After All (Cape Harbor 1)

Sitting where Carly had sat for years had become Brooklyn’s ritual, her calm before the daily storm. Since her return, life had been crazy. It had been hectic and messy, but most of all, it was perfect. Brystol started her freshman year at Cape Harbor High in September and made instant friends with everyone. The Driftwood Inn was once again filled with the laughter of teenagers, but this time they had their own space. Aside from finishing the renovations over the summer, Bowie had constructed a game room specifically for the kids. He installed a pool table, painted the walls with chalkboard paint, and added some arcade games, a flat-screen television, a reading area, and a sectional sofa. At first, Brooklyn balked at the couch, said it was inviting trouble, but finally relented after family movie night. Even though he had built the space for Brystol and her friends, the added entertainment for guests who had children was a bonus.

Most of the guests were still asleep. Only a few had checked out before dawn to beat the traffic through Seattle. Those who were awake and in no hurry to leave were being treated to a five-course breakfast. Brooklyn could smell the bacon cooking in the oven and the sweet aroma of Simone’s now-famous cinnamon rolls. When Brooklyn had first tried one, she had believed she finally knew what heaven was like—the warm, gooey center with buttercream frosting made her weak in the knees.

And while she enjoyed this moment of quiet before her day fully began, she used the time to reflect on how much her life had changed over the months. She and Monroe were growing closer, and Rennie came to visit every other weekend. They spent their Saturdays shopping, either locally or in Seattle or Anacortes. Sometimes Mila would join them, but it wasn’t often. She was busy, trying to become the next star in Hollywood. The gang—without Jason, who was busy saving lives in the big city—often got together on Sundays for a bonfire and barbecue. It had taken a few weekends before Grady showed up, and when he did, he sat as far away from Brooklyn as he could. Still, she treated him like he was family, making sure he always had a plate of food when he was there. By the end of the summer, he finally approached her.

“I still hate you,” Grady said.

“I hate myself sometimes.”

Grady rarely made eye contact with anyone, let alone Brooklyn, so when he looked at her, she saw how much pain he was in. She saw what the years of torment had done to him.

“Tell me about that night, Grady. Why did you go out?”

He watched the water and crammed his hands into the front pockets of his hoodie. “He was pissed that night. He called and said he was heading out, said he heard something on the radio about schools of fish moving because of the storm. When I got to the docks, he was throwing gear around, talking to himself. Once we got out on the water, I asked him what was up, and all he said was he had done the right thing. I figured he was talking about taking the boat out.”

There was no way to know what Austin was talking about that night. Was “the right thing” telling Brooklyn that he didn’t love her anymore or sending Bowie to her? Had Austin known how Bowie felt about his girl? How his girl was starting to have feelings for his best friend? That, because of Austin, Brooklyn and Bowie were so close?

Grady finally glanced at Brooklyn. “And then he dies, and I overhear you and Bowie talking outside of the limo, talking like you had sex, and then you left. I know the reason we went out that night is because he found you and Bowie together.” He shook his head.

Brooklyn should’ve corrected him, but she suspected he wouldn’t believe her. “I’m here now, Grady. And I’m hoping we can be friends.”

He shrugged and stood, stalking off toward the beach.

That conversation never left Brooklyn, and she often wondered how that fateful night could’ve been different. What if she had refused to let Austin leave? What if Bowie hadn’t shown up? What if Grady had stopped Austin from taking the boat out? Brooklyn could play the what-if game until she was blue in the face, but she eventually realized neither the questions nor the answers would ever be able to change what had happened.

As the inn came to life, Brooklyn quickly finished her coffee and sneaked back to their small house through the passageway. Bowie had decided to add electricity, making it easier for everyone. Inside, Brystol was sitting at the bar, talking to Bowie with a mouthful of cereal while he leaned against the counter with his legs crossed at his ankles. He was dressed in a flannel shirt, jeans, and the new work boots Brystol had given him for a late Father’s Day gift. What sent Brooklyn’s heart racing were the glasses on his face. Growing up, she’d known he wore contacts but had never seen him in his glasses, and once she had, she’d begged him to wear them more often. She loved the way he looked in them, smart and sexy. Most of all, they gave Brystol another sense of belonging . . . that she and Bowie were more than just DNA; they were the same.