Dirty, Reckless Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 3)

I hear the sound of a car peeling away, but Colton just stands there, his broad shoulders filling the doorway and blocking out the blinding afternoon sun.

“Colt?”

Slowly, he steps into the house and closes the door. Then he sinks to the floor and cradles his head in his hands. “Fuck!” he roars.

“I’m okay,” I whisper. “It’s all right now.”

“Did he hurt you?” His voice is dangerously low, and he’s still not looking at me.

“No. I’m fine. He didn’t . . . You came.” I sink onto the floor beside him. “Colt? Are you okay?”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “He could’ve hurt you. He could have—”

“He didn’t.”

“I almost didn’t come by.” When he opens his eyes to meet mine, I don’t understand the torment there. “I stopped at Andy’s. If Andy’d been home, I’d be high on his couch right now, stoned out of my mind, and you’d be—”

“Stop.” I shake my head. Colton and I don’t discuss his drug problem. We dance around it. We talk about his drinking or his “partying.” Somehow, speaking the truth makes his problem real. There’s a comfort in denial I never would have imagined before falling in love with Colton. “You were here.”

He studies my face and takes my hand. His is shaking. “I’ve never cared if I was worthy of anybody. But I want to be worthy of you. I want to be worthy, but I’m no better than him.”

“You are. You have problems, but you’re a good man.”

He searches my eyes. “I’m not good, Ellie. Not at all. But you make me want to be.” He swallows. “I don’t want to be that loser who lets drugs bec

ome his whole world. But I feel it happening. I thought I was stronger, but lately . . .” He grits his teeth. “It’s like they have me by the throat. I can’t say no. All I care about is the next high. I swore I’d never be that guy. You deserve someone better.”

“Maybe I don’t want someone better. I love you, Colton. Let me help you. I have a friend who works at a really good rehab center.”

He drops his hand and closes his eyes. I can see on his face how hard this is for him. He’s proud, and rehab means admitting he’s lost control. “I almost didn’t come over tonight.” He swallows. “I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if he hurt you.”

I crawl into his lap, straddling his hips and taking his face in my hands. “We’ll fight this together.”

When he opens his eyes, they’re full of tears. He threads his fingers through my hair and kisses me hard. “Don’t leave me. Don’t give up on me yet.”

Ellie

Thursday, October 25th

In the two days since Detective Huxley visited, my memories have been coming back bit by bit, but instead of bringing me peace, they’re making me homesick. Despite the ugly memories of Nelson McKinley and the heartache of remembering Colton fight his addiction, I miss Jackson Harbor. I miss girls’ nights with Ava, Nic, Shay, and Teagan. I miss weekends at the Jackson family cabin, and lazy Sunday mornings in bed with Colton while consuming irresponsible quantities of coffee.

I miss Colton.

Our relationship was complicated from the start. I fell in love with a man who was in love with drugs, enamored by risks, and wrapped up in a world more dangerous than any Tate ever dragged me into. But Colton was like me. He wanted out. He wanted a better, more honest life. He wanted to get sober, and he asked me to help.

The man from those memories was easy to love and impossible to walk away from. And I know, without any question in my mind, he’d have never lifted a finger against me. When I think of him now, I think of a man I love, arguments that may never be resolved, and heartache that is more complicated than the letter of the law.

I think of what Levi said about Colton being at the bottom of Lake Michigan, and I grieve for the man I was supposed to marry, the one my mother believes nearly beat me to death. Instead of being afraid of him, I’m wondering if I’ll ever get the chance to see his face again.

That’s the part that hurts the worst. I’m grieving for the man I loved, and everyone around me still believes that man tried to kill me. But if that night wasn’t a result of some violent act of passion, what was it? Who wanted me dead?

I close the laptop and walk away from my desk. I want to text Ava and ask how she’s holding up. Her brother and father are missing, and her wedding is this weekend. I should be there.

But when I grab my phone, I see I missed a message. It’s from Tate Andrews, my old boss.

Frowning, I click on it.

Tate: Lots of chatter about the Discovery collection being in circulation again. I’m interested to get more details. I thought you might be too.