Page 95 of Sheltered By Love

Chapter Sixteen

Zane

After falling asleep, I woke with my arm draped over Felicity and way too much on my mind to rest.

I give up, and ease out of bed, disturbing Felicity as I go. She mumbles something undecipherable, still half asleep. “Go back to sleep,” I whisper.

As quietly as I can, I check Roger’s where he’s supposed to be, then dress, and grab the spare key so I can let myself back in when I’m done.

I use the internal stairs and find Jax in the kitchen downstairs.

As soon as he spots me, he immediately points to the sink. “Wash up. Most of my kitchen staff either got lucky last night or are nursing hangovers. I’m on my own till ten thirty.”

I wash my hands in the sink, scrubbing under my nails, and thinking as Jax chops onions behind me. “You still fully booked?”

Jax sighs. “Ten cancellations for dinner tonight. But lunch is still on. A lot of women aren’t happy about the article. They’re heading home early.”

“I’ll bet they were. That article made everyone look bad.”

Everyone else who was booked out for this weekend will be losing money all because some two-bit reporter finally got the scoop she wanted.

Jax glances at me as he slices through peppers. “Levi’s at your old place. You managed to get blood through half the house,” he says.

I pick up a potato so I can peel it. “I haven’t checked in with Garrett yet, have they processed the crime scene?”

Calling it a crime scene doesn’t make it any easier to stomach I shot a man in my parent’s old bedroom, or it could have been the last room I ever saw.

“Guess so. He wouldn’t be allowed there if it hadn’t been,” Jax says.

He’s obviously busy, so I quit talking and act as a kitchen hand, peeling potatoes, lugging crates of fresh crabs in, and shucking oysters.

When I’ve put in as much time as I can, I make him a coffee, slap him on the back, and ram a baseball cap on my head before I slip out the side door.

There are still a few cars parked in the lot, and I can see reporters buzzing around, pissing off everyone they meet.

No one who came here for the singles’ night is interested in having their faces splashed over the papers, and as I hurry to my truck, it’s obvious the damage done has been more severe than any storm.

Hundreds of businesses in the area, from helicopter pilots to harbor cruise operators, all rely on the tourism dollars these singles balls bring in.

And as much as I hate them, they serve a purpose. We need the fundraiser to happen or SAR will have to start charging people they rescue.

I pull out of the lot unseen, and drive through town, far emptier than it should be on a long weekend.

Normally the stores are filled with out-of-towners, our only coffee shop crammed with hungover women searching for sugary caffeine, helicopters, and Cessnas would be overhead, and the beach and harbor would be breathing room only.

Today, I count under half of what I’d expect to see, and a lot of rental cars are parked outside the Police Station.

I drive by, getting angrier the more I drive. This is my town, and one article has destroyed the livelihoods of hundreds of families.

But now it’s even more personal than that.

Jacky Wilson, Carey’s Creek's one and only hack reporter would have known Felicity was ashamed of that video, but she shared it anyway.

And that was her biggest mistake.

Like the vultures they are, reporters are circling when I pull up at the house.

Levi’s truck has been recovered from the park, and is outside, along with a BBPD truck.

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