Reborn to Love Mr. Right novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Boathouse

Annabel confronts Wyatt at dawn and apologizes for the lie that cost him his captaincy, he tells her to stay away, his sister Maisie adopts her, and a viral clip paints Annabel as a drunk who hit her boyfriend.

The river was still gray when Wyatt carried his single scull down to the dock.

I was sitting on the end of it in my father's old Bellmont sweatshirt, waiting.

He stopped when he saw me.

He didn't drop the boat, or swear, or look surprised.

He just set the shell down in the water.

"Townsend."

"How did you get my father's private number?"

"Good morning to you too."

"It isn't listed anywhere. My mother's old phone plan. Four people have it."

Wyatt crouched to check a rigger.

"I heard Pollard bragging at the bar about the Townsend merger," he said. "Your dad seemed like a man who'd want to know."

"That doesn't explain the number."

"My father's assistant has everybody's number."

"And the heart?"

"He looked gray at a charity dinner last fall."

It was a good answer.

It was a smooth, ready, slightly bored answer, and I didn't believe a word of it.

But I hadn't come here to win.

I stood up and pointed at the boathouse behind me.

"The captains' board in there has a gap in it," I said. "Your year."

He went still.

"I'm going to the coach on Monday," I said. "In writing, with Brock's name in it. Whatever it costs me."

"Don't."

"Why not?"

"Because it'll cost you more than it'll give me." He stood. "And I don't want anything from you, Annabel."

He said it gently, which was worse.

"You need to stay away from me."

"Why?"

"Because I asked nicely."

He stepped down into the scull with the balance of someone who'd done it ten thousand times.

"Wyatt."

He looked up at me from the water.

For one second something moved under all that calm, something raw.

Then it was gone.

"Go home, Annabel."

Behind me, the boathouse door banged open.

"Oh, thank God, a witness!"

A short girl in paint-splattered overalls came marching down the dock with two paper cups.

She had a dark bob and her brother's exact gray-green eyes.

"Hi," she said to me. "I'm Maisie. I'm his sister. I'm the fun one. Is he being a robot?"

"Maisie," Wyatt said.

"He's being a robot." She handed me one of the cups. "That's his coffee. He doesn't deserve it. You were amazing last night."

I stared at her.

"You saw that?"

"Everybody saw that. Best thing that's ever happened at a formal."

She turned to her brother. "And you're still sulking about it."

"I was there," he said flatly.

"And you walked out like a Victorian ghost."

He pushed off from the dock with one oar.

"Don't adopt her, Maisie."

"Too late," Maisie called after him. "We're getting pancakes!"

He rowed away without looking back.

Maisie hooked her arm through mine.

"He's not usually like this," she said. "Well. He is. But not at you. At you he's usually worse."

"Worse how?"

She gave me a long, considering look.

"Pancakes first," she said. "Then I'll decide how much I'm allowed to tell you."

We got as far as the boathouse steps.

Then her phone buzzed, and buzzed again, and kept buzzing.

She looked down at it.

Her face changed.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, no. Don't look."

I took the phone out of her hand.

It was a video of me on the formal stage.

Somebody had cut it so the part where I said "I've had a glass of water" was gone.

What was left was me swaying in pink satin, shouting "No" into a microphone, and walking off while Brock knelt there looking wounded.

The caption said: "Townsend heiress drunk meltdown at senior formal. Poor Brock."

It had eleven thousand views.

Under it was a post from Brock himself.

A photo of his face, with a red mark high on one cheekbone.

"I didn't want to say anything. But she hit me in the car after. I still love her. I just want her to get help."

I had never touched him.

Maisie was reading over my shoulder.

"You didn't hit him," she said. It wasn't a question.

"No."

"Then who posted the video?"

I scrolled up.

The account was Jenna's.

Below the video, she'd added one more line, with a crying emoji.

"I'm moving out today. I'm honestly scared of her."

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