by Sue Wilder
The house Garrett had commandeered for the duration.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Garrett
“You realize, Garrett, that your mornings are boring?” I looked up to see Missy flashing her sassy smile. “You fill them with coffee and croissants when you could fill them with sex.”
“You going through a dry spell?” I asked her wryly.
“And if I am?” She set one of her signature coffees in front of me, then slid into the bistro chair opposite. “Can’t blame a girl for her imagination.”
“I’m too young for you,” I said, taking a bite of the flakey croissant she provided. “And I know your kid.”
“So, call the prude police. You’re only seven years too young and Tad Junior would get over it.”
“He’s sixteen.” I arched her a look. “He wouldn’t get over it until he’s my age.”
“Well, don’t worry,” she advised, her blue eyes mischievous. “You’re like this annoying little brother I never had, and the sex would never work. But I like that glint in your eyes. You’re thinking about sex with someone.”
“I’m just thinking,” I told her, wrapping my hand around the blue mug she’d handed over. “You’re doing enough of the dirty part for both of us.”
“Because you won’t do it for yourself.”
Missy crossed one leg over the other and leaned back. The café buzzed with morning customers. A blonde girl behind the counter kept up her running commentary while filling orders. Through the windows, sunlight glinted off puddles of water from the nightly mist.
The cafe was the closest place to home for me, which said a lot about my recent isolation. Missy had every right to call me out. We were good friends, and Missy was a beautiful woman. Her confident verve caught a man’s eye, but I appreciated being easy with her, uncomplicated.
Even with the teasing, I’d never hurt her for the world. She gave me another sassy smile before sampling the coffee she’d provided for herself. “We’ve known each other a long time, Garrett.”
“With breaks in between.”
“True. But during your senior year in high school, I went to every football game. You didn’t know that, did you?”
“Why?” I asked carefully.
“Your mom wanted me to go. We were all hurting. Tad was a baby. He just cooed and smiled and drooled all over the place. But your mom…”
I stared at her.
“She could barely get out of bed. Oz—it’s hard to describe grief like that, losing a life partner.” Missy sighed and looked at the sunlight glinting outside. “She wanted you to fly, live life, but she worried about you, dealing with the grief when she couldn’t help you. She asked me to go to the games. Get out of my head for a few hours. It was as much for me as it was for you. But I realized you weren’t alone. Someone else was there for you.”
I leaned back hard. “Missy—”
“Let me say what has to be said, Garrett. I attended every game, cheered you on, and then I told your mom every play you made. The touchdowns, massive yardage gains. The crowds. She wanted all the details. Including those around a certain blonde cheerleader who kept catching your eye.”
Missy reached across the table and touched my hand. “She was so curious about Soleil. Who she was and what she looked like. If I thought the two of you would ever get together. You didn’t realize that, either, did you? Your mom still wanted to be in your life. Maybe with her heart broken the way it was, she didn’t have a way to show it.”
“I never blamed her for how she handled grief.”
“She understood at the time. She understands now. We still talk.” Missy patted my hand one more time before leaning back. “I tell her how you are.”
Uneasiness settled between my shoulders, even though I felt a special gratitude for Missy. She lost her husband the same day I lost my step-dad, but she’d still devoted time to me. I didn’t know a fraction of what she must have been through, raising Tad Junior on her own. I left after graduation and hadn’t returned until now. But she picked up where she left off when I came back. Taking care of me.
I raised the coffee mug and sipped while my mind spun, defensive. Missy’s lips curved in a smile. “I’m freaking you out right now, aren’t I? I can tell by that funny look on your face, like you swallowed a lemon.”
I shook my head. “You tell me what I need to hear, even when I don’t listen. Why haven’t you remarried?”
“Hah,” she scoffed. “And who would I marry? Some grizzled old fisherman who can’t untie his boat without help?”
“Tad Junior had to help me untie my boat.”
“You’re not grizzled.” She leaned forward and stroked my clenched fingers. “But I’m worried about you, Garrett. I’ve watched you with Maggs. You never looked happy. When she came in the other day, she was with someone else, and I realized—you only want relationships that leave you alone when they’re over.”
“I have reasons.”
“I know you do. Life can be easier alone. But I haven’t remarried because Tad Senior was the one for me. The only one.” She squeezed my fingers. “I believe people come into our lives for a reason. Some only stay for a short while. Others for a lifetime. And sometimes, they come when we’re not ready for them. But if you’re lucky, Garrett. They come again.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. Missy was trying to help, but I felt ambushed, and I wasn’t ready to face what she was suggesting.
“Soleil isn’t here because she wants to be,” I said stiffly.
“Isn’t she? Soleil had millions of Instagram followers until she shut down her account. She didn’t have to do that if she still wanted the life.”
My gaze dropped to Missy’s hand, resting on mine. “Her car nearly went over a cliff. I don’t think that’s the kind of life she wants.”
“She wants what you want.” Missy heaved an exasperated sigh, as if I was the problem and not her argument. “And who drove down there to bring her back? You did.”
We were in territory I would not enter, not when I hadn’t yet worked through the fear I felt, driving in the rain while Connor’s voice echoed from the Bluetooth in my car. He relayed the information, but in the background, I heard Luna’s voice as she tried to talk trouble down. The fright overlaid with the calm.
My chest had been so tight, my lungs refused to expand. Not until I saw the flares. The emergency lights, and Tyson Lemay, standing beside his vehicle with trouble huddled inside.
And it hadn’t stopped there. The memories, late at night, when I remembered the husky sound of her voice, crying out with each throbbing orgasm. I’d wanted nothing more than to keep her that way, soft and secure in my arms. When I wasn’t sure it was possible.
I still carried too much guilt and anger. I hadn’t wanted a relationship in years. Hell—I was so screwed up I couldn’t get on a plane, not even to stand beside Con when he married trouble’s sister. He was my best friend, other than Max, and he said he understood. But to me, this new fear of flying represented failure. I couldn’t stop the panic, and what kind of selfish asshole would get involved with a woman, when he kept the secrets that I kept?
When he wasn’t whole?
I gripped the coffee so I wouldn’t spill when I took a sip. “The only reason Soleil is here is because Luna was worried. She wanted her sister at their grandfather’s house instead of some cheap hotel on the I-5, and she asked me to help.”
“Soleil still came here,” Missy said earnestly. “She walked back into your life when she had hundreds of people ready to help her. She told me you took care of her when she was a total mess. Scolded her and brought tea. Made grilled cheese sandwiches, and I want to know who does that for a woman he thinks of as an obligation he has to a friend?”
My unease became obvious. I shifted in the hard bistro chair and Missy’s voice eased into confidence.
“I know you think I’m a little woo-woo on the side, Garrett, but events happen for reasons we don’t always understand. You’re reengaging with lif
e and Ibiza. I understand the decision you made to walk away. How difficult it was. But Connor told her what do, how to react when that car hit because you taught him the tactics. In life, we’re all connected, and, okay, I’m a little weird, but when I see you with Soleil—it’s like there’s this force, drawing you together. An attraction that’s always been there.”
“Missy.” Frustration made me restless. “I need life to be uncomplicated.”
“Some things are better complicated,” Missy countered. “Soleil could be the one you need. The one you’ve always needed. And she’s here because she needs you, too.”
“Too much woo-woo on top of your dry spell.” An edge was in my voice. “You’re seeing things that aren’t there.”
“Or I’m seeing what you don’t want to see.”
Control became vital. “I’m focused on Soleil’s safety and nothing else. Security is in place, but tell Tad to keep his eyes open. The kid notices things. Strangers lingering around.”
Concern darkened the blue in Missy’s eyes. “Is anyone else at risk?”
“No. The threat seems targeted toward her.”
“Have you identified anyone?”
“The field is narrowing to her ex. Or his associates.” I’d been in communication with Detective Wentz, grudgingly on his part because he’d called to update the progress on the motorhome fire. He said trouble was no longer a suspect, and after mentioning that Brandon Slate was eager to help, Wentz added his opinion—he thought the man was holding something back. Which I took as a request for any information I had and a warning not to step on his toes.
Missy gripped her mug with both hands. “You’re staying close to her?”
I breathed in, relaxed some of the foreboding from my throat. “I moved into the house on the other side of hers. Ibiza brought in a team to replace Millennium’s, and they’re across the street. I have a man in L.A., another in New York, both working the leads. Luna keeps her company through the day, sometimes with Connor. Max. Ethan watches from the bar.”
Missy stared, daring me to look away. “That sounds very thorough.”
Because thorough was what I did. I rubbed the pad of my thumb against the rim of the still-warm mug, needing to work through what was changing. The worry I had that bordered on possessive. The nights when I’d stared at trouble’s upstairs window and imagined her curled in bed. Wondered if she hugged the pillow or slept nude, all the while wishing I was there, and not understanding why the goddamn hell I wasn’t.
“What about happy endings, Garrett? Do you believe they’re possible?”
The tension in my back made me shift positions. Happy endings were Missy’s dream, but I hid my flaws deep and I couldn’t see any woman wanting 100 percent of who I was now. Nor could I give her 100 percent in return when I didn’t trust my reflexes, or my judgment.
“Don’t sell Soleil short because it’s complicated,” Missy advised. “We’ve become friends over these past few weeks, and if you let her walk away a second time, I’m not sure she’ll come around again. But, Garrett…”
I looked up at her sigh. “What?”
“If you truly can’t commit, then don’t treat her like Maggs.” Gently, Missy touched my hand. “Walk away, and soon. Don’t break her heart with false hope.”
The soft scraping of chair legs against the floor told me Missy had pushed her chair back so she could stand. I’d been staring at my thumb, still moving rhythmically against the smooth blue mug. Everything she said penetrated, but my thoughts centered somewhere else. Lost in the rain with a woman who trembled in my arms. In a scented bathroom, as I poured water over her back and told her things she had to know.
In my head, I saw the color of blood, pink and fading as I washed it from her hair. I remembered the hunger driving me when I kissed her. Held her, silently realizing how badly I’d miscalculated.
The contentment I’d found out on my boat with her, sharing the memory of Oz—I’d never experienced anything like it before. The evening we spent together after her accident, confiding by the fire. My confession about sitting in the theater, watching her on the big screen, countered by my fear that time had already run out for us. One day, she would go back to that life filled with lights and love that swirled just for her.
And as much as I wanted what I couldn’t have, I was unable to shed the idea of happy endings, if not for me, then at least for trouble.
◆◆◆
Later that afternoon, I sat in my office with Max, going over the security reports Wade Reston sent by courier. The file was thick because Wade was a fanatic about details, and I stared at cell phone records, financial information, and a full dossier on Billy-Joe Hicks. Hicks was both Brand’s stunt double and his jilted lover. They looked so much alike, their affair had become a running joke—Billy-Joe came as close as Brand could get to making love to himself.
But Hicks stood out in my mind for his lingering animosity. Brand ended their relationship when he married trouble—a typical Hollywood over-production. Leading man sweeping the blonde princess off to a glittering life.
Something about being replaced by a woman instead of another man set Hicks off, and his resentment increased after the divorce, when Brand refused to resume their relationship. He’d worked on The Four Kingdoms set, had pyrotechnic expertise, damning after the authorities recovered an explosive device from the burned-out motorhome. Thousands of cinematic chase scenes had Billy-Joe Hicks at the wheel, and according to Wade, he’d fallen off the radar a week ago.
“Rabbit or chameleon,” Maxton said. He was talking about Hicks—running or hiding—and I answered without looking up.
“I’m amazed by your brilliance.”
“Owning a bar must dull a man,” Max jabbed in return. “If you’re so easily amazed.”
He leaned back, readjusting his black suit jacket as he settled, and I remembered how I’d met him, in the middle of a bar fight in Edinburgh, with Max on the losing end, taking on three brawlers and shouting insults even as he staggered sideways. Over a woman, I learned later, and willing to take a beating, rather than face the fact that she’d left him.
I’d never understood why a man would rather punish himself than face facts until I had my dark moments. “I enjoy owning a bar,” I said, without heat because Max’s taunts didn’t bother me. “Lowers the blood pressure.”
“And bores you into idiocy. How many times have you read that report?”
“I like reading.”
“The way you like selling overpriced whiskey.” Max crossed his arms and studied my expression. “Admit it. You’re looking for the strategy. You want back in the game.”
“I’m fine out of the game.” With the images spread across the desk, Billy-Joe’s resemblance to Brand was startling. Undeniable, when they had the same height and weight. The same brown hair cut by a skilled stylist. Up close, subtle differences were noticeable. But from a distance, Billy-Joe was indistinguishable from Brandon Slate—an inconvenient detail I couldn’t resolve.
“I’d make Hicks for the vandalism in California,” I told Max. “He’s got motive, proximity, and means. But he looks too much like Slate, and trouble was adamant. She said her ex wasn’t driving that car.”
“You call her trouble?” Max asked as he rolled his shoulders.
“It’s a description,” I challenged. “No different from rabbits or chameleons.”
“And you find some dark implication in calling her by name?”
Annoyed, I reached for the whiskey Ethan delivered, savoring the heat on my tongue. “There’s no implication in a description.”
“There’s the implication in taking Ibiza back.”
I flipped through Wade’s report as if I hadn’t just read it twice. “No one’s taking Ibiza back.”
Max smiled like he thought he’d struck a nerve. “Lie to yourself if you want, but this isn’t healthy, what you’re doing. And you need to lock that woman down, keep her close until this is over.”
“You know her sist
er.” The look I threw him was sarcastic. “How much luck did you have, locking her down?”
“Now I’m reading implications all over the place and we’re just getting started.”
Max was thoroughly enjoying himself, and, as a tactic, I leaned forward to set down the whiskey. The observation about Ibiza I could handle. It was calling trouble by her name that irritated me, and when Ethan slapped his palm lightly against the doorjamb, I tried not to glare.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but Brandon Slate’s waiting in the bar. Says he won’t leave until he talks to you.”
Maxton arched his eyebrows. “Now, that move I did not expect.”
“Maybe he’s playing hero.”
“Or he’s here to save his own ass,” Max countered.
Wentz thought Slate was holding back, and he’d deliberately implied trouble’s ex was a suspect. But I wondered what else Brandon Slate wanted.
“How long has he been waiting?” I asked Ethan.
“Half an hour. Told him you were in a meeting, but he’s on his second whiskey, getting impatient.”
“Wait another ten minutes, then bring him back.”
“Will do.” Ethan slapped his palm against the jamb once more before turning away. Thoughtfully, I watched him disappear down the short hall to the bar.
“You planning on telling Slate who you are?” Maxton asked, finding fresh interest in his whiskey glass.
“Wentz told him I’m protecting his ex-wife.”
Max snorted. “I meant who else you are.”
The muscle in my jaw tightened. When Missy talked about connected events, I hadn’t tossed it off as woo-woo. In an odd way, I’d been connected to Brandon Slate for a few weeks, and I should have warned trouble. But I hadn’t, because the anger wasn’t something I talked about.
Now, with Slate showing up, I could lose control of the situation. Confronting me at the bar was what an angry man would do. Resentful, invading my space unannounced.
I stared at the documents tossed on the desk. After returning them to the file, I tapped against the cover with my knuckles. “I won’t tell him unless it’s advantageous.”