Page 56 of Whiskey Kisses

“I did. It went to voicemail, but then she texted back and said she was on her way to the airport and that she’d call me when she landed,” he explains. “So, I called Lucky. He said Maeve was flying out to California to stay with her douchebag boyfriend a while, which is really fucking crazy.”

“Because he’s a douchebag?”

“Yes, but also because she’s a classical dancer, and ballet is her life.” He shakes his head, grimly eating more fudge. “I don’t get why she’d leave someplace as prestigious as the Boston Ballet when she worked so hard to get there.”

“TheBoston Ballet?” I gape at him, remembering a younger Maeve, always twirling around. Guess she really did follow her dreams. “That’s incredible.”

“I know.” He nods. “But this kid’s had a hold on her since we were at boarding school.”

“Why don’t you like him?”

Tristan shakes his head, eyes far away. “He’s a selfish little shit. Comes from money, thinks he’s amazing—but all he cares about ishimself. Even Maeve—it’s like he cares about her because of what she is to him. Not because of who she is. You know?”

Yuck.“Sounds like Cole.”

“Now that you mention it, yeah.” Tristan frowns. “Same kind of energy.”

My stomach twists, and I push away the fudge. “He’s never … done anything to her, right?”

His eyes go flat. “He wouldn’t be walking this earth if he had.”

There’s a soft knock at the bedroom door. I shrink beneath the comforter, pulling it up to my chin, but Tristan rises and goes to the door in his boxers. Opening the door a crack, he looks out, whispering with whoever it is for a minute before coming back to bed, troubled.

Right away, a painful stone lodges in my stomach. Even when I forget for a minute, our circumstances always come back like a cough that just won’t quit. “What’s wrong?”

Striding over to the nightstand, Tristan snatches up his phone and taps at it. “Shit. It’s dead.” He looks around, eyes landing on the charger on my side of the bed. “Can I use that?”

“Go ahead,” I murmur, watching as he impatiently unplugs my phone and jams his in. “Did something happen?”

“When isn’t something happening?” he asks dryly, running hands through his hair over and over as he waits for his phone to come to life. When it does, he sits beside me, navigating to one of his apps and showing me the screen. It’s that surveillance video app, the same one he had me install on my phone today. I look closely at the black and white footage, unsure of what I’m seeing. “That’s not here, is it?”

“It’s the rental on Tybee,” he says.

I see it now—this camera must be mounted on the back deck, because it’s pointing toward the wooded area behind the house. “Why?—”

“Look,” he says, pointing.

My heart slams into my chest as two figures emerge from the woods, moving slowly through the darkness. They move out of the frame after a moment. “Oh, my God,” I whisper, a cold prickle of fear creeping over my skin. This is just like high school, when that asshole wouldn’t leave me alone. “It’s Cole.”

Tristan’s head whips around, and he looks at me shrewdly. “You know for sure?”

“Who else would it be?” I swallow hard, trying to steady the wobble in my voice. “This the kind of thing he would do. The kind of thing hedoes.” Tristan searches my eyes until I look away. “Isn’t that why you still have surveillance on that house? Even though y’all left?”

He nods, watching the video again. “This isn’t the first time, you know.”

A sick feeling rolls through my stomach. “He’s been there before?”

“Not the rental.” He shakes his head. “I was still at the Airbnb in town when my phone went off one night. There’s always a feed running, but it only notifies me when motion is detected. I didn’t hear the notification tonight because my phone was dead.” A smirk makes its way onto his face, and he tugs at the blanket covering me. “Wonder why I forgot to charge it?”

I hold fast to the blanket, appreciating his attempt to lighten the moment. “Hey, don’t blame me.”

“I’m definitely blaming you,” he teases, one hand crawling toward me beneath the blanket.

“Tristan,” I laugh, tapping his phone. “Tell me what happened at your Airbnb.”

Withdrawing his hand, he sighs. “Some guys were lurking around the alley between my place and the house next door. They didn’t really do anything, but that shit didn’t sit right with me. I went downstairs when they moved off camera and saw them get into a truck and leave.” He looks at me. “This was right after that fight.”

Uneasiness infiltrates the contentment of my afterglow. “Is that why you moved to the house on Tybee?”

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