Page 9 of Won't Back Down

“What?”

He blinked big, golden eyes as if to say, You know what.

“Okay, yes, maybe she has a point. All the reasons Sawyer and I were a bad idea don’t really apply anymore. The age difference doesn’t matter now, and we’re both here again. But come on, Roy. You know me. I don’t date. I don’t trust people. Not like that. I don’t actually believe in happy, healthy, long-term relationships.”

He snorted, the traitor.

“Caroline and Hoyt, and Hoyt’s parents, are totally the exceptions, not the rule. I know you haven’t met my parents, but trust me. In my experience, marriage is just a leash to control women. That’s certainly how it worked with my mom and dad. I won’t ever let anyone cage me. Not again.”

Roy head-butted my leg in solidarity, and I automatically scratched at his ears. “Not that Sawyer would do that. He’s probably the only man on earth I trust implicitly not to hurt me. But all of this is a totally moot point because I’m not looking for anyone. And, frankly, I value his friendship too much to fuck it up. Can you even grasp how mortifying it would be to try to pursue him, make any kind of move toward more, only to get rejected or, worse, pitied? No, thank you. I’ve had enough pity in my lifetime.”

At my dog’s rumble of insult, I laughed. “Not ‘pittie’ the dog. I’ll never have enough of you.” Laying a smacking kiss on his nose, I sobered. “Besides all the rest, I’m fucked up, pal. In ways that Sawyer couldn’t begin to comprehend. How can I even consider putting any of that on him? None of it is his to deal with, and that’s not a burden I want to lay on anyone. No, I’ll value his friendship as I always have. That’s all we can ever be.”

CHAPTER 4

SAWYER

“Sawyer Malone, you’re not sneaking out, are you?”

I froze, my hand inches from the front doorknob, because that was exactly what I’d been trying to do. Well and truly caught, I blanked the guilt from my face and turned. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Mimi.”

Delilah Washington—otherwise known as Mimi to Ford and all the rest of the Wayward Sons—smiled knowingly from the kitchen doorway, a hand-thrown mug of coffee in her hands. Probably her own work.

“Come get some breakfast!” This disembodied order came from Delilah’s wife, Ford’s biological mom, Florence Donoghue—aka Mama Flo.

“Yes, ma’am.” Changing directions, I accepted my fate and joined the two women in the kitchen.

I hadn’t had any intention of crashing at Ford’s moms’ place last night, but in true island fashion, by the time Aubrey’s birthday party had wrapped up yesterday, they’d heard I was back on-island and insisted the guest room was already made up. I was beyond grateful for these women because they’d been mothers to me after my own had passed. But it still felt weird being here without Ford.

Mama Flo stood at the stove, a tall, slim woman with sun- and silver-streaked brown hair and a no-nonsense demeanor that served her well in her occupation as an environmental rights attorney. It was a marked contrast from Mimi’s soft curves and flowing hippie skirts, her own natural hair worn in a cap of short curls that accentuated the perfectly proportioned shape of her head and the fine features of her medium brown skin. They were a study of opposites, but somehow they worked. Mama Flo kept Mimi grounded, and Mimi kept her wife from taking anything too seriously.

“Over-easy or scrambled?” Mama Flo demanded.

I briefly wondered if I could get away with just having a cup of coffee, then rejected the idea. She was already staring at me in Mom tone. That probably meant they’d also heard about my injuries and were as displeased as Willa about my keeping them to myself.

“Over-easy, please.”

She gestured with her spatula. “Sit.”

Contrite, I struggled to keep my shoulders from hunching up toward my ears, both to hide my guilt and because the motion still made my bad shoulder twinge. “Yes’m.”

I sat at the kitchen table nestled in the bay window. The view overlooked the ocean at the south end of the island. That window was one of the original historical features of the house, which had once belonged to the lighthouse keeper. The lighthouse itself had been decommissioned many decades before, and the property fallen into disrepair. Florence and Delilah had bought it for a song and spent the past thirty years renovating and restoring it into the home it was today.

Mimi brought me a cup of coffee. “Sleep okay?”

I sipped at the dark brew, which was so much better than the swill I’d grown accustomed to in the Navy. “Mmm. I did, thanks.” It wasn’t a lie. My body seemed to recognize that I was finally home and had relaxed in a way I hadn’t managed for a long time.

Mama Flo cracked three eggs into a waiting skillet. “That shoulder’s not paining you too much?”

Yep. They’d definitely heard about my injuries.

“No, ma’am. It’s healing well.”

Both women gave me long looks that were about ten times more intimidating than any commanding officer I’d encountered during my service. This was one of those occasions when it would’ve been great if Ford had been here to either rescue me or for me to throw under the bus.

Mimi sniffed. “Well, you’re retired now. What are your plans?”

As I didn’t have the first clue what my life plans were, I opted to answer for the day. “I’m going up to Sutter House with Willa to help her deal with stuff up there.”

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