Page 28 of The Marine's Homecoming

"Luke, I swear. I'm fine." She tries to stand, but her legs almost give out and her body flops hard onto the bench. I scowl at her and wonder why she's trying to run away.

"Hannah, are you taking care of yourself?" Just because she's not working on this boat as much as she used to be doesn't mean she's not working too hard. She does run a business of her own and handles all of her town council duties too, not to mention this festival.

"Yes," she snips, pressing her fingertips to her forehead in avoidance.

"Headache? Do you need some meds or some water?" I reach for my phone to call Gary. He can come bring her anything she needs so I don't have to leave her side. If she passes out and falls into the water, it'd be dangerous.

"I said I’m fine, Luke."

Obviously, my questioning has hit a nerve she's not happy about, so I try a different angle with her. "Are you too stressed out? I mean, you've got a lot on your plate. You’re doing so much work, and with the festival?—"

"Mr. Dorsey is doing most of that," she says quietly, picking at her nails. "I asked him to take the lead on some things to reduce my stress." Her head hangs as she says it, and I clench my jaw in frustration. Every time that man's name comes up, I get angrier. To hear he's taken more control is aggravating. Hannah has no clue who he is or what he may be doing out here.

While I agree she doesn’t need to do this all herself, I'd rather she call someone who can be trusted, like Gary or Tank, or even me.

"Well, good…" I don't know what to say. If I blurt out how evil Dorsey is and what he might be dragging her into, it will only make her stress worse. She's stressed enough to get dizzy and almost pass out. She doesn't need to add more to that plate she's already loaded too high.

"I should get back to work," she says, but she doesn't move to stand up. Her hands splay out on her thighs and rest there. I know how to read between the lines, but I'm not going to make that easy on her. She almost fell off her passerelle into the Pacific Ocean.

"I'm worried you're not taking care of yourself, Hannah." I touch her arm gently, and she looks up at me. Her eyes are tired, ringed with puffy dark circles, and she looks sad and confused. The war going on behind her eyes is so visible. I hate that I cause her so much distress.

"It's very kind of you to be concerned, but I promise you I'm doing just fine." The plastic smile she reserves for our dock inspection walk-throughs appears, and I'm shut out. It doesn't matter that I am someone who genuinely wants to help her. I am still nothing more than her enemy, and now her landlord.

Sex twice with her didn't change a thing. My concern doesn't change it. My willingness to help her with her festival and let her use my land hasn't changed it. Hannah confuses the hell out of me. I know if I kissed her right now it would lead to yet another passionate encounter. But afterward, then what?

I sigh and stand. "You're right, we should get back to work." I hold her gaze a second longer than I should, maybe, but I'm trying so hard here, and I'm just getting shut out every turn for no reason.

She says nothing as I walk to the steps and cross the passerelle to the pier. Only when my feet are firmly on the wood decking does she call, "Thank you, Luke." But I'm already moving toward my office and that bottle of water that seems less appealing now.

Outside of the fact that it burns me so fucking bad that she asks Calvin Fucking Dorsey to be the person in charge of helping with her festival, the man is downright dangerous. Hannah has no idea and I can't really tell her yet. Without proof, she will think I'm being petty. I'm no fool. I saw the way she looks at him sometimes, like he's her savior because he has his millions and he can buy whatever she needs for this festival. But she never stopped to ask how he made those millions.

The office door sticks shut in the humidity and when it doesn't open right away, I slam my shoulder into it hard. It only proves to bruise my ego and my shoulder cap so I thrust my hip into it and immediately regret it. The pain shoots down my leg into my foot and up my side into my hip and ribcage.

"Fuck," I grunt, stepping into the office on a bad limp before slamming the door just to get it to shut. She probably heard it and thinks I'm pissed, and maybe she wouldn’t be wrong.

I am pissed.

I've wanted nothing more than to put my past behind me my entire life. How the hell could I ever know I was going to fall head over heels for the one person who will never let me forget it? Hannah doesn't even realize every time I look in her eyes, I see Nick. I see my shame, and I see my trauma. And now that we've had sex, it's worse.

I see the woman I want to have, and the very one who has the power to destroy me emotionally, because she has my heart and because she hates it.

My hand sweeps across the desk in anger, sweeping everything on it to the floor in a loud crash. Then I drop into the chair, slam my elbows onto the desktop, and bury my face in my hands. This is out of hand. I thought her hating me was bad, and now I can't be around her without wanting to hold her and make sure she's okay, and she's pushing me away.

I sit and stew for so long, my need for a drink vanishes and my body cools. When I sit upright and see the mess, I know I have to clean it up. I grumble as I start picking up papers and see the schedule for docking privileges printed up by Tank earlier this morning. It shows Dorsey's boat,Cut Bait, scheduled three nights this week for mooring after midnight again.

I'm suspicious as soon as I see that, but his name feels like a knife in the chest now. Hannah trusts him and not me. I wonder if she's told him why she's so stressed or if he knows she's been sick a few times. And I wonder why she can't seem to trust me at all.

I crumple the paper and throw it across the room, glaring at the horizon out the window. Bandon is beginning to feel more like a prison sentence than an anchor again. Only this time, my wardens aren't duty and service. They're heartbreak and rejection. And I feel like stomping on their faces.

But it's my reality. If Hannah isn't open to me, I have to let it go. It just hurts like hell. Like I'm losing my way all over again.

Unrequited love is a bitch.

18

HANNAH

The stylist tilts my head forward and works the comb through my wet hair while my mother sits in the chair beside me, foil strips poking out from her highlights like tiny silver flags. She's watching me in the mirror with prying eyes, trying to read me, and I hate it. I know she's trying to show she's concerned, but I also know how her mind works. I'm not eager to get the lecture she's already rehearsing.