AUGUST PUT ON a shirt for dinner.

Fortunately.

And he didn't make any more threats about spreading my legs and making me moan.

Unfortunately.

But he did follow through on his promise to let me ask him some questions over dinner, and he wasn't even being a grump about it.

I'd call that a definite win.

"Did you always plan on returning to Evergreen Isle when you retired?"

August shoveled some veggies into his mouth and shrugged as he chewed. "I never really planned to retire," he said after swallowing. I raised a brow, and he amended, "I mean, I knew that one day I would retire, but I didn't think it would be this season or even the next one or the next."

I nodded, sipping my wine while I digested his words. It wasn't surprising to me that August hadn't planned to retire. Clearly, the organization had been taken aback by his departure. It seemed sudden to everyone, so it would make sense that it was also sudden to August.

But why?

"So it was your injury?" I probed after a minute of thinking about how I wanted to broach the subject I desperately needed to get to the bottom of.

"Castle," August said flatly, avoiding my eyes as he stabbed the food on his plate. "You and I both know that a torn ACL isn't a career-ending injury."

I nodded because, yes, I did know. "But it did take you out for a whole season. I know you could play again if you wanted, but maybe the injury made you realize you didn't want to."

"Oh, I want to," August said with a sigh, finally looking up at me.

The expression on his face shredded my heart because I could tell that he really did want to. He clearly did want to play football, and while that should make me hopeful that it would be easy to convince him to come back to New York, a small voice in the back of my head told me that if August wanted to play, there was a reason–a really good reason–why he wasn't. And my chances of changing his mind were minuscule.

"New York would welcome you back," I said softly, on the off-chance that he didn't already know that.

"I'm not interested." His features darkened. "Not a chance in hell."

"A different team?" I asked, even as my stomach dropped. I didn't want him to play for a different team, but I wanted to know his reaction to the suggestion. I wanted to decipher who or what was at the root of his departure. Was it the NFL in general or specific to the Warriors franchise?

"Can't," August said with a tight shake of his head. "My contract with the Warriors wasn't up when I retired, meaning if I returned to the NFL, I wouldn't be a free agent. Not unless New York cuts me."

And that wasn't happening–we both knew that to be true. August was too much of a goddamn legend.

"Oh, come on," I said, trying to joke and lighten the mood. "New York isn't that bad."

August sighed again. Our eyes connected, and I settled into his rich brown gaze. Something brewed there, but I couldn't put my finger on it. And I wanted more, needed more out of him.

"I'm in New York," I tried, struggling to muster the light tone I had used a minute ago.

"I know, Castle," he said, remaining solemn. His eyes flicked over my face in a disappointed sort of way. A hint of regret leaked into his gaze. "I know you're in New York. Which is probably a good reason to just leave it alone. You're not going to learn anything that you want to know if we continue this conversation."

"I want to know either way, August," I said, hoping to convince him.

Yes, I wanted to get to the bottom of his retirement for the sake of my job, but I also wanted to know because I wanted to know him. For as long as I'd known him, August loved the game. He didn't love the fame or any other perks of being a professional football player, but he loved the game. He was truly there because it was his passion.

What could have possibly happened that made him push all that aside?

August took a long sip of his beer before he spoke again.

"Don't worry about it, Quinn," he said softly.

I liked the way my first name rolled off his tongue. It sounded like it had meaning when it came from his lips. Like he put thought into saying it. Like it was important.

That was ridiculous, though.

I knew it was, but I still couldn't help the warmth that spread inside me as August continued looking at me.

"I am worried about it," I whispered back.

I was worried about it because I worried about him.

"I know you're a good reporter," August said reassuringly, and I could tell he meant it. The heat beneath my skin grew warmer. "So I know you'll be able to write this article and make me sound interesting. I know people will love it no matter what."

He really wasn't going to tell me, was he? At least not tonight, anyway.

I sighed, resigned to the fact that this conversation was clearly coming to a close.

"If they do love it, it will only be because they love you, Fletcher. They'll read it, they'll love it, they'll overanalyze it...because they love you. Your fans adore you."

August swallowed hard before he answered, his eyes once again avoiding me.

"My fans hardly know me," he said, sounding...wistful. "But if anyone can change it, it's you."

I nodded, deciding I had a new goal.

I wasn't going to stop trying to get the truth out of August, but until I did, I was going to write the truths that I did know. People cheered for August Fletcher because he was damn good at football. But I wanted to show them all the other reasons he deserved the spotlight.

"I'll see what I can do."

|||

August followed through on another promise when he let us rest the next day. For a few days, actually.

It was nice and definitely needed. Not just because I felt physically ragged but also because it was good for me to start assembling my notes about August into something readable. Something that showcased the bits and pieces of him that deserved to be on display.

Meanwhile, I got to watch while August went on being August. And that was honestly the highlight of my days. Because it meant I got to watch August surf and stroll around shirtless and conduct business meetings from his kitchen table with a backward hat and cut-off shirts. And occasionally, he'd catch me staring and throw me a smirk.

But his smirk vanished real fast one morning when I got my first work call since arriving on Evergreen Isle, and I picked up the phone to say, "Hey, Parker."

August, who had been sitting across from me at the dining room table while we both worked on our laptops, immediately frowned.

"Hey, Quinn." Parker's dull, slightly monotone voice greeted me. "How's it going down there with Fletcher?"

"I think it's going well," I said slowly, wondering what was really behind this phone call. Parker and I had been colleagues for over a year, but despite August's accusations when I first arrived–we weren't particularly close. Friendly enough, but not close.

"That's good," Parker said before adding, "Hope it's at least somewhat tolerable. I know how Fletcher can be."

August narrowed his eyes, and I wondered if he could hear Parker.

"It's definitely been...tolerable," I said, sneaking a smile at August as I watched the irritation bloom over his face. "Fletcher has certainly been accommodating to my visit."

August's gaze flashed as he sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, muscles bulging deliciously.

"That's...surprising," Parker said. He cleared his throat. "Although, that's why they sent you, isn't it? I'm sure he wouldn't be like that if I showed up on his little island."

"I'd send his scrawny ass back to New York," August grumbled under his breath, confirming that, yes, he could actually hear Parker.

I had to swallow a laugh before I was able to speak.

"We get along well," I said.

An understatement.

In some ways, August and I got along too well. And it was going to get both of us into trouble.

"Well, I hope you're getting along well enough that you're getting something out of him," Parker said, a little more of an edge to his voice. "They're starting to worry back here because they haven't heard from you."

"I've been busy," I said defensively, to which August raised his brows.

He probably wouldn't describe our last few days as busy.

"I'm sure you are, but you might want to send an update soon."

"Thanks for the heads up, Parker," I said, wanting to shut down this conversation. "I'll do that. Any other reason you called?"

"Not really." He hesitated. "Just thought you might want to hear a friendly voice."

Really, truly, Parker had one of the most unfriendliest voices I'd ever heard. It wasn't even his fault; he just had one of those voices.

August rolled his eyes.

"That's nice of you," I said diplomatically. "But truly, I've met a lot of friendly faces down here in South Carolina."

Parker chuckled. "Sounds like I don't need to worry."

"No, you don't," I said, meeting August's gaze. He stared back, and the clench in his jaw softened just a touch. "Thanks for calling, Parker. Talk again soon."

"See ya, Quinn," Parker replied before ending the call.

"Tolerable?" August immediately mimicked. "Accommodating? Really, Castle?"

I couldn't help but grin at his irritation.

"You have been very accommodating," I said. "And if I told him the truth that it's been nice and more than tolerable, he might get suspicious."

"Suspicious about what?"

My grin turned sheepish. "That maybe I like you just as much as you like me."

August's glare morphed into a glow. "I doubt that's true, Castle."

I shrugged. "Maybe it is, maybe it isn't."

I actually suspected that I liked him more than he liked me. I hadn't been able to get him out of my head lately, especially ever since his threat in the kitchen the other night. Remembering how gruff his voice had sounded in my ear was starting to become a problem.

Shaking his head, August pushed to his feet. Striding to the kitchen counter, he grabbed a set of keys off it and twirled the key ring around his finger.

"Where are you going?" I asked before he even had a chance to turn back around. When I realized how clingy it made me sound, I cringed internally.

"I have to take the boat to Emerald Isle to get something," he said, raising a challenging brow. "You're welcome to come."

He paused, cocking his head to the side, and I knew he was about to say something that would have me jumping to my feet–if only to prove him wrong.

"If you think you can tolerate it, that is."

Yep, there it was.

Guess I was going on a boat ride.

☀️
a/n:

just over here waiting for august to ask me on a boat ride, too

thanks for reading!
xoxo amelie