Page 5 of Play Action Pass

Chapter Three

Emmie pulled onto the driveway of the small beach house she’d rented for the summer. Her home for the next three months. Away from prying eyes of the press. Away from the fake grief of her parents. Jacoby’s death tore apart the fragile threads between her and them.

When they had ordered her to talk about Jacoby on talk shows and interviews, she had declined. Refusing to turn his memory into some kind of sounding board which promoted their own agendas, garnering sympathy and pity, as well as donations for their pet projects. It made her sick to her stomach. It had been the last straw. Packing up her stuff, she’d moved out of her parents’ palatial house but it hadn’t been far enough. Maybe Anchorridge Cove was her salvation. At least she had three months to figure out the next step in her life.

Grabbing her overnight bag and purse, she exited her vehicle, inhaling the salty air into her lungs. The crash of the waves were soothing sounds that beckoned like a siren’s call. In that moment, she knew this was exactly where she needed to be. To heal. To remember without crying. To honor her brother’s memory, instead of stripping it. He would’ve been so proud of her for leaving the toxic environment of their childhood home. Neither she nor Jacoby had the courage to walk away, but his death changed everything.

It changedheron a fundamental level.

Punching in the code to the door, she entered the small cottage. The charming décor brought a smile to her face. Everything was pure white, with pops of bold blues and warm reds scattered around the comfortable interior. Coral terracotta tiles lined the floor in the kitchen, matching the ones in the bathroom. Two bedrooms, with the master having French doors that opened to the beach. Stepping onto the deck she becamemesmerized with the vast ocean that stretched into eternity. As deadly as it was breathtaking. She wanted to let the water take her away. Drown out the sadness that clung to her bones like an albatross.

She headed back inside and closed the French doors, making her way to the kitchen. Everything was updated and modern, with white granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. Emmie knew how to boil water and heat up things in the microwave, but she was determined to learn how to cook, and had trusty old YouTube there to teach her. Which meant she needed groceries. Grabbing her purse, she locked up and went back to her car to head into the quaint picturesque town.

Tourist season hadn’t quite started, so the streets weren’t too overly crowded. From research, she knew a boat race was set to run in two weeks, which was the official opening of the summer in Anchorridge Cove. The only boat she’d ever been on was the yacht her father owned.

Parking at the grocery store, she locked up and headed inside. She pulled up the list she’d made and started shopping, quickly realizing it wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought. How many different types of pasta brands were there? And why? What cut of meat was the best? Who the hell invented all the spices?

She was rapidly losing patience, and the urge to give up was strong. Then Jacoby would flash across her mind, and her determination resurged. This was the beginning of her new life. The jumping-off point to be something more than an empty socialite, and she had a lot to learn about herself. So, she Googled everything that caught her eye, and two hours later walked confidently back to her car with several bags of food.

As she drove back to her temporary home, she couldn’t help but feel pride she accomplished something mundane. Might sound pretentious, but she’d never even picked out fruit.Or bought fast food. Or had to put groceries away. Or wash clothes. There was a lot she had to learn, and she’d get there.

Once evening fell, she wrapped a blanket around herself and walked down the beach. Brine scented the air, and a cool breeze chilled her face. The moon reflected on the hypnotic waves crashing onto the shore. Time became endless. She could’ve been out there for half an hour, an hour, or forever. Jacoby was never far from her thoughts, and once more tears welled in her eyes. How was she supposed to move on? When would the pain lessen? Questions she may never get answers to. When her teeth began to chatter, she turned to go back inside.

Only then did she see a lone figure in the same pose she’d been standing, staring out into the vast ocean. Contemplating. Reflecting. A man she guessed by his silhouetted stance. She should’ve been scared that they were the only two people around, but something about the droop in his shoulders told her he was grieving too. For some strange reason, his presence gave her a modicum of comfort. Proving true the old saying, “misery loves company.”

For one moment, they were only two people in the world, sharing a beach. Attempting to move past heartbreak. It made Emmie glad she wasn’t totally alone in her grief.

Chapter Four

Crew parked his truck in front of Thomas’s house. Or, he guessed, it was his now, and man, did that kick him in the gut each time. Thomas had been more than a mentor. He’d become the father figure he’d desperately needed at the age when little boys stood at the cusp of transformation. An angry teen needing to vent his frustrations. He owed Thomas everything, and now the old man was gone. He never got to see him win the Super Bowl, and that was a bitter pill to swallow.

Grabbing his duffle, he hopped out of the cab and walked up the steps to the front door of the beach house. Overgrown foliage hung over the sidewalk and shadowed the steps to the front door. All the homes along this stretch of road were built a little higher, just in case of flooding. When he stepped inside, the pungent scent of mothballs let him know the house hadn’t been aired out in quite a while. He immediately went to the trifold doors and pushed them open, tasting the salt-heavy air as he took a deep breath. He’d only visited the ocean once, a long time ago before his father died and his mother mentally checked out.

The deck didn’t have any furniture on it. He made a mental note to buy some, if he chose to keep the house. It’d be nice to sit at night and watch the moonlight on the waves. With a heavy sigh, he turned back to the interior. Thomas had retired in Anchorridge Cove a couple of years ago, and unfortunately a slew of stupid excuses had come along to prevent Crew from visiting. Now, he regretted that more than ever.

The furniture had a well-worn look to all of it. Armrests on the recliner were threadbare as the fabric frayed. Scratch marks covered the dining table and chairs. Crew didn’t understand what he was seeing because he sent Thomas an allowance, letting the man live comfortably in his retirement. It’d been enough to buy everything new, so why didn’t he use it?

Heading down the short hallway that had both bedrooms and one bathroom, he turned on the lights to study which room he’d take. One clearly belonged to Thomas. The twin bed rested against one wall and the nightstand was littered with amber medicine bottles. Two years prior, Thomas had a stroke, which prompted him to retire from coaching. He’s always wanted to live near the ocean, so he bought the small, pale, coral-painted beach home. Thomas had been very proud of his retirement, and Crew had it in his head that his mentor was living the good life, but the décor didn’t quite jive with that perception.

The other room had a duplicate twin bed, much to his dismay. He stood six foot five. No way that tiny bed was going to support his ass. He would have to pull the mattresses side by side and sleep on the floor. As he left the bedrooms, a knock sounded on the door and he went to open it. Caleb Walker stood on the stoop and Crew waved him inside.

“Thanks for meeting me here,” Crew said. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t announce I was here to anyone. I really don’t want fans to come find me.”

“Of course.” The lawyer stepped up to the small kitchen island and opened his file folder. “Here are the transfers of titles to the house, the boat, and Mr. Campbell’s accounts.”

Crew picked up the papers. “This states his estate is worth one point five million. Why the hell did he live like this?”

“He was a proud man,” Caleb replied, holding out a sealed envelope. “I believe this will answer a lot of your questions. I just need you to sign where the tabs are.”

Crew took it, staring at it with mixed feelings. “What about his, er, burial?”

“He took care of all the details. His ashes will be ready at the end of the week.”

Crew was relieved that he didn’t have to arrange a funeral.

For the next few minutes, Caleb went through each document. Once Crew had signed everything he needed to sign, he shook the lawyer’s hand and Caleb left just as quickly as he’d shown up. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the recliner and sat down, staring at the envelope. Part of him didn’t want to read the words. They were the last bit of Thomas he had. Setting the letter aside, he went to make himself a bed.

There were lots of problems he had to tackle in the morning, but as he lay in the dark, his mind wouldn’t rest. All he kept thinking about was the fact that Thomas died alone. He should have been there, holding his hand. Giving him strength as he passed from this world to the next. When the thoughts became too loud, he rose and grabbed a jacket before heading to the beach.

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