Page 119 of Forget Me Not

“Where did you go?”

“I got a job on a trawler—a big fishing boat that drags a net along the bottom of the ocean. Didn’t like it, so I picked up, made my way around the world, then out west, then I came back east because I like it better out here.”

“What did you do here?”

“Worked a shrimping boat down in Florida. Made my way through another trawler. Quit that shit, fast. Then I beat some old guy at a game of poker in Connecticut and won Hope’s Grace.”

She leans further back, looking at me upside down.

“You won Hope’s Grace?”

“Well, he was a bit of a gambler. Shit poker player, though,” I chuckle and she laughs.

“And then, you ended up here?”

“No,” I shake my head. “Then, I did some traveling. Went to Ireland. The UK. Hated it, by the way. It’s overcrowded. Came home and worked on another lobstering boat while I repaired Hope’s Grace. She wasn’t always the finest vessel like she is now, you know.”

She rolls her eyes, but she can’t fight the smile on her face.

“Seems like a lot of moving in such a short time.”

“Ten years,” I muse, toying with the end of one of her wet curls where it rests on my chest. “You can do a lot in ten years.”

The silence between us feels like a boulder sitting on my chest. Maybe I said too much. Maybe she’s upset about the prospect of me leaving. Maybe she doesn’t really give a shit.

“I’m sorry you lived the life you did as a child.”

“It happens,” I murmur, lead slipping into my muscles. I don’t want anyone’s pity. Not after the things I’ve done that have led me here. I don’t deserve this. This comfort I’ve grown used to with Nova.

“It shouldn’t,” she starts, turning over and kneeling between my legs to face me.

“Nova,” I warn. I don’t like talking about this, but it seems she’s not going to give me a choice.

“Just let me say it.” She reaches up, pushing the dark strands of my hair from my forehead, her eyes soft and gentle. I don’t like it. It’s . . . vulnerable. Intimate in a way that makes me feel like she’s stripping my demons bare and laying them out for me to face, one by one. “You lost your parents. Any kid would be upset. Act out. The people that cared for you didn’t need to be foster parents if they couldn’t understand why you would be so angry. And your father . . .” she grits, tears shining in her eyes. “Losing someone isn’t an excuse. I know that. He should have too.”

I suck in a breath through my teeth, tension coiling through me.

“Just like someone dying doesn’t make them a martyr.”

She freezes, eyes narrowing on me.

I know I shouldn’t have said it. Definitely not that fucking harsh, but once it’s out, I’m glad I did because she needs to hear it.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mutters coldly. I reach for her, but she’s already out of the tub and tugging on a robe.

“Nova,” I grit, following her.

“Go home, Reid,” she throws over her shoulder, like I mean nothing, but I follow her anyway. Cock out and all because, dammit, I’m pissed too.

“He hit you?” I grit, the anger flaring in my gut at the thought of anyone laying their hands on her. “I know he cheated with Sophie. What I don’t know is why you defend him so much.”

Nova stops at the foot of her bed, tears in her eyes, and for a split second, panic wells in my chest. I shove it back down before I have time to focus on it and what the hell it means and continue.

“Him dying doesn’t erase that any more than my dad’s death erased that he was an abusive alcoholic prick.”

“Get out.”

“Nova—”

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