Page 64 of Lucky Strike

The sunshine, salt water, and fresh air usually put me right to sleep, but that conversation with Conlan keeps running through my mind.Conlan, but it felt like Lucky. I stayed for Liam, but I stayed for his dad, too. Because I still have feelings for him, like an idiot. I could ignore those feelings when he was closed off and moody, but when he’s all smiles? Grateful, and sweet, and saying he’s missed me? I know what he’s like when he’s in pursuit, how pointless it is to resist … how good it feels to give in.

And why am I thinking about giving in?Could’ve been today, when he pulled off his t-shirt at the beach and I got an unimpeded view of the Celtic knots covering his arms, one side curving over his shoulder into a dragon. I’ve never cared about tattoos either way, but I took one look at his perfect, art-enhanced body and had to toss myself into the water to cool off.

Watching him walk down the beach with Liam on his shoulders as the sun set didn’t help, either. I love kids, but over the years I’ve gone back and forth on whether I want any of my own. Seeing Conlan in dad-mode, though?My ovaries.

But none of that is the point. He might be starting to feel like thekid I fell in love with, but he’s also a man in the mob. Everything else must be filtered through that lens. The only reason we’re even at the beach right now is because he’s trying to keep us safe from a potential situation, not because summer’s a great time for the Cape.

We’ve always had a connection, and I wish that was enough to transcend the reality of everything else. But I can’t be naive about this. My dad’s up for parole again soon, but I’ve lived for years with the fallout of his crimes, watching Ma live a life separate from the only guy she’s ever loved. She’s stayed true to him, waiting for the day he’s free.

Am I strong enough to risk getting into the same situation? Because that’s exactly what I’d be doing if I gave in to Conlan Kelly.

In the morning,I take the dogs for a walk down the beach while Conlan and Liam go into town to pick up breakfast. When they return, Liam hands me a twine wrapped bouquet of peonies. I freeze, recognizing the pinkMonsieur Jules Elieand whiteDuchesse de Nemoursright away; Conlan used to pick them for me all the time from his mother’s garden at the country house. Their scent slams memories into me like an emotional freight train, and I try not to cry as Liam hugs my thighs, asking if I like them.

“I love them,” I whisper, looking up. Conlan comes through the door with an armful of brown paper bags, his eyes crinkling with a small smile when he sees me with the flowers. I ruffle Liam’s hair. “They’re my favorite.”

We eat bacon and egg breakfast croissants on the deck, watching as gulls swoop over the white-capped waves. Mitch squints at the dark, heavy clouds smudging the horizon in an otherwise clear sky. “Looks like that storm might come through after all.”

“Pretty typical for this time of year,” Conlan says absently, absorbed in his phone’s stock market app.

I finish my coffee and check the weather app, calculating how long we have before the rain and wind start. Three hours, maybe four. “Liam, let’s get dressed. I have a surprise for you.”

“What is it?” he asks, leaping up.

“Clear your spot and maybe I’ll tell you.”

Chasing down a flyaway napkin, he grabs his plate and cup and rushes inside. Conlan glances up, momentarily pulled away from the S&P 500. “Where’re you guys going?”

“The Quashnet River Estuary? Liam’s been obsessed with birds since we got here, so I thought it would be fun to see some up close.”

“Huh.” He frowns, standing as he pockets his phone. “Never heard of it.”

“Yup. Terry said he’d drive us, but since you’re here …”

Liam’s not as excited as I’d hoped when I tell him where we’re going, but that changes as soon as he spots his first heron near the parking lot. We spend the next few hours exploring the estuary, following winding waterways and hiking paths that go through marshlands and tidal creeks. He rejoices over every new discovery: an osprey nest high in the trees, a bald eagle soaring overhead, an egret picking its way through the marsh.

“I’ve never seen Nantucket Sound from this vantage point,” muses Conlan as I snap a candid picture of Liam. “Pretty cool.”

“It’s pretty cool, Dad,” parrots Liam, running after a small frog.

“My mom took us to places like this a lot when we were kids,” he continues, running his fingers over the bark of a tree we’re passing. “She loved the outdoors.”

“You were busy kids. You told me once that your parents brought you to plays all the time, too,” I say, remembering Shakespeare.

“The outdoors is Mom’s thing. Being cultured is Dad’s,” he says with a soft laugh. “Also? I can’t believe you remember that.”

“I can’t believe you remembered the peonies,” I blurt. Our eyes meet, and his smolder like embers. I can’t stop thinking about those flowers, not today’s or the ones he gave me when we were younger. My face burns under his hot, lingering gaze, and I look away, swallowing. “How’s your mom these days?”

He pauses, maybe adjusting to my abrupt topic change. “She’s all right, always researching natural remedies and shit that could help Dad. So typical of her, you know? They’ve been married for over twenty-five years, and she’s still figuring out new ways to take care of him.”

I smile, feeling warm and fuzzy inside despite the somber topic. “Your parents have a love story for the ages, don’t they?”

He chuckles softly, glancing at a cawing bird passing overhead. “Yeah, they do. It’d be a miracle to be even half as lucky in love as they are.”

“And what about your dad? How’s he feeling?”

Conlan reaches for Liam before he chases a crab into the marsh. “He’s okay, trying a few treatments he didn’t before. He’s been through this song and dance, so he knows what to expect.”

“I’ve been praying for him.”

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