She looked over at him, and in the light from the streetlamp, he saw the sympathy in her eyes.
“None of us will get over Kate,” she said. “Aubrey and I loved her, too. I remember Kate at a burger feed on the Quad, the first day of freshman year. She was laughing and twirling around, with all the boys staring at her, and I thought, I’ve never seen a person so full of life. Those were the glory days, though, right? We were so young, so impressionable. I feel like we just fell into each other’s arms, best friends at first sight. We didn’t stop to think that we might be bad for each other. I’m not saying anything against Kate. Just that it was a bad combination, in hindsight. She was bad for you, too. You just don’t see it yet.”
“Of course I see it, but I still love her,” Griff said defiantly.
“So do I. But we have to go on, Griff. You have to go on. What other choice is there?”
36
Two Years Later
It was Christmastime, and Griff and his first mate were taking the day off from their usual routine of fishing charters and snorkeling excursions. He’d met the first mate in a bar in Charlotte Amalie a few months back. She was an Australian girl by the name of Gemma who was traveling the world, paying her way by crewing on boats. Gemma knew how to sail and guide and run a charter website. The two of them worked well together, so well that she’d recently migrated from sleeping on the leather banquette in the lounge to sleeping in the stateroom with him. It was a relief to be with someone uncomplicated, who was content to put in a hard day’s work on the water, fall asleep to the rhythm of the waves, and not say much. If Gemma knew anything about Griff’s past, she never mentioned it.
The weather was perfect—eighty degrees, sun glittering on an aqua-blue sea, balmy breeze. They anchored in a sheltered cove off Anegada. There was a spot there that he wanted to show her, a mile-long stretch of sugar-white beach with sublime waves, completely deserted. They got out a couple of stand-up paddleboards, jumped off the back of the boat, climbed on the boards, and raced to shore. Griff got tossed off his board in the heavy surf, and emerged from the waves laughing and sputtering to find Gemma already on the shore.
“Hah, I beat you,” she said, shaking water from her short blond hair.
She was strong and tan, with a beautiful smile. Griff kissed her, and she tasted of the ocean.
Gemma had brought along a beach blanket in her waterproof pack. They tried to spread it on the sand, but the wind kept taking it.
“Hold on, I’ll get some rocks,” he said, and headed down the beach a ways, toward a tidal pool that looked promising.
Griff leaned over and picked up a rock. The feel of it—rough, heavy, wet—made his vision go dark. He was standing on the bridge, on that rainy night, staring down at another rock in his hands. He’d never meant to hurt Kate. He’d followed the phantom copies of her texts, followed her to the bridge, meaning only to help. To be her champion. To win her back. When Griff overheard Tim Healy threaten her, he picked up the rock to defend her. But Tim ran off before Griff could intercede. Kate was alone on the bridge, sobbing, kneeling at the edge of a chasm, staring into the roiling water below. He went to comfort her; that was all. At the sound of his footsteps, she looked up with desolate eyes. But when she saw who it was, her expression changed—to rage, to disgust.
“You!” she yelled. “Are you too stupid to understand we’re done? Stay away from me, Griff. Get out of my life!”
He never meant to hurt her. But those words. The way she turned on him. The hate in her eyes. Griff lifted the rock in his two hands, and brought it down with all his might on the crown of Kate’s head. For a second, she looked surprised. Then she crumpled sideways and plunged into the river.
Griff heard Gemma call his name. He blinked hard, turned around, and started walking back toward his new life. With every step he took down the white-sand beach, he pushed Kate’s memory further into the past, where it belonged.
Griff and Gemma spread the blanket on the sand and anchored it with the rocks he’d gathered. He breathed in the salt-scented air and let the Caribbean sun warm his face. By the time they settled onto the blanket, he felt all right. Better than all right. He felt good.
“Hey, I’ve got a surprise for you,” Gemma said.
She pulled a towel-wrapped bundle from her pack, unrolling it to reveal a plate of shrimp sandwiches and two splits of champagne.
“Our Christmas feast. Do you like it?” Gemma asked.
“I love it,” Griff said, and laughed like a free man. Which he was.
Acknowledgments
This book would not exist without the inspiration and guidance I received from two of the greatest women in publishing—Meg Ruley, my stalwart agent and friend who always believed in my writing and knew better than I did that I had more books in me, and Jennifer Enderlin, brilliant editor, publishing maven, and true collaborator. This book is Jen’s baby as much as mine. Thanks also to the many talented people at Jane Rotrosen Agency and St. Martin’s Press who have helped along the way, especially Jessica Errera, Rebecca Sherer, Caitlin Dareff, Lisa Senz, Brant Janeway, Jessica Preeg, Erica Martirano, and Jordan Hanley.
I was a nomad while writing this book, and worked on it in a number of places. Special thanks to the staff at the Howe Library in Hanover, New Hampshire, which is a welcoming place to write as well as an incredible community library. And to the people at the Four Seasons in Miami, where I wrote the final chapters at a desk with a fabulous view of Biscayne Bay—if only all my writing days could be like those.
And thanks to my husband and kids, who support and inspire me always.