Brick didn’t see much reason to make the effort since the only woman he’d ever wanted would be leaving him here to go back to her glamorous and exciting life hundreds of miles away. But he was also very slightly afraid of Ken. So he’d keep the appointment. But he wasn’t buying any more of that stupid beard balm, damn it.

“You’re probably out of beard balm by now anyway,” Ken said, reading his mind.

Before he could formulate a response, Brick’s phone rang on the bar.

Remi.

“Hey,” he said, sliding off the stool and trying to look casual as he stepped away from the bar.

“Before I say anything else. We’re both totally fine. Mostly.”

Brick gripped the phone so hard he worried it might crack.

“What happened? Where are you?”

“It’s just a little scratch, but you know how head wounds are,” she said. “But the real bad news is your snowmobile.”

“Remi, where the fuck are you?”

* * *

Squinting against the sun and ice, he spotted the orange of Spence’s snowsuit, prone on the ice. The red dot next to him that made Brick feel rage just looking at it had to be Remi. He gunned the department’s Polaris and rocketed toward them.

The ice bridge was the strip of lake that froze solid—most years—connecting the island to the mainland in the winter. It was a relatively safe mode of travel as long as riders stayed between the dead Christmas trees that acted as pavement markings.

Apparently Spencer and Remi had not heeded the ice bridge rules. Seeing as how they were a few hundred feet out of bounds. His snowmobile, an ancient Yamaha that he’d bought third hand a decade ago, was nowhere to be seen.

As he got closer, he saw that Spencer was lying down, his head in Remi’s lap. That put a tic in his jaw. His brother had lost that privilege years ago. Yet despite their breakup, somehow Spencer still remained close to her. They probably traded emails or texts. Probably aligned their summer visits and made plans to see each other on the island. His gloved grip on the handlebar tightened.

He let off the throttle as he approached, then cut the engine. Anger propelled him off the vehicle and across the ice.

“Hi!” Remi’s chipper greeting echoed in his ears when he spotted the blood on her face and coat.

“Cavalry’s here,” his idiot brother said from his still prone position.

“What in the fuck—” He slid on his knees, reaching for her to find the injury, but Remi batted his hands away.

“Hold still,” he snapped. “You’re bleeding.”

“Oh, that’s not mine,” she said breezily.

Spencer held up his hand. “It’s mine.”

Brick looked down and found the source of the blood. Remi had her scarf wrapped around his brother’s head, her gloved hand pressed tight to his forehead.

“Head wounds, am I right?” Spencer snickered.

“He hit his head pretty good,” Remi said.

“I totally would have beat your time if the ice hadn’t opened up like that,” Spencer complained.