“I hate bachelor parties,” she said as they ran down the path to the inn. “It’s almost two in the morning. Timmy must have kicked them out of the bar, so they’re continuing here.”
“Are you sure it’s not just a regular noise complaint?” Sam asked.
“Positive. This morning a group of men asked Sato where they could get a stripper. I guarantee it’s them.”
They could hear the party as soon as they entered the building. Cara marched down the hall, right to the door with the noise and pounded on it loudly. No surprise, it was the same guys from earlier.
“We didn’t order room service, but I’ll take it.” The man who opened the door reached for Cara’s arm to pull her into the room. She stepped back out of his fumbling grasp and bumped into Sam.
“You don’t get to touch her,” Sam warned. He tried to step in front of Cara, but she put up her hand and blocked him. She wanted to prove she could stand up to an aggressive man in the way she wished she could have stood up to Phil.
“That is ENOUGH,” she told the drunk in a furious voice. “Where’s Zackary? I want to talk to the groom, now!”
“You don’t need a groom when the best man is here.” The intoxicated jerk in the doorway tried to grab Cara again.
Sam reached right over her this time and pushed his arm away. For a moment, Cara was concerned there would be a fight, but she elbowed Sam back. He took the hint and stayed behind her, glaring with his arms crossed. She was going to handle this.
“Alright, let me tell you something, best man.” Her tone made the title an insult. “Tomorrow is supposed to be Katrina and Zackary’s wedding. I’ve known Katrina for a decade, and she has always wanted to get married in our gazebo. Always. This is her dream wedding. If you touch me one more time, you’ll be explaining to her why the best man is in jail and missing the ceremony. And if there is one more noise complaint about this or any other room in the inn tonight, you, best man, will be explaining to Katrina why her wedding got canceled.”
“You can’t do that!” he argued. “You can’t cancel the wedding!”
“Oh, I can.” Her voice was deadly serious. “If your groom over there is capable of rational thought, he’ll pull out his copy of the contract and show you. I’ll probably give Katrina a partial refund out of the goodness of my heart, but you’re all going to have a mad scramble tomorrow to find a new place for the ceremony and reception. The diner might be available to cater on short notice, if Katrina doesn’t mind eating French fries in her four-thousand-dollar dress. Of course, she might also decide Zackary isn’t worth the trouble.”
“You . . . you can’t do that,” the best man repeated, but his voice took on a desperate note.
The groom, who had been lolling on a chair, looking nearly unconscious, staggered over to them. “No, no, she’ll kill me,” he slurred. He swayed, barely able to stay upright.
“Oh, I can do that. This is my inn. I can do whatever the hell I want when some drunken assholes wake up my guests and then try to assault me on my property.” Cara and the best man stared at each other, unblinking, for at least thirty seconds before he broke.
“We’ll stop,” he said. “I promise.”
....................
After Cara made sure the attendees dispersed to their own rooms, she and Sam went down the hall to the lobby. “We need to hang out for a few minutes, to make sure they don’t recongregate elsewhere. We’re lucky that was a room party. Those are much easier to break up than when they sneak into the hot tub.”
Sam let out a deep breath. “That was intense, Cara. I thought I might have to hit that guy or something.”
Cara laughed as she collapsed onto a couch. “You would have won that fight. You’d just need to step out of the way when he took a swing, and he’d go crashing to the ground. They were all pretty drunk.”
“Would you really do that? Cancel the wedding, I mean?” He sat next to her, close enough that his sleeve brushed against hers.
“What? No, of course not. I love Katrina’s family. They’ve come out here every summer for like twenty years. I’m not going to alienate our recurring guests. But he thought I would, and that’s what mattered. Thanks for coming with me by the way.”
“I’m glad I did. I was impressed.” Maybe it was the late hour, or maybe it was the abrupt awakening, but something about Sam seemed less inhibited than usual. He leaned toward her and said in a low voice, “I’ve gotta tell you Cara, the way you stood up to that guy, it was kind of hot. No, not kind of. It was hot.”
She looked at him speculatively and saw something in his eyes she hadn’t seen in a long time. “Oh yeah?” she asked, and her voice held a challenging note. “You think that was hot?”
He swallowed. “Yeah, yeah I think so.” His face was suddenly so close to hers, so very close.
Her heart started racing, and she swallowed back the sudden fear. Sam is not Phil, she reminded herself, and this is what I want. She could do this, she could move on with her life. All she had to do was lean forward a couple more inches . . .
A door opened, and one of the groomsmen came into the lobby. “Hey,” he said, and Sam abruptly withdrew. “Sorry to bother you, but I need to ask you a favor. Can you not mention any of this to the bride? She’s . . . well, she’s not very forgiving.”
“If I don’t hear any more complaints, Katrina will never find out about any of this,” she assured the groomsman, and he flashed a smile and thanked her before stumbling off. She turned to Sam, but he was leaning back against the couch and looking away, one hand on his mouth. Well, that ended that possibility. She sighed and rose to her feet.
“Come on Sam, let’s go home. We both have to be up in three hours.”
They walked back to their house in silence, but when they arrived, Sam put his hand on the door and stopped her from entering. “Wait. Before you go back to bed, there’s something I want to tell you. This probably isn’t the time or place, and maybe you don’t care at all, but I just want to make sure you know: I didn’t hook up with a tourist after the fireworks. I know there’s a rumor going around, but it’s not true. I promise.”
“Why . . . why are you telling me this?” She looked up at his face, and he looked away. She wasn’t sure if the redness of his cheeks came from the porchlight or embarrassment. Either way, this changed things, just a little. She already knew he’d been lying when he claimed he hadn’t asked her on a date, and she had assumed it was because he’d gone home with a tourist and was trying to make himself look like less of a jerk.
“Because I care what you think of me. That’s all. Anyway, it’s late, and, like you said, we both have to get up in a couple hours. You’re definitely going to need your coffee.” He opened the door and gestured her in first. “Good night.”
“Good night, Sam.” When she returned to her bed, she couldn’t fall back asleep. She was wondering about possibilities, and what she would be able to handle. You’re mine, angel, Phil whispered, and she concentrated very hard on shutting him up.
Chapter Forty-One
Cara stood off to the side of the ballroom watching the wedding reception and making sure things were running smoothly. So far, everything was perfect. The best man had come up to her twice to apologize for his behavior and make sure she wasn’t going to say anything to the bride about the bachelor party altercation. She noticed he wasn’t drinking alcohol, and there appeared to be some animosity between him and the groom. Good, maybe he’d learned a lesson.
She didn’t notice Sam’s approach, but when a hand gently touched her back she recognized it immediately. His breath was warm in her ear as he tipped his head towards hers and asked how the reception was going.
“It’s been great,” she answered, leaning back against him a little and smiling. The music was loud and the guests were drinking heavily, so he had to stay close to hear her. She didn’t mind. “You done in the kitchen?”
“Almost. I have to go back and make sure the caterers get everything cleaned up. I�
�m so glad Paddy decided to outsource the bigger weddings this summer. By the way, I set aside a few plates to bring up to the staff house later. Did you try any of their crab puffs? Better than mine, I think. I should ask where they source their crab meat.”
“I think it came from a can,” she told him, and enjoyed the disgust that flitted across his face. She tried to come up with something else to say so he would stay there, his body up against hers and his hand so warm on her back. “Did you see the best man tonight?”
“Nope. Is he harassing you again? I’d be happy to punch his face for you,” he offered.
She laughed and shoved him gently with her body. “I think the groom took care of that. Look closely at his left eye, if you get the chance. He’s wearing make-up, and apparently nobody taught him how to blend the edges.”
“I imagine it takes skills to hide a bruise,” Sam said. “He probably needs practice.”
“It’s not so difficult,” she replied, and immediately regretted the slip. She really needed to be more careful. “So, um, what do you think of the music?”
“Not bad for a cover band. Are they local?” He didn’t seem to notice her abrupt conversational shift.
“Some of them. You didn’t recognize Everett?”
Sam squinted at the band before spotting the younger of the ferry brothers on the drums. “I guess I’ve never seen him without a hat.”
They stood watching for a moment. Sam’s hand had moved up to her shoulder, and she found herself resting against him. Friends can stand like this, she imagined him saying.
“You ever think about getting married?” he asked her suddenly. Her face must have shown her surprise because he immediately started stammering. “I don’t mean to me or anything. I just meant in general, that’s all.”
“You mean other than when I was engaged?” Bad enough the best man’s shoddy make-up job had already made her think about Phil. Talking about her engagement would ruin the rest of her good mood. The ghost of the ring tightened on her finger. She gritted her teeth and forced the memory away.
“Shit. Sorry, yeah, I wasn’t thinking about that. I didn’t mean to bring it up. I know you’re still in mourning. I, well . . . I look at things like this and it makes me feel a little lonely. You know, they’ve got all their family and friends celebrating together and everybody looks so happy.”
Cara was mildly surprised to see how serious he looked staring out at the crowd. “I never actually planned my wedding,” she admitted. “But if I ever do get married, I want something small. Just Uncle Paddy and my dad, and I guess his wife, if she has to tag along. And Amy’s family, of course. So my five cousins, but then the boy twins would want to bring their wives and kids—okay, my imaginary wedding is getting out of hand already.”
“I don’t even have that much,” Sam reflected. “But it wouldn’t matter. The only thing I would care about would be marrying the love of my life.”
He looked down at her, and her heart fluttered wildly. She did her best to stop it. He couldn’t be talking about her. “So you do have a romantic side?”
“Of course. I just don’t let it out much. Hey, I actually like this song.” He tilted his head toward the band and hummed along for a second. The melody was slow and dreamy, and his hand moved slightly as he swayed. His hip bumped against hers. “Dance with me?” he asked in an unexpectedly husky voice.
She looked up into his eyes. There was something in them, the same burning light she had seen before. Her breath caught in her throat, and the flutter in her chest started again. Was this it? Was he finally moving past his ‘just friends’ thing and actually interested in her again? Last night it had seemed like they missed an opportunity, but there was nothing to stop them now. Just do it! Seize the moment. She wasn’t sure if the advice was for him or her.
“I’m supposed to be working, but I suppose one dance won’t hurt.” She turned her body so they faced each other, and he started to draw her to him.
As soon as their bodies touched, Amy arrived like a bucket of ice water. “Hey, Cara, there’s an issue with some random people trying to crash the open bar. We need you. What are y’all doing anyway?”
Cara sighed. She felt the abrupt release of Sam’s hand and the cold space it suddenly left behind. “I’ll take care of it,” she said, looking at Sam with regret.
“Yeah, I gotta get back to the kitchen anyway.” He shrugged and walked off. She watched him go for a second before sighing and getting back to work. She shouldn’t have tried to dance with him anyway. It was unprofessional, and on his end, probably meaningless.
Chapter Forty-Two
Chicago, March 2012
Cara lies curled up under the blankets. She hasn’t been able to move from the bed. Everything aches. At least she’s not crying anymore; her tears have finally run out. The last words Phil said are pounding in her head: You turn me into an animal Cara. I hate that you do this to me. He slammed the door when he left, and she pulled the comforter over her head and wondered how she had let this happen.
She needs to get up; she knows this. She needs to get up and do . . . something. But what? She knows she’s not supposed to shower because that washes away evidence, but then what evidence does she need, really? He’s her boyfriend, and they live together. It’s not like any charges would be filed, even if anybody believed her. And she knows they wouldn’t. That’s the problem with Phil: his mask is too perfect. He’s too perfect.
Cara finally manages to crawl out of bed. She wraps a blanket around herself and staggers to the living room. Her purse is still on the floor where she dropped it when she came home from work. She wishes she had been more careful, that she had sensed Phil’s mood more clearly. She wishes she hadn’t come to Chicago at all.
Her phone is still there. Good, she was afraid he might have taken it when he left. They don’t have a landline, so he would have cut off her ability to communicate with anyone. But who could she call anyway?
Amy is too far away, asleep on the other side of the world right now. And what could she do? She’d tell Cara to walk away, and she wouldn’t understand why that’s not always an option.
She looks at Matteo’s number. Geographically, he’s her closest friend, but he may as well be a million miles away. She could call, and he would be angry, and he would swear he’d be coming to kill Phil, and maybe he’d even make it as far as Duluth before the panic attacks overwhelmed him and he had to return to the island. She can’t burden him with the knowledge of her circumstances when there is nothing he is able to do. And she can’t risk the embarrassment that he might tell her uncle. She never wants him to know the truth. How could he ever look at her the same way if he did?
That leaves Sam. They became so close over the summer, and she often wondered if things were different, if she hadn’t been with Phil, if maybe something would have happened between them. But if she calls him now and he finds out how damaged she is, he’ll lose all respect for her. She fantasizes sometimes about him rescuing her, a knight in shining armor, but that’s not reasonable. He’d probably ask what she did to deserve it, what did she do to make Phil so mad, what was wrong with her anyway?
The phone rings in her hand and the name Veronica shows on the display. That’s Sam, that’s the pseudonym she came up with to keep Phil from getting angry at how often she talks to another man. It shouldn’t be a big deal, she should be allowed to have her own friends. Phil has a lot of female friends—and all the single ones that Cara has met have told her half-seriously that if she’s ever tired of him, they’re willing to take her place. They have no idea what they’re asking for.
She doesn’t answer the phone. What would she say? I’m hurt, I’m broken, please help. No. She can’t say anything. She can’t tell anyone. It stops ringing and a minute later she gets a text.
Tonight I’m cooking for a celebrity party so exclusive that I have to sign a nondisclosure agreement! In the big leagues now!
Even though it hurts, she is still able to smile for him.
But she doesn’t reply right away. She doesn’t want him to know she’s standing there with the phone in her hand. She doesn’t want to explain why she didn’t answer.
She finally does shower, with the hot water turned up as high as she can stand. Her skin is turning red from the heat, but she doesn’t feel clean. And to think, this hadn’t started out as such a bad day. Things with Phil had been calm for a month, a full month of no fights, of no anger, of Phil maintaining the illusion of having changed. And then she came back from an early shift at work to find him in the house, all the lights out, sitting quietly in the dark in front of a roaring fire.
At first, she thought he was putting together something romantic. With all the ice and snow on the ground outside, it would be pleasant to spend the afternoon by the fireplace, maybe with a bottle of wine. But then he turned and looked at her, and she knew it was the other Phil in control.
And then she saw what was in the fire.
“Are those my sketchbooks?” she asked, horrified.
“Is this what you think of me?” Not everything from her books was burning. Phil held out a picture she had drawn of him, of rage-Phillip, his face contorted and monstrous, his fists larger than life. She tried to approach carefully, tried to calm him down, all the while surprised at his utter hypocrisy.
“If I’m like this, it’s because of you! You do this to me!” he finally yelled, and that was it. She stands in the shower under the scalding water and tries to scrub away those memories. He burned her books, he burned her pencils, and he tried to destroy her. She looks down at her fresh bruises and thinks about her life outside of Phil. She thinks about Whispering Pines Island. And she makes a decision.
She is going to leave him this time. It really is over. She can find somewhere else to stay for the next two months, while she finishes her job here. And then she’s going back home to her safe little island, to her friends, to her real life. She doesn’t know where he went today, or when he’s coming back, but that’s alright. Now that she has a plan, she is confident again. She can wait until he leaves for work Monday morning. It is her day off, so she will have a guaranteed nine safe hours, and it won’t take her long to pack. She doesn’t own anything, just some clothes, a few pictures, and . . . she doesn’t have her sketchbooks anymore. That’s fine, it’s less to deal with. She’s free.
That Last Summer (Whispering Pines Island Book 1) Page 17