Dirty, Reckless Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 3)

“You can’t just cut us out. That’s not fair. I’ve been so worried about you.” The man shakes his head. “Christ, I’ve missed seeing this face.” Slowly, he reaches out and brushes a knuckle down the side of my cheek. Electricity races through my nerve endings at the contact. “I’ve missed hearing your voice.”

Why is he here, looking at me like I’m his everything, like he wants to take me home and hold me? And why do I have this ache in my chest that makes me want to let him?

“Where are you staying?” I ask.

“We’re at a house down the street. An Airbnb thing.” He slides his thumb down the side of my neck. I know I shouldn’t let him touch me, but I can’t make myself back away. “You could come back with me. We could . . . talk.”

“Is she there?”

He pulls his hand away as if I’ve burned him. “Who? Ava? You won’t speak your best friend’s name now?”

Ava. My best friend. I wait for the words to click into place in my consciousness. Instead, they float in empty space with no context. Like two random puzzle pieces found under the couch.

The man sneers, disgust all over his face. “You owe her an explanation, at the very least. If you’re pissed that she wanted you to stay with Colton, tell her. If you can’t forgive her for knowing about Molly’s kid and keeping the secret, fucking tell her. But enough of the silent treatment already.”

I open my mouth, but I’m not even sure what I want to ask. Who is Molly? What does her kid have to do with anything? Why would my best friend have wanted me to stay with a dangerous man? I have so many questions—but instead of any of the reasonable ones, I hear myself ask, “Are you with her? Ava?”

He blanches. “How could you even ask me that? Is that what you think of me now?”

“It’s just . . . the way you touched her.” You love her. You have some sort of connection to her.

“She’s marrying Jake. And I . . .” He searches my face. “Do you think so little of me? Just because of what happened with us?”

I think everything of you, and I don’t even know you.

It’s the strangest feeling, but it’s there as much as the skills I don’t remember learning—like how to drive a stick shift. That came as a surprise when I borrowed Brittany’s car. Skills, the doctor said, aren’t like memories. They’re from a different part of the brain. That part must also hold the belief that I can trust this stranger. It’s part of who I am, and I don’t even know his name.

“Do you have questions about what happened while you were in the hospital? Have they talked to you about the investigation?” He studies my face, and I feel like he’s cataloguing every centimeter. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. “Do you wonder about the people who love you and are waiting for you back home?”

I have so many questions, but none of them matter if I’m not safe. “Do you know where Colton is?”

The dark-haired stranger turns away from me and toward the bar. He doesn’t like the question. “Nobody knows. My guess is somewhere at the bottom of Lake Michigan.” There’s no glee in those words. Only pain. An ache that reverberates through the syllables.

“You think he’s dead?” Does anyone else think that? I know my mom doesn’t. She speaks of Colton like he’s in hiding, not like he might be in trouble.

“I honestly don’t know.”

“But you’re his friend?”

He shrugs. “You know he wasn’t telling any of us shit about what was going on with him. Not even Molly.”

There’s that name again. Molly.

“You’re afraid of him?” he asks.

“Of course I am.”

The man searches my face. “That’s why you won’t come home. You’re afraid of Colton.”

“I don’t want anything to do with that life.”

He exhales heavily and rolls his shoulders back, as if he’s trying to shake off a ghost. “That’s not fair to the rest of us. To everyone who loves you, everyone who was sick with worry when they put you into that coma. Not. Fucking. Fair.”

I shrug. “Maybe losing a child and almost dying has made me a little selfish.”

His gaze drifts down to my stomach, and I cover it with my hand without thinking. “I’m sorry about the baby.”

I nod, tears springing to my eyes. “Me too.” So sorry.