Rogue Wave by Isabel Jolie (reading eggs books txt) 📕

I stood, staring out across the horizon, seeing faces. A heavy chain around a fisherman’s neck. His dark, pleading eyes. Rain splattered his bare chest up on deck. The putrid odor emanated from below deck as I descended the stairs into the lower levels. My sneaker tripped over the coil of a rope on the floor. A rat squeaked.

Grunts. Skin slapping skin. My feet followed the dull noise. To the side of the stacked barrels, the captain stood, his pants down around his knees, his bare ass clenched, hammering into the dark backside. The man bent over a barrel, his head hanging down. The fisherman tilted his head, and the whites of his eyes glowed in the shadows. Bile rose in my throat as the sound echoed above the crashing waves, as the rancid smell of the bowels of the ship rose, replacing the fresh, salt air of the present. No matter how far I traveled, I couldn’t forget.

My phone vibrated. It took a moment for the active phone to register. I pulled it out of my pocket as the ocean tide circled my ankles. Greggory Tate. Fuck.

“How’d you get my number?”

“Mr. Williams. You know, my lawyer?”

“What do you want, Gregg?”

“What do I…? You know, you are unbelievable.” A feminine voice crossed over the line with a “Greggory” and a faint “calm down.” Growing up, the scolding voice would have belonged to our mother. I hadn’t met his wife, but I assumed she’d taken on the controlling Gregg role.

Silence filled the phone, long enough for me to hold it away from my face to see if I’d lost connection.

“Adrian?” my brother asked.

“Yeah, still here.”

“Gabe said you’re back. Here in the States.”

“Yes.” I was sure Mr. Williams informed him of all of this, but I felt a stab of betrayal that he’d talked to Gabe. Unjustified emotion, as I never asked Gabe to not talk to my family.

“And you’re on Haven Island. Staying at Nana Pearl’s place?”

I exhaled. “Are you calling to talk about the lawsuit?”

“No. I don’t want to talk about the lawsuit. I’d like to talk to my brother. If you’re back here for money, we’ll work it out. I don’t want you to be destitute. I don’t want you to be a freeloader either. Nana Pearl completely ignored Dad’s wishes by leaving you in the will.” I gritted my teeth. Despite the asshat’s opinion, Dad and I hadn’t had any issues before he died. “I have a responsibility to my children. If I could’ve reached you, it probably wouldn’t have come to this.”

“I don’t care about money. You fucking know that. I’ve told Williams. If he hasn’t communicated that to you, then that’s on him.”

“Then we need confirmation you are of sound mind, so it can’t be contested later. Can you come home?”

“You think I’m crazy?”

“I think you need to grow up. And when you do, you’ll realize what you’re giving up. And for what? Why? Did you save the whales? Some aquatic species no one’s ever heard of?”

“You can be a real dick, you know that?”

“Me? Do you have any idea what you put Dad through? And for what?”

My thumb hovered over the red circle. I pulled it together and put the phone back to my ear. “Email me whatever you want me to agree to. I want Nana’s cottage. I don’t give a damn about anything else.”

I hung up and threw my phone into the air, hurling it back toward the dunes, and roared out all the frustration bottled up inside. A seagull squawked overhead. The phone landed in the sand near a white plastic cage nestled near the base of a dune, protecting a turtle nest. And for what?

Chapter 12

Luna

Tate’s cottage felt empty. I knocked and held my iPad and a paint chip book close to my chest. A golf cart buzzed by, speeding down Wynd Road, and I waved. Whoever drove the cart waved back.

A well-worn path from the front door, along the side of the cottage, to the back, lay just beyond the picket fence. The narrow path measured a few inches, barely wide enough for a single foot, but the white sand showed through the tangled briars and weeds. I climbed over the short fence and followed it to the screened-in porch facing the ocean.

He told me to come, so I didn’t expect he’d be surprised to find me here. His golf cart was parked out front, so he had to be nearby. A surfboard hung on the porch wall.

I sat back in the Adirondack chair, setting the things I’d brought on the side table, and waited. The wind blew, casting a cool breeze. The sound of the waves crashing carried over the dunes, and I closed my eyes, resting.

The screen door creaked, then banged against the door frame. I slowly opened my eyes, reluctant to stir from the relaxing lull. Tate’s windblown hair curled around his face, and his aqua irises swept over me. Water stains darkened his board shorts along the hem, a sign he’d waded out into the ocean while on his walk.

I licked the salt off my parched lips. “Hi,” I offered to his silence.

He blinked several times then ran his fingers through his hair and pulled the loose curls on one side behind his ear. “You bring stuff for me to look at?”

“Yeah.” I reached around for my iPad and brought it to life. “What’s the Wi-Fi password?”

“Connection’s spotty out here on the porch. Come inside.” We weren’t far from the mainland, but we were far enough away to have spotty and often unreliable internet.

I followed him. His bronzed, broad shoulders tapered down to a trim waist. His board shorts draped over perfectly rounded buttocks. He could model for Billabong or any surfing brand. He might be mid-thirties, but between his loose curls, salt blown hair, and his athletic physique, modeling could bring him some extra dough.

“You want anything to drink?”

“No, thanks, I’m good.” I stared down at my feet and