For Better or Hearse

Chapter Sixteen

N athaniel comes back to the picnic table just as Delaney and Ash head for the beach.

With an aggrieved sigh and a wary look at Ash, he sits. She’s at the shore, wearing cut-off shorts and that yellow bikini. Her long black hair hangs, disheveled, down to her waist.

When he’s around her, his headspace is frazzled. His breathing uneven. He hasn’t been on his game the last four days. He needs orderly. He needs planned. Ash Keller is none of those things.

She’s beautiful. So beautiful that she scalds his blood. But even better, she’s a morbid beauty with a smart mouth. It turns him on. He loathes himself.

Beside him, Tater bangs a fist on the picnic table, making Nathaniel scowl. “You’re not pitching it without me, dawg. I put the podcast together. I need to be there.”

Nathaniel side-eyes his brother, the phone pressed tight against his ear. It’s rare for him and his siblings to make conversation. Family is dutiful, not familiar, as his father often reminds him. Delaney’s daddy issues, Tate’s insecurity, all stem from their father’s country club rules for raising a family.

“Damn it.” Tate stabs his phone screen, tapping End, and runs a hand through his light-blond hair. With a disgruntled expression on his face, he bites into a crusty ham sandwich. Crumbs scatter across his Jimmy Buffett muscle tank.

Ash’s words weave their way through his head. Maybe he just wants you to listen. Maybe he just wants you to like him. People will do all kinds of things to be liked.

He gets it. It’s easy to understand when he thinks of all those nights, when he was a kid, that he waited up for his father. Nights when his father said five more minutes , but five more minutes turned to ten, and ten eventually turned into too many years too late.

Christ. He’s taking advice from a girl who’s chaotic neutral at best?

And yet.

“So, uh.” Nathaniel shifts, scratches at his neck. “What’s this podcast about?”

Tater’s head jerks back so fast Nathaniel can’t be sure he doesn’t have whiplash.

Jesus Christ.

The surprised look on his brother’s face sends a wave of shame through him. Fuck, Nathaniel is a piece of shit.

“So, uh, we plan to touch on a different topic every season. But the first is all about potatoes.”

Nathaniel nods. It seems like the right thing to do. “Potatoes, huh?”

Tate’s scowl deepens. “We have a meeting set up with a producer. But now RJ wants to move it to tomorrow. Little weasel’s trying to hog all the glory, when I’m the one who came up with the idea.”

Nathaniel sucks in a hard breath, barely reining in his impatience.

“You think you can shut up about the podcast for the next week and try to enjoy the trip for Grandpops?”

Tater’s glower quickly morphs into a smirk. “What do I get out of it?”

A black eye. A black eye is what the kid’s going to get out of it.

“He has cancer,” Nathaniel snaps. “Make him fucking happy for once in your life. Christ.”

“Damn, dude,” Tater says, wounded.

They stare at each other, both frowning.

Breathing hard, Nathaniel massages the bridge of his nose. “You hang out with Grandpops; I’ll listen to your podcast.”

Tate’s eyes go wide. “Really, man? ”

Nathaniel was serious when he and Ash called a truce. He wants to make this vacation great for his grandfather. He won’t fail him. “Really.”

“All five episodes?”

Christ. The slow death he’s dying inside. Still, Nathaniel hides his flinch. “All five episodes.” He jabs a finger at Tate. “No phone at dinner or any time Grandpops is around. And you fucking make conversation with him and mean it.”

His brother holds up his hands in an “easy there” gesture.

“Seriously, Tate.”

“Dawg, fuck, yes.” Tate shoves the rest of the ham sandwich into his mouth and chews. “You got a deal.”

With a grin, Tater picks up his phone and types out a text message.

As if Nathaniel’s inquired, he says, “I’ve been trying to wrangle this girl for a while now, and she’s at a party out in NoHo.”

“Wrangle. What is she, a cow?”

“The way I see it, it’s the perfect way to weed out a woman. Interested. Not interested.”

“What do you mean?” Nathaniel hates himself for asking, but dammit if he isn’t curious.

His brother leans in, grinning. His eyes glitter like he holds all the secrets of the universe. “My theory is, when women get drunk, they want their man. If you’re not getting a text or call when she’s drunk, you’re not the one she wants.”

Maybe Tate has a point. Maybe he’s an idiot.

Tate scans the beach. “What about Ash?”

Nathaniel gives him a dry look. Tamps down the lightning strike that courses through him at her name. “What about her?”

Now they’re both surveying the beach.

Silence falls.

Ash is kicking off her shorts, leaving her in nothing but that painted-on bikini. At the sight of her perky ass, Nathaniel is hit with a strange, primal urge. To make his way over to her and give her a playful slap on one tight cheek.

What does she taste like? In the morning and at night. And what would those pouty red lips feel like against his? Despite his better judgment, he can’t help but imagine running his hand over all that smooth creamy flesh and kissing his way down her thighs. Does she steal the sheets, or does she share? She seems like the type to take a long nap after a day on the beach, not because she’s lazy, but because she’s like a cat and prefers to bask in the sun, and goddamn if he’ll interrupt her.

“You think she’s looking to…you know?”

Nathaniel snaps himself out of his ridiculous thoughts. “What?” he asks through gritted teeth.

Tate gives him a knowing grin. “You think she’d be interested?”

No. She wouldn’t be.

But nonetheless, a pang of irritation rises at the thought of Tate taking Ash out.

Nathaniel scowls at him. “In you?”

“Sorry, dawg. Read the room wrong.” Tater lifts his hands, giving him a conciliatory look. “You get first dibs.”

Nathaniel opens his mouth to tell him he doesn’t want first dibs. He isn’t interested in Ash.

Only, nothing comes out.

Until last night, he wasn’t sure about her.

Now? His self-control is deteriorating at a rapid pace.

Nathaniel feels dumber for having listened to Tate’s entire spiel on women and the ways of the world, but it’s the least he can do for his grandfather. And Ash.

Ash.

Fuck. Why is he even thinking about her right now?

He empties his head of her and looks toward the ocean. On the water, a sailboat slices with swift delicacy. The sky is bright and blue. A group of surfers carry their boards up to the rocks .

“You want to kayak?” he asks Tate, in desperate need of a distraction. “We could take Grandpops out.”

Tate shrugs. “Sure, man. Whatever.” His little brother is like a Labrador retriever. Eager to please. Always has been.

For the next two hours, the brothers, along with Augustus, tour the cove. No phones, minimal conversation. But within minutes of being on the water, Nathaniel’s mind clears. The beach has always been his source of calm. In LA, he has easy access. Living on the water on the rig is another world entirely. On the Sophia Marie , he has to be level-headed and prepared at all times. Aware of what he can and can’t control. The sea. The weather. But he can stop blood. Restart a heart. Stay away from his family. Ash. The predictability of life gives him focus. An escape.

Back on shore, they get Augustus into his lounge chair, then make sure he’s covered by an umbrella and has water.

Once his grandfather is settled, Nathaniel straightens up. Ridiculously, his first thought is to scan the beach for Ash. He’s looking for that Pavlovian flash of yellow when the blast of a whistle cuts through the noise on the beach.

The sharp alarm, the urgency, kicks his adrenaline into overdrive. The masses are on their feet. Many are wading out of the ocean. Now choppy and wild, waves crash onto shore. Ominous clouds are rolling in quickly. A man in flamingo swim trunks helps a pregnant woman to shore.

Nathaniel stops a lifeguard who’s hurrying by, scanning the water. “What’s going on?”

“Riptide rolled in,” the man says, lifting his whistle once more to his mouth. “We have to get everyone out of the water.”

Augustus is suddenly beside him, his face etched with concern. He grips Nathaniel’s shoulder. “Where’s Delaney? Ash?”

Ash.

Swallowing the burn in his throat, the panic, he scans the beach. Where is she? Even wading in knee-deep water can be a death sentence with a riptide .

Frantically searching the shore, he sees her sandals.

Alarm speeds through Nathaniel’s senses. Those overpriced spikes of doom sit on the sand just waiting for someone to step on. Without Ash.

The blood drains from his face.

“Stay here,” he tells his grandfather. Then he’s running, racing down to shore. Elbowing his way through the rushing crowd, his heartbeat jackhammers in his ears. He plows into a person scurrying past. Without bothering to apologize, he moves the woman roughly aside.

Where is she?

Helplessness twists at his gut. Frantically, Nathaniel whips his head left and right. Trying to pick out a teeny, tiny yellow bikini has never been more frustrating.

And then his heart stops. Sound ceases to exist.

Christ. What if she’s in the ocean? Of course she’s in the ocean. Because it’s Ash. Carefree and careless. And always primed to give him a heart attack.

He vaults over a towel, a beach bag. Finally, he finds himself at the edge of the shore. He’s hurling himself forward, ready to go in, when a hand wraps around his bicep and he’s yanked to a stop.

“Are you an idiot? What are you doing?”

Chest heaving, he whips around. Every muscle in his body is strung tight.

Ash is there, wide-eyed, staring up at him. Water sluices down her frame, her long black hair hanging over one shoulder. Tamed for once.

“I couldn’t find you,” he rasps.

The instinct she triggers in him is primal. He reaches out, slides his arms around her slender waist to pull her to him. The moment she’s in his arms, his tension ebbs.

His heart pounds, on fire, as he takes her in. Soft, dewy skin. A hint of a sunburn on the tops of her shoulders. Her pretty face a mix of amusement and confusion .

“Are you okay?” Fuck. Somehow his hand has attached itself to her cheek. Cupping it like it’ll help him feel better. “You’re not hurt?”

The look she gives him is incredulous. A rosy flush spreads across her cheeks. Her eyes darken, long lashes fluttering. “I was in the bathroom, you Tall Asshole.” Despite her words, her tone is soft.

She’s still in his arms. He pulls her closer. Reassurance she’s okay. Reassurance he didn’t know he needed.

The exhale he lets out shakes them both. “Thank—”

Nathaniel’s words are cut off as he’s shoved roughly back and away from Ash.

“Thanks a lot, Lancelot. I could have been dying, and you just bulldozed me out of the way.” Delaney’s eyes flash fire, her hands propped dramatically on her hips. “You don’t even think to look for your little sister when there’s practically a tsunami on the beach? What were you doing?”

His mouth works. No words come out. That calm, decisive cool he’s perfected in the ER is gone. He’s too muddled to respond, a volatile, overreacting mess.

Ash smothers a smile and wiggles her fingers. Slipping her feet into her sandals, she takes one more careful glance over her shoulder at him. Then she runs up the beach to Augustus’s outstretched arms.

As the sound of the ocean crashing against the beach rushes back to his ears, bone-deep awareness hits him like a brick.

Ash.

She’s the first one he looked for.