After All (Cape Harbor #1)(36)

“No, I think we should talk.”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

“We have everything to talk about. You walked out on me, on us.”

“It wasn’t like that, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t. In fact, I don’t know anything.” Bowie stood between the wall and counter, cutting off an easy escape route. In this moment, she hated this kitchen and wished it were open concept so she could escape and run to her room.

“You used to tell me everything, confide in me, and now you can’t even stomach being in the same room with me.”

“I think you know why,” she said quietly.

“Talk to me, Brooklyn.”

She shook her head and looked him square in the eyes. “I don’t have anything to say.”

“You may not have anything to say, but I do. You may have chosen to shut everyone out and disappear, but we didn’t deserve it. We took you in when you were new. We made you one of us, and you bailed when shit got tough.”

“There was nothing left for me here. He told me that he didn’t love me and then went and died. How do you think that made me feel, especially after we . . .” Brooklyn stopped speaking. She closed her eyes and pulled the brim of her hat down farther. “Just go.”

“Just tell me why you left. You at least owe me that.”

She shook her head. “I did—there was nothing left for me here. Austin was dead. My parents were back in Seattle. There was nothing.”

Bowie stood and came toward her until she backed up against the counter. They were face to face; rather, she stared at his chest. Her head rose slowly, until their eyes met. She looked at him, really took him in. With age, fine lines showed in his creased forehead. His eyes glistened, but also his nostrils flared. Was he sad or angry? Did he feel like she did? Hurt, upset, tormented, and confused?

She swallowed hard, and his name fell quietly from her lips: “Bowie.”

“I was here,” Bowie said. He let his words linger in the air before he turned and left. The last thing she heard was him calling for his dog and the front door slamming shut. She jumped, and without her consent, tears started flowing.





THIRTEEN

Bowie pulled into his parents’ driveway and turned his key to shut off his truck. He opened the door and waited for Luke to jump out. Together, they trotted up the walkway. He knocked once before opening the door and saying, “Hello.”

“Kitchen,” his mom said back.

The Holmes house wasn’t much bigger than where he lived. The three-bedroom ranch-style house sat on a corner lot, not far from where Brooklyn and her parents used to live. As he walked through the living room, toward the kitchen, he gave a slight chuckle at the decor. Knowing what he knew about Brooklyn now, she’d have a field day in his parents’ house. He had never really considered it before, but the home’s interior was outdated and in need of a face-lift.

He found his mom at the counter, cutting up vegetables. When he came in, she paused and pushed her cheek forward, expecting a kiss. He obliged, like he always did.

“Here for dinner?”

“Wasn’t my plan, but if you’re offering.” Linda Holmes always had a hot meal for her son.

“What brings you by?”

“Dad around?”

“He’s out back.” She stopped cutting, picked up the dish towel that rested on the counter, and wiped her hands. “What’s going on?”

“There’s something I need to tell the both of you,” he said.

Linda went to the sliding glass door, opened it, and yelled for her husband to come into the house. Her voice carried a hint of worry. Bowie wasn’t trying to alarm her but could easily see why she would be. It wasn’t every day he showed up needing to talk to both his parents.

Gary Holmes walked in, covered in grass clippings. “Where’s the fire?”

“No fire—Bowie needs to speak with us.” Even his father gave him an odd look. The three of them sat down at the table, his parents sitting across from him. His mother looked worried, and the reassuring smile he tried to give her wasn’t doing its job.

He cleared his throat. “First thing I want to say is that Rachel and I have signed our divorce papers. As soon as I file them, we’ll be officially divorced after ninety days.” Carly asking for his services and Brooklyn’s return had completely derailed his stop at the courthouse. After he left his parents, he planned to stop by his office and leave them for Marcia to file in the morning.

Bowie adjusted in his seat and glanced at his parents. “Second thing I need to tell you is that the Driftwood Inn is going to reopen.”

His mother’s mouth dropped open, and a tiny gasp escaped. “Did Carly sell it?”

He shook his head slowly. “She’s reopening it and asked me to do the construction, which brings me to my third and fourth points of our impromptu family meeting. Brooklyn Hewett is back as well. She’s some big-time renovator now.” His eyes cut to his father. In a way, he blamed him for giving her odd jobs when she worked for him. “And she brought along her fourteen-year-old daughter.” He sat back and let those final words sink in. He could see that his mother was going to hit him with a bombardment of questions, some of which he wouldn’t be able to answer.