Sanders swung into the wheelhouse beside Deke, elbowing his friend. “Right? Why don’t we just roll out a red carpet to the end of the dock? Make it even easier for the ladies to find you.”
Fox was frozen to the seat.
Jesus. Really?
He hadn’t expected their attitudes toward him to change overnight, but there wasn’t even a hint of respect in how they spoke to him. Not even the slightest change in their demeanors or judgment of him. If they spoke to Brendan like that, they would have been fired before they finished a sentence.
Fox felt like he’d been hollowed out by a shovel, but he summoned a half smile, knowing better than to let his annoyance show. Or the ribbing would probably only get worse. “Seriously, I’m flattered by how obsessed you are with my sex life. Spend a little more time thinking of yours and we wouldn’t have this problem.” He pushed to his feet and faced them, his next words coming out involuntarily. They just sailed right past his better judgment, because his mind was occupied with thoughts of one person. “Anyway, I’m not going to Seattle. Or anywhere else. I’m going to see Hannah.”
Their twin expressions of disbelief made his gut bubble with dread.
“Hannah,” Sanders repeated slowly. “The little sister? Are you serious?”
Sensing he’d made a huge mistake bringing her up like this—it was way too soon, when he’d clearly earned none of the esteem that a man should have in order to be Hannah’s boyfriend—Fox brushed past them out of the wheelhouse, seeing nothing in his path. But they followed. “Heard a rumor about you two at Blow the Man Down, but even I didn’t think you were that much of a dog,” Sanders said, some of his amusement fading. “Come on, man. She’s a sweetheart. What are you thinking?”
“Yeah,” Deke chimed in, crossing his arms. “You couldn’t pick one of the thousand other women at your beck and call?”
“That ain’t right, Fox.” Sanders’s expression was transforming to disgust. “You’re supposed to wife a girl like that—you don’t chew her up and spit her out.”
“You don’t think I know that?” Fox growled, taking a lunging step in their direction, his sanity going up in flames, along with the stupid, shortsighted hope that had been building. “You don’t think I know she deserves the best of fucking everything? It’s all I think about.”
I kiss the ground she walks on.
I love her.
They were momentarily shocked into silence by his outburst, studying him with subdued curiosity, but instead of asking Fox about his intentions, Deke said, “Does Brendan know about this?”
And Fox could only turn and walk away laughing, the sound painfully humorless.
God, the way they’d looked at him. None of the respect afforded to the captain of a boat. He’d been an idiot to think they could ever see him in a new light. They’d treated him like the scum of the earth for even breathing the same air as Hannah, let alone being in a relationship with her. Fox could only imagine Hannah getting the same talk from her sister, their mutual friends, everyone in her life—and the idea made him nauseous, a dagger slipping through his ribs and twisting.
His worst nightmare was coming to fruition. Even earlier than expected.
But he could stop it now. Before it got worse for Hannah. Before she moved all the way to Westport and realized what a mistake she’d made.
Before she was forced to make this hard decision.
No, he’d make it for them both, even if it killed him.
There was an invisible match in his hand, lit and ready. He didn’t seem to have much choice but to douse the best thing in his life in kerosene and toss the matchstick right on top.
Chapter Twenty-Three
An hour later, Fox stood in the shadows, leaning against the fish-and-chips shop across the street from Cross and Daughters. He should have stayed home. He shouldn’t be out here trying to catch a glimpse of Hannah through the front window, his very existence seeming to hinge on just seeing her. At least one more time before he explained that he’d been wrong. Wrong to even consider that he could be good for her.
Someone walked out of the bar to light up a smoke, and in that brief second the door was open, Hannah’s laughter drifted out through the opening. His body jolted off the wall, muscles tightening like bolts.
All right, look, he was still responsible for her safety until she went back to Los Angeles, so he’d just . . . make sure she got home okay.
Was he insane? If he had one ounce of self-preservation running in his blood, he’d have gone back to his apartment and changed the locks. Drunk a fifth of whiskey, blacked out, and woken up when she’d gone.