Page 93 of Every Chance After

The bench creaks when I sit down. The keys practically glow under the moonlight. The dogs bark and settle around the piano like they’re getting comfortable for a performance—strange, considering they’ve never heard me play it. Blackbeard nudges my side, either begging for attention or encouraging me.

I imagine playing, and thinking of Marina’s CD collection in her bedroom, I decide on Norah Jones. The slow, sultry notes alight in my thoughts alongside the words.Come away with me in the night… Come away with me, and we’ll kiss… My fingers dance over the correct keys but don’t fall.

I haven’t played since my last good day with Emma.

“Why do you keep the piano then?” Marigold once asked.

“It’s a part of me that I can’t let go,” I answered vaguely. It’s the truth, but more than that, I don’t want to forget.

In the shower, I wash myself clean of horses, barns, and the night’s frustrations, but not Marina. Her red hair, darkened from dampness, her cold skin, the robe clinging to her wet body, I think to purge my thoughts of her, right here and now. It’s devastating how much I want her. It’d be easy, letting my imagination take the reins with her fresh in my mind and finding release in the safety of this closed private space.

But I can’t do that either. It feels wrong, disrespectful even. I want all of her or nothing, not even imagined pieces she doesn’t know I’m taking.

Too much has been taken from her already.

I lie awake in bed, restless, staring at the ceiling, where tree branches shimmy in the moonlight beyond my window.

Marina is okay. She’s done with Ashe and the Sullivan monarchy. She’s nearly healed. She’s got a new job that she’s somehow excited about. Her transportation issue has been solved, judging by the truckwith characterparked outside her place. She’s even found a new friend in Marigold. She doesn’t need me.

And I don’t want to need her.

I reinstate my life code and decide to limit my involvement to only what’s necessary for the deal with Wade—a good decision that will spare us both. She’s too young, too gorgeous, too goddamn sweet for me. She deserves more than the man who wrecked her life.

CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX

Grady

Two days later,my determination to stay away is shot to hell. I show up at her all-hands meeting, though I have no good reason to be here. I simplywantto be.

She looks surprised to see me and stumbles over the words I interrupted, like a record player gone off kilter. Sympathy flashes across her face, but she recovers by directing me to a recently cleaned section of The Canteen. Donuts and a portable carton of coffee sit there, ready for the taking. The others have already armed themselves with her offering. I wave a quiet hand, not wanting to interrupt further.

“Okay, where were we?” She sounds nervous as she refers to her green notebook.

The boys occupy their usual places—Wade and Christie behind the counter, and Roy, belly-out, donut resting atop it, stretched on a stool. Marigold stands off to the right, hugging her sketchpad and shifting on her black Mary Janes. The cigarette smoke may be making her uncomfortable. She’s very sensitive about her environment. Lighting, sounds, temperature, movement, and smells. It’s a wonder she’s inside at all.

But Marina comforts and encourages Marigold, like with the Peter Pike situation and now, with what Marigold describes as a “real job.” Watching Marigold do new things after only a few interactions with this charismatic woman fills me with uncharacteristic optimism that one day, she won’t need me to back her up on library book fines or drive her to places she doesn’t feel comfortable going. A friendship with Marina might be good for her in surprising, strange ways.

The same is true for me.

Marina stands mid-store like she’s approaching the counter to make a purchase. She wears faded denim overalls, a t-shirt, a light pink sweater, and a high ponytail. The overalls and ponytail make her look even younger than she is, a needed relief from my last memory of her. Sheisyounger, I keep telling myself.

She clears her throat. “The way I see it, to turn this into a profitable business, it all comes down to three golden rules.”

“Rules?” Wade belts back with irritation.

“Only three?” Christie asks over top of him.

“Just three,” she reiterates. “If we team up and use these three rules to guide our decisions about the G&G, then I’m one hundred percent confident that it’ll become a money-maker, a real contender in Seagrove.”

Christie claps. “Oh, Marnie, I have chills.”

“Rules sound stuffy,” Roy complains. “We ain’t in elementary school anymore.”

Marina’s mouth quirks into a half-smile like she expects pushback, even wants it. “Right, but I don’t mean rules like raising your hand before speaking. I mean, general practices that will bring in customers.”

Roy looks confused. Then, raises his hand. Idiot.

“Oh, what nice manners. Yes, Roy?”

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