Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
I nodded. Until a couple of weeks ago, I’d have put Reagan in that category himself. Now I wondered why a guy who sometimes seemed so self-aware and insightful hung around with a revolving door of image-obsessed young socialites.
“Did something happen?” I wondered.
“Not really.” He paused. “Or… kinda, yeah, I guess.” He took a deep breath, and my stomach clenched, waiting to hear what kind of trouble Brantleigh and Dysen had gotten him into. “I got offered a job,” he said in a rush. “Well, it’s an internship, really, but it… well, it has potential.”
“That… is not what I was expecting you to say. That’s fucking amazing.” I grinned hugely and leaned over the bar to give his shoulder a gentle shove. “Congratulations, bro.”
“Yeah. It’s… good.” He sighed. “I’m excited. I think I might really like it.”
“Yeah, you sound super excited.” I snorted. “Like, shit, Rea, please try to keep the excessive celebrating down.” I leaned my forearms on the bar. “What’s the problem? Do you think Mother and Dad will give you shit over it? Because I know it’s easier said than done, but you’ve gotta get over that. Stepping away from their expectations was the best thing I ever did.”
Reagan shook his head glumly. “It’s worse than that. I think they’ll be thrilled.” He wrinkled his nose. “Mother basically set this up. If I accept the internship, she’s gonna gloat forever, and I’ll never get her to stop interfering in my life.”
“Ooooh.” I winced. “I see. Yep. That’s gonna suck. But you can’t turn your back on something amazing just because it might prove Mother right. That’d be just as bad as doing it because she wanted you to. You need to figure out how to not let them influence you at all, you know? Come up with your own definition of success and happiness, and— Oh.”
I broke off midsentence and stared at Flynn as he approached the bar, shooting me a wink and a smile along the way.
“JT?” Reagan frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, no. I’m great.” I ran a hand over my forehead. “Just… realizing I need to take my own stupid advice.”
To define success and happiness for myself.
The simplest and most complicated idea ever.
“You gonna enlighten me?” Reagan prompted.
Before I could answer, the door to the Tavern burst open, and a new gaggle of people flowed in… led by the very assholes who’d gotten Reagan in his mood earlier.
“Omigosh! ReaBae and Jonny!” Dysen hurried over, holding out her phone triumphantly, with Brantleigh slinking behind her. “Check it! Rea, you left before the boat went over, but I caught it on video and put it on my TikTok. You need to see it. It’s sick.”
Reagan and I exchanged a horrified glance.
“The boat? As in, my father’s 1938 Crosby catboat?” My palms began to sweat.
Brantleigh squinted his eyes. “I-D-K… the green one.”
“The Beetle Cat,” Reagan said quickly, shooting me a look meant to reassure me. He glanced at Dysen. “Tell me you righted it and baled the water out of it.”
“Dude.” Dysen threw up her hands. “I don’t know what that means. But some asshole came buzzing over on a Jet Ski and made us swim to shore. I think he had people to fix the boat. It was lame, so we bounced.”
I gritted my teeth, prepared to let loose on these disrespectful assholes, but before I could give them a piece of my mind and also kick Reagan’s ass for leaving them unattended on our father’s boat, Flynn came up beside me and laid a hand on my forearm.
“Take a breath,” he said softly. “Not your circus, not your monkeys.”
He was right. I didn’t need to defend my parents’ property. If they’d allowed Reagan’s asshole friends on the boat, then the consequences were on them, not me.
“Thanks, baby,” I said gratefully. “Hey, do you have time for a quick break? I wanted to talk to you about some crazy ideas I’ve been having.”
Ideas that had me feeling truly hopeful we would find a way forward that worked for us both.
Ideas that blinded me to the reckoning that was approaching with all the speed and silent danger of a great white shark on the hunt.
Brantleigh came up behind Dysen and eyed Flynn’s hand, then my face, which was probably stuck in some lovesick expression.
His cheeks flushed, and his expression immediately soured with jealous anger. “So, Flynn…” he said without preamble, in a fake-casual way that set my teeth on edge. “You must be really excited about Fortress’s big investment in Honeybridge Mead, huh? Sounds like it could take you from—let’s face it—practical obscurity to possibly being a recognizable name. Who’d you have to sleep with to get that sweet deal?”
What? No. No, no, no. This was not happening. Not now, when happiness felt like it was finally in reach.