Page 98 of Brewbies
“As sheriff of Townsend Harbor, my first duty was to this town and its residents. I couldn’t ignore the fact that a very vocal faction of those residents didn’t want a business of this kind on the outskirts of town.” His jaw tightened as he spoke, and his eyes flickered with a mix of emotions that Darby couldn’t quite read. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”
“Of course you did,” she scoffed, not even attempting to keep the bitterness from her voice. “Because you always know what the right thing is, don’t you?”
She waited for an answer that never came.
“Did you ever, even for a second, stop to think that the town itself might be the problem?”
Ethan blinked at her, his jaw still welded shut.
“You said it yourself with you served me with that bullshit order,” Darby said. “Clique-ishandmyopicwere the words you used, I believe. I mean, Jesus. The simple fact that you felt you had to drive to a whole-ass other country to get laid ought to give you pause.”
“It did,” he ground out. “It does. Did you not see me out attempting to get rid of the protestors?” he asked, stabbing a finger toward the highway-facing side of the camper. “I never intended for things to snowball into an out-and-out shitshow. I thought whoever owned Brewbies would do what everyone else who’s tried to make a business work here would do.”
“Fuck off so you could have your land back?”
Ethan’s eyes darkened as his face drained of color. “That’s not what this was about, Darby.”
She swallowed hard and blinked to clear the treacherous tears blurring her vision. “Isn’t it, though?”
“No,” he said, but with considerably less conviction.
She dashed a hot, salty track from her cheek and seized hard on the sudden gust of anger that blew through her. Not because Ethan had been the one to initiate the petition. Not even because he’d actively wanted her to leave.
Because he had the power to make her cry.
“You showed up with a chickenshit petition because you can’t face that you were too much of a coward to own what you really wanted to do with your life.”
She wanted the words back as soon as they were out of her mouth, but it was too late. Darby watched as he ran a hand through his messy hair, his eyes downcast. Hurt was written in bold type all over his face.
“You’re right,” he said. “I did want my land back. I wanted to start my brewery and honor my grandpa and claim the life I might deserve after giving so much of myself to this town. This got too big.” His eyes met hers, and the intensity of his gaze seared straight through to her soul. Even from across the room, she could feel the strength of his conviction and the sincerity of the longing in his words. “You belong everywhere,” he continued. “You belong to this entire world. This was just my corner of it. I was angry that you wouldn’t just let me have my tiny corner of it when you could own this entire thing.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry, Darby,” he finally said, his voice low and ragged. “I never wanted it to end up like this.”
Her wrath collapsed into a crushing wave of sadness. “Me neither,” she said. “But here we are.”
“No.” Ethan’s expression softened, and he stepped forward, cupping her face. “Hereyouare.” He brushed her lips as tenderly as he had her scar, this part of her that had wounded him so deeply. “This isn’t my place anymore.”
It was a goodbye and a blessing, all at once. Darby’s eyes fluttered closed as he kissed her forehead before pulling away.
Ethan gathered his things in silence, the air between them heavy with regret. He pulled open the door to the camper and stepped outside into the sunlight, pausing for a moment on the threshold. Darby waited for him to say something—anything—but he just stood there until finally, without another word, he turned and walked away.
When he was gone, Darby felt something inside of her unravel and give way. She let herself dissolve, hugging a pillow to her chest as if it could somehow cushion the ache in her chest.
Some immeasurable span of time later, a sharp rap on her camper door woke Darby from a thick nap. She shot out of bed, her heart knocking a glad rhythm against her ribs as she sprinted the short distance to fling it wide to Ethan’s—hopefully remorseful—face.
Only, it wasn’t Ethan.
It was Gabe.
Flanked by a small army of men who looked like they’d been dumped directly off local fishing boats.
Gabe’s features underwent a radical transformation when he saw her, melting from his standard perma-smolder to something like shock.
“Holy Christ.” A low whistle issued from his pursed lips. “What the hell happened to you?”
A night at the carnival, sleeping sans skincare routine, a morning make-out session, an epic crying jag, a lobotomy nap…
