Page 117 of Pull Me Under

Shit.

‘What?’

‘You’ve been staying at Tom’s. That’s what you told me. Three nights this week.’ His mug hits the table with a sharp crack. ‘Funny thing – I saw Tom at the harbour yesterday. Asked him how you two were getting on, all those late nights working on crew schedules.’

The kettle trembles in my hand. Just slightly. Hopefully not enough for him to notice.

‘He looked at me like I’d grown a second head,’ Reuben continues. ‘Said he hadn’t seen you outside of training in weeks.’

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

I turn around. Reuben’s watching me with that expression I know too well – the one that says he’s already figured out the answer and he’s waiting to see if I’ll lie.

‘Dad—’

‘Where have you been, Jude?’

‘I told you⁠—’

‘You told me bollocks.’ He stands. Slower than he used to, but still imposing. Still the man who’s loomed over my entire life. ‘You’ve been distracted. Missing. Your head’s somewhere else entirely. You nearly cost us the Truro account last week because you forgot to send the invoice.’ His eyes narrow. ‘Is it a woman?’

My heart stops. Actually stops, just for a second.

‘What?’

‘A woman. Is that where you’ve been? Because if it’s a woman, I’d like to meet her.’ He pauses. Lets the silence stretch. ‘Unless there’s a reason you’re hiding her.’

This is the moment.

I could tell him. Right here, right now. Yes, Dad, it’s a woman. It’s Brynn Trelawney. I’m falling in love with her, and I know you hate her family, and I know you’ll never understand, but I don’t care anymore.

The words are right there. Pressing against my teeth.

But I can already see his face. The way it would twist. The disgust, the fury, the betrayal. A Trelawney? You’re fucking a Trelawney?

He’d never forgive me.

‘There’s no woman, Dad.’ The lie tastes like ash. ‘I’ve just been busy. Stressed. With Kit gone, there’s more to handle.’

Reuben studies me. I hold his gaze. Force myself not to look away.

‘All right,’ he says finally. ‘But I need you focused. This family doesn’t run itself.’

‘I know.’

‘Tonight. You and me at The Ship. Like the old days.’ It’s not a question. ‘You’ve been scarce. People are starting to talk.’

‘People always talk.’

‘Then let’s give them something better to talk about. The Hardings, holding things together.’

‘Sure, Dad. Sounds good.’

‘Good lad.’

He picks up his mug. Conversation over. Back to business as usual.

I escape to my room. Close the door. Lean against it, heart pounding.