The Thing About Trouble (Crystal Lake 1)

Warmth made his eyes darken, and he squeezed her shoulder. “Let’s grab our table.”

The hostess had been standing by and, with two menus in hand, led them to a table near the water. Cash smiled at the girl, and she blushed as she slowly backed away. Her brother perused the menu, and Blue studied him over the top of hers. He looked so much like their father, it was like looking at a ghost. Except this version had made sacrifices for her that her father never would have. He was the best brother a girl could have and she was forever grateful.

He went to prison because of her and had refused to see Blue when she’d gone to visit. Eventually, she stopped going because he’d told her he’d never do a face-to-face inside. He’d been released over a year ago, and this was the first time he’d reached out in person.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered, not knowing she’d uttered the words aloud until Cash met her gaze.

He slowly nodded. “Yeah.” The siblings stared at each other for several long moments, each lost in a host of memories, images of another time and place. They’d lived through a lot, the two of them, and she was sure his heart and soul were as scarred as hers.

That was the thing about invisible scars. They sliced into skin and bone, burying themselves so deeply that the pain was a constant reminder of the very thing that put them there.

“I’m sorry about David.”

Her smile faltered at his words. “Thank you. He was…” She bit her lip and then exhaled. “He was the best sort of person. I wish you had met him.”

Cash was silent for a few moments, though a muscle worked its way across his jaw, and his eyes narrowed. “He looked after you when I couldn’t.” There was no bitterness to the words, though Blue sensed the underlying anger inside her brother. His life had nearly been destroyed, and though he would never say the words to her face…it was her fault.

Guilt made her avert her eyes. It made the lump in her throat larger.

“Cash,” she whispered.

“No.”

She jerked her head up.

“We’re not going back there, Blue. You and I, we’ve given the past too much power. It’s time to move on. To dig ourselves out of the shithole we landed in. That’s something I’m working on.” He cracked a smile, though it didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m glad to see you have too. You’ve done well. I’m real proud of you. Let’s just concentrate on that.”

The waitress brought them a bottle of red wine, and they ordered their meals. Blue sat back in her chair and toyed with her napkin, her mind asking the questions she’d carried for the last twelve months or so.

“Where have you been?” she finally asked, watching Cash carefully.

He offered a toasted pita topped with hot spinach dip. She accepted it and waited for him to answer.

“I had some business to take care of in Vegas, and now I’m figuring things out.” He flashed a smile. “Thought I’d take a few months off and road trip to clear my head.”

She toyed with napkin, stomach twisted up. “Did you go to Florida?”

“No.” His answer was crisp. “Like I said, Bluebell. Not going back there. Dad can rot for all I care, and Mom’s no better. Last I heard, she’s still in Louisiana with Pete. The two deserve each other.”

Blue couldn’t deny anything her brother had just said. All of it was true. Their father had walked out on them without so much as a goodbye, and their mother was never going to win any mom of the year awards. She cared more about men and money than her children. And she’d gone through them like water in rapid succession. Marrying and divorcing and then marrying again when Blue was fifteen. Her third husband, Pete Wentworth, was a congressman who came from old money and had an eye on the senate. She’d finally found her golden goose, and she’d do anything to protect the life she’d carved out for herself, even if that meant cutting her children out of it.

“Hey,” Cash said quietly. “You okay?”

She nodded. “I am. Please tell me you’ll stay for a few weeks? A month maybe?” She didn’t want to sound desperate, but she was lonely, and the quiet was heavy.

“I can’t promise anything, but I’ll stay as long as I can.”

The waitress appeared with their entrées—Cash’s steak and Blue’s salmon. They tucked into their meal and made small talk. The kind that didn’t dig deep into anything, really, but the kind that entertained and passed the time.

Blue told Cash about the work she’d had done in her backyard, and he told her about the 1969 Shovelhead he’d been touring the country with. She told him about her job at Poppy’s boutique, and he told her he’d hauled lobster off the Cape for a few weeks.

“I have a cat,” she said, reaching for her wineglass.

“You hate cats.”

“I don’t hate cats.”

Cash’s eyebrows rose comically. “Remember the orange-and-white bag of fleas I brought home when you were like, six? You cried for two straight hours because you were scared shitless of the damn thing. Mom found out I had her in my bedroom, and that was the last of Ginger the cat.”