by Shayla Black
“No! I just want to talk to her.”
“Do you have his phone number?” I ask Mandy. But I already know the answer.
“Of course.”
I turn to Bruce. “If she had wanted to talk to you, pal, she would have called. Instead, you tried to scare a mother and her baby and…” I glare at him. “Did you hire the angry mob, too?”
“I-I…” He stops himself, then ignores me for Mandy. “Just for show. Sweetheart, I only want to talk to you. I don’t care what happened between you and Reed. I’ve always thought you were so beautiful that you should be my wife.”
He wants her for her looks, not her heart?
Mandy shakes her head like she’s still befuddled. “When did you come to Maui?”
“The day you did. My jet brought me here that same afternoon.”
She looks stunned. “How did you find me?”
“Well, it was easy to guess you would go to Nia’s first. You’ve been talking about visiting her for months.”
“I mean after that.”
He hesitates, wild-eyed, and my gut clenches. Whatever comes out of his mouth next is going to be a lie. I feel it in my bones.
Finally, he points my way. “From him. A couple of hours ago, he told your dad where you two were holing up so that I could persuade you to come home. By the way”—he reaches into his pocket to produce a check, then shoves it into my pocket—“here’s the hundred grand he promised you. And I’ve got your bonus if Amanda agrees to be my wife tonight. Will you, sweetheart?” He drops to his knee. “I know this seems crazy, but that should tell you how much I want to spend my life with you.”
Mandy freezes, then turns to me, gaping and angry. “You told my dad where to find me? For money?”
“No!”
I try not to be offended that she immediately believes Bruce. After all, she’s known the guy most of her life. I only met her two days ago. After the way Reed treated her, it’s no surprise she has deep trust issues. But damn it, I’ve protected her. I’ve listened to her. I’ve comforted and helped and done my best to understand her. And she believes the D-bag who skulked around like some stalker and says he wants to marry her because she’s pretty?
“No, you didn’t tell him? Or no, you didn’t do it for the money?” She scoffs. “It doesn’t matter. I trusted you. I told you everything. Oh god…”
“I didn’t divulge shit to your father. He’s lying.” I point at Bruce. “I wouldn’t betray you. You should know that.”
“Should I? I want to believe you, Tanner, but how else would Bruce have known where to find us? I didn’t tell anyone.”
“Exactly,” Bruce cuts in.
Other than a scowl, I ignore him. “Maybe he followed us. The island isn’t that big, and I knew that Mustang might be a problem. Only one like it on the island, I’ll bet. Or maybe…” I try to think of another plausible scenario when the truth hits me. “Your dad pinged the location of your phone and told your Romeo. Your location services were turned on until I switched them off last night.”
“You snooped through my phone?”
Shit, that clearly made her mad.
“No. I opened your settings just long enough to turn off your location services. That would have been the end of it if your wannabe boyfriend hadn’t started texting you. You want me to admit that I read your message string with him? Okay. Fine. I did. I was afraid he would upset you. So far, it seems like I’ve been proven right. I didn’t mention it because it was the middle of the fucking night and you were asleep.”
She presses her lips together like she’s trying to decide if she believes my story. “And you couldn’t tell me this morning?”
“I forgot.” That’s the truth.
Bruce jumps in. “Bullshit. He texted your dad a couple of hours ago and told him where I could find you. He also said how much he was looking forward to the fat, juicy paycheck and being rid of you.”
“Shut up.” I whirl on him. “Shut your fucking lying mouth. Here.” I yank my phone from my pocket and open my texts before shoving the device in front of her. “Look through every last one of them. You won’t see a single one to your father. He called the other day, but I told you about that. He texted all day, making demands and—”
“He must have deleted the text he sent back to your dad,” Bruce insists.
“I didn’t delete a damn thing,” I growl. “We both know it.”
“Even if you’re telling the truth, you didn’t reply to my father.” Mandy looks at me like I’ve betrayed her. “You didn’t tell him to pound sand.”
Immediately, I know what she’s thinking. “Not because I wanted to sell you out to him, but because I didn’t think he deserved an answer simply for demanding one.”
When tears fill her eyes, I know my explanation falls short.
I fucked up.
“You said you would. You promised.” Her face twists, and tears fall down her cheeks. “And I believed you.”
I grab her shoulders and will her to look at me. “I swear I didn’t betray you, baby. If you believe nothing else, believe that. Please.”
Mandy doesn’t answer for a really long time. The anger bleeds from her face. “Maybe you didn’t. I don’t know. I really don’t. But this tells me I’m not ready to trust you.”
What is she saying?
“So you’re going to believe him?” I gesture to Bruce. “The guy who hired a fake mob and skulked outside your door?”
“I didn’t say that. But I just realized that everything is happening too fast. You happened too fast. I thought I was open to love again, but clearly I’m not ready to gamble the rest of my life on someone I’ve known for two days.”
I have one last card, and if what’s in my heart doesn’t reach her, then I’m fucking played out. And I’m going to wind up alone—probably for good. “Do you even care that I love you?”
She crosses her arms over her chest, as if she’s trying to protect herself. More tears fall. “If you really do, then you should have kept your promise. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’m ready to love you back.”
“So that’s it? You’re going to choose Bruce and—”
“I didn’t say I was choosing him.”
“But you’re going to,” the other guy insists. “I came all the way to Hawaii and spent days here, dedicated to you and—”
“Pretending to stalk me so I’d be scared enough to fly back to New York and right into your arms? Do you think that’s love?”
“No. I’m saying this all wrong. But actions speak louder, don’t they? I’m prepared to slip a ring on your finger right now. I even brought it with me.” He reaches into his pocket and plucks out a plush box in dark blue with a stylish HW on the front. “See? I’m serious. I know I’ve screwed everything up, and I’m sorry. I didn’t know how else to be your hero so you’d fall for me. Let me start over, sweetheart. I promise I’ll make you happy.” He pries the little box open to reveal a giant oval cut diamond. “It’s five carats from Harry Winston. Just say yes.”
She gasps, staring at the glimmering stones. “Oh, my gosh!”
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
“It is—”
“Then let me put it on your finger. Say yes.”
My gut grinds with tension. Diamonds and a pretty proposal won’t sway Mandy, right? “You’re not seriously thinking about marrying him, are you?”
“What are you still doing here?” Bruce scowls. “She said she doesn’t want you. It’s time for you to leave.”
I turn to Mandy. “Baby?”
“You should go. Find someone who hasn’t already had her heart broken.” Then she lifts her chin, and I feel the invisible wall she erects between us. “Twice.”
Fuck if that doesn’t hurt.
“Mandy…”
“It’s Amanda now. Goodbye. I’ll make sure you get compensated for your time because I keep my promises.”
Ouch. “I don’t want your money.”
She shrugs. “I’m still going to
make sure you get it. Look on the bright side. At least we know there’s no one on the island out to hurt me.”
I’m relieved by that but… “So you’re not even going to give us a chance?”
“Tanner, I found myself falling for you too hard and too fast. But one thing I know: if you’re not with me, you can’t hurt me.”
“I also can’t comfort, love, or protect you. I can’t be that man you’ve always wanted.” Every word hurts so fucking bad. “But maybe that’s all right since you’ve decided not to be the brave, ballsy woman I know you can be. Oh, and in case you thought I was nothing but a mercenary prick”—I yank out the check Bruce stuffed in my pocket and tear it until it’s confetti—“I’m not. Goodbye.”
Chapter Eleven
The next day, I’m awakened just like I was three days ago—by my cell phone chiming a lousy breakup song I’ve assigned as my ex’s ringtone. But this time it’s not Bon Jovi warning me that Ellie is up in my business. Gwen Stefani voicing No Doubt’s “Don’t Speak” tells me it’s Mandy calling.
Excuse me, Amanda.
She told me to take a hike less than twelve hours ago, and I assigned her that tune because it honestly felt like she didn’t want to hear me. Or couldn’t. Not a single word I said. She listened to her fear, not to the man who wanted to love her for life. And I lost. So what does she want now that we’re over?
I almost don’t answer until I hear a groan on the other side of the small apartment. “Are you going to get that or just let it wake me up again?”
Shit. It’s Joe. I banged on his door when I left the villa and asked to crash on his sofa for the night. He must have seen how messed up I was. If my mood didn’t tell him, the bottle in my fist—which I proceeded to drain—surely clued him in.
“Sorry.” I sit up and reach for my phone to silence it. And I instantly regret it. My head hurts like a bitch.
“Answer it already. Whoever that is has called three times in ten minutes.”
She has? Apparently, and I didn’t hear it.
“All right. Sorry. Go back to sleep.” I creep from the sofa, grateful I’m wearing my shorts, then head out to the balcony, phone in hand, squinting against the morning light. As soon as I shut the door behind me, I answer the call. “Are you in danger?”
“N-no. Tanner, I—”
“Are you all right?”
“Physically, yes, but—”
“Then we don’t have anything else to say. You made yourself pretty clear last night.”
“Actually, I didn’t,” she says softly. “Would you come by the villa this morning? Please.”
I tense. My head pounds unmercifully. I don’t dare get my hopes up. “Why?”
“I just want to talk. Ten minutes. I won’t keep you longer than that.”
On the one hand, I don’t want to give her the opportunity to hurt me again. I told her I loved her and I meant it. Despite everything between us, she didn’t choose me. Hell, she didn’t even bat an eye when I said the words. On the other hand…I want to see her so fucking badly, even if it’s going to hurt like hell. I doubt she’ll realize she’s made a mistake, but that doesn’t change how greedy I am to lay eyes on her.
“Looking to rip my heart out again?”
“That’s not it at all. I promise.”
God, I feel like such a sucker. “Fine. I’ll be there in thirty.”
“Thank you.” She sounds so earnest. “Really. You won’t regret it.”
I already do, but for some fucking reason I still love her too much to refuse. I don’t say anything, though. I just hang up and stride back into the apartment.
Joe is standing there, waiting in a ratty blue terrycloth bathrobe. “You less miserable now?”
I rub at my aching forehead, but nothing is putting a dent in this hangover. “Not really.”
“That Amanda?”
How much did I tell him last night? Honestly, I don’t remember a lot beyond twisting the cap off my vodka and snarling that I wanted some time alone. “Yeah. She wants to ‘talk,’ whatever that means. Sorry if I was an asshole last night.”
“You weren’t an asshole. You were broken-hearted. I don’t know this girl at all, but I know you love her.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s not reciprocated.”
“Are you sure it isn’t?” he challenges. “Cam’s mother and I…”
“Split a long time ago.” Camden told me the stories. He was in seventh grade, and his dad left one night. Filed for divorce the next day.
“Because I was an idiot. One of my buddies intimated my wife was having a fling with the contractor remodeling our kitchen. He was there with her all day, alone a lot of the time. Whenever I’d come home, they’d be so deep in conversation they’d barely notice me. Sex had gone to hell. So I was convinced my buddy was right.” He scoffs bitterly. “Turns out, my buddy just wanted my wife for himself. Two years after our divorce, he married her.”
“You and Teddy were friends?” I can’t even picture that.
“From high school until the day I found out he was banging Brenda.” He shakes his head. “The whole breakup was my fault. I let my pride do my talking, not my heart. And I spent the rest of my fucking life in misery. Don’t repeat my mistake. Because the worst day of my life was getting a letter from Brenda just before she died of breast cancer telling me that she’d never once cheated on me and she’d never stopped loving me. I realized I’d pissed away fifteen years we could have had together.”
That really sucks. “I’m sorry. But I’m not here because I had too much pride. I’m here because Amanda told me to leave.”
“Sure, but she’s asked you to come back to talk. Don’t let your pride stand in your way.”
“It’s not. I said I’d be there.”
“You’ll go, sure.” He peers at me, and I see a lifetime of sadness on his face. He’d give anything for a do-over that’s never coming. “But will you really listen?”
It’s a fair question. I honestly don’t know the answer. Did I agree to go through the motions for closure? Pretty much. Would the conversation be any different if I resolved not to go in with a chip on my shoulder?
“I’ll do my best.”
He studies me, then finally nods. “I’ve spent the last twenty years alone because I was a dumb ass. And I’ve lived with so much regret… Do yourself a favor. If she wants to work it out, try. Or you’ll be like me—almost sixty, alone, and unable to commit to anyone because I buried my heart with the woman I love the day she died five years ago.”
Fuck. That’s rough. “All right. I’ll listen.”
He claps me on the shoulder. It makes my pounding head feel like it’s about to burst. “Good. Cam’s been lucky to have you as a friend. Now go take a shower. You look like shit. I’ll make coffee.”
I probably do look like shit. “Thanks. Got some ibuprofen?”
“Bathroom cabinet.”
“I appreciate it.” I also respect the hell out of him. He poured out his heart and gave me wisdom when he could have said nothing and let me fuck this up alone. “And I’ll make the best of my situation with Amanda.”
The pain tablets help soothe my head, along with a glass of water, a scalding shower, and a black coffee for the road. At the door, I wave to Joe then plop into his Mustang and head back to the villa.
Does Amanda just want to explain her rationale? Does she want to say she’s sorry for being unable to trust me—or anyone—after what Barclay pulled on her? Probably some combination of both. Sure, it’s possible she loves me, too, and wants to spend her life with me. I’d love that...but I’m not counting on it.
Other than Tuesday morning commuters, the drive is too silent. I’m too alone with my thoughts and the pictures dive-bombing my brain of Amanda and everything that went south between us last night.
I turn on the radio. The country station she found during our last drive fills my classic ride. I don’t know what song is playing. I don’t know who the hell sings it. But after a few
notes I’m sucked in. And I swear whoever wrote this song is a fucking mind reader.
Just like the guy singing, I know I’ll be a mess the second Amanda walks into the room because it happens every time. It’s nothing new, but the way my heart aches and throbs, I expect it will be damn hard to hold my shit together.
Because whenever Amanda looks at me with those eyes, I’m speechless. If she wasn’t sure, after this morning she’ll have no doubt she’s my weakness. It started even before she said hello, and I’m convinced I’ll feel this way until the day I die.
When the vocalist croons again that he’s speechless, I turn the radio off. I’d rather deal with silence than be bombarded by maudlin shit that tugs at my heart.
When I pull up to the villa, I see a sleek gray Mercedes parked in front. Whose fucking car is that? Is Bruce here? Did he spend the night? Did she really go from my arms to his? Did she drag me here to tell me she’s decided to marry him after all?
I slam the ’Stang’s door, then dry my suddenly sweaty palms on my shorts as I head up the walkway to the villa’s front door and knock.
But it isn’t Amanda who answers. Instead, I’m greeted by a tall, thirtyish blond guy with blue eyes, a hundred-dollar dress shirt, and a smooth demeanor.
I rear back. Who’s this guy?
“You Tanner?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I’m suspicious—until I look at his eyes. They’re so much like Amanda’s. “Stephen?”
“Come in.” He steps back to admit me. “My sister thought it was time we have a family meeting.”
So why the hell am I here?
“Coffee?” He leads me toward the kitchen.
I didn’t finish mine in the car, and my head is still nagging at me. “That would be great.”
He peers my way. “Your eyes are bloodshot, and you’re squinting like the overhead light hurts your head. Hungover?”
Fuck, this bastard is perceptive. “A little.”
“Whiskey?”
“Vodka.”
“Toasting my sister, I’m presume?”
This is the weirdest conversation. I didn’t come here to meet her brother…though I have to wonder why he’s yapping at me now. “Where is she?”