stopping only a few times to say hello to people. Bowie introduced Brystol as Brooklyn’s daughter. Soon the town would know that she was his, and honestly, he couldn’t wait.
“I’ve never done this before,” she said as she looked over the railing at the rushing water below.
“Don’t worry, kiddo.” The man next to her spoke. “You’re with Bowie Holmes; he knows how to fish. He’ll teach you.” Brystol looked at Bowie and smiled. He couldn’t help but return the sentiment. They shared a moment, one he would remember for the rest of his life.
Bowie explained everything to her about fishing, except how to cast. For her first time, they’d drop a line from the bridge, which would be good practice. He asked h
er if she wanted to bait her hook, to which she shook her head so hard the end of her ponytail smacked her glasses. They both laughed. With her hook baited, he handed her the fishing pole and walked her through how to drop her line down.
Brystol was a natural. She pulled the bail back, kept her finger under the line, and watched her worm-baited hook sail toward the water. Per Bowie’s instructions, she let the fishing line unravel for a few more seconds before she wound the reel handle.
“Now what?” she asked.
“Now we wait. Every few minutes we’ll bring your line up, see if it’s still baited, and send it back down.”
“How will I know if I have a fish?”
“You’ll feel a good tug, and your pole will feel a bit heavier.”
“Got it,” she said as she leaned a bit over the rail. Bowie watched her for a minute before he dropped his own line.
“You know, if you want to talk about your grandmother, I’ve been told I’m a good listener. I’ve known her pretty much my whole life.”
“Maybe later. Right now, talking about her makes me sad. I asked my mom, though, if I could write her eulogy. She told me that Nonnie would love if I did. I learned about those from a book I read.”
“I bet it’s going to be beautiful.” His daughter was something else, and he was proud that she was his.
Word spread fast that Brooklyn’s daughter was on the bridge, fishing for the first time. People stopped and chatted, introduced themselves and their kids. Bowie caught a few young men checking out his daughter and wanted to move her behind him but knew he couldn’t, at least not yet. He would have to talk to Brooklyn about what kind of rules Brystol had so he wasn’t overstepping. Most importantly, he wanted Brystol to make friends, to feel like Cape Harbor was her home.
The first few times Brystol brought her line back up, her worm was gone. Bowie’s too. Everyone around them laughed and told their new friend that she’d get the hang of it, and when she hooked a small trout, she squealed so loudly that everyone on the bridge came running.
After All Page 28
