That Second Chance (Getting Lucky #1)(39)

It’s one of the pluses of knowing everyone in town: we help each other out when the streets are crowded with tourists.

Rogan and I make our way to a recently vacated picnic table and stake our claim, lucky we found a spot close to the water. Hell, lucky we found a spot at all.

The yellow-striped umbrella casts a nice amount of shade over us, the sun directly above, shining brightly through a light haze of clouds. The humidity is high today, along with the temperature, making the whip of the wind off the water necessary.

My back toward the truck, I lean my forearms on the pink shellacked picnic table and let out a long breath. I haven’t had a day off in a while, and I’m starting to feel it.

“You look like hell,” Rogan says, pushing up the sleeves of his dress shirt. I have no idea how he’s not sweating through his business attire right now.

“I feel like shit.” I drag a hand over my face. I’ve been pulling long shifts at the Landing and then working on call at night for the fire department. It’s been a little much lately, and it’s showing. Not to mention the fact that when I do get a chance to catch some sleep, my mind immediately starts drifting off toward a brunette that I can’t seem to get out of my head.

“You should have Reid pick up some more hours.”

“Or you can come in, you know.”

Rogan shakes his head. “You know I’m an irritable fuck working there. I’ll scare away more people than actually make sales.” It’s true; Rogan has always been the exception when it comes to working at the Landing. He was dealt a shit hand in life—not that I haven’t been—and instead of moving on, he’s dwelling on the past every day, and sooner or later it’s going to catch up to him. Until then, as a family, we tiptoe around him, never wanting to set him off, especially since he’s the moodiest out of all of us. An irritable bastard most of the time.

“I’ll get Brig to come in a few hours.”

“Or you can get Reid to come in some more,” Rogan repeats. I start shaking my head, but Rogan holds up his hand. “Dude, you have to stop coddling him. He needs to do more work.”

I hate this fucking conversation, especially when it comes up with Rogan, who owns a good portion of the town and built himself from the ground up. He pushes me harder and harder on the subject, zero empathy in his voice.

“He’s lost, Rogan.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve all had our hardships, and you don’t see us doing nothing with our lives.”

“He’ll figure it out.” I chew on the inside of my cheek, hoping I’m right.

A year ago, Reid had to move back to town because the restaurant he started in Boston with a few college friends didn’t pan out. Their CEO squandered all the money, leaving Reid with nothing and no choice but to return to Port Snow to work at the Lobster Landing.

It was a tough pill for him to swallow, especially when he’d spent his entire savings on starting the restaurant.

We don’t talk about it.

Ever.

“And about Ren . . .”

“Can we please not.” I drag both my hands down my face.

“Don’t let what happened in the past dictate the way you react to someone in the present.” Apparently my plea for sanity flies in one ear and right out the other. “You already suffered your loss.”

“Rogan, stop,” I grit out.

“And what about those unread letters from Kathy you keep stuffing in your kitchen junk drawer?”

My head snaps up. “How the hell do you know about those?”

Rogan coolly fidgets with the wristband of his watch. “I saw them the other day when I was at your house. Why haven’t you opened them?”

“Why would I?”

“Because they’re from your dead wife’s mom, and she’s taking the time to stay in touch.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want to talk to her, not when . . .” I bite my lip. “Not when I’m the reason her daughter died.”

“Griffin, you know that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it, though?” I hiss. “You were there; you experienced the mind trip we went through in New Orleans. Tell me Claire’s passing has nothing to do with that.”

He doesn’t say anything. Only the slight tic of his jaw tells me he’s thinking about what to say next.

Finally, he says, “I don’t know what to believe, man. But what I do know is that you’ve suffered a loss, and it’s time to move on. Ren is the perfect girl to start something up with.”

“No.” And I mean that. At least, that’s what my head is saying; my heart might be vying for another option.

Something behind me catches Rogan’s attention; a sly grin spreads across his face. “Would you look at that,” he mutters under his breath and then lifts his hand to beckon someone behind me. “Hey, join us.”

Before I can turn my head, I hear her voice. “Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.”

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

“You’re not intruding at all.” Rogan nods at me. “You can have a seat next to Griffin. Go on—move over, Griff.” There’s a spark in Rogan’s eyes that makes me want to reach across the table and punch him square in the eye.

Her perfume hits me first, and then a little playful nudge of her shoulder. “Hey, haven’t seen you around in a bit.”