Page 15 of After You Returned

I didn’t bother applying for the position since I assumed Hudson would hire some fancy therapist with experience withsports teams. Hudson is a former NFL player and the whole reason for the therapist is to help any sports professionals vacationing at the resort.

“Not a whole lot of people want to move to Smuggler’s Hideaway.”

I scowl. “Idiots. Smuggler’s Hideaway is the best place to live in the world.”

I haven’t actually seen much of the world, but my statement stands.

He smiles. “The island is pretty awesome.”

I roll my eyes. “Which is why you couldn’t wait to escape when you were twenty.”

He sighs. “How long are you going to punish me for what I did?”

I clench my jaw. He still doesn’t get it. It’s been six years, and he is none the wiser. I’m not mad at him for dumping me before he left. Correction. I was mad about him dumping me. But I got over it.

What I’m mad about is how he returned to the island a month later and pretended I didn’t exist. Until he drinks too much moonshine and drunk dials me. And I’m the fool who answers the phone. No, I’m the fool who used to answer the phone.

“I don’t think I should be your therapist,” I say instead of explaining myself to him. If he doesn’t get what’s wrong by now, he never will. Besides, what good will rehashing the past do? It’s not as if Miles wants a second chance with me.

“Come on, Blaze.”

Blaze? How dare he call me Blaze? Blaze is the nickname Miles gave me when we were in high school. When I loved him and thought he would love me forever. I was a naïve fool.

I growl. “My name isn’t Blaze.”

He clears his throat. “Hazel, I need you.”

How I’ve longed for him to say those words. For him to need me the way I need him. No, not the way I need him. The way I needed him. Past tense. I’m over him. He’s nothing to me now.

“You don’t need me. You need a therapist. I can recommend someone on the mainland.”

“Don’t make me go to the mainland. I don’t have an extra hour every time I need therapy to waste on driving.”

I lift an eyebrow. “You don’t? As far as I know, you don’t exactly spend much time at your job atBuccaneer’s Distillery.”

“Low blow, Hazel. Low blow.”

Crap on a seafood cracker. He’s right. I shouldn’t tease him about not enjoying a job he never wanted in the first place. It couldn’t have been easy going from future surfing professional to sales manager at a distillery owned by your older brother.

He could have leaned on me. I would have been there for him. But he pretended I didn’t exist instead.

I nearly slap my forehead. Why can’t I stop thinking about the past?

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. But I really do need your help. I injured my rotator cuff yesterday.”

“What? The rotator cuff on your right shoulder?”

Flying mermaids caught in a fisher’s net. His right rotator cuff is the entire reason his pro surfing career came to an abrupt halt.

He nods. “The very one.”

“What happened?”

“One of my surfing students got knocked out and was tangled in seaweed. I needed all my strength to pull her out before she drowned.”

I grasp my chest. “Oh my smuggler. Is she okay?”