Fisher's Light(37)

I yell at all of them, tell them to get their asses moving. I shout so many obscenities and threats that it has all of them cowering in fear. Good! They should be afraid of me. I’m a motherf*cking Marine in the middle of a war.

I turn away from them to keep moving and something as hard as a rock slams into my face. I try to shake away the pain, but it just makes the world around me tilt on its axis. I sway to the side and my feet stumble. I feel myself falling, down, down, down, and right when I think I’m going to hit the ground, arms wrap around me to keep me from crashing. I close my eyes and let the world fade away, saying Lucy’s name over and over, hoping that she hears me.





Chapter 16




Lucy

Present Day


“Stupid, pompous *,” I mutter angrily to myself as I stomp along the sidewalk through town.

I don’t even care if people are sitting outside watching me talk to myself. Let them look, let them see the shit that they are constantly talking about behind my back. If they see that I am irritated beyond belief at my ex-husband, maybe they’ll get it through their heads that I don’t want anything to do with him. I cannot believe he had the nerve to bring up the f*cking money. He makes me let my guard down by getting me to laugh and then he throws that shit in my face. And really, why in the hell does he have to look so good? He distracted me wearing that damn wet suit, rolled down to his waist with his bare chest hanging out for the whole world to see. I can’t walk around with my shirt off, and it should be illegal for Fisher to do so, as well. Sweet Jesus, that man is hot. He was always in good shape because of the Marines, but I swear to God, he must have done nothing but crunches and drink protein shakes for the last thirteen months. Where he used to be bulky and huge, now he’s lean and cut. His bare chest is nothing short of a miracle and it took everything in me not to lick his abs and the indents at his waist when he sat down next to me. I hate myself for staring at him when he walked over and blocked my sun, but good Lord, I felt like a dying woman in the middle of the desert and he was the only glass of cold water left on earth.

It’s not fair. It is so not fair that he can look so good and piss me off so much at the same time.

I’m so lost in my own irritation, staring at my feet and cursing Fisher as I walk, that I don’t pay attention to what’s in front of me until I slam into someone and stumble backwards. Hands come out to grab my arms and steady me and, when I look up to apologize, I let out an audible sigh.

“Ms. Butler, how nice to see you.”

Jefferson Fisher, Jr., my ex-father-in-law and the bane of my existence for fourteen years, towers over me, smoothing down the front of his navy blue three-piece suit like a brush with me just made him dirty. He looks the same as he always does, and it surprises me that this man never seems to age. As tall as Fisher and just as good looking, but with salt and pepper hair and more creases around his forehead and eyes, Jefferson Fisher, Jr. looks like George Clooney. You know, if George Clooney never smiled and always spoke to you in a condescending manner and gave backhanded compliments out like they were cookies.

“How are you doing, Ms. Butler?”

The way he annunciates my maiden name with a touch of a smirk makes me want to punch him in the mouth, right here on Main Street. The day my divorce from his son was final and I went back to my maiden name was probably the happiest day of his life. God forbid someone like me continue walking around, tainting the Fisher name.

“I’m fine, Mr. Fisher, how about yourself?” I ask politely. Politely only because I’m not about to make a scene in the middle of town and further validate his theory that I’m poor white trash who only latched onto his son for the last name and money.

“Very well, very well,” he replies distractedly, still trying to brush off the imaginary dirt on his suit coat. “I’m actually glad we ran into each other. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about Butler House.”

Pulling the strap of my purser higher on my shoulder, I paste on a fake smile and nod for him to continue. He’s always made it more than clear at town meetings that he thinks the inn is outdated and an eyesore on the island. He’s been wanting to either tear it down completely or sell it off to someone else who can update it and turn it into something more worthy of his vision of Fisher Island. I’ve told him several times that he can shove his opinion up his arrogant ass, nicely of course. It’s not very easy when Fisher’s Bank and Trust holds the mortgage for Butler House Inn. If I have another round of problems at the inn like the ones I had this winter, problems that emptied out my savings account and then some, causing me to fall behind on the mortgage, they are going to swoop in like a pack of vultures and take it right out of my hands.