Page 66 of Rescued by the Single Dad

It didn’t help that as much as he loathed crowds, Jacqueline had been drawn to them. She’d loved festivals and concerts, parades and county fairs. Anything with lots of people, noise and energy, and she was in her happy place.

Meanwhile, Clint would rather saw off his own foot with a butter knife than go to a music festival or the county fair. It was just another way they’d been completely incompatible. Being in a crowd sent him into a state of panic. While she wanted nothing more than to spend time with dozens of people she didn’t even know who could potentially trample her if things went sideways.

It didn’t make sense to him when she was alive, and it made even less sense to him now. When their marriage was at its worst, she took every opportunity she could to go somewhere with a crowd. Deliberately putting tons of people between them. She was pushing him away while running into the arms of his biggest fear. It was nothing but a giant middle finger at him, their marriage and his very legitimate phobia. Now, crowds not only scared the shit out of him, but they made him bitter, too.

After Talia was born, his enochlophobia got even worse. He especially avoided taking his child anywhere there would be a crowd. But even without her, if he or Jacqueline got trampled, shot or blown up, then his kid would be an orphan. And now that she only had one parent, if anything happened to him, she’d definitely be an orphan.

It was just safer to avoid crowds.

Bennet craned his head around and lifted his brows at Clint. He knew Clint’s hangups about crowds and was checking in.

Clint’s body grew hot, his brain crackled like static, and he rubbed his thumbs and fingers together at his sides. He could see the parking lot over top of the heads of the crowd. He could feel the fresh air flowing in from outside, but he was trapped in a sea of slow-moving people. Everyone was on island time and had nowhere to be. So they trudged and meandered, sauntered and mozied.

He scanned the area for any sign of a threat.

There wouldn’t be one.

Not here on the island.

This was the safest place to raise a child, in his opinion. But that didn’t stop his mind from going to the worst-case scenario. From going dark.

The fact that all four of their wives had died tragically at the same time was proof enough that freak accidents did happen. So there was no room for complacency.

Finally, they reached the outside, and the crowd dispersed. He sucked in huge gulps of fresh evening air and got out of the way of the droves behind him before he pinched his eyes shut. He knew Bennett was beside him and keeping an eye out.

Clint just needed a second.

He couldn’t completely avoid crowds. That wasn’t realistic. Talia’s school had a winter talent show every year. Then there was the Halloween carnival and the farmers’ market and beer fest. The list went on. He could not live under a rock and avoid people all together—even though he wanted to. He had a kid to raise, and he was hellbent on raising her to be as normal a human as possible.

“You okay?” Bennett finally asked, shifting on his feet and causing the gravel to crunch beneath his shoes.

“Yeah,” Clint said, opening his eyes and facing his brother. Bennett now shielded Clint from the majority of the people while Clint faced the wall and dealt with his anxiety attack. Because that’s what it was.

When he spun around, he noticed a few curious glances his way, but nobody seemed too concerned. It was no secret that Clint and his brothers were all retired marines. Everyone on the island knew, and even though the island was founded by those who dodged conscription, there seemed to be no ill will from the elders toward the McEvoys. Nor was there ill will from Clint and his brothers toward the elders.

It was a different time.

Clint and his brothers enlisting was their choice.

Nobody should be forced to join the military.

They made their way toward Clint’s truck when the crunch of gravel behind them, indicating someone was walking quickly, made Clint turn around.

His hackles had barely even started to lift before they dropped back down when he saw that it was Trace Palmer, one of the four guys who owned Hardwood Distillery on the island.

“Hey,” Trace said, catching up to them and slowing his roll when he fell in line beside Bennett.

“Hey, Trace,” Bennett greeted. “How’s it going?”

“Can’t complain.” Trace shrugged and shoved his big hands into the pockets of his jeans. The man gave off serious farm-boy vibes. He was tall, broad and blond, and sported Wranglers and a red flannel shirt anytime Clint ever saw him. His eyes were crystal blue, and he seemed to always have a flush to his cheeks. His voice was ridiculously deep, and the way he carried himself with confidence turned a lot of heads.

He and three other friends—all single dads who met at their daughters’ soccer matches—opened up Hardwood Distillery and Spirits two years ago and were making a killing. It made sense if they were looking to expand. The space they were in now was too small for the volume they were putting out.

“You just come out of curiosity or are you guys looking to submit for Bonn’s land?” Bennett asked.

Trace shrugged again. “Outgrowing where we are. Would like to expand, maybe do something like what you guys have going on where you live where you work. Right now, the four of us are on different corners of the island.”

“Small island,” Clint added. “Takes twenty minutes to drive all the way around.”

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