Page 26 of These Rough Waters

“What?”

“On the boat.” She clarifies.

“I don’t think your mom would be very happy with that.” I say. I hadn’t seen or heard from Maya since that night back in her cabin a few days ago. I let myself get too close that night. I never should have accepted the invitation to come inside, not even sure why I did but I saw her standing there, all doe eyed in an oversized sweater and leggings, her mess of dark hair falling around her face and was…tempted.

And then I had to get closer, touching the silky strands of her hair which had felt so damn soft against my rough fingers and inhaled her sweet scent like it was a drug.

Those bruises on her face haunted me.

I didn’t fucking like it.

“Well maybe she can come too,” Harper continues.

“I don’t know about that, kid.”

“Are you going to the festival next week?” She changes the subject.

I sigh, I just wanted to get my work done and go the fuck home to the bottle of Macallan waiting for me. It was the only thing stopping me from knocking on that damn door again. “No, I’m not.”

“Why?” She huffs, “Momma will be there.”

“So?”

“You don’t like my momma?”

“Your mom is just fine,” I argue, “I don’t like people.”

“But I want to be your friend.”

“I don’t do friends, kid.”

“Not even one?”

“No.”

“Oh,” Harper sniffles and I turn to look at her, seeing her crestfallen face and watery eyes. Oh god damn it.

“Harper,” I sigh, “Why don’t you go make friends with the other kids?”

“Because you look like you need a friend,” She pouts.

“I’m good, kid. Don’t worry about me.”

“Ruthie said the same.”

“Of course, she did,” I mutter, “Does your mother know you’re here?”

“No,” Maya’s voice sends a tingle down my spine, “She doesn’t, Harper I’ve told you to stay away from the docks. It’s dangerous.”

I glance toward the woman, noting the painted on pants and tight sweater, one shoulder bare where the sleeve has slid down. She looks good.

Fucking good.

Her dark hair is pulled back, the marks on her face barely there shadows now but my eyes are drawn to that scar slicing through her brow. It starts about an inch above the brow and ends just under it and while scars are normal, it seemed odd for her to have it.

And again, that curiosity starts the itch under my skin.

“Maya,” I greet, rolling my neck to release the sudden tension seizing my muscles.

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