Page 17 of Ever With Me

Brooks tilted his chin at Peter. The man really did know this town inside and out, didn’t he? That was probably how it was with locals around here—especially old men like Peter. He opened the door. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Not a problem. I was on my way to my granddaughter. She’ll probably be glad I didn’t wake her up.” Peter smiled, then reached into his seat console and pulled out a pad of paper. Taking a pen from his pocket, he wrote a phone number and held it out to Brooks. “If you change your mind about going fishing, give me a call. And get some cream of crab soup from Bunny’s Café if you go to town. I know the owner. She’s a gem.”

Thanks, but no thanks.

The man had given him a ride, though, so he couldn’t be a complete asshole to him. Brooks took the paper and folded it, then slipped it into his pocket. He nodded a goodbye, then closed the passenger door and grabbed his stuff.

The truck turned slowly in the driveway, and Brooks watched as the lights faded. He rarely had genuine interactions with people these days, especially people who clearly had no clue who he was. Once upon a time, he would have found it refreshing, but the one thing he’d learned about having a bad reputation was that it kept people at arm’s length.

He’d even seen that wariness on Maddie Yardley’s face this morning. That hesitation to even consider granting him the favor of privacy.Distrust.

Brooks went to the front door and did a cursory search for a doorbell. None. He knocked instead.

A minute of silence passed, then Brooks knocked again, more loudly this time.

Silence.

Maybe Cormac was still sleeping?

He squinted at the driveway. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen a car in the driveway.

He knocked one more time.

What if he’s not here?

Yet why wouldn’t he be? It was just past seven in the morning, and Cormac had said he was coming here.

Brooks double-checked his text messages from Cormac against the address on the metal mailbox beside the door. He couldn’t be 100 percent certain that the street was the same, but the house number seemed to be.

With a sigh of frustration, Brooks went around the side of the small cabin to the patio. He set his hands on either side of his face, trying to peer inside the sliding glass door.

The inside was dark . . . and a mess.

The furniture appeared to be piled, the ceiling drooped, and insulation poked through the rafters.

What the hell?

Cormac had mentioned it was a rustic place, but surely, he couldn’t have meant this?

Brooks sat with his back against the sliding door and stretched his legs in front of him. Taking out his phone, he checked for service once again.

What type of fucking town was this? How was his ability to communicate with the outside world suddenly so truncated? He had no car, was now in the middle of nowhere, and couldn’t get a phone call in or out.

The urge wasn’t so much to feel sorry for himself as it was to throw something, which he nearly did—the useless cell phone in his hands. He caught himself at the last second, cooling his brewing temper.

One . . . two . . . three . . .

Deep breaths.

Focus.

The soft, dappled light hitting the rime of the forest floor around him sparkled. Enough to distract him, to settle the pressure on his chest somewhat and let his fingers uncurl.

The sort of thing he should have done when Mike threw that goddamn punch yesterday.

Kayla.

His heart tugged at the memory of his sister finding him with tears in her eyes. She always drove anytime he was performing within a couple of hours of Alexandria, Virginia, where she’d settled after Audrey had been born. He’d wanted her to come live with him in Los Angeles, but Kayla hadn’t wanted to tear Audrey away from Constance, who lived in Virginia.

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