New book coming soon! And look at what I have for you today, the first chapter!

Chapter 1 – Aerate

To force air and oxygen into livewells to keep fish or bait alive. It also means to force air under the running surface of a hull.

Journey

“Tell me everything that happened.”

Best friends. They’re not always the best to have around. Especially when you don’t want to relive a very shitty night. “He’s married. There’s not much else to tell.” Frowning at my admission, I fight the urge to burst into tears. I don’t want to talk about it, let alone hash it out with my best friend. But isn’t that what friends are for? To complain about your love life with and have them agree with you regardless of their opinion?

It may sound strange, but my life, and everything in it is temporary.

Slowly drowning in the confusion of love, I’m on borrowed time. And up until today, everything made sense. Until I find out the man I’ve been dating for the last six months is married. Pretty shitty discovery, huh? Six months and I had no idea.

Through some unfortunate circumstances over the years, I’ve found it’s human nature to be secretive. So I can’t say I’m entirely surprised by this.

I think about how he told me last night. Sitting across from me, relaxed as could be, the way he rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip, and the “I’m sorry” he offered me. It’s revolting. As soon as the words “I’m his wife” had been said by his actual wife, I contemplated stabbing him with the knife next to my plate.

The neon sign above Presley’s head turns her blonde hair a shade of purple. “Seriously?”

Resolutely, I stare at my friend and her ridiculous attempt to cover up the hickey on her neck by wearing a scarf in the middle of summer. “Yes, seriously.”

She blinks, lashes fluttering in surprise. “For reals?”

“Jesus, yes, Presley. He’s married. As in, he has a wife.”

“I knew he was a bit of a shady fuck, but damn….” Presley Dakota, she’s my best friend since birth, but she’s clueless sometimes. Sensitive, yet fierce in her own way, there’s a part of her that doesn’t ground with reality. She cares too much and in turn, oversteps the boundaries between friendship, obsessively trying to fix everything in your life. Sometimes I welcome it because everyone needs a Presley in their life, but today, I don’t like her very much. I don’t like anyone.

Presley waits for me to say more, gawking at me in shock. Have you ever watched someone’s face when you give them shocking news? They make the funniest faces. It’s like their facial muscles react on their own.

“Well…” Her expectant sky-blue eyes slide to mine. “…did you stalk her on Instagram at least? I mean, who are we dealing with?”

One by one, I refill the tequila bottles in the back room. “I looked her up on Instagram last night.” With aggravation and bitterness flowing through my veins, I arrange the clear bottles on the shelf and think about how much trouble I’d get into with Avie if I dropped them on the ground. I think I’d like to. Just one. Or maybe all of them. The sounds of the glass breaking, I bet it’d provide me some relief. I can pretend it’s Devereux’s face shattering like he did to my heart.

“And…?” Presley pulls her phone from her pocket. “What’s her name? I wanna look her up.”

I scramble for something derogatory to say about his wife. I spent most of last night, and the early part of the morning, stalking her on social media, but nothing comes to mind. At least nothing I can justify. “She’s pretty.” I’m not sure what else I can say about Norah Belmont, other than if stunning had a face, it’d be her. And the fact that I couldn’t find anything to hate about her only hurt more. I thought maybe if she was ugly, I could justify it by saying it was because he wasn’t getting any at home. But no, it wasn’t like that, and it’s irrational for me to think that way. Norah, she’s beautiful. The kind of woman you look at and sigh because you know even when she’s old and wrinkled, she’s still going to be beautiful, aging timelessly.

From what I gathered from the events that unfolded last night, she didn’t know about me, at least not at first, and doesn’t deserve what Devereux is putting her through. A pediatric nurse, a volunteer, and she probably gives all her free time to her church. At least that’s the way her Instagram feed presents.

“What is wrong with you?” Presley grabs me by the arms and spins me to face her. “Did you hit your head? We’re supposed to bash him and talk about how small his dick is.”

Regardless of what I want to be doing, my thoughts remain on: I’m a home-wrecker!

Temptation gets the better of me and I drop the bottle at my feet.

Bang!

The sound of glass breaking against concrete shrieks through the bar. Immediately, the frown surfaces. It’s not as rewarding as I thought it’d be.

Silence stretches between us, Presley and I staring at the shards of glass at our feet. With a gasp, she holds up her hands and smiles. “It wasn’t me, Avie!”

Traitor.

“Journey!” Avie growls, surfacing from the office around the corner. He scrubs his hands over his tired face and then flops them down at his sides. “Damn it, I told you to be careful!”

I know it’s coming out of my paycheck by the expression on his face. His brow drawn up tight, his lips thinned in a set form.

Avie Weldon wears the weight of our lives on his shoulders. He’s had to. Our parents died when I was thirteen, and he was eighteen. Legally old enough to take care of me, since there was no way in hell I was living with our Aunt Lea—she’s borderline bi-polar, smokes a pack a day, and smells like fried chicken and peach rings—so Avie left behind the life he thought he’d have. The one where he had a full-ride baseball scholarship and is now the owner of a tavern in Westport Washington.

I’m sure it’s not the life he wanted for either of us.

“Clean it up,” he barks, despondent of emotion, his eyes on his phone in hand.

“Sorry,” I mumble, reaching for the broom.

A little bit of honesty? I’m not sorry. I’m hating.

Devereux Belmont, I hate you.

Believe me when I say you’re going to hear that name again, probably soon, and it’s going to be because I killed him. It’ll be in the papers later. Just kidding. I’m not a killer. I googled the traits of a killer and I have none of them. I wouldn’t hurt a spider. I’m that person that “relocates” the damn things.

My only victim here is a poor, unsuspecting bottle of tequila.

You might be wondering how this happened? The part where I fell for a married man? I’m going to have to start from the beginning for it to make sense.

Remember when I said I’m on borrowed time? Let’s revisit that. I was eight when I found out I had a heart muscle disease. Cardiomyopathy. It’s a condition that causes your heart muscles to become thick, stiff, and less able to pump blood. I was stable for years, and then, two weeks after my parents died, I went into acute heart failure. A week later, I was living on a LVAD machine and waiting for a heart transplant.

That day came November third. I was seventeen years old. I’ll remember it for the rest of my life because it’s the day I got a second chance, and someone else had their last. I went through a lot of grief knowing I was getting a heart because I knew someone had to die for me to get a new one. It’s not like I could go out and buy one, or borrow it. Their life ended so mine could continue. Avie tells me I’m living with survivor’s guilt because I’m afraid to live my life now.

Restless by nature, I told myself when I was eighteen, I would leave this small coastal town and go away to some fancy college to become a marine biologist. Make the best of the life I’d been given. After the childhood I had, going away to college seemed like something that would never happen for me. I was lucky to see sixteen, and then eighteen… but, sadly, now I’m twenty-three, I’ve become the other woman.

So how’d I meet Devereux? At this very bar. He ordered a rum and Coke and then asked me out. Impressionable and naïve, I fell madly in love with the idea that someone would love a girl whose life had been temporary. Isn’t that how it always happens? Not the temporary life, the meeting of the guy who changes everything you thought you knew about what you wanted in life. The damsel in distress meets the man of her dreams and forgets all about the life she had planned for herself. Then she finds out he has a wife in another town and an entire life she didn’t know about. True story.

For me, it was easy to fall for a man like Devereux. Good-looking, kind eyes, he had all the right moves to wine and dine an innocent small-town woman like me. Also, he had a good job, and that in itself was great because I knew he could support himself.

Then, just when I thought my life was something out of a storybook, last night while we were out to dinner, his wife showed up to the party. Apparently, she’d known about me for months and waited until we were together to confront us. She was nothing but sweet to me—I think she knew I had no idea.

I left the restaurant crying; he left with divorce papers.

Presley hands me the dustpan. “We should clean this up. Dinner crowd will be rolling in soon.”

We spend the next hour cleaning up the supply room, and then I show her pictures of Norah. Presley scrolls through her Instagram posts, pausing on the one of her and Devereux on their wedding day four years ago. “She has to have a fault. No one is that beautiful all the time.”

“Yeah, him,” I snap, heat creeping up my neck. “What the hell did he want with me if he had her at home?”

Presley frowns. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

I think about her words. I guess maybe I don’t, but what really drives a man to cheat on his wife? I think about Dylan, one of our bartenders. We refer to her as the man-eater. Her mission in life is married men. I know, horrible, right? It’s a long story, but from what Presley and I can tell, she was cheated on at one time, and now she only sleeps with married men. More on that later, I’m sure. But the men… what makes them think it’s okay to fuck with someone’s feelings like that?

Avie surfaces again, carrying two cases of beer. Since he’s in the room, I might as well tell you a little about my brother. He’s magnetic. That’s the only word I can think of to describe someone like him. From an early age, people, especially women, flocked to him. With a charismatic smile, a great sense of humor, and handsome as hell, he not only captivates you, he backs it up with making you instantly feel at ease around him. Sadly, I don’t see that side of him much anymore.

With a grunt, he nudges the boxes to the edge of the bar. “Get to work. The Amphitrite came in today and it’s going to be busy tonight.”

Avie has spent the last nine years making sure the family business stays running, while keeping me alive. Not only does he not have time for a personal life, but I also can’t remember the last time he had a day off.

I set my phone by the register. He hates it when we’re on our phones while we’re supposed to be working.

“Here.” He slides a case across the bar. “Line these up in the back room, and then there are two more loads in the truck. Don’t break any. Get someone to help you lift anything too heavy.”

“The fuck I will,” I mumble to myself. I didn’t use to cuss like this. I just recently started. As in, last night. Something about a woman telling me the man I’d been dating had been married the entire time, has me suddenly enjoying the way curse words feel rolling off my tongue, and you know what, I’m gonna keep doing it.

Reaching for his checkbook next to the register, Avie heads out the door. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

Presley, who’s sitting on the bar during business hours—she’s super professional—huffs out a snort. “He didn’t even say thank you.”

I glance over at her, frowning, and then roll my eyes. “Gross.”

“Well, I gave him something, he should say thank you. Not ignore me.”

“I have a very strong aversion with you sleeping with my brother.”

You heard that right. My best friend had sex with my brother. It’s every sister’s nightmare.

Sliding off the bar, she shrugs and ties her hair back. “I know, but it just happened.”

“No, it doesn’t just happen. It doesn’t work that way. You had complete control over that situation.”

She bats her thick lashes at me. “I know, but it was just like, so good.”

“Come on. Help me.”

“He said for you to do it, not me,” Presley argues, glaring in the direction of Avie standing outside the door talking to Fletcher, a local who spends most of his day here.

“I know, but I don’t want to do it alone.” I don’t like to be alone. I crave the presence of others. Maybe not their words, but I want someone with me. Which is why I still live with my brother.

Maybe because she feels bad about sleeping with my brother when I asked her not to, Presley follows me outside. The cool wind off the Pacific Ocean kicks up the smells of fried food, grease, and warm salty air. Presley complains the entire time, attempts to tell me about her night with Avie, but I hear none of that.

For two reasons. First and the most important, no girl wants to think of their brother having sex. Hearing about it is even worse—which unfortunately happened because they fucked in his office, and I was in the supply room. It was awful and I’m still irritated with both of them. And second, I spot the Amphitrite docking at the pier and the rush of activity surrounding it.

I love the name of the boat. I looked it up once, and it’s said she’s the goddess of the sea. How fitting for a fishing boat, huh? Most of my childhood I obsessed over Greek mythology, so the fact that there’s a boat named after the goddess of the sea makes me want to know more about the owners.

Presley interrupts my thoughts with “Look, I’m sorry I did it, and I said I wouldn’t.”

I look over my shoulder at Presley. She’s leaning against the side of the building, not helping and staring at her phone in her hand. “No you’re not. Now, help me.”

I’m not as mad as I’m leading on. Truth is, I’m not mad at all that Presley finally gathered up the nerve to tell my brother how she felt. She’s had a crush on him since she was seven. She’s twenty-three and finally told him. I don’t fault her for that, but I know my brother and his tendencies with women. Reacts and then regrets. Wouldn’t be the first time, and by the way he’s ignoring her today, that’s more than likely what’s happening again. Which sucks, because Presley’s my girl, and if my brother breaks her heart, I’m going to have to kill him.

Kidding. But I might find a way to rough him up a bit.

Peeking his head out the half-open door, Everett smiles at us. “Why is the bar unattended? If Fletcher wasn’t such an honest old man, he’d be lit by now.”

I smile, sweeping my hair from my face. “Presley was supposed to be tending bar.” Paybacks.

Tucking her phone in her back pocket, Presley rolls her eyes. “I’m on it.”

“Need some help?” Everett steps toward me, reaching for one of the cases of beer in the back of Avie’s truck. “You shouldn’t be lifting these by yourself.”

Here’s a fun fact. I lost my virginity to Everett when I was sixteen. I thought I was going to die, and I did not want to die a virgin. If you tell my brother, I’ll deny it because Everett is his best friend and that would make me, you know, a hypocrite. So let’s just keep this treasure nugget to ourselves and move on. We’re fine. It was sex. Nothing special. And we’ve rarely mentioned it since.

I rip the box away. “I’ve got it, E.”

He holds up his hands and backs up a step. “I know you do.” Tilting his head, he watches me curiously. “I’m just offering some help so you don’t overdo it.”

It doesn’t matter how many years pass, people see the scar on my chest and they know I’ve had heart surgery. Suddenly, I’m not capable of doing anything. “It’s been six years, Everett. I can certainly handle lifting cases of beer.”

Aggravated with me, he sighs. “Whatever you say.”

His feet drag against the gravel, and then I hear the thick metal of the door screeching as it slams behind him. I glare at the building. I’m locked out. Damn it. “Everett,” I groan, regretting telling him to leave.

Hauling up the two cases of beer left in the back of the truck, I attempt to carry them around the front of the building. It’s heavy and more than I can take. I make it around the side before I drop one of the cases.

Tears surface and my anger builds inside me. I look down at the beer spilled on the sidewalk, and then familiar expensive shoes in front of me.

Fucking Devereux. I should have known he’d come looking for me today.

I slide my gaze to his. “Need some help?”

Don’t be fooled by his beautiful green eyes. They’re emerald pits of deception. I can’t believe that I even fell for him. Anger surges through me like the ocean’s tide. It ebbs and flows, and then it’s constant and persistent.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I seethe. “I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again.”

Like he’s sulking, he bends his head forward, rubs the back of his neck and nods and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I know.”

He knows? So he’s here to what… make matters worse? I’m thankful for the beer in my hand. If I have something in my hands, I won’t fidget, and I certainly won’t hit him, like I really want to. I can be argumentative and flinty with the best of them. I grew up in a bar with fishermen. I wrote the book on bitch-mode. “Then what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I uh….”

That’s what he has to say? For six months, he didn’t think to tell me he was married, and now all he has to say to me is uh? “Why did you come here?” I drop the other case. It breaks. Avie is going to kill me. “Isn’t your wife wondering where you’re at?”

He swallows, flinching at my words. “I was wondering if I could get the ring back?” he asks, his eyes on the beer spilling from the cardboard case. Of course he can’t look at me in the face when he asks for it back. Why would he? That’d be fucking noble of him, and apparently, as we just found out, noble is not his strong suit.

Did I forget to tell you he proposed the night I found out he was married? Must have slipped my mind in my fit of rage. Just so you know, I wasn’t going to say yes. I didn’t like him that much, but still, a shitty situation for me.

I take a deep breath in, trying to prepare myself for the rant I’ve been practicing.

My attention lifts from the beer to the commotion on the docks, and then I let him have it. “You know, Dev, I thought maybe I’d give you the benefit of the doubt first. What the hell were you thinking asking me to marry you when you were already married?”

He shrugs, but I can tell me shortening his name pissed him off. I’ll go ahead and mark this down as a point on my behalf.

I drive my hand into his shoulder. “I deserve a goddamn answer!”

His eyes shift to mine. Probably because I’ve said fuck and goddamn, while in the entire time we dated, I don’t think I cussed at all. Or maybe because I’m shouting and people on the streets are gawking at us. I look at a woman who’s staring and smile. “Don’t worry, he’s married. I just found out.”

By the way her face pales, maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but you know, I think everyone in this town needs to know what a lying sack of shit he is.

Just when I’m going to walk away, he reaches for my hand. “I was going to file for divorce.”

“And what, marry me next and then a year into it find a new wife? How many times have you done this to women?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve never.”

I snort, crossing my arms defiantly over my chest. “Until now.”

Shaking his head, he blows out a breath. “Until now. Listen, Journey,” his voice softens and he tries to reach for my hand, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

Stepping back a foot, I start laughing. Full-on hysterical laughing and then that turns into more stares, people stopping in the street and just about the time I feel like I’m going to burst into tears, I get angry and yell, “Fuck. You. Devereux. Don’t ever come here again.”

In a rush, Avie comes outside, the heavy wooden door swinging open with the ding from the bell above it. “Is everything okay out here?” His eyes move from the broken beer bottles on the street to me, and then Devereux. “What the fuck are you doing here, you piece of shit?”

Yep. I told my big brother all about big douchebag.

Devereux holds his hands up and backs up a step. “I just came to say I was sorry. I don’t want no trouble.”

I might not have mentioned this, but Avie has a temper. One that’s known around this small coastal town. He once put a grabby patron in the hospital with sixteen stitches in his throat when the guy refused last call.

I grin, thinking of Avie putting him in the hospital. “Erp, wrong answer. Try again.”

Jesus. Am I as obnoxious as I think I am right now?

Devereux narrows his eyes at me, then shakes his head in annoyance. He focuses on Avie, who’s positioned himself between Devereux and me. “I came to get the ring back.”

I smile at Avie, snort, and he smiles, because he knows what I did with the ring. My back straightens, and for someone who has always thought of herself as the poor little sick girl, I have courage like I’ve never had before. It’s like the moment in Brave when Merida finally realizes the bear had been her mother all along. Okay, maybe not like that at all, but I love that movie, so I’m going to say I’m like the lead in Brave, and you’re just going to fucking agree with me. Unless you want on my bad side too.

I lean toward Nick and whisper, “If you want the ring, I hope you know how to swim because it’s in the bottom of the Pacific.” I push past Avie and into the bar.

Presley is standing near the door, her mouth hanging open. “Damn, girl. I’ve never seen that side before.”

My heart pounds in my chest, thumping wildly against my breastbone. “I don’t even know where that came from.”

“Well, you’re gonna need it tonight when the boys from the Amphitrite come in.”

She’s right, I will.