Summer Island Sisters

by Ciara Knight

  He screamed.

  Trace splashed and scraped her nails at him. He grabbed her around the waist and hoisted her up onto the board. She coughed and choked on the ocean water.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” He held on to the board and kicked and kicked.

  “What are you doing?” Trace managed between coughs.

  “Rescuing you.”

  “From what? Practicing my freediving?”

  He stopped kicking. “What?”

  “I do that when I’m stressed or need to focus. It’s my yoga equivalent.” Trace shook her head. “Ah, you know you’re in the ocean, right?”

  His attention snapped from a distressed woman to surrounding sharks. The ones he couldn’t see.

  His heart beat faster than flying fish wings. Pulse hammered. Skin tingled.

  He froze.

  “Come on, knight in shining distress. I’ll get you to shore.” She slid off the board and kicked by his side, shoulder to shoulder toward the shore. “I guess you can swim.”

  “Never said I couldn’t,” he grumbled, scanning the water for fins. “Freediving, really? Aren’t there tanks for that sort of thing?”

  “Not scuba diving. It’s only thirty feet in the middle of the channel. No need for a tank.”

  He wiped the stinging, salty water from his eyes. “There’s every reason for a tank. What if you got trapped down there?”

  “On what? Sand?” She laughed, but her teasing didn’t bother him. He welcomed it—the distraction and the connection. “Looks like we have company.”

  He flinched, sure a fin protruded from the water and headed their way, but then he followed her finger to Trevor standing on the beach laughing.

  “Told you she’d get you to do something crazy. I can’t wait to see you in the pink apron mowing the lawn.”

  “That doesn’t count. She didn’t convince me to do anything. I jumped in because I thought she was drowning.” When his toes brushed the sand underneath him, relief cooled his skin.

  Trevor met them at the water’s edge and offered a hand to Dustin. “Listen, I don’t care how she did it. Just glad she did. Good job, Trace.”

  Dustin shook his head, shooting excess water to the ground. “Right. Great job.”

  Trace unstrapped the board from her ankle, and Trevor took it. He set it against the side of the wooden post of the dock and laughed all the way back up the hill.

  “Thank you,” Trace said in an honest, soft tone.

  “For what?”

  She unzipped the shortie wetsuit and pulled her arms free, revealing a bathing suit that accentuated her chest and tight arms. His breath caught.

  “For putting my safety above your fear.” Trace studied the ground. “That took courage. I can’t believe you did that for me. You’re a good man.”

  His skin heated at her words. No, he’d never been a good man. Not that he was evil or unkind, just selfish. Had Trace brought out something different in him?

  He stripped off his shirt and tossed it onto the dock and wrung out his shorts at the cuff. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

  She hooked her fingers around his. “It was.” Her gaze traveled from his eyes, to his lips, to his bare chest, and back to his lips.

  In that moment, he wanted to kiss her. Kiss her and make her see that he could give her the world and she could be happy.

  She took in a stuttered breath and looked up at him.

  He leaned in.

  She pressed her palm to his chest. “Wait. I need to share something with you.”

  Disappointment at her rejection took hold, but the way her thumb moved over his skin made him feel a longing he hadn’t felt in years, if ever. Trace was a woman worth waiting for. He couldn’t push her. He had to let her ease into something with him. And he had work to do to deserve her. “Okay. I’m listening.”

  She shook her head. “Not here. Follow me.” After a glance around the area as if to search out enemies in the bushes, she let him go and walked toward the trail to her place.

  The separation forced a coldness inside him he couldn’t explain in the ninety-plus degree temperature. All he could do was follow her.

  At the edge of the woods, she didn’t speak. At the edge of the house, she didn’t speak. At the edge of a desk, she didn’t speak.

  She opened a drawer, popped open a hidden door, and retrieved an envelope. With the crumpled white letter held to her chest, she sat on the edge of the desk and closed her eyes. “I don’t know if I can share this with you. I told you the basics, but this gives the details. An account of why I’m at fault. I’m sure you’ll hate me after you read it, but I can’t keep this to myself anymore, and I don’t know what to do.”

  Dustin felt ripped in half between wanting to understand what she faced that kept them apart but at the same time dreading the knowledge. “What about Jewels, Wind, Kat, and Bri?”

  She shot to her feet. “No. They can’t know. You promised you wouldn’t tell anyone. You can never say anything, or this could take you down, too.”

  Dustin longed to touch her, to still her trembling hands, to pull her into his arms and hold her until she calmed and hours after. “You can trust me.”

  “I know.” Trace took in a long breath and then blew it out as if to free herself from poisonous gas. “A man willing to face his fears to save me is a man I have to trust, or I’ll never trust anyone again.” She mumbled something else, but all he caught was “Dad” and “sure.”

  She held out the envelope with her shaking hand, and he took it.

  “Should I read it now?”

  Trace nodded but took off for the back bedroom as if she couldn’t face him as he read what darkness waited inside the folded paper. He leaned against the desk and opened the envelope, unfolded the paper, and scanned the note.

  Dear Mr. and Mrs. Sanders,

  I am writing to tell you more about your son. He was working for me the night he died. Matt was an amazing person who had a heart for all things living. He followed me into battle and courageously faced the bureaucratic enemies ravaging our environment.

  That’s what he believed, because that’s what I told him.

  This isn’t easy for me to explain, but I wanted you to know that I take responsibility for your son’s death. I’ve remained silent all this time in fear of the retaliation I’d face if I spoke up, but I can’t keep the truth from you.

  I’m aware that Remming Enterprises in conjunction with the Brazilian oil company paid you a substantial sum under the guise of goodwill despite your son’s illegal actions, but they lied. Your son wasn’t trying to sneak onto the rig that night to sabotage or to cause damage out of some misguided youthful notion he would be famous for his work as an extremist. Your son was there to gather photographic evidence of the illegal practices of the corporations running the rig.

  I should’ve been with him to gather evidence, helping and ensuring his safety, but instead I was being manipulated by Mr. Remming with romance and empty promises. He told the authorities that I had a crush on him and he’d dissuaded me, despite my misguided attempts at winning his affections. Mr. Remming turned his deceit around and accused me of manipulating your son by using his desire to please me to convince him to perform the sabotage that got him killed.

  None of this is true.

  I’ve remained quiet, but despite the gag order the company and Brazilian government nudged me to sign in exchange for my freedom and a large settlement to you, I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. You needed to know the truth, even if you don’t believe me.

  I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for Matt. I’ll carry that guilt with me the rest of my days. Ultimately, I take responsibility for his death because he was my intern, but I never and would never manipulate someone to destroy property. That is Remming Enterprise’s MO, not mine.

  Please accept my deepest condolences and my heartfelt apology for failing your son. If I could go back and sacrifice myself for Matt, I would.

  * * *

  Sincer
ely,

  Trace Latimer

  * * *

  Dustin lowered the paper and found Trace standing in front of him with a wild, fear-filled, wide-eyed gaze.

  “Now you know the truth. It’s my fault that Matt died.”

  He dropped the paper to the ground and cupped her cheek. “No. It’s not. And I’ll prove it to you.”

  “No. You promised.” Trace grabbed his biceps, squeezing until her nails dug into his skin. “These people will ruin my friends and lie to everyone about me. I can’t embarrass our town like that. I came home after promising to keep my mouth shut. They paid Matt’s parents, who needed the money more than anyone. I thought I’d done the right thing at the time, but when I found out the company told them that their son had been there to commit sabotage and would’ve been put in jail, I couldn’t keep the truth any longer.”

  Dustin bent over, resting his forehead on hers and willing her to hear the truth. “It wasn’t your fault. I’ll keep my promise. I would never betray you, but Trace, look at me.” He nudged her chin so she’d have to face him and looked deep into her eyes, willing her to see the truth. “You need to forgive yourself for allowing that man to manipulate you. I know you’ll never trust me when I say this, but I’m not Robert Remming, and I’d never use your feelings to get what I want.”

  She blinked and took shallow breaths. “I do. God help me, but I do believe you.” She lunged into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him.

  He stood, holding her tight, and kissed her back.

  A kiss that shattered him. Broke him into a thousand pieces of nothing. But when she clung to him, the pieces glued back together. Together in a new way. A way that made him a better man, whole for the first time in his life.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Trace clung to Dustin. She forgot everything in the world except for his lips. He soothed the pain in her heart and replaced it with joy. A child’s Christmas morning kind of joy.

  Heat spread from her lips to her neck, over her shoulders, down her arms. His arms around her were like support beams for life.

  They broke apart, panting and clinging to each other.

  Passion. Heart-pumping, mind-numbing, oh-so-good passion.

  “I’ve got you,” he whispered, lowering her back to her feet but not letting go.

  Trace pressed her cheek to his chest. “You don’t hate me?” She wanted to know but feared the truth.

  “Never,” he whispered and pressed his lips to her head. “I’ll support you in any way you would like. I’ll fight the giants. I’ve got the money stored away to hire lawyers for you. I’ll scream from the rooftops that there’s no way you would’ve risked anyone’s life. I’ll protect you from the media. I’ll hire a hitman for Robert Remming. Better yet, I’ll take care of him myself. Tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

  “Hold me. Don’t judge me. Keep my secret.” She wrapped her arms around his middle and held on. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, but it helps that I’m not alone anymore. That someone knows the truth.”

  “You’re not alone. I’m sorry you’ve had to carry this with you for so long. It’s not fair.” He rubbed her back. “You did nothing wrong.”

  “I allowed myself to turn my back on everything I knew because of some guy. Matt saw us kissing. That’s why he took off into the ocean. Not to save the sea creatures, but to save me from Robert. To show me the truth about his manipulation and illegal actions.”

  “Shhh. It isn’t your fault. I’ll say it a hundred times, a thousand, enough until you believe it.”

  “If I mail the letter, I need to leave. You can have the house. I can’t save it or make up for not being here for my father, but I can protect this town when the media discovers my part in all this.”

  Dustin stiffened. “No. Stay. I’m so sorry about fighting you on this house. I thought you were a different person who only wanted to thwart my attempts out of spite.”

  “Rhonda made you believe that.”

  “You mean I was manipulated by a woman with some alternate agenda? I’m a horrible person.”

  Trace leaned back and smacked him in the belly. “Not the same thing.”

  He took hold of her face with such gentleness, she felt cherished and cared for. “It is, Trace. It’s exactly the same thing, and if you blame yourself, then I need to take responsibility for what I did.”

  “Will it help if I said I forgive you?” Trace said, but the distraction of his lips so close dizzied her.

  “Only if you can forgive yourself.”

  Trace sighed. “It isn’t that easy. You almost cost me a home. I cost a man his life.” She pulled away, knowing she couldn’t stay in Dustin’s arms a minute longer and remember the facts. And she refused to be steered in the wrong direction. “I need to figure out if I should send that letter or not. If I do, I could be reopening Matt’s parents’ wounds. If I do, I could risk this house, my friends, this town…you.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” Dustin’s hands were on her shoulders, almost making her believe he could fix this for her.

  “If I don’t send it, I-I…”

  “Will never allow yourself to move on with your life.” Dustin snuck his hands around her and pulled her against him. “Then you should send it. You should tell the world what really happened. That Robert Remming is a bully. If I know Trace Latimer, she doesn’t back down from a fight and would never let a bully win. Tell the girls. They’ll tell you the same thing.”

  Trace spun around on him. “No. You promised. The girls can’t know.”

  He held up his hands. “Okay, I won’t. I’m only saying that you should.”

  The sound of the clock ticking in the kitchen soothed her but also made her remember how this town and her friends saw her. “I’ll be exposed to the world. Rhonda’s right. The town will finally know who I really am. A girl who abandoned her father. A self-proclaimed do-gooder who didn’t need any luxuries in life. A person who chose fight over family, only to be the woman who put herself over everything.”

  Twigs cracked outside, drawing Trace to the open window in time to spot a bunny hopping across the ground. She returned to the desk, folded the letter, and tucked it away in its home before picking up Dustin’s tool belt and heading toward the door. “For now, we both have a job to do. No more standing around slacking. Get to work.”

  Dustin met her at the doorway, blocking her exit. “Fine, but tell me that you won’t handle this alone. Let me fix this for you. I can—”

  “Stay out of it. Don’t make me regret telling you.” She squared her shoulders and stared him down like a killer whale to a seal.

  He backed out of her way and grabbed the tool belt from her. “You can work down here while I finish the roof.”

  “Oh, no. We had a deal. Let’s head to the hotel.”

  “Hotel is supposed to be in the morning—says so in Kat’s documents.”

  “I wasn’t there to help you this morning.”

  “The hotel can wait. I want your house finished.”

  “A deal’s a deal. Besides, when you finish the hotel, you’ll have a reason to stay in Summer Island with Trevor and Jewels.”

  He swooped her up into his arms once more. “I’ve already found a reason to stay.”

  Trace squirmed in his arms, not because she wanted to get away but because she feared she’d never let him go.

  For a week, they worked side by side down the list Kat had provided them. Mornings in the hotel, afternoons at the house, evenings on the beach tucked away around the corner where prying eyes couldn’t watch. Each night, Trace had to peel herself away and return to Jewels’s place.

  In that week, she began to believe anything was possible with Dustin by her side. On the eighth day, she rose from bed with Houdini curled up on her pillow and went to make coffee like every other morning.

  “Does she know?” Kat asked in a conspirator tone.

  Trace paused at the edge of the hallway at the unexpected sound of her frien
d’s voice at this hour.

  “Do you think she spoke to the press and not us?” Wind asked.

  A jolt of warning seared Trace’s skin.

  “No,” In a tone that said Jewels didn’t believe that.

  Trace shuffled into the kitchen, and Bri snagged a newspaper off the table, folded it, and shoved it under her arm. “Good morning.”

  “What’s going on?” Trace looked between them.

  Kat crossed her arms, and her lip curled at the edge. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  Wind smacked her.

  “Tell you what?” Trace rubbed her eyes free of sleep.

  Jewels held out her hand to Bri, who relinquished the newspaper. “About this.” She plopped it down on the table.

  “They still print those things? I thought everything was digital.”

  “The Summer Island Gazette still prints and delivers.” Kat jabbed her finger at the paper. “You spoke to the press and not us? That’s what you’ve been stewing and upset about?”

  In large print, the headline read, Tree hugger or Murderer: Small-Town Activist Caused Big-Time Problems.

  Fire surged through her veins. “He didn’t.” She snagged the paper and skimmed the article. Everything in her letter, everything she’d told Dustin, printed for the world to see. “I’ll kill him.”

  She bolted out of the kitchen, out of the house, and down the beach to Trevor’s house. With her fist balled tight, she pounded on the glass sliding door, sure it would shatter.

  “What are you doing? You’re not even dressed, hon,” Wind shouted, running up the hill holding out a robe.

  Trevor came down the stairs and opened the door. “What’s going on? What did Dustin do now?”

  Trace shoved the paper into Trevor’s gut. “Dustin!” she shouted.

  “He’s not here. He’s in town.” Trevor eyed the paper. “I don’t understand.”

  She turned around in the circle of prying judgmental eyes. “It’s true. All of it. I was the cause of Matt’s death, and Dustin was the only one who knew the entire story. The story he promised never to share.”