“No frown. Just thinkin’.” I pulled my coffee mug to my lips and took a sip, quietly scanning the almost empty space.
The crowd in Roasters had finally thinned out after several hours, and the only people left were the ones who knew the truth about that night: Laurel, Eli, my brother, and the Covingtons.
“About Jules?” She planted herself in front of me, resting her elbows on the countertop, and stared me down.
I knew better than to argue with a woman. Especially a redhead.
“Somethin’s still not right about this, Laurel.” I sighed heavily. “I don’t like it.”
She reached for my arm though I hardly felt her comforting squeeze.
“I know, but you shouldn’t have talked to her,” she gently reprimanded me. “Not until we know more…for her own safety.”
My grip flexed on the handle of my mug for a second, but I caught myself and forcibly relaxed it before I did any damage.
I knew it was stupid. I knew I shouldn’t have gone over there, but I couldn’t help myself.
Beside the fact that she might be the single most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, there was a fight in her just waiting to be set free. I saw it that night, and I saw it today.
“She’s goin’ to have to know at some point,” I grunted. “She’s goin’ to remember I was there, and wouldn’t it be better if she did? She might have answers for you.”
Each day the beating beast in my chest argued with the lie I was living—keeping Jules in the dark about who saved her and what happened that night.
“We don’t know that, Mick. All I know is that she was kidnapped because of me—she was almost killed because of me. Until we find out more about who Blackman was working for and what their plans are, I won’t risk my cousin getting hurt again. It’s safer for her this way.” She bent in closer, lowering her voice even though everyone in the room knew the truth. “And it’s safer for you. I won’t risk you going to prison. She wouldn’t want that either.”
“What’s going on?” Ace walked over and joined our conversation, his tense presence mirroring my own.
“Mick wants to tell her.” Laurel distilled my dilemma into one simple fact.
“No.” Ace crossed his arms over his chest. “We’ve been over this. Shouldn’t have even been over there talking to her, bud.” His leather jacket stretched over his shoulders that were about the same width as mine. We were both larger compared than our respective brothers, though he was trained to use his size as a weapon, something I’d never felt comfortable doing, even when I had to.
I knew I should’ve stayed away. My jaw clenched. For more than one reason.
“She should know the truth,” I grumbled, running a hand over my mouth and the scruff of my beard.
Ace nodded to Laurel who took the hint and excused herself so he could talk to me privately.
There was no point. I knew what he was going to say.
“Bud, I promise you, I’m working my fuckin’ ass off to figure out what is going on with Roasters and the cartel. But, right now, it’s only us who know it was you who pulled the trigger that night. We know you did it to save the girls and Jules deserves to know that, too. But not right now. There are too many unknowns—not the least of which is if she knows more than she’s letting on or more than she realizes.”
Crack. The handle of the coffee mug I was holding snapped.
Swearing, I caught the mug before it toppled and spilled. Ace was lucky it was the mug and not his neck I snapped, the suggestion that Jules willingly played a part in the events of that night sending an unearthly shot of rage through my system.
I saw her there.
Bruised. Bloodied. Crawling to try to save Laurel.
She was the only thing I’d seen. Her and the gun aimed in her direction.
There was no fucking way she was a part of anything.
“She doesn’t.” I pushed the mug away from my hand before I broke anything else.
“Look, we know Blackman was responsible for breaking into Roasters. We know he was responsible for threatening Larry and Laurel to sell the business.” His voice hardened. “But he was the muscle, Mick. He was the soldier, not the general—not in the Crown Cartel.”
“All this to bring drugs in under the guise of coffee…” I shook my head in disbelief.
Un-fucking-believable.
Felt like I’d fallen down the damn rabbit hole that night. First, savin’ the girls. Then realizin’ the man I’d killed was responsible for the break-in a few months back. And last, bein’ told he was part of a drug cartel lookin’ to set up shop in Carmel Cove, usin’ Roasters as a front to smuggle in cocaine under the coffee.
My simple life had been spinnin’ ever since.
“This is a huge organization, Mick. We barely connected Blackman to it before you took him out. But this kind of idea doesn’t appear—or disappear—on its own. There are layers of people involved and, if I were a betting man, I’d say there was someone local involved with the Crown. Blackman didn’t pick Roasters, and I doubt someone all the way at the top did either.”
“Is she still in danger?” I rasped. It was the only thing I cared about.
Steel-gray eyes glinted back at me. “All I know is she was taken from Rock Beach—a place that has some pretty damn good security. That tells me one of two things, either Blackman was much better at his job than I’m giving him credit for or, two, that he wasn’t the only person there who knew what was going on and possibly helped him take Jules.” He lifted his fingers as he spoke. “Either way, what’s safest is for whoever the fuck else is involved to think she doesn’t remember anything, and therefore, isn’t a threat. If we tell her…if we try to get her to remember…she becomes a threat.”
“Fuck.” This was so damn complicated, and I wanted simple.
Simple was that a woman I cared about was in danger. Simple was tossin’ her over my shoulder and keepin’ her someplace safe—someplace where I could keep her safe.
“And if they could get to her at Rock Beach, they’ll get to her anywhere,” he finished. “Short of holding her hostage at the security firm, it’s damned hard to keep her safe from an enemy that doesn’t have a face.” He paused. “Yet.”
“Not soon enough,” I grumbled.
He clapped me on the back. “Plus, the last thing we want is what will happen if word gets out that you fired a weapon and killed someone without having a California license to have that gun on you. You won’t be able to help her from prison.”
It was moments like this I wished Miles and I had decided to stay in Texas and start our construction business there. In Texas, doin’ the right thing was doin’ the goddamn right thing.
Here… couldn’t even shoot a psychopath about to kill two innocent women without bein’ liable for jail time.
“Mick—”
“Yeah, yeah. I got it. I’ll stay away.” I pushed back from the counter. “Keep me in the loop. Please. As soon as y’all find out what the hell is goin’ on around here, I’m tellin’ her.”
I wasn’t sure if it was a threat or a promise. Either way, Ace got the message and I caught his nod out of the corner of my eye. I murmured my goodbyes to the rest of the group, all the while thinking about the one woman I hadn’t been able to get off my mind for the past two weeks.
I’d done what they asked and avoided seeing her.
It wasn’t hard. She’d been holed up, recuperating at the resort, and I was sure I didn’t own clothes fancy enough to get me past the front lawn.
I doubted those kinds of stores even made clothes in my size.
Outta sight, outta mind, my momma always said.
It was complete horseshit. Not that I’d ever tell my momma that. Then Miles would for sure claim the favorite twin spot.
She was outta sight, but I couldn’t get her off my mind. And then seein’ her today…I couldn’t not say somethin’ even though I knew better.
And not just because of what happened. Because of who I was—a Texas boy
through and through.
The simple fact was that tees, jeans, and boots, most days covered in dirt and dust, didn’t get to look twice at pastel plaid princesses.
I knew the end to this story. The farm boy wasn’t goin’ to get the fairy tale princess. But that wasn’t goin’ to stop me from makin’ sure she was safe.
Jules
I slipped in the side door of the resort by the spa and clung to the wall as I scooted onto the elevator, breathing a sigh of relief as the doors shut before anyone else could get in.
I’d borrowed one of the maintenance trucks from Jimmy to go to Roasters’ re-opening, telling him I just needed to run some errands in town and I didn’t want to bother my parents or security detail to take me. I’d never been a rule-breaker, so the curiosity in his eyes faded almost instantly as he agreed with a smile.
It was ridiculous, really—sneaking out of my own home at twenty-eight-years-old. I wasn’t caged here. I was allowed to leave. But leaving came with question after question: who, what, where, why…
Leaving to do something on my own was layered with either guilt or reminders of what I should be doing here. And what was that? I shuddered.
Standing still, looking pretty.
The click of my door behind my back was the final weight off my shoulders, leaving me alone in the clean neutral space.
I’d never had a room that was colorful or decorated with anything of my choosing; instead, I’d grown up in the room with beige walls, dark and decorative ikat carpet, and brocade drapes that were an odd blend of taupe, pale blue, and moss green, resulting in what I referred to as mullet-material because it tried to accomplish too many shades and ended up failing in them all.
Sure, my sheets were the finest Egyptian cotton, the chandelier on the ceiling from Waterford Crystal, and the rich mahogany furniture made by Hooker; it was just like every other suite in the resort. Now, I was old enough to not really care, but what I wouldn’t have given to have my room painted bright green like Laurel had when we were younger. Her room, the bed… everything was about a quarter of the size of what waited for me here (and probably a quarter of the cost, too) and still, I would’ve taken it just to have something of my own.
“Julia!”
I jumped as my mother barged into my room, dressed in a pantsuit and heels. Saturdays were personal days: spa in the morning to keep her young, complimentary lunch with whoever was occupying the Presidential or Executive suites, book club in the afternoon, and then dinner meeting with my father; there were no real personal days on the resort, only time that could and should be spent building one’s own importance.
“Hi, Mama.” I pressed a hand to my chest, my practiced smile finding its way to my face.
Her eyes scanned over me like one of those machines at the airport, the read coming back with a bright red warning over my legs. “What are those?” she practically spat.
“Jeans, Mama,” I said with a sigh. I’d almost had them off. So close.
She shook her head. “What have I told you? A lady doesn’t wear denim, dear. It’s just not presentable. You look”—she shuddered—“like you belong on a farm somewhere.” All that naturally led to her more pressing question. “Where did you go in them?”
“Just outside for some air.” I wasn’t in the habit of lying to her, but telling her I had errands to run would have begged the question how I got into town and why I hadn’t taken Tony with me. “I have a small headache today.” That wasn’t a lie.
“Well, you really shouldn’t have worn them in public, especially around the resort. There is a certain standard… an image that we strive to uphold here, honey.” She stepped toward me and cupped the side of my face. “And I know you know that, so I’m sure it’s just your injury that has you a little fuzzy.”
At that point, the best thing I could do was nod, recognizing a battle I wasn’t going to win.
“Is everything okay?” It was my turn to ask. She usually at least knocked before coming in my room.
Her hand dropped and a smear of nervousness clouded her perfectly manicured features.
“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Her tone suggested that I shouldn’t answer that. “I just wanted to let you know that your father and I have to go down to Los Angeles for a week or so to meet with some very important people. They might be involved in some future projects here at the resort so we will be spending a lot of time working with them.”
“Oh? What projects?” My tone perked up.
Even though I wanted to be a nurse, Rock Beach was still my home, no matter how different of a childhood I’d had here. Of course, I still cared about what was going on and future plans. There was just a discrepancy between caring and wanting to be a part of it…
Her head jerked away from me as she smoothed her hair back from her face.
“Nothing for you to worry about, dear.” She brushed me off, adding more gently, “You’ve been through so much recently. You just focus on feeling better and let your father and I handle this. I want you to be back to your best self when we introduce you to these gentlemen.”
I shifted uncomfortably on the plush, pale blue carpet, the kind I wished could swallow me up like it did with my toes.
“Well, I just wanted to come check on you and see how you were feeling.”
She strolled over to my vanity, inspecting it out of habit for any signs of dust or makeup powder. Because cleanliness was akin to godliness.
“Perhaps if you aren’t feeling well, you should re-think the late-afternoon strolls. Especially with those.” She pointed at my jeans. “Can’t have guests thinking that you are part of the help.”
I flinched, offended by her words, and instantly, Mick’s face flashed in my mind, the very first day I’d seen him.
He and his brother had been called to fix something on the patio of the resort where I was having lunch with the wives of some big east coast bankers. I’d only seen him from a distance, but even that hadn’t stopped my body’s reaction.
There’d been a mix of admiration and jealousy, wondering how satisfying it must feel to wake up and do something every day—accomplish something with his own two hands.
But then the thought of his hands lingered—hands that would be rough because they were real, rather than manicured because they were rich. I wondered how they would feel against mine. I wanted to feel them against mine.
She reached for my shoulder and I managed to keep my face impassive as she smoothed down the sleeves of my blouse. “Is there anything I can get you?”
I knew better than to answer with anything; she’d just send someone else to bring it to me anyway.
I shook my head. “I think I’m just going to take it easy for the rest of the night. Thanks.”
“Jacqueline.”
My father stepped through the open door. His face was red and taut like he’d been exercising, only my father didn’t exercise. And playing golf didn’t count.
“I need to speak with you.”
I felt the subtle tension roll off my mother as she gave me a calm smile.
“I just wanted to stop and see how our daughter was doing, Rich,” she placated him.
“Well, considering her attire, you’d think she was doing pretty poorly,” he snapped. “Don’t let me catch you wearing jeans in my house, young lady. After everything I’ve given you, it’s nothing but disrespectful.”
My mouth gaped open as he stormed off, leaving my mother to pick up the pieces of his frustration.
“You know how your father gets when he’s stressed,” she excused his harsh words. “Have a good night, dear.”
I stood frozen until the soft rustle of her pants was silenced by the door shutting behind her.
I didn’t even bother to lock it, instead, my body sagged onto the edge of the bed.
My head hurt but not from my concussion.
It hurt to wonder how I’d gotten here yet know I only had myself to blame. Piece by piece, there was a shell that had been built around me�
�around the girl that I was to stop her from becoming the woman I wanted to be.
I’d told Laurel once that this kind of prison wasn’t built overnight. It rose up with tiny infringements. The white walls. The proper clothes and perfect grooming. The meaningless gifts and missing Christmas trees.
It was fortified by acceptance of things that weren’t right because I loved my parents and believed them when they told me it was for the best—things like a private school that took me away from my friends and the only other family I had. Things like not going to college because it was best for Rock Beach and the family. And things like staying away from town and out of jeans because it damaged the image my parents had worked so hard to create.
I’d accepted the pieces not realizing they were the bricks used to imprison me.
And even now, I wondered if there was really any way out—any way that wouldn’t force me to choose between my family and my future.
Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.
My grandfather’s words echoed in my mind.
Where I was wasn’t somewhere I was proud of.
What I had wasn’t much, in fact, it was only a choice—a choice to act or to continue to stay silent. But that choice might be the single most important one a person could ever make, and I wasn’t going to stay silent and take a backseat in my life any longer.
So, I did what I could. With shaky fingers, I pulled out my cell phone and tapped on the contact I’d entered the day I’d left the hospital.
“Hello?”
I could hear her smile through the phone.
“Hi, Gwen? It’s Jules.” My heart pounded. “I saw you at Roasters today, I was your patient—”
“Of course, I remember you, silly!” I could hear that smile of hers over the line. “How are you? Is everything okay? Please tell me you’re calling because you want my help!”
Other people might be put off by how excited she was, but I needed it. Even though it might not look like it to the world, I had nothing. No degree. No marketable skills. No money of my own. Nothing. I needed her enthusiasm before my fear overwhelmed me.
Bespoken: An Opposites-Attract Standalone Romance (Carmel Cove Book 2) Page 5