On The Rocks (Love After Midnight Book 3)

by Elise Faber

  Brooke smiled wide. “Do you like corn dogs?”

  I sighed, shook my head. “Enough with the corn dogs already. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

  “Muah-ha-ha,” she said, rubbing her hands together. “And so my evil plan has worked.”

  “I’ll just grab you a beer,” Kace said as he backed away slowly.

  I couldn’t blame the man.

  My sister was ridiculous and awesome and—

  “I love you,” I told her again.

  “Yeah, yeah, you said that already.” She waved a hand. “Just because you were dead for ten years doesn’t mean you have to tell me every second.”

  I grinned. “Did you learn that snark from Anabelle?”

  A nod, a dainty sip of her drink. “I learned that snark on my own, thank you very much.”

  Kace dropped a beer in front of me. “And from Anabelle.”

  I snorted.

  Brooke huffed.

  Kace turned to me, eyes dancing with amusement. “So, now, what’s this about corn dogs?”

  My sister snickered. I shook my head in disgust.

  And then because I was with my family, because I was home, because I was finally starting to look forward with my life instead of toward the past, I told them my plan.

  When I finished, Brooke leaned back on her stool, lips curved in satisfaction. “That’s so much better than corn dogs.”

  This time I knocked.

  Instead of spending an hour in my car. Instead, of waffling for twenty minutes on the porch, I knocked.

  Mostly, that was because Brooke was next to me.

  She was meeting Brent for coffee. I was hijacking their hangout.

  The door opened. “Hey, Broo—” His eyes narrowed when they landed on me. “Sorry, I can’t meet today. Too much homework.”

  Brooke sighed, stuck her hand out when he started to retreat. “Nice try. You already told me that you had a test yesterday and had today off.” She wove her other arm through Brent’s. “Come on, Iris is waiting for us and promised me apple turnovers.”

  Brent didn’t move.

  She tugged.

  Brent sighed and shut the door behind him then let Brooke lead him down the sidewalk. The man could hold a grudge, had always been able to. He’d once not talked to me for three weeks after we’d returned stateside because I’d accidentally knocked over his beer.

  Which, I got, because beer was in short supply and there was nothing better than the first one hitting your lips when returning home.

  But three weeks for a beer.

  Fuck, how long would it be for a fake death?

  An eternity.

  Stifling a sigh, I followed them down the driveway and in the direction of Iris’s place of business—more information garnered from my keeping tabs from the wrong side of the grave. She had a small industrial kitchen not far from her house, a house Brent had moved into when things got serious.

  Brooke glanced over her shoulder at me, tilted her head. “Oh, that’s my phone.” She let go of Brent’s arm, slowed her pace as she lifted it to her ear. “Kace? Hi, baby.”

  I took her spot, not exactly smooth, but definitely determined. “I’m sorry, I hurt you,” I said without preamble, knowing that I needed to own up and just level with him. “I’m going to do my best to make it up to you and Brooke.”

  Brent didn’t acknowledge me, just kept walking.

  Trying again, I said, “I heard you went back to school.”

  A shrug.

  “What are you studying?”

  A grunt.

  “Caveman?” I asked, unable to hold back the snark. Maybe Anabelle was rubbing off on me too. “Wow. I’m impressed.”

  A roll of his eyes, but he sighed and said, “Economics.”

  “Whoa.”

  “What? You think I can’t?”

  “Fuck, no,” I said, honestly. “You’re one of the smartest people I know. I think that’s awesome. I’m just a dumbass with a gun, who can occasionally make something happen with computers.”

  Another grunt.

  “What can you do with an econ degree? Financial planning?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “But I’m thinking corporate accounting. I’ve been doing some interesting projects with—”

  He seemed to catch himself, to realize he was talking to me, and frowned.

  “Anyway, should be good.”

  A moment of unfreezing, then back to the grudge.

  I reminded myself to be patient. I had trust I needed to rebuild with him, and that would take time. “How close are you to finishing—”

  “Stop pretending to make kissy noises to Kace back there, darlin’,” Brent called. “You’re not that good of an actor.”

  “Hmph,” she said, but didn’t deny that she’d been faking. Instead, she laced both of her arms through one of ours and started walking again, leading us toward Iris’s kitchen.

  “You two need to kiss and make up,” she ordered. “You know you want to.”

  I did. Well, not the kissing part as much as I wanted my friend back.

  But Brent was firmly in grudge state and as thus, didn’t acknowledge Brooke’s words. Instead, he began talking about how Iris wanted to get married near Christmas next year.

  “Oh!” Brooke said, getting distracted from her quest for my forgiveness and totally consumed by the details of a Christmas wedding. “If Kace ever gets his ass in gear and proposes, we could have a joint wedding! That would be so cool! Red and gold as the colors. Twinkly lights and glitter everywhere. All the Christmas trees . . .”

  Distracted thoroughly. As Brent had intended, I knew.

  “We could even have one of those muff thingies to keep our hands warm . . .”

  I met his eyes for a split second before he deliberately looked away and nodded at Brooke. “Sure. If Iris wants it.”

  “It’s going to be so cool!”

  I smiled at Brooke’s enthusiasm, even as I knew that at this point, my invite to the wedding was about as likely as Brent suddenly deciding to take up tap-dancing.

  That being infinitesimally small.

  But I would like to see him get married.

  Maybe as much as I’d like to see the tap routine.

  Smiling to myself, I pushed down my impatience, knowing not everything could be smoothed over as easily as it had with Brooke. The way to move forward was paved with patience, slow and steady steps and persistence.

  Lots and lots of persistence.

  Luckily, I had that in spades.

  Thirteen

  Anabelle

  I’d been had.

  I pulled the front door to the cottage closed behind me, making sure the latch caught and stared down at the brown paper bag on the porch in front of me.

  The reason I’d been had.

  Molly’s Bakery

  An insulated cup sat next to it, and I could smell the freshly ground coffee in the air.

  Narrowing my eyes, I glanced around, trying to find the person—read: the man—who’d left me the treats. But the space around me was quiet, nothing but the quiet shush of the wind blowing through the trees.

  He had been there, though.

  And he’d brought the big guns.

  “Are you going to keep staring at it like it’s a snake?” Hayden’s deep voice slid over my body like a second skin, raising goose bumps, wrapping me in warmth. That caused an immediate blip of panic to follow in its wake, but that alarm wasn’t enough to pull me back.

  Frankly, I wanted this man too much, and it overrode any of my usual attempts at keeping my distance and self-preservation.

  “Is it poisoned?” I asked.

  He grinned, climbing up the stairs and bending to snag the cup and bag. One sip out of the coffee—trailed by an “Ah!”—before he stopped in front of me. “Not poisoned.”

  I narrowed my eyes, breath catching at the beauty of him. It was early morning—for me, that was—just after ten and the sunlight gilded his skin, brought out the streaks of r
ed and gold hidden in the brown of his hair, made the blue of his eyes beyond bright.

  He was gorgeous.

  But he was also nice and funny and pushy and . . . I liked him.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I wanted to see you.”

  See? He just came out and said things like that, making him impossible to resist, impossible to dislike.

  It scared me.

  Made me retreat, made me lash out.

  Don’t let him get too close. Don’t open that side of myself again. I’d closed it down after losing my mom, after my brother’s anger, after my dad’s disappointment, and I couldn’t risk opening it again.

  “Well, I’m tired,” I said, spinning and reaching for the door handle, my heart in my throat.

  “Hi, Tired.”

  I frowned, froze with my fingers on the handle. “What?”

  “You said you’re tired . . .” A beat. “So, hi, Tired.”

  “That’s the worst joke I’ve ever heard.” I turned, saw he was leaning back against a pillar.

  And proving once again that he had easy humor, he merely laughed. “Yup. Right up there in the realm of Dad Jokes.” Then he continued with the proving, or maybe it was that he continued reinforcing his ability to give, because then he said, “That used to be my dad’s favorite joke.” Quiet words, sad eyes. “We’d say I’m bored or I’m tired or I’m mad and he’d say, Hi, Bored or Tired or Mad.”

  My lips twitched. “So, you’re saying bad jokes run in the family?”

  “Yup.” A nod. “Ingrained in my DNA.” He cocked his head. “What’s in yours?”

  “Book smarts, an ability to hold grudges, and keeping our emotions under wraps until one of us sends a text message or makes a phone call that eviscerates the other person.”

  Blue eyes went wide, but that was the only part of Hayden that moved.

  I, on the other hand, had to lock every muscle in my body in order to not clamp a palm over my mouth to stop any further verbal vomiting.

  I’d revealed too much.

  Too fucking much.

  “Breathe,” Hayden said.

  Air shuddered out of my lungs even before I realized I’d been holding my breath.

  “That’s better,” he murmured and sank down onto the top step. The crinkle of the bag opening drew my focus, pulled me out of the words that had been circling in my head since the beach.

  “It’s never been that bad before,” I whispered.

  “The messages?”

  I nodded.

  He patted the spot next to him, and I crossed the porch, sat down on that top step, just a few inches separating us.

  “Here.” He handed me the cup. “Have you ever thought to just tell them that it hurts you this bad?”

  I wrapped my fingers around the coffee. “I don’t think my brother would care. He’s looking for someone to blame, and I’m a convenient target.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?” I asked.

  “Why are you letting yourself be a target?” he asked. “Why take the abuse?”

  “I—”

  I stopped, lungs freezing, but he didn’t press me for an answer, just let me get my thoughts in order, gave me time to realize that for as strong as I liked to think I was, I had just let my family walk all over me.

  Because, deep down, there was a piece of me that thought I deserved it.

  Fuck.

  “I never thought of it that way,” I whispered. “I just . . . always accepted that it was the way it was, that I owned that burden because—” My words cut off, the painful truth too much to accept.

  “It’s not your fault,” he said, shifting so his shoulder rested against mine. “But logical and rational thought doesn’t always rule when it comes to families.”

  “No,” I said. “It doesn’t.”

  “You know the best thing about learning something about yourself?”

  A shake of my head. “No.”

  “When you learn it, you get to put it to use.”

  “AKA not let my family walk over me?”

  “Ding. Ding. Ding.” He tapped my nose, affecting a game show announcer’s voice. “The prize goes to . . . Anabelle Kim.”

  “Idiot,” I said with a snort. “Why didn’t you just knock and wait for me to come to the door?” I asked, sipping and nearly moaning. Iris was a superb baker, but she didn’t do coffee like Molly’s.

  “Would you have answered?”

  No.

  Maybe?

  “That’s a no.” Hayden laughed and pulled out a pumpkin muffin from the bag—my favorite, damn him and his sources—handing it over to me with a smile.

  I sighed and took it.

  Maybe he was being pushy, but there was no way I was turning down baked goods.

  He was tempting beyond measure, but for as cavalier as I’d pretended to be about Tom’s text, I was hurt. He’d said some stuff after Mom died, some bad stuff, but I’d been able to compartmentalize it away, chalk it up to grief.

  Over the years, he’d been judgy, snarky, sometimes cold, but not angry, not like that. And the sudden resurgence made my nerves twist themselves into knots.

  I wanted to hide and mope and figure out what was going on.

  Plus, my landlords had left me a message saying they’d received an offer on the house before they’d even put it on the market. If the inspection went through, the property was going to be in new hands.

  So . . . that was going to be interesting.

  “Your brother hurt you,” he whispered when I’d just nibbled off a corner of the muffin before resting it and the hand holding it on my leg.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Stupid, huh?”

  “No, Rocky.” Fingers on my cheek, my jaw, my hair. “Not stupid. Just because you have the logic and the plan to move forward doesn’t mean all of the hurt just disappears.”

  “I don’t understand,” I admitted. “That’s what makes it worse, I think. We used to have fun together, be able to talk about so many different things, but since my mom passed, every conversation is a minefield. And the messages . . . it’s like the moment he remembers she died, all of the hate bubbles up. It doesn’t help that my dad blames me for her death, too. At least in part.”

  “That’s—”

  “Probably true,” I interrupted. “At least in some way. My pregnancy was difficult for her to recover from, and I took a lot of physical and emotional energy growing up.” My eyes flicked up to his. “Did I give her cancer?” I shook my head. “Of course not. But do I feel like if I’d been a little easier, less demanding on her time that she would have gone to the doctor sooner?” A shrug. “Maybe.”

  “I’m not going to say that’s being unfair to yourself,” he murmured. “It’s hard to separate those feelings of guilt when you lose people you care about.”

  “Why do I feel like there’s a but coming?” I asked, stealing some of his words.

  He grinned. “Because there is.”

  “Of course.”

  A serious expression transformed his face from amused to stern. “But you have to stop punishing yourself for things you can’t control. You did the best you could. You loved her, and you love them, otherwise the words wouldn’t hurt so much.”

  I made a face.

  He tugged a strand of my hair. “It’s not easy.”

  “Yeah.” I sighed, a rueful smile on my lips. “It’s not.”

  “In the meantime”—he nudged my hand, lifting it, and the muffin in its grasp, back up to my mouth—“should we drown our sorrows with carbs?”

  My lips twitched. “And what sorrows are you drowning in?”

  Hayden gave me a morose look. “The ones where the beautiful woman I’m crazy about refuses to invite me into her house.”

  Laughing, I took a bite of the muffin, nearly moaned at its deliciousness. “I invited you in last time you were here, if you recall.”

  “Hmm.” He tapped his chin. “Don’t recall that.”

  I snorted.
“Then you’d better be happy with the fact that she allowed you onto the front porch.” I mock-glared. “Consider that a victory.”

  Steady blue eyes on mine. “I do, Rocky.”

  Breathing not quite steady, I kept eating the muffin, staring out at the backyard, at the trees, at the partly cloudy sky until I’d steadied myself, until I could look at Hayden and say the thing that had been bothering me. “You could have any girl. Not some frumpy—”

  Lips on mine, fingers in my hair, the remains of the muffin falling to the ground as he stole my mouth in a hot kiss that made my head spin, made my pulse that had just found steady ground skitter and jump, my lungs burn with the need to draw in air.

  Only then did he pull away.

  Not far, and for the first time I could admit without fear that I hadn’t wanted him to take his mouth from mine, that I could have continued kissing Hayden for eternity.

  “I don’t want anyone else,” he said, lightly tracing his finger down my nose. “I just want you.”

  Words. Just words.

  But also words that gave a girl like me hope.

  Words that wove their way through the cracks in the walls surrounding my heart, began forming roots, burrowing in until I knew there would be no way to excise them.

  A blip of fear.

  But before it could fully coalesce and take over, Hayden tapped my cheek lightly and asked, “Appletini?”

  Fear forgotten, I burst out laughing. “No, McAlister. I don’t think you’re putting your secret agent skills to proper use.”

  “Hmm.” Another long, drugging kiss. “I’ll do better.”

  He wasn’t lying.

  Because he did do better. So much better that those roots grew into seedlings, into a healthy plant, into hope that my life could be more than I’d ever expected.

  Fourteen

  Hayden

  Operation Win Rocky Over was off to a good start.

  We’d hung on her front porch for just over an hour, me confessing that I had, in fact, been putting my “secret agent skills” to use by tracking down some of her favorite things.

  I didn’t tell her it had been easy, that because her friends wanted her to be happy, they’d dished up facts readily.