Rex is waiting in the marina parking lot when I arrive. He’s leaning against his truck with his arms crossed, backlit by the last of the evening light.
His shoulders are broad enough to block out half the sky—the kind of muscular that comes from being equally at home in water or on land, a surfer’s ease translated into something more dangerous.
His skin is deep brown, the tan of someone who lives in the sun and the lake without apology. Dark hair escapes from under a backwards baseball cap.
When he sees me, he straightens, and the movement is fluid, economical—a were-shark’s efficiency even in stillness.
“Thought I’d find you here,” he says.
I stop a few feet away. “I thought you told Cora you had a volunteer thing to do?”
“Yes. This is it.” He gestures toward the road. “Come on. Let’s get a beer.”
Hip Hops isa local pub with a deck in the back along the river. The interior is all weathered wood and worn floors, a place that caters to locals, not tourists. Old wooden tables scarred with decades of use, a bar that’s seen better days, string lights strung haphazardly across the deck outside.
We take a table in the corner where the sound of the river covers conversation, where the smell of old wood and water and fried food mingles with the night air.
The server who brings our beers is a woman in her fifties, compact and efficient, with the weathered face that comes from years of working riverside establishments. Her arms are strong, her movements practiced. She sets the glasses down with the ease of someone who’s done this ten thousand times, doesn’t linger, doesn’t pry. Just leaves us to it.
Rex drinks half of his in one pull, sets it down, and looks at me.
“I love Cora,” he says.
I go very still, and brace for what he’s going to tell me.
“Not the way you think,” he continues. His voice is even. Matter-of-fact. “We’re best friends. Family without the blood relation. That’s it. That’s all it’s ever been.”
I don’t say anything.
“Our romantic relationship isn’t real,” Rex says. “She panicked when she heard you were in town and said the first thing that came out. I covered for her because that’s what I do. We agreed to hold the line for the summer so she wouldn’t have to deal with—” He gestures toward me vaguely. “This.”
The information lands like a stone in still water.
“Right,” I manage.
Rex leans forward. His elbows hit the table. The golden retriever energy is gone.
What’s looking at me now is pure predator—sharp-eyed, assessing, utterly focused. His shoulders shift, musclestightening under his skin like something ancient waking up. His jaw sets differently.
When he speaks, his voice is a half octave lower, and his eyes take on the black, fathomless depths of the deep ocean. His teeth grow longer, sharper—just enough for me to see what lies beneath the sunshiney cheer.
“Here’s the thing,” he says. “I know there’s something more between you two. I’ve known since the first day you started with us. And I’m telling you this because every day that you’re here, flusters her more and more. I underestimated how much you meant to her.”
I nod once.
“So, I’m not sure about your intentions, if you just needed closure or whatever the hell…but if you’re just going to break her heart again—” His eyes don’t blink. Don’t waver. “Leave now. Walk away clean. Because if you stay and you hurt her again, I will tear you apart. Literally tear you apart.” A pause. “And I’ll sleep soundly afterward. We both know I can do that.”
The threat hangs in the air between us.
I believe him completely.
“I had to—” I start.
“No.” Rex’s voice cuts like a blade. “I don’t want to hear it.”
The server appears with a basket of wings. Rex takes one without breaking eye contact, bites into it with those still-sharp teeth, and sets it down.
“I made a mistake,” he says, wiping his fingers on a napkin before balling it up. “I trusted you completely when you werejust some anonymous guy looking for work. Gave you the job, brought you into our operation, didn’t ask the hard questions.” He takes another wing. “Because of my lapse in judgment, Cora felt obligated to keep you on. Despite how uncomfortable it makes her because of your history.”