A Man to Believe In

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)

PROLOGUE

NO WAY COULD he compete with the dead.

Peter approached the memorial, the sculpture’s relief taking shape against the silhouetting sunrise. A pink granite pillar supported the bronze form of a man standing in a boat. The inscription read In Remembrance of Those Lost at Sea While Fishing These Waters.

His insides wrenched at the thought of Cassie surviving a near brush with death yesterday, Kyle’s name, not his, on her lips. He remembered the grateful look of love in her eyes when she had regained consciousness and had seen him. Yet, when speaking about going home, she had wanted Kyle.

A damned ghost.

The woman of his dreams was fighting for her life. All he wanted to do was love her, help her heal. But no. She turned him away, along with his offer of marriage, because of a man and a memory lost at sea years ago. Peter couldn’t even lay hands on the dude to punch him out for breaking her heart and get some satisfaction and release from his anger.

His tormentor stood over him in the form of Montauk’s larger-than-life memorial—a muscled fisherman, shirtless, wearing waders and hauling a line. The fisherman stared away from Peter with sightless eyes, intent on the invisible catch over the side of the boat.

Peter pulled the engagement ring from his pocket. His grandmother’s ring. Saved for the perfect woman. From his other pocket, he drew a pocketknife. As the morning sun rose over the horizon and splashed brilliant gold light around him, Peter kneeled to the left of the fisherman, and sliced deep into the grass. In a hole deep enough to siphon his life, he buried the ring, marking the burial place in his heart.

He walked away.

Sometimes the ocean—and the dead—had no mercy.

CHAPTER ONE

Six months ago...

PETER CHAPMAN’S PICKUP crested the hill leading into Montauk Point, revealing his first glimpse of The End—the very tip of New York’s Long Island. The sunrise bursting over the Atlantic Ocean shone straight into his gut. Rays of gold illuminating the clouds lifted his spirits higher than the seagulls soaring overhead.

Exhausted from the long drive, he lowered the window, letting the brisk morning air rouse him awake. Peter whistled softly into the headset attached to his cell phone. “I made it, Gil. I’m home.”

“Well done, bro! I feel like I’ve arrived with you.”

Peter chuckled. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he rubbed his dry, itching eyes with the other. “You did, Gil. You stayed up all night, talking when I got tired. You shared the driving.”

“Just making sure you’re okay.”

Gilbert did stuff like that, as a friend more than an older brother. Though only eleven months his senior, the older status didn’t really count. They’d always been there for each other.

Peter steered the truck into the valley of the next rise, anticipating the view from the hilltop. He wanted to imprint this new vista in his mind every time he closed his eyes instead of seeing the accusing hurt in Melanie Chapman’s gaze, which had haunted him the entire ride here. Five days on the road from Los Angeles hadn’t erased the guilt of his last moments with his mother before leaving.

“The way Mom looked at me tore my heart out, Gil.”

Gilbert scoffed. “We went over this already. She’s messing with your head, as always. I don’t know why you let her get to you.” His voice dropped. “Besides, you had no choice. Even Uncle Michael said so. She’ll be fine where she is.”

Peter had spent a lifetime protecting his gentle-spirited brother from their mother’s depressive state. It felt good to have the tables turned with Gil supporting Peter’s choice to leave home. Peter had also shielded their mother’s sporadic substance abuse from prying eyes, learning quickly as an adolescent that if he let his mother sleep off her weeks, sometimes months, of depression, it freed him up to run the household and keep their world as normal as possible without outside intervention. Once his brother moved to San Francisco, Peter’s job of holding the family together was over. Uncle Michael, his mother’s brother, had been there for the boys when he could, but knowing Peter had carried the brunt of the responsibilities through the years, Michael insisted that there was nothing more Peter needed to do. Right now, he didn’t want to think about it.

“So, I guess you’re ready to catch some sleep,” he said to his brother. “I should let you go.”

Gil yawned into the phone. “Yeah. Feels like I pulled one of your all-nighters studying when you were in school.”

“Couldn’t have made the grade without you and Rudy backing me up.”

Gil chuckled. “After two years, he’s still telling me how great you looked in your nursing uniform at graduation.”

Peter laughed. “I’ll send a set of scrubs anytime you want.”

Peter had busted his tail to get through nursing school, and had loved his two-year stint in the E.R. in Los Angeles. Gilbert and his partner, Rudy, were the only ones who supported him from graduation until now, and still cheered him on. They were all the family he needed, but staying around L.A. wasn’t an option any longer. When the opening for the emergency room nurse in Montauk appeared, he had grabbed it and run.

Anyplace that touted itself as The End was exactly where he wanted to be—as far away as he could get from the fact that he’d failed his mother. In his heart, Peter believed he had caved and threw in the towel, despite Uncle Michael insisting that a twenty-eight-year-old man needed to pursue his own life.

“Well, I’m as far away from Los Angeles as a man can get while staying in the good old U.S.A.”

“No, bro.” Gil gave an exaggerated sigh. “You could have gone to Maine.”

“Too rocky to surf and the water is freezing.” He’d researched Montauk, and the surfing had capped the deal. Seems the remote fishing village had some of the best waves on the East Coast. Locals even surfed through the winter with the proper gear. Arriving in Montauk now, he’d have time to adjust to the area before the traditional surfing season.

“A nursing career and surfing? We might not ever see you again.”

Peter glanced through the rearview mirror at the bed of his pickup, which carried his few belongings. Three surfboards and a trunk with some household basics, his clothes, the LEGO he’d loved as a kid. Maybe one day he’d have a kid of his own to pass them on. After he outgrew LEGO, he had discovered the water, and surfing had become his saving grace. When Mom wigged out, he put her to bed and hit the beach where he didn’t have to think about anything but the next wave.

Cresting another hill, Peter slowed the truck way down. A woman riding a mountain bike glided from the center to the side of the road. He wanted to pass her safely. Besides, the flash of her long-sleeved T-shirt and tight biking shorts made him want to see more. He pulled up beside her, slowing enough to enjoy the view, especially that trim butt. A mass of blond curls fell down her back. Sunglasses and a baseball cap shielded her eyes. Hey, no bike helmet? He’d like to give her a lecture on biking safety. Any excuse would do to pull over that beauty and engage her attention. What a great mouth and just enough determination to that chin. All in a glance. She was his type of girl. He was gawking like a schoolboy and couldn’t stop himself.

She glanced his way then did a double take. She must have liked what she saw because her frown turned into a smile that nearly floored him.

Not wanting to look like a jerk, he sped up. “Nice!” The move to Montauk kept getting better and better.

“What is?” Gil asked.

“Bro, I gotta go. Riding next to some local wildlife and she looks promising.”

Gil laughed. “Why don’t you stop her and ask for directions?”

“Great idea. I’ll call later. Love you, bro.”

Not wanting to ogle the woman, he passed giving her enough room for safety. She waved her thanks. He smiled but really wanted to whistle. He’d keep an eye out for her around town. Meanwhile, he became so preoccupied watching this awesome female in the side mirror that he swerved to miss a deer darting into his path from the woods across the street. Glad to miss it, he didn’t expect a buck following the doe to bolt in front of the truck. He yanked the wheel too hard, veering off the road toward a shallow ditch. No room to maneuver.

“Damn!”

The truck nose-dived into the narrow embankment. Impact stopped his truck, but not before Peter’s head smacked the steering wheel. The clatter of his surfboards flying around the flatbed filled his ears.

“What the...?” His forehead stung. Wet warmth trickled into his eye. His vision began fading, and he realized he was bleeding and blacking out. He couldn’t stop the sensation. Almost as an afterthought, the air bag released to catch his fall.

* * *

BUZZING IN HIS ears grew louder. An antiseptic scent invaded his nostrils. Hospital. Familiar. Peter tried to open his eyes, but the light hurt. He closed them once more.

“Well, this is a fine way to introduce yourself to new coworkers.”