by Sophia Henry
“I just don’t know how I didn’t see it.” Blake hunched over, rested his forearms on the table, and began picking at the skin around his thumbnail. “How did I not know?”
“How could you?” Landon sympathized. “She did it when you weren’t home.”
“I know.” Blake looked up quickly. “I just—ugh! Seven fucking years!”
Wasn’t that the time of the itch?
“You are only man she ever fuck,” Gribov piped in, plopping down in his seat. “What you expect?”
Gribov had a point. A reasonable, though tastelessly stated, point.
Blake and Caroline got married a month after she graduated from high school while he was still playing Juniors. They had one of those been-together-since-elementary-school relationships. Caroline moved to Detroit from Toronto, their hometown, after the Charlotte Aviators drafted him. She seemed too sweet and down-to-earth.
Which is probably why she chose to screw their neighbor and not one of his teammates.
“What do I expect?” Blake asked as Luke arrived carrying fresh beers between his fingers. He leaned back to allow Luke room to set the drinks down. “Not to be cheated on. I never fucking cheated on her. Not once. You know how much pussy I could’ve had? But I didn’t.”
“It’s part of our life, man,” Luke said. “It’s hard to have a relationship in general, let alone a wife.”
“Especially when you’re all she had. I mean, not to bring Gaby into it—” Landon began.
Luke, Blake, and Gribov collectively groaned, and I knew my lovesick little brother hadn’t stopped talking about Gaby since they finally got together.
“Shut up!” Landon said and continued with his original thought. “I just meant that Caroline had nothing else. She didn’t work. She didn’t have any friends here. She left her family and everything she knew to be with you. And you’re gone all the time. Even when you’re home, you’re gone. It’s not a slam. It’s like Luke said, it’s our life.”
“And sometimes your girl won’t follow you. And that sucks, too,” I chimed in, trying to keep the bitterness from my voice. Because I barely even thought about Heather, my ex-girlfriend from college, anymore. The conversation brought back the sting of her refusing to move to Bridgeland with me when I took a job there.
Gribov raised his bottle in the air toward the middle of the table. “Fucked if we do. Fucked if we do not.”
I reached up to clink bottles with the boys before taking a long slug. He actually made sense for once, and for a brief moment, I wondered what kind of brutal memories he’d dragged to Detroit with him.
“This conversation sucks,” Blake said. “Can we talk about the big-titted girl Luke took home last night?”
“No,” Luke responded. A sharp, definitive no.
“You motorboatin’ son of a bitch,” Blake joked, quoting the famous funny line from Wedding Crashers.
Which switched the conversation to movie lines. Luke seemed happy to be off the hook, and Blake seemed happy not to be talking about his ruined marriage.
And though I was happy to be in the comfortable company of my boys again, I couldn’t wait to get back to Indie.
Chapter 16
Indie
Tim had soured me on relationships so much that I totally forgot all the crazy feelings that hijack your consciousness during those initial weeks of dating. The swirly stomach every time Jason called or texted, or breaking into a happy dance while vacuuming the house.
Jason was different. He had his life together. He had a wonderful family. He was mature, smart, complimentary, respectful.
When Jason pulled into the parking lot in front of the steak house at the casino, I bit my usually snarky tongue, to keep from telling him it was one of my least favorite restaurants in town. But only because I ate there so often I could taste the steak in my sleep. Mom works at the casino and brought home dinner from there a few times a week. Damien loves it, and I did at first, but like anything, it gets old.
I’d never say anything to him, because I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. And I knew Jason took me there because, technically, it’s the fanciest restaurant in town. I’d prefer Hank’s Drive-In any night of the week, but I knew he’d put thought into it and I refused to ruin the moment.
“I’m starving!” Jason complained after we’d been seated.
“They’ll bring bread,” I assured him.
“I know. I just wish I had something now. Like peanuts.”
“Ugh! Peanuts,” I moaned.
Jason reached out and put his hand on my arm. “What? Are you allergic?”
“No. Back when Peak City opened, there used to be a bowl of peanuts on each table. Pat loved those restaurants where people could crack the shells and throw them on the floor.”
“I imagine that must have been slippery,” Jason said, lifting his hand from my arm and picking up his menu. “I don’t understand how places get away with that, from a liability standpoint.”
“Right,” I agreed. “So messy and annoying. I’d be balls deep in nut dust within the first hour of my shift.” I shook my head and opened my menu. “I’m so glad he got rid of the peanut thing.”
Jason’s silence made me lift my eyes from the menu. He was sitting back in his chair, smiling like a kid at Disneyland.
“You just used ‘balls deep’ in a conversation,” he said. Then he broke into a grin. “That’s fuckin’ awesome.”
“Um, okay.” I raised the menu. Behind it, I bit my lip to hide my smile and force down the little flutter he’d caused by complimenting me on my sense of humor.
Thankfully, the waiter interrupted our conversation by setting a basket of assorted types of bread in the middle of the table. Then he took our order.
“Can you text me your parents’ address?” I asked when we’d finished. “I want to send them a thank-you card.”
“Yeah.” Jason handed our menus to the waiter. Then he reached into the front pocket of his pants and pulled out his phone. “Do you mind if I do it now, so I don’t forget?”
How did I find someone so thoughtful?
“Yeah, go for it. Thank you.” I continued talking while he scrolled and tapped on the screen. “I had so much fun. They’re so cute together. How long have they been married?”
“Oh, geez.” Jason leaned back, shoving his phone into his pocket. “More than twenty-five years now.”
A pang of jealousy hit my chest and I swallowed a lump in my throat. “Wow. That’s awesome.”
And it was. Having parents who were still in love. Still together. Still crazy for each other.
“They’ve always been the touchy-feely type. It was uncomfortable when we were kids, but Landon and I are used to it now.” Jason grabbed a piece of bread from the basket. “Do you ever see your dad?”
I watched him smooth butter onto one side. “I used to, but now we barely even hear from him.”
“That sucks, Indie. I’m sorry.” He set his knife on a small plate next to his water glass.
“It’s okay. He’s not a bad dude. I think he got caught up in his own life, and people who aren’t right there in front of him are kind of an afterthought.”
“That’s harsh. I don’t think family should ever be an afterthought.”
I’d justified my dad’s lack of communication in my head on multiple occasions, but saying it out loud made him sound like a complete jackwagon. Especially compared to Jason’s family.
I shrugged. “Mom’s happy with Dale Kelso right now. She’s dated on and off throughout my life, but he seems to be a keeper.”
“The car salesman?” Jason asked.
“That’s the one.” I took a piece of bread for myself. “But honestly, he treats her really well and she seems to love being around him. And she deserves that.”
Jason nodded. “What does your mom do?”
“She works here.” I ripped off a piece of my bread and popped it in my mouth.
“The steak house?”
“No, the casino,” I exp
lained. “But she did work here when it first opened. She’s a career server. She likes being on the casino floor the most. She makes more in tips from the gamblers than she does on steak dinners, if you can believe that.”
“If she’s even half as charismatic as you, I can totally believe that.” Jason smiled.
His compliments shot arrows straight to my heart, making me feel all girly and giddy. “Yes, I’m fairly certain I got my charm and bartending skills from her.”
“Too bad Damien didn’t inherit that trait,” Jason muttered.
“Oh, he makes a kick-ass gin and tonic,” I joked, though I knew Jason was referring to the charm part. If I inherited our father’s wanderlust, Damien inherited Dad’s bad moods.
“He’s been pretty pissed since Halloween.”
“Really?” I asked. “He hasn’t said anything to me.” Technically, he hadn’t said anything at all to me. I should take that as a sign of how pissed he is.
“Well, that’s probably because he’s taking it out on me in practice. But don’t worry. He hit me with enough slap shots last practice that I made him skate for an hour and a half.”
I cocked my head at him. “The entire time?”
“Yep.” Jason sat back and crossed his arms over his chest. Then his brow furrowed and he uncrossed his arms. “Slap shots hurt!” he said defensively.
“I’m not gonna give you any trouble!” I laughed. “I know slap shots hurt.”
Between Damien and his friends being little jerkweeds around our house, and the countless hockey games and practices I’ve attended to support my brother, I’d been hit by my share of flying hockey pucks.
“All my troubles started when I met the Meadows family,” Jason said, teasing.
“All my troubles started when I met my ex.” Never had I uttered a more truthful statement.
“Want to tell me about it?” Jason asked.
It was so comfortable being with him, I forgot that he wasn’t from Bridgeland. He knew only what I’d told him about my past.
“Well, I mean, you know about how he and his parents acted once I told them I was pregnant.” Jason nodded, his full attention on me. “But Tim sucked from the minute I met him. I just didn’t have the self-confidence to break up with him. I was more concerned with being popular than happy back then.”
Where was the waiter with the beer I’d ordered? I needed something heavier than water to discuss Tim.
“A common problem. I call it the 90210 syndrome.”
“The 90210 syndrome, eh? Please explain, Dr. Taylor.”
Jason’s lips quirked up, but he leaned forward and continued. “I know most TV shows about high school are basically the same—exaggerated versions of real life. But my mom made me watch reruns of that stupid Beverly Hills, 90210 show my entire childhood, and I just couldn’t understand what she saw in it. An overly dramatic depiction of sad people with no souls.”
“You couldn’t decide between Brenda and Kelly,” I teased him. “Just admit it.”
“Hell, no! They were the most stuck-up, revolting people. The trash TV of our parents’ generation.”
“At least Brenda and Kelly were fictional characters in a scripted show. Unlike TV today, which glorifies revolting ‘real’ families.” I shuddered.
“Right? But those people are the ones the media shoves down our throats as role models. I don’t want my kids acting like any of them.” Jason’s eyes met mine, but he looked away quickly. “That’s why I like it here in Bridgeland. None of that superficial drama.”
“Yeah, right.” I choked back a laugh.
“What?”
Instead of answering, I lifted my eyes to our waiter, standing next to our table with a tray of drinks. He set a full glass of golden ale in front of each of us. “Your meals will be out soon.”
“Why did you laugh?” Jason asked after the waiter walked away.
“Because there’s superficial drama wherever you go. I bet you’ll run into it more here than if you had stayed in Detroit.” A stream of beer spilled over the top of the glass when I picked it up. “Crap,” I grumbled.
Jason grabbed a tiny, white cocktail napkin from the table and patted my fingers.
“Thank you.”
Jason’s quick action and the touch of his hand on mine made my pulse race. It’s amazing how the simplest act, something I do for my son multiple times a day, could make my heart thump so hard. Helping me seemed as natural for Jason as it was for me with Holden. Without sounding like a damsel in distress, which I am not, it felt good to have someone take care of me.
“How so?” Jason asked.
I paused for a moment to bring my thoughts back to our conversation. “Small towns have big drama.”
Understatement of the century.
“Tell me more.” Jason scooted his chair closer to the table and leaned in. He looked like a teenager waiting for gossip. Little did he know, I’d be sharing an episode from my own life.
“I’m pretty sure my life could fill a season of Bridgeland 48858,” I joked, using the town’s zip code.
“Really?” He leaned back but kept his eyes on me.
“I’ve got it all. The divorced parents, the younger brother that I was a second mother to because our dad left and my mom worked so much. High school football-player boyfriend. Sex in a hotel room after his senior prom. My life is a series of TV tropes strung together.”
“Sex in a hotel room after senior prom? That’s so overdone.” Jason laughed.
“Right? So you know what came next, then?”
“Pregnancy scare?” Jason’s lips bent into a slight smile before he took a sip of his drink.
“Actual pregnancy.” I lifted my eyes to assess his reaction. “I was sixteen when I got pregnant with Holden.”
I prided myself on being up-front about how stupid and irresponsible I’d been in my junior year of high school. But it didn’t stop the shame I felt when I told people.
Jason’s eyes widened and he tilted his head slightly. He already knew about my son, but he didn’t know the exact circumstances.
“How old are you, Indie?” he asked.
Not the question I expected. I stole a quick glance around the restaurant, then leaned toward him and whispered, “Twenty.”
The lids over his beautiful, blue eyes lifted even more—if that were possible. “Twenty?”
“Keep your voice down, copper!”
The irony in my words hit me like a baseball bat to the kneecaps. I just admitted to the cop that I was underage while holding a frickin’ beer in my hand.
Jason rubbed his face with his hands. Tension overtook me as my shoulders creeped toward my ears.
Fuck. My. Life.
“I’ll be twenty-one soon,” I offered, as if that made up for me breaking the law on a date with a cop.
He shifted in his seat and took a sip of his beer. “I’m not going to cuff you and take you to the station.”
Relieved, I let out a breath and my shoulders relaxed.
“Might take you to my place, though.” He winked.
“Once you have—” I’d begun my defense without letting his comment sink in. “Excuse me?”
“I’d rather throw you over my shoulder and haul you out of here caveman-style.”
“Jesus, copper.” A breath escaped me like a hiss. “You’re killing me.”
“Now you know how I feel every freaking time I’m around you.”
Before Jason, no one had ever made me feel that giddy mix of embarrassment and excitement. The teasing banter. The thrill of every touch. The way he spoke in that low, firm voice that sent shivers through me. With Holden and work and school, I never had a chance to feel this way. I’d moved straight from awkward teenager to ill-equipped mother.
The words fun and flirty hadn’t been on my radar until now.
“As I was saying…” I began again, which made Jason laugh.
Ignoring his innuendo wasn’t easy, because when he talked about throwing me over his shoulder and brin
ging me to his place, it sounded sexy and exciting. If the waiter hadn’t shown up with our dinners, I may have thrown some money on the table and hightailed it out the door.
This new-and-improved, fun-and-flirty Indie sounded like a sex-crazed teenage boy.
Jason and I both thanked the waiter after he’d placed our plates in front of us. The food smelled delicious. The mouthwatering scent of nutmeg brought my attention straight to the creamed spinach.
Ignoring my steak, I dug into the steaming vegetable, reveling in the burn when it hit my tongue. Freshly prepared food from the steak house tasted a million times better than when Mom came home with lukewarm to-go boxes.
“How do you get away with drinking here?” Jason asked.
His casual tone put me on alert. I asked my next question with caution. “Are you gonna bust the steak house?”
He shook his head, unable to answer with his mouth full. “No,” he said when he’d finished swallowing.
I narrowed my eyes at him.
He held up one hand as if he were taking an oath. “If I busted the steak house, I’d have to bust every single place I’ve taken you on a date.”
I mulled that over in my head. I could single-handedly cause multiple establishments in Bridgeland to get major fines for serving minors. Whose great idea was it to date a cop, again?
“I’ve been coming in here with a kid on my hip talking about my job for three years.” I scooped another heap of spinach onto my fork. “Everyone thinks I’m older than I am.”
“I thought small towns were big on the gossip.”
“You really think the rednecks around here care about underage drinking unless someone took their combine out for a drunken spin and crashed it?”
That made Jason choke, literally choke, on his food. He squeezed his eyes shut and covered his mouth with his fist as he coughed uncontrollably.
“Are you okay?” I asked, jumping up to slap his back.
He coughed a few more times, but opened his eyes and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”
“Sorry.” Grazing his cheek felt like the right thing to do, but I stopped myself and returned to my seat.