Page 21 of The Girl I Once Loved

“All work and no play makes for a dull life, Noah,” he says, his previous playful tone nowhere in sight. “I’m worried about you.”

“Are you worried about me or your investment?” I arch a brow defensively, crossing my arms over my chest to look impervious to his concern.

“I could give two fucks about my investment in the Royal Shank, and you know it.” He frowns, displeased that I would suggest such a thing. With a scowl to his face, I watch him lean back onto the seat and spread his arms to each side. “FYI, I still hate the name you gave her. Royal Shank. The fuck does Royal Shank even mean?”

“I quite like the name.” The corner of my lips lift up knowingly. “It suits her just fine.”

“I disagree, but since it has never been my place to tell you what to do with your own boat, it will have to do. Even if the name you gave the poor girl doesn’t do her justice.”

“Ourboat, remember?” I interject. “She is as much yours as she is mine.”

“We both know that isn’t true,” he quickly says with a frown. “All I did was cough up the money to buy her. You’re the one who dotes on her and spends all his free time making her shine. Money doesn’t compare to the love you shower her with. I find that’s the case in most things in life.”

It’s his deep frown that unsettles me.

“Looks like I’m not the only one in a mood.”

“I guess you can say that.” He snorts sardonically. “But unlike you, I face my shit head on and do something about it,” he adds with a familiar expression on his face that tells me that I’m the problem he needs to sort out.

“What’s this all about, D? Why are you really here? Are you here to check up on the boat or is there something specific on your mind you want to talk about?” I ask him point blank.

“Grab us a beer, why don’t you, and take a seat,” he orders in that stern tone of his that always means business.

Seeing as I’m not going to get any work done while he’s here, I do as he says and grab two beers out of the cooler, throwing his in the air for him to catch. I then stroll over to sit beside him and quickly open my beer to take a swig.

I usually don’t like to drink before noon, but fuck it. Today, I’ll make an exception.

I’m halfway done with my beer while Derrick continues to sip away at his, taking his sweet ass time to tell me the real reason why he’s come to the dock this Saturday morning.

Because with him, there is always a reason.

I’ve known Derrick Monroe for most of my life. Everything he does is purposely calculated. He doesn’t do anything without having put some thought behind his actions or choices. And seeing as these last few years he doesn’t leave Daisy’s side unless he’s absolutely unable to avoid it, is all I need to know that this unexpected visit of his isn’t just your run of the mill buddy check.

Then again, Daisy is otherwise occupied this morning to pay him much mind, so maybe Derrick did just pop over to kill some time while she’s busy with her own guest.

Afterall, Daisy has plenty of sisterly bonding to catch up on.

They both do.

As quickly as the sullen thought slithers inside my brain, I push it away and stash it in some dark corner of my mind, not wanting to go there just yet.

Today is going to be hard enough for me as it is without my somber thoughts getting in the way. Hence why I promised myself I’d keep busy the whole day just so I’d have something to do instead of obsessing over the prodigal daughter-slash-sister’s return. And Derrick’s mere presence is fucking up my carefully laid out plans of ignoring the reality that’s waiting for me back at my own damn house—his stilled silence not making it any easier on my frazzled nerves.

“The suspense is killing me, D. Just come out and say what you need to, so I can get back to work,” I order, unable to withstand the silence any longer.

“Have you ever loved someone?” he asks out of the blue. “I meanreallyloved someone… more than you ever thought possible? More than yourself even?”

“Fuck. It’s official. Iamstuck in a fucking chick flick. Are we going to start braiding each other’s hair and painting our nails, too?” I snap sarcastically, drinking the rest of my beer and strangling the can into a pulp before throwing it in the trash.

“Stop being an obtuse fuck and answer the fucking question,” he demands in that assertive tone that has been passed down to him by every Monroe generation that came before him.

After an uncomfortable pause, I reluctantly answer the fucker and nod.

“Then you know that there isn’t anything you wouldn’t do for that person.”

“Is there a question in there somewhere?” I chastise, getting up from my seat to grab another beer.

If I’m going to endure this type of interrogation, there’s no way I’ll be doing it sober.

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