After about half my smoke, Diem climbs into the driver’s seat and sets up his phone. He puts the address of our house into it. I looked it up, while I was procrastinating, and the house is on the other side of town from the airport.
The house we’re staying at is right on a cliff that overlooks the water. So, we drive past the docks. There are several boats in port. I see a couple of ours, including Bearded Bean II. It was the first boat Randy acquired after my dad passed. Named as such because Randy felt it was appropriate and considering it’s very similar in build and design as the original. I look forward to being on her deck today.
“While you’re out today, I’ll make sure to pick up a few things. Is there anything particular you want?” Diem asks while driving
“Wine, lots of it.”
He laughs, “Anything else?”
“Get whatever you want,” I tell him. “There’s that dinner tonight after we get back. If I decide not to go to that, we can always find somewhere to eat.”
Dutch Harbor is a fishing town, but there are plenty of restaurants, hotels, and bars. Lots of bars. That’s what fishermen do when they’re in port. Food, alcohol, and sleep.
Diem finds a restaurant open 24/7—like a lot of places here—and pulls in. We have a little time to kill. We’re meeting the house’s owner at seven to get the keys to our overnight rental. The pictures Dawson had shown me and what I saw when I looked up our rental before leaving last night come back into my mind. The house is very clearly designed with Unalaska in mind. The Aleutian Islands are fueled by the surrounding waters and the bounty they provide. This house has no shortage of stuffed fish on the walls, along with animal heads and antlers. The furniture is old, and I can imagine it smelling like my grandmother’s house when I was a kid. We are staying in a fishing town and the house screams fishermen. I imagine they rent it to a lot of boat owners and maybe even some captains who stay here longer than the crew. I was a bit surprised it was available, given the end of the season. Dawson kind of wrinkled his nose a bit. I told him to just book us into a hotel, but he refused, stating they weren’t sufficient. I rolled my eyes at him.
Diem and Scott open their doors. Scott turns to open mine. We’re in a truck that in order for me to get in and out of it, the passenger door must be open. Not many luxury car options in Dutch Harbor, Alaska. You take what you can get, and what you get are pick-up trucks. Most of the people renting here are fishermen, and the trucks are necessary because of everything they’re hauling. I should have been surprised by the old Nissan Titan, but I really wasn’t. It’s a nice truck.
There are some people in the restaurant who their heads turn our way as we climb out. The wind knocks my hood off. I shiver as my neck is exposed. My hair is up in two buns at my crown. I’m sure I look like the last thing that should be walking into a restaurant in Dutch Harbor, but I don’t give a shit.
Stepping in, a sign tells us to seat ourselves and Diem finds a table near the window for us. The restaurant overlooks the docks and some boats that look positively massive from here.
I remember the Bearded Bean as a kid. It was huge, bigger than anything I’d ever seen. But to a little girl of six, everything is huge. My growing up and height haven’t changed that prospective.
My phone dings. I pull it from my purse and see it’s Randy.
Did you get in okay?
I smile and reply with yes and where we are.
He responds with a quick—on our way.
The waitress comes over to us. I smile at her. She looks exactly like you’d expect—older, a little pudgy around the center and a hump to her back that makes it look like she’s been looking down at tables her whole life. “What can I get you folks?” she asks.
“Coffee,” I tell her.
Diem nods, “Same.”
Scott, too.
“Creamer?”
“Please?” I ask. She nods. I add, “We also have two more joining us.”
“Okay,” she nods and hands us menus then leaves two more on the table.
“Two more?” Diem asks with a raise of his eyebrow.
“Randy and Kathleen are on their way.”
“Ahh,” he nods slowly.
I look over the menu. It’s not big, but it’s definitely hearty, and I understand how hearty when I watch our waitress deliver plates to an adjacent table of men wearing vinyl overalls. They’re either fishermen or work on the docks. They’re huge, reminding me again of Xavier Tyler. I sigh to myself. I wish I could just purge the asshole from my system. Who knows, maybe I’ll find a fisherman to satisfy me tonight and finally be able to purge Mr. Tyler from my system for good.
Much sooner than I’d have thought possible—hey I’m a New Yorker, it takes 45 minutes to get anywhere—Randy and Kathleen arrive.
“Girl,” Kathleen beams at me as I stand. She wraps her arms around me, and it’s a strange comfort to me. I haven’t seen her in years, mainly because I refuse to travel west.
“Hi, Aunt Kathy,” I smile, hugging her back.
She squeezes me hard. “I’ve missed you,” she says softly.
“Me too,” I tell her. I didn’t realize until that moment that I did miss her.
She releases me, and Randy snags me up in his own hug. I’ve seen much more of Randy than Kathy over the last few years, mainly because he comes to New York once in a while. He does a lot of work with some restaurants in Manhattan, ensuring they get some of the freshest seafood the Bering Sea has to offer.
“Hi,” he breathes.
I take both of them in. While the years have been kind to both of them, they’ve aged. Kathleen looks like she’s happy. Her salt and pepper hair is pulled back into a bun, her brown eyes glittering with happiness at me.
“Aunt Kathy, this is Diem.” I introduce the quiet men sitting at the table. “And Scott.”
“Hi Diem,” Kathleen smiles at him and offers her hand. Diem takes it. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I groan playfully.
Randy sits at the head of the table next to Diem and Kathy next to me. The waitress arrives with two carafes of coffee and a large bowl of individual creamers, with five mugs hooked on three fingers. A very well practiced dance as she sets everything down in front of us.
“Let me know when you’re ready to order,” the waitress says before she departs.
Randy looks at me. “How was your flight?”
“Long,” I laugh breathily. “But I slept quite a bit.”
“Good.” His smile is sweet as he grabs a carafe and starts filling mugs with steaming coffee. “I trust you brought some warmer clothes?” He appraises my unbuttoned peacoat and the t-shirt underneath.
I laugh, “I did, much warmer. I just didn’t expect it to be so cold when we got here.”
“The nights are brutal sometimes,” Kathleen says, “but the days get better, at least on land.”
Randy turns to Diem. “Will you two be joining us on the boat?”
Diem finishes the sip of coffee he was taking. “No, I won’t, but Scott will.” Scott smiles at that. I like Scott. He’s pretty average, about my height, but very good at hiding in the shadows. When he’s with me, I often forget he’s there. Diem adds, “I was going to leave that to Skylar.”
I smile at my name. Yes, he usually calls me Ms. McKay, but when were in a more personal setting like this, he knows I don’t mind if he uses my name.
“Fair enough,” Kathleen says behind her coffee cup before taking a sip.
“Everything is set,” Randy fills us in. “There’s a memorial service on the dock where Killer Whale spent its dock time. It will start at 9:15.” Randy takes a sip of coffee before continuing, “Then at 9:26, the bells will toll on the docks and around town 9 times. Eight for the crew and one for the ship itself. Then there will be a brief pause and it will toll two more times.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “For?” I ask.
“Two from the original crew that were not on board at the time who have since passed.”
/> I nod, understanding. They’re honoring the dead the best way fishermen know how.
“From there,” Kathleen chimes in, “we will drive over to Bearded Bean II and take off from there. We have about 25 people who will be riding with us. Other ships and their crews will be joining on their own boats.”
“It will take about three to three and a half hours to get there. Once we’re there, you’ll have the honor of detonating the explosives to blow out the bottom of the boat.”
“I don’t want to do that,” I tell Randy sternly.
“I think you should,” Kathleen says. “He was your father; that was his boat and your legacy,” she reminds me.
I sigh, my eyes meeting Diem’s, and he smiles sweetly at me. “You should do it.” His voice is soft.
I look at Randy and then to Kathleen. “What would you have done if I wasn’t here?” I ask.
“Kathleen would have done it.”
I look at her with wide eyes. “Don’t you want to?”
“No, sweetheart, I don’t.” Tears fill her eyes. “I love the idea of what we’re doing with it, but I don’t know if I can. It’s kind of the last thread holding Erron here, and I…” the tears overwhelm her.
It tugs on my heartstrings. I have to remind myself that Kathleen had 30 years with her brother. I got 12e very limited years with him. “Do I have to say anything?” I raise an eyebrow at Randy.
He chuckles softly, “Not if you don’t want to.”
I nod. “Alright,” I relent.
Seeing Kathleen’s tears makes me understand just how hard this is for her. She didn’t just lose her brother that day, she lost her best friend’s husband, Jack.
The name in my mind brings back a flood of memories. I haven’t thought about Jack, let alone Sarah and Dirk, in a very, very long time. I wonder how they’re doing, but I don’t ask the question. Dirk wouldn’t recognize me, and I likely wouldn’t recognize him either after 20 years. We were just kids, after all.
We order breakfast and eat it. It’s a definite greasy mess of deliciousness, and I make a silent vow to return to my regular diet immediately when I get home.
At quarter to seven, I pay the bill and leave our waitress a generous tip. Hopefully, it will make her day. Randy and Kathleen let me know they’ll be at the rental about 8:45 to pick me up for the dock before they leave.
Diem drives us to the house to meet the property owner.
Once we’re in the house, I take a shower and get ready.
Chapter 11
Xavier
I take a deep breath before climbing out of my truck.
I’m early, but there are plenty of people gathered around, and my eyes scan the crowd. I breathe a sigh of relief and a little disappointment when I don’t see what I’m looking for. I don’t know why I even bothered looking.
She hasn’t come in 20 years, so why would she start now?
I approach the group and I’m met with hellos and hugs from many of the people I’ve come to know well. Families, mostly. I also notice several captains I’ve worked with for years that were good friends of my father’s and Erron McKay. Many of whom have looked after me over the years. Especially after my mother died.
“Who is that?” someone says, and I can’t stop myself from turning to look. The surprise in the voice is enough to catch my attention.
I see Randy and Kathleen—not who they were talking about. Just about everyone here knows who they are. Most of the people here right now work for Randy. Then my eyes land on the person walking with them.
“Holy fuck,” I breathe.
I watch as she, Skylar Rebel McKay, walks down the dock headed in our direction. Her eyes scan the group of people. I turn around, putting my back to her, hoping like hell she doesn’t recognize me.
She’s dressed in wide leg black pants, a peacoat that clearly has a sweatshirt underneath it, and her hair hidden beneath an oversized beanie. Looking like sex on fucking legs as she walks toward us.
Shit.
She came.
She actually fucking came.
“Is that Rebel?” I hear one of the ladies ask. She’s older, definitely one of the wives, but I can’t remember which one.
“What is she doing here?” someone snaps. Another one of the women. I narrow my eyes at her. She’s one of the daughters of one of the Killer Whale crew members. She’s younger than I am, so she was really young when her father died, and also one of the few people who still blame Erron McKay for the loss of their loved ones. Guilty by association, their anger has shifted to Rebel.
“She was a child for god’s sake,” I snap at the woman. “Get over it.” The woman glares at me. “She’s paid her debt, and she has just as much right to be here as you do,” I growl at her.
Something in my expression has her narrowing her eyes and flinching away from me.
Good.
“Randy,” one of the captains says, greeting him.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up; I know she’s close.
“Jerry,” Randy greets.
“Kathleen,” the captain says, and I can picture him hugging her. “Is that?” The captain’s voice is full of intrigue.
I hear Randy laugh, “The one and only.”
“Rebel, I’m Jerry Trimble, I knew your father very well.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Jerry,” Rebel says, her voice alight, maybe a little excited. But I catch the hint of a sadness she’s trying to hide.
Several other people approach her, and I chance a glance in her direction. She’s occupied, her back to me.
“What’s your deal?” Dribbler shoulder checks me. Yes, that’s a nickname.
“I never thought she’d come,” I say quietly.
“She’s fucking hot.” I shoulder check him back. “What? She’s always been hot.”
I shake my head at him. I don’t tell him that I tapped that just a couple months ago. Only because she’s about to discover the man who hit and ran on her is here, and more than that, she’s about to find out the man who left her in a hotel room is someone she left 20 years ago.
My leaving her the way I did that morning was my way of getting back at her. Getting a little dig in for the way she left me 20 years ago. Granted, we never slept together back then, but she never said good-bye. I didn’t even know she was leaving. I just assumed she’d stay at her father’s house. It was stupid and naïve of me to think she’d have any control over where she’d go once Erron was dead.
After a few moments, Randy comes over to where I’ve struck up a conversation with Jessie and Tommy, two of my crewmen. “What’s wrong?” Randy asks, concerned.
I sigh. “Why the hell didn’t you warn me?” I ask him.
“Where would the fun be in that?” he laughs.
“Asshole,” I grumble.
“Rebel?” Randy says.
“Fucker,” I groan.
Rebel
It’s been a very long time since I’ve heard my middle name so much, but that’s who I am to all these people. Most everyone seems glad to see me, minus a small group of women about my age who stay well enough away from me. I get the impression this is the Anti-Rebel group of descendants. The ones who still blame me for their fathers’ deaths. I ignore them.
“Rebel?” Randy calls to me.
I turn to the men I’m talking to. “Excuse me.” I turn toward Randy who is standing next to the man who’s had his back turned to me the whole time I’ve been here. He’s well built, like most of the men here, a thick winter coat on and a beanie covering his head.
I approach, and my hair starts standing on end for reasons I don’t understand. Randy claps the man on the shoulder and turns him around. “Rebs, you remember Dirk?” Randy asks.
My heart flutters in my chest at the name of a very old friend. A best friend from my childhood. Someone I haven’t seen or heard from in the 20 years since our fathers died and I left Seattle with my aunt and uncle in favor of Portland and a life away from crabbing.
I t
ry to find a smile, but I can’t seem to do it.
I was 12. He was 14.
We were too young to really know better, but he was always there for me. He was my own little slice of happiness in a world that seemed to suck more and more the older I got. The less time I spent with my father meant the more time I spent with Dirk and his mother, Sarah. The happier I became. Mainly because I had the biggest crush on him.
As he turns around, I’m met with gorgeous grey eyes. Eyes I spent hours intimately looking into for a night just a couple months ago. Eyes that have permanently been burned into my brain. “Dirk?” I breathe.
“Hi Rebs,” he smiles at me. It’s a gorgeous, my-panties-are–going-to-explode, smile.
My pussy heats as I look into the stormy grey orbs of one Xavier Tyler.
“She remembers,” Randy laughs and leaves us.
“Asshole,” I growl at Dirk when Randy is out of earshot. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I snap.
“And spoil the fun?” A playful smirk spreads across his lips.
“You’re a prick,” I seethe, narrowing my eyes at him. Anger turns my vision a slight shade of red.
“Payback, princess.” He shrugs.
“For what?” I bite.
“For leaving me 20 years ago.”
I scoff, my anger subsiding slightly. “What are you talking about?” I argue.
“Couldn’t even say good-bye. You just left.”
“I. Didn’t. Have. A. Choice,” I say through gritted teeth.
He cocks his head briefly, raising an eyebrow and shrugging slightly in a nonchalant—sucks to be you—manor. “Now we’re even.”
I glare at him.
My anger subsiding more and more the longer I look at him, taking him in.
I slept with Dirk.
I realize at the moment my anger isn’t with him, but with myself. For being so self-absorbed that I didn’t have the mind to see it. It was right there the whole time as I look at him now. Granted, his hair is longer, his body is no longer the gangly teenage body it was back then. But his eyes, those grey orbs. The subtle crookedness to his lips when he smiles. It’s all right there.
Always Love Me: A Standalone Second Chance Romance Page 9
