I sink into the indicated chair, which faces the fire.
“I never expected anyone to take my side,” I say to his back as he measures coffee into a French press. “Not online where everyone could see it.”
“It wasn’t about taking sides.” He peers over his shoulder. “It was about the truth. About people knowing what actually happened instead of what they wanted to believe.”
The kettle on the stove begins to whistle, and he lifts it off the burner with practiced ease. “Sugar? Milk?”
“Black is fine.” I run a hand through my damp hair, pushing it off my forehead. “Did you interview people about the incident? The article mentioned witnesses I didn’t even know existed.”
Grady pours hot water into the press, the rich scent of coffee blooming in the air. “I spoke with some dock workers who were there that morning. A couple of tourists who were still in town.”
He shrugs. “People see things, even when they don’t realize they’re watching.”
He carries two mugs over, handing me one before easing into the chair opposite mine, his bad leg extending to the side.
“Do you know what it’s like?” I clutch the warm mug between both hands, staring at the darkliquid rather than at him. “Watching your whole reputation unravel in real time? Having people who smiled at you yesterday cross the street to avoid you today?”
“No,” he answers with complete honesty. “But I know what it’s like to have a fundamental part of yourself taken. To wake up one day and find your identity rewritten in other people’s minds.”
Steam rises from my mug, warming my face. “It was like drowning. Seeing those comments pop up, one after another. Predator. Dangerous. Unstable.” The coffee coats my tongue in bitterness. “And there was nothing I could do to stop it.”
Grady listens without interrupting, his mug cupped in both hands. “Digital witch hunts thrive on silence. People jump straight to believing the accusation is the truth.”
He takes a sip of his coffee. “That’s why I wrote it. Noise only wins if no one answers.”
The simple certainty behind the words disarms me more than sympathy ever could. Not pity, but conviction. “But why risk it? You barely know me.”
“I don’t need every detail.” He shifts in his chair, wincing as he settles his leg. “You’re not the person they painted you to be, and I’ve been on the receiving end of that kind of judgment.”
A shadow crosses his face. “I used to be theagent of a bestselling author, and now all people see is the guy who fell into a construction hole and broke his leg.”
“That’s not the whole story, though, right?” I say.
Grady smiles. “No, of course not. The real story is far more cinematic, which is rarely the case.”
I sip my coffee. “How did it happen, if you don’t mind telling me? All I’ve heard is that there was an accident.”
Grady leans back, cradling his mug between his hands. “I came to the island to be with Chloe. There was a social media crisis. We didn’t know it at the time, but she had a superfan who had been stalking to her for years. He lured me out of the Homestead and over to the Phase Two site. Then he pushed me into the hole.”
I gasp in horror. “That’s terrifying.”
“It was,” he agrees. “Breaking my leg was the least of my injuries. I would have died if Chloe hadn’t found me, and then fallen into the same hole. We were both airlifted out and taken to the hospital. She escaped with a broken arm and some bruises, while I was in a coma for several weeks. It’s been a long road to recovery, and I’ll never be back to one hundred percent.”
“Does it bother you?” I ask. “The way your limp has changed how people look at you?”
“Sometimes. Less now than it used to.” He considers this, rolling his mug between his palms. “The trick is to remember that their perception isn’t your reality. Hold on to who you are, Jared.”
“Who am I?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
“You’re the guy who still shows up to a job site where people whisper behind his back. Who insists on working with the crew to prove himself instead of hiding.” A slight smile tugs at Grady’s lips. “The guy who trudged through a storm to say thank you for an article most people would have acknowledged with a text message.”
Heat crawls up my neck, owing nothing to the fire or the coffee. “Put that way, I sound either very dedicated or very desperate.”
“Or like someone who values human connection enough to seek it out, even when it’s hard.” Grady sets his mug on the side table and leans forward. “That’s not desperation. That’s courage.”
I stare at the fire, watching flames dance at the logs, and try to reconcile his image of me with the one I’ve been carrying. We sit without speaking fora long moment, the quiet stretching out warm and easy instead of tense.
“I want Pinecrest to be my permanent home,” I announce. “Despite everything. Or maybe because of it.”