For Better or Hearse

Chapter Fifteen

B right sunlight. Dry mouth. Whiskey headache. Ash wakes curled up on the couch in a fetal position and covered in a soft blanket. She blinks away the veil of sleep and pushes up on her elbow. Swiping her phone from the armrest, she checks her blood sugar.

She listens. It’s quiet. The only noise the crash of the ocean through the balcony door.

Her eyes fall closed at the memory of last night. Nathaniel’s large frame beside her smelling of sunlight and sea. In charge and calm. She appreciated him last night. More than he knows.

And then she scowls.

The interaction shouldn’t be lingering in her mind. It’s silly. Stupid.

Never mind that she apologized, that he came through when she needed him.

Frenemies. That’s it. That’s what they are.

That’s when her bleary gaze lands on a shoebox on top of the coffee table. She sits up and slides it toward herself. On top of it, a piece of hotel stationary pad with the words Hope you can still stomp in these, Bigfoot .

She opens the box, pushes aside the tissue paper and gasps. Then laughs.

Inside, she finds a pair of black spiked, studded sandals. Violent and vixenish—just the type she would wear if she liked sandals.

They’re too expensive. Fancy hotel boutique wrapping from Rosalea Resort. Which means he must have bought them before they left .

Her face heats.

She should return them, should march back up to his room and say no, thank you , because Nathaniel Whitford and nice things do not go together.

She swallows hard. Forces back all emotion. It’d be stupid to return the shoes. She needs them. They’re her style, and surprisingly, her size.

She slips them on. Holds her breath.

The sandals scare her and thrill her all at once.

Because she can’t think of a time when Jakob was this thoughtful. When he went out of his way to give her something she needed, even when her attitude was the worst. The thought makes her itch, has her biting down hard on her lip.

She doesn’t know what to make of the gesture. Doesn’t know what to make of her heartbeat.

Not only did Nathaniel take care of Augustus last night, but he bought her shoes. Fucking spiky shitkickers that put a little flutter into her heart. They’re stylish…and yet…they’re perfectly her.

A door cracks. Augustus, dressed for the day, steps across the threshold of his room. He stops when he sees her, crosses his arms.

“New shoes?” He’s smiling.

Ash shoves a hand through her wild cloud of hair and groans. “Don’t say it.”

Augustus cackles, his eyes twinkling conspiratorially. “Another day.”

Ash inhales. “Another day.”

After a chartered ride, they spend the morning hiking Bird Park Trail. Nathaniel leads the pack, walking ahead with Augustus, keeping his distance. It’s just as well. It’s best if she avoids the man’s nearness and smug glances and salty sea scent. She will hang at the back of the family like the weird little barnacle she is .

After the hike, they head to Hapuna Beach. At a reserved spot, they find lounge chairs, shaded picnic tables and box lunches waiting. The half-mile stretch of white sand is crowded with people. A tiki hut sells shave ice, spam sandwiches and cold drinks.

The Whitford family drifts. Claire to shop, Don back to the hotel to work, Delaney and Tate on their phones.

Ash groans. It’s like herding cats. But Augustus wears a content expression as he takes a seat in a lounge chair to work on his memoirs.

Ash helps get him comfortable. Water. Pens at the ready. A big fucking umbrella.

Maybe this is what he wants. To watch. To enjoy. To just be. Sometimes clients prefer that. But it makes Ash ache. If only the Whitfords knew how lucky they were. If only Augustus’s family would behave like family during this one last trip.

Augustus holds his notepad out and away from him, wearing a thoughtful frown.

“How are you feeling?” Ash asks.

“You know already.” He squints at his handwriting.

Ash hovers near him, heart throbbing, biting her lower lip. His doctor mentioned his vision and his focus could change because of his cancer.

She reaches for the pen. “Do you want me to—”

“No,” Augustus says. “I may be slow, but steady wins the race.” His tone is light but resigned.

Ash chews her lip.

Augustus tips his head back and tuts. “Go on.” He lifts a hand to shoo her away. “Go be Ash.”

She has to physically make herself move to leave. She can’t fix everything. No matter how much she wants to.

At the picnic table, Ash sets her beach bag down. She’s just taken a seat when a shrill beeping pierces the air. With a whip-quick hand, she silences her CGM alarm. Damn the downward spiral of her blood sugar. She digs around in the melty cooler, searching for a Coke. Then stops herself when movement near the shave ice stand catches her attention. If she needs sugar, she’s going to sugar this right.

In line, Ash waits, thankful she’s already lathered on the sunscreen. She shivers as the breeze kicks up. Surveys the ocean. Water’s one sport she enjoys. Lounging on beaches in California with Tessie. Paddleboarding or surfing, it’s all a source of calm, of home, for her. She’ll have a shave ice and let her blood sugar come up to normal, then go for a swim.

“Tell me a truth, Ash,” a velvety voice says in her ear.

She smiles, then remembers who it is, and lets it morph into a groan. “Your murder. On the beach with a harpoon.”

Nathaniel laughs. A bright sound that has her heart pumping double-time. Sharp and electrifying. His laugh makes her want to drink it down.

Mouth curving upward, he leans in. “Your favorite flavor. Something disgusting, I’m sure.”

She bats him away and rolls her shoulders back. “No doubt yours is bitter and paranoid.” A shrug. “Guess we’ll never know, because you dislike anything fun or delicious.”

Shamelessly, her traitorous eyes flick to him. Nathaniel unbuttoning and rolling the cuffs of his linen shirt is the near equivalent of a Baywatch beach run. In the sunlight, his hair is a dark caramel. The scruff on his jawline competes with his full lower lip for sexiest feature of the year.

“Didn’t hear you stomping back there, Bigfoot.” His smile is smug, blue eyes triumphant.

“Sandals are adequate, even if they were too expensive.” She stares into the sun, sacrificing her retinas so she doesn’t have to make eye contact with Nathaniel. She’ll never let on how much she loves them. How they’re so perfectly her. How her feet have been cool and comfortable all day.

“Since you seem hellbent on killing yourself, I thought I’d upgrade your footwear.” He looks down at her feet. “They suit you. ”

“I’ll still never stop wearing the boots.”

Nathaniel grins tightly. His arms cross to fold around his biceps. “I’d expect nothing less. Stubbornness.”

Ash yawns, cups her mouth, feigning boredom. Cranes forward to see what’s holding up the line. “To what do I owe this displeasure?”

“Hiding out from my siblings.” With a long-suffering sigh, he shakes his head. “Delaney wants to read lines. Tate’s after me about listening to his podcast.”

Ash peers over her shoulder, takes in Delaney and Tater, who are sitting at the picnic table scrolling through their phones.

“Listen, I detest a himbo podcast bro as much as anyone, but maybe it’d be good to give Tater the benefit of a doubt. Maybe he just wants you to listen to him.” She shrugs. “Sometimes when people are annoying as fuck, it’s because they want attention. Maybe he just wants you to like him. People will do all kinds of things to be liked.”

Nathaniel goes completely still. If it’s possible, those broad shoulders get even broader. He glances back at his brother, brow furrowed thoughtfully.

“They’re younger, right?”

Nathaniel’s laugh is humorless. “Yeah. By ten years.”

She can picture it. The Whitfords at the family dinner table. Nathaniel home from college, stern, broody, focused. Delaney, whimsical and sweet. Tate, stupid yet endearing. Young kids vying for Nathaniel’s attention. Nathaniel so focused on getting the fuck out, he doesn’t see.

She’s probably overstepping. But it’s always been in her to fix. Fix her blood sugar. Fix her heart after Jakob. Fix Tessie after her mother’s death. She can fix this too. Sure, she might find herself at the bottom of the ocean after this conversation, but she’ll take that chance.

She turns to him. “You’re running. You don’t give yourself to people. It’s understandable. Your father’s a nightmare, and the jury’s still out on your mom. But maybe your siblings…” She should stop talking, stop rambling, but after last night, it’s like she has a window into the hard shell that is Nathaniel Whitford. It fascinates her. “Maybe they deserve you. Maybe they want to know you. Or, if you want to get away from your family so badly, maybe you should cut this vacation short and go on your hike.”

With a hard swallow, he blows out a breath. “You talk a lot.”

The line inches forward. Barely.

“Your grandfather,” she begins. “Do you think he’s having fun?”

He crosses his arms, lets out a tired sigh. Her gaze lingers on the bulge of his biceps. “I think he wants us to have fun.”

“Maybe we should run interference and force everyone to spend time with him.” Ash clears her throat. “In the name of the truce.”

“The truce.” Those two words are staccato, brusque. Like he’s already regretting their agreement. But stern tone or not, his gaze meanders over Ash.

Once again, the alarm on her phone screeches. Ash scrambles to silence it, then surreptitiously checks her blood.

“Fuck.” Her blood sugar’s now sixty-five.

Nathaniel suddenly sobers. His hawklike gaze has caught her reading.

Then a broad palm cups the small of her back. “C’mon,” he barks, gently ushering her forward. His expression has turned intent, his moves sharp and quick.

Horrified, mortified, she says, “I can get a Coke, it’s really not—”

He’s moving again. Leaving her there. Cutting everyone ahead of them. Ash covers her face. In low tones, he speaks to the person at the head of the line, who nods, assesses Ash.

Nathaniel turns over his shoulder, searching for her. He waves her up.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Ash says as she passes the people. “He’s a nepo baby. No one ever said no to him when he was a child. ”

When she reaches him, Nathaniel lifts a brow. “What flavor?”

“Oh, uh, root beer.”

A strange expression crosses his face. Shock, surprise, maybe. Then he turns back to the server and places the order.

“Here.” He hands the server a wad of cash and takes the shave ice. “For hers and everyone we skipped.”

Ash looks at him from beneath lowered lashes. The gesture has her heart pumping in a slow, grateful cadence.

Nathaniel moves close to her. Once again, his broad palm has attached itself to the small of her back. The warmth of it has butterflies swarming in her stomach. Ash wonders what that big, tan hand would feel like drifting over her bare skin.

Oh god. What’s wrong with her? She’s lust addled. Lightheaded. And not because her blood sugar is low.

“Thank you,” he says to several people as they pass down the line. “We appreciate it.”

“We?” Ash snorts. “There is no we.”

“Eat,” he orders as they approach a picnic table. Square jaw locked tight, he hands her the shave ice. “Now.”

Sitting, Ash does as she’s told. The shave ice is cold and icy and sweet-bitter and probably exactly what Nathaniel Whitford’s heart tastes like. Delicious.

From his seat across from her, the man himself watches, wearing an intent expression.

Ash eyes him warily, waiting for more. For a scolding lecture about the perils of low blood sugar. It’s been the bane of her existence for so long. For so long, she’s been treated as if she’s fragile or weak because of her diabetes. When it gets low, people always assume she’s irresponsible. The reality? Controlling it is one of the hardest things she’s ever had to do.

It’s the kind of thing a person can’t understand unless they’ve been there, and Ash wouldn’t wish it for anyone else.

“You’re here to help my grandfather,” Nathaniel says in a low voice. His pale-blue eyes, warmed by the sun, stay fixed on her face. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t take care of yourself.”

For a second, she can’t speak. His words have carved her to pieces.

It should be triggering, even the smallest worry over her diabetes. It isn’t. Not with him. Nathaniel’s offering to help and doing it in the most alpha not-at-all-attractive-way he knows how. Taking charge. Being calm.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “I will.”

“Good.”

It’s a fleeting second. The space warming between them.

Ash’s bench is rudely rocked as Tater, baseball cap twisted to the side, drops beside her. “Really going hard on that sugar, dawg.”

“She has low blood sugar,” Nathaniel snaps. With well-practiced big-brother ease, he turns a death glare on Tate. “You don’t need a dissertation on how it works.”

“It’s okay.” She’s always happy to talk about being a type-one diabetic. “It’s not a death sentence,” she tells Tater. “We can have sugar. Like everything, it’s in moderation.”

Tate blinks slowly, nods. “Cool, cool.”

Nathaniel’s blazing gaze skims her face. The look twists her insides into heart-shaped bruises. He rests his hand on the tabletop. Those long, strong, tan fingers inches from hers. His palm is big as hell. A tap on her ass would probably sound like a microwave being slammed shut.

Fuck. Stop.

Why is she thinking about Nathaniel’s hand and her ass in the same brain sentence?

Ash licks faster, but the move only creates an image in her mind of her tongue scraping down the side of Nathaniel’s well-scruffed face.

Holy shit. She needs an exorcism. Clearly, she is diabolically horny.

“Ash? ”

She swallows, pulled out of her trance by Nathaniel’s rough voice. “What?”

He tilts his head to the side, eyes dim with concern. “Better?”

She inhales. “Yes.” Her blood feels less on fire.

The bench is rocked again. This time Delaney plops herself down beside Nathaniel. She takes in Ash, the shave ice, sniffs the air, then smirks. “You got his favorite.”

Ash blinks. “What?”

“Root beer. It’s Nathaniel’s favorite flavor of anything.”

Surprised and horrified, Ash swivels her head to Nathaniel.

He’s frozen, jaw tight.

Her mouth tugs into a half smirk. “Looks like we’re twinsies.”

One large hand smears down his face. “Please don’t say that,” he mumbles.

She holds the shave ice out in offering. “Lick?”

He groans. “Especially that.” He blows out a breath and pushes a hand through his hair. “Fuck,” he says, looking frazzled. Then he abruptly stands and walks off.

Delaney evaluates Ash with shrewd eyes. “You annoy him.”

Ash laughs. “That’s what I like to hear.”

“He talks to you, at least.” Delaney props her chin in her palm. Picks at the box lunch. A wilted ham sandwich and a bag of chips. “More than us.”

Ash smirks. “It’s not really talking as much as arguing into oblivion.”

A bark of a laugh escapes Tater. “He can’t wait to get the hell off this island.”

“Can you blame him?” Delaney looks wistful. “Remember when Dad used to allow us to express our personalities?”

Tater guffaws. “Definitely in the embryo stage, dawg.”

Ash splits a look between the siblings. It feels like she’s at the children’s table at Thanksgiving. Which, in truth, is the best place to be. It always has the hottest gossip. Not to mention, less drama and fewer political conversations .

“Ugh,” Delaney groans. She throws a dramatic hand to her face. “And now I have one brother with a podcast and another who’s determined to kill himself in the North Sea.” She swivels her head to Ash. “How gross is that?”

Ash laughs, though her heart pounds in her ears and fingertips at the memory of her conversation with Nathaniel last night. “It’s just the ocean.”

Delaney’s eyes are wide. “No, it’s not just the ocean.” She reaches for her phone. Pulls up a TikTok video. “They say it’s the most treacherous sea in the world. Look at this vortex.”

On screen, the sea’s in an angry mood. A ship battles against devastating waves until it’s eventually engulfed completely. It capsizes and then slowly sinks beneath the waves.

Tate gapes. “Damn, dude.”

Ash opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Worry weighs down her bones, her breath.

She shouldn’t care. But she does. It’s dangerous, and he’s an idiot.

She scans the beach, finds Nathaniel in the crowd of people. God, he’s obnoxious. He drives her crazy.

Delaney shudders. “You couldn’t pay me enough money.” She exits TikTok. Stands and says to Ash, “Swim?”