Page 70 of Island Girl

She thought about her father, alone in Maine, ready to sell the house and start over.

She thought about Gregory, growing weaker by the day.

And she thought about Ray, trapped in a silence of his own making, unable to reach out even to the people who loved him.

She could help. She was sure of it.

The familiar feeling rose in her chest. The need to dosomething, to fix something, to matter. It was the same feeling that had driven her to give up her life for her mother's care. The same feeling that had made her believe her sacrifice could change the outcome.

It hadn't worked then. She knew that.

But this was different. Wasn't it?

She set down her guitar and looked out at the dark water. The waves rolled in, steady and indifferent. The stars wheeled overhead, ancient and cold.

She knew what she should do. She should listen to Paula. Let Ray be. Play her music and leave the door open and trust that he'd walk through it when he was ready.

But she also knew what she was going to do.

The thing she always did when she saw someone suffering. The same thing that had swallowed years of her life and nearly cost her everything.

She was going to try to help.

Even if it wasn't her place. Even if it might do more harm than good. Even if every rational part of her brain was screaming that this was a mistake.

She couldn't help it. It was who she was.

Tomorrow, she decided. She'd find the right moment tomorrow.

She went inside and closed the French doors against the night, but sleep was a long time coming.

CHAPTER 22

It happened on a Tuesday.

Merritt had been waiting for the right moment all week. She'd watched Ray come and go, had played her sets with extra care, had looked for some opening, some sign that he was ready to be approached. But he remained the same as always. Silent. Closed. A man wrapped in armor so thick she couldn't find a single crack.

Until Tuesday.

She was on her break between sets, sitting at the end of the bar with a glass of water, when she noticed Ray doing something she'd never seen him do before. He was looking at her.

Not the quick glances she sometimes caught in her peripheral vision. Not the distant stare of a man lost in his own thoughts. He was looking directly at her, his eyes sharp and focused, like he was trying to figure something out.

Their gazes met for just a moment before he looked away. But it was enough.

This was it. This was her opening.

She finished her water and stood up, her heart hammering in her chest. Justin was busy at the other end of the bar, mixingdrinks for a group of tourists. Crocker was in the kitchen. No one was paying attention.

She walked toward Ray's corner, her steps slow and deliberate. She didn't want to spook him. She just wanted to talk. Just a few words. Just enough to let him know she understood.

He watched her approach. His expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted. A tightening. A bracing.

She should have recognized it for what it was. A warning.

“Hi,” she said, stopping a few feet from his table. “Mind if I sit for a minute?”

Ray didn't answer. He just looked at her, those sharp eyes that reminded her so much of Paula's. Waiting.