Rescuing the Bad Boy

by Jessica Lemmon

Sofie left them to it, walked to the kitchen, and fired up the coffeemaker. She watched out the window as Evan climbed into the Jeep and Donny opened the driver’s door. He caught her looking, and paused for a few lingering seconds, before shutting himself into the Jeep as well.

  Enduring one another.

  Yeah, right.

  The quarry in Evergreen Cove was no pile of rubble.

  A fifty-foot wall stood against a blue sky, jagged edges and craggy handholds where Donovan used to attempt to scale his way to the top. Trees and shrubs and other brush grew at the base around where piles of unclaimed rocks rested.

  He inspected a piece of quartz before dropping it into a cardboard box. The new design he had in mind for the fireplace required him finding just the right rocks.

  “What’s your ETA for finishing up?” Evan asked from his perch on a sizable boulder.

  He meant the mansion, Donovan guessed.

  “After the charity dinner. And the campout.” He spared Evan a glance, ignored his friend’s surly expression, and went back to picking and sorting.

  “Entire town is excited,” Evan said. “My agent flipped out when she heard about it. She’s calling our publisher and getting advance copies of Asher’s and my latest Mad Cow book to give away at the event.”

  “Nice.” Asher. There was a guy he hadn’t seen in forever.

  “Know what that means?” Evan asked, then answered himself. “Penis Bandit reunion.”

  Donovan chuckled.

  Evan was talking about the summer Donovan stole a bottle of liquor from Robert’s liquor cabinet. They drank way, way too much, stumbled through town in the dark, and then Evan and Asher painted phallic symbols all over Mrs. Anderson’s library walls.

  Bright spot in an otherwise dark past.

  Donovan shook his head. “I haven’t seen that asshole in I don’t even know how long.”

  “That’s sweet. I’ll tell him you still care.”

  He palmed a large rock with a rough edge and tossed it into the box. Good size and shape for a corner piece.

  “Bust your hand?” Evan asked.

  He’d forgotten. So many scrapes, cuts. They blurred into one another. “On the fireplace I’m now apparently rebuilding.”

  “Not Scott Torsett’s face?” Evan grinned.

  “You heard about that?”

  “Charlie. Sofie.”

  “Chicks.” Donovan shook his head. “Scampi wouldn’t let me hit him.”

  “Too bad.”

  “I don’t fight anymore.”

  But he used to. He was young and angry, using his hands for destruction instead of creation. Then he’d evolved to using those same powerful, roughened hands to build works of art rather than use them to prove his strength. It was a necessary part of growing up.

  Out of simply not knowing better, he had begun repeating his father’s patterns. He had taken his rage out on other people. Until he was about seventeen, then he acquired friends. One was sitting with him now. The other, a rock star coming to town to hock his children’s book. The final link in the chain had come later. Connor had looked up to Donovan at a time when no one should have looked up to him, and lucky for him, Connor stuck around.

  His support system. He owed those guys a lot.

  Back in the day, the quarry had been his refuge. On more than one night he would come down here and smash rocks into the wall before scaling it without climbing gear. Stupid.

  But he’d figured he wasn’t hurting anyone when he was here, and at the time, that’d been good enough.

  “You’re not your dad,” Evan said.

  Every muscle in Donovan’s body tightened.

  “I know that comment seems random. But I see you beating yourself up over being back here. Know you’re struggling being in that house. And navigating whatever is between you and Sofie.”

  He glanced over at Evan, who shrugged, as if his observation of Donovan’s innermost battles was no big deal.

  “Thought I’d point out to you that you are not your old man.”

  “I’m fine,” he replied stiffly, not liking how Evan noticed things.

  “You know I know, right?”

  He clenched his teeth. He knew Evan had a guess at his past, but he didn’t think he really knew. Wasn’t something they chatted about casually.

  “How many times have you and I been drunk together?” Evan’s lips lifted slightly. “Approximately.”

  “A million?”

  Evan laughed, an easy sound that relaxed him some.

  “Yeah,” he said, then his smile fell. “Well. You mentioned your dad a time or three.”

  Great.

  Donovan pushed to standing and looked at the surrounding rocks and the pines, the only refuge—not counting Caroline’s house—he’d had in the years he’d lived in the Cove.

  “I don’t remember mentioning it,” he admitted. “Usually not much for chatter.”

  “Didn’t say anything to Charlie.” Evan stood and dusted his hands on his jeans. In other words: Sofie didn’t know. “It’s your story, man.”

  Donovan nodded, grateful. He didn’t exactly broadcast the fact Robert Pate used to beat the hell out of him for fun. That Evan hadn’t told Charlie was why he was still a friend. That right there. It was hard to find people to trust in this world. When he did, he kept them close.

  “Sofie,” Evan said, contemplative.

  Donovan crossed his arms over his chest. Now what?

  His friend tilted his head. “She and Ace are close.”

  “I noticed.”

  Evan took a step closer to him. “Sofie gets tweaked about something you say or do, she’s gonna be upset, and that’s gonna make Charlie upset.”

  Ahh. Evan had assumed the role of big brother to Sofie.

  “This the part where you tell me if I hurt Scampi, you beat my ass?”

  Evan shook his head as if frustrated, his eyebrows sinking into a pair of angry arches. “I thought you posed a threat, dumbass, I never would’ve let you near her.”

  His turn to frown. “You’re seven years too late.”

  “I know you’ve been through some shit. But I also know you, Donny. You’re loyal. You believe you don’t deserve any better than you have. Which also means I know you would chew off your own arm before you’d hurt Sofie. You’re safe with her. She’s safe with you.”

  Safe with him.

  Donovan worked his jaw while he thought.

  “What you’re doing for those kids—”

  “Sofie’s doing it.” He was quick to correct. He wasn’t some sort of benevolent do-gooder. The charity dinner, camping… The only reason Open Arms was infiltrating Pate Mansion was because he’d agreed to get out of the way so Scampi could let them pass. It was the right thing to do, especially in a house that’d been so filled with wrong.

  “Trust me, Ev”—he crouched to dig through a nearby pile—“my interests are self-serving.”

  “Keep telling yourself that,” Evan grunted, not buying his bullshit. Another reason Donovan kept him around. “You have to hand-pick every one of these goddamn pieces yourself, or you want me to help?”

  “You can try.”

  “You’re lucky we’re friends.” Evan squatted next to him and began sorting through another pile.

  Bitch of it was, he was right.

  Donovan was lucky to have him.

  Faith emptied the final wine bottle into the highball glass in Sofie’s hand.

  “I told you, I don’t want any more.” Sofie had stopped drinking after the first half a glass Faith poured for her. She was too nervous about what might happen to the wall—worried she’d end up with trim lines as curvy as her hips by the time she finished.

  Each time Faith refilled her glass, she’d dumped the wine back into Faith’s or Charlie’s glasses instead. Meaning she was stone sober, while her giggly friends were not in the same vicinity as sober.

  “Come on,” Faith urged.

  “Yeah,” Charlie agreed. “Have some fun.”

>   Sofie looked at the drying paint, head swimming from the fumes even though they’d opened the windows. Well, she was almost done anyway. “Okay, I give.”

  They’d finished the coat on all three walls. And to be honest, there wasn’t that much more to do. The one wall where she removed the sconces might need touching up after it dried, the fixtures rehung. But all in all, a successful paint job nearly completed. She lifted her glass and clinked it with her friends’ glasses. Faith had found a wineglass somewhere, but Charlie was drinking from a glass coffee cup with a cartoon of Garfield painted on one side.

  Faith finished off her wine, licked her lips, and sucked in a breath. Then she exhaled, looking pained.

  Sofie lowered her glass. “What is it?”

  “Would it be completely awful for me to ask about Connor’s… status?”

  Charlie shook her head. “Heck no, I’d hit that.”

  Sofie had lifted her wine to take a drink and now sputtered into her glass. She wiped her lips and laughed. Charlie wasn’t usually one to trash-talk. “I love when you drink. Evan is wearing off on you.”

  “He is,” she said, her voice taking on a dreamlike quality.

  Sofie turned to her other friend. “And my answer is no, it’s not awful. I have no idea if he’s seeing someone,” she said, thinking. “But he’s never mentioned a girlfriend and he’s here a lot. Connor is a really nice guy.”

  “It’s true.” Charlie gestured with her glass. “And I was kidding earlier. He’s been my landscaper since he got out of the service. I’ve never once considered hitting that.” She studied the ceiling for a second. “I mean, not for real.”

  Faith laughed, a loud ha! “Yeah, because you have a very fine hunk of man at home waiting for you each and every night.”

  A silly smile covered Charlie’s face.

  “And a boy who calls you Mom.” Sofie witnessed the first time it happened. She’d watched her friend nearly disintegrate beneath the weight of that title. Lyon’s mom, Rae, was Charlie’s very best friend before Rae passed away. When Charlie fell in love with Evan, it took her a while to accept she hadn’t “stolen” Rae’s family.

  “It’s true. I hit the jackpot.” Charlie turned to Faith. “You have nothing to feel badly about. Lust away. Connor’s hot.”

  Faith smiled but it was weak. “I’m not sure how long I should be in the grieving stage over my lost fiancé.” She twisted her mouth, her expression going hard. “Lost is the wrong word. He’s not lost. He’s still living in his house on Meyer Avenue. And I’m sure he’s still banging Cookie, the tramp-stamp wearing, bull-riding twentysomething, so what the hell do I have to feel badly about?”

  “Absolutely nothing.” Sofie squeezed her friend’s slender forearm, hating the way Faith’s future had been crushed so completely.

  “There’s no predetermined grieving timeline,” Charlie said. And she knew of what she spoke. “By the way, how are things going with your mom? Getting better?”

  Faith grunted. “As well as you’d imagine. This is why thirty-year-olds shouldn’t live with their mothers.”

  “Amen,” Sofie said, thinking of her own mother. When she moved out of her parents’ house, she’d never returned. She may be a long-suffering middle child, but her independent streak was thick. She offered Faith the remainder of her wine.

  “Linda’s new boyfriend is twenty-six,” Faith said of her mother, accepting the glass.

  Charlie’s eyebrows hit her hairline.

  “Twenty-six,” Faith repeated.

  “At least he’s a good-looking guy. Maybe you should enjoy the view of him hanging around her pool shirtless,” Sofie said, but she was teasing. Faith had expressed her distaste for Marco. He was waxed hairless, always covered in tanning oil, and looked in a mirror every time he passed one.

  Faith laughed and threw a hand through the air. “I’m done bitching. I have plenty to be grateful for. I live in a beautiful house. I have beautiful friends.” She batted her eyelashes. “And my beautiful friends are surrounded by beautiful men, one of which is a sexy, sexy landscaper who I can’t quite picture from my days of working at the Wharf.” Her smile vanished and she blew out a sigh.

  “He’s hotter now,” Sofie put in.

  “Well, whatever.” Faith took a swig of wine. “Unless he’s interested in a one-night stand, I’m out.”

  “He might be,” Sofie said flatly. Weren’t they all?

  “No, Faith. Don’t give up on love.” This from Charlie. “I wasn’t looking for it, either. And the last person I was looking for it with was my late best friend’s husband.”

  Sofie remembered how upset Charlie was when Evan started pursuing her. His wife had been gone for four years at the time, and his son, Lyon, loved Charlie like a second mother already. It took a while for Evan to convince her, but when Charlie accepted, it was the best thing for them all.

  But hers was a unique situation. That kind of thing didn’t happen to everyone.

  “Charlie, you got lucky.” Sofie smiled when her friend looked at her. “I have to say, I’m about to climb into the one-night-stand boat with Faith. This dating thing is crap. Most men do not want anything long-term. You start to wonder if you should give up.”

  “You’re further along than you think,” Faith interjected. “Donovan kissed you.”

  “He kissed you?” Charlie’s big eyes were huge, her smile huger. “O-M-G tell me all about it. Was it good? I bet it was good. Did he bring up the past? Did you? Did his lips feel the same?”

  Sofie held up a palm. Instead of answering with yes, no, sort of, and better… definitely better, she said, “It was an impulsive kiss.”

  “And?” Faith prompted.

  Deflection was not going to work with these two. Turning, she studied the drying paint on the wall and thought of how to best say it. “The chemistry… the attraction”—she shook her head—“hasn’t gone anywhere.” Which made being near him all the more dangerous.

  “What if he changed? What if he wasn’t what you needed back then—but he is what you need him to be now?”

  Ah, Charlie. So full of hope. More than anything, Sofie wanted to grab hold of that hope with both hands. There was a time she would have. A long time ago.

  There was a moment when Donovan’s lips were on hers and temporarily, she forgot the past. Need was the dominant feeling. Then the moment in the bathroom, when he wouldn’t let her bandage him, when he’d been angry with her for caring… Frustration had been her dominant emotion.

  “He’s… I don’t know what he is,” Sofie answered honestly. “I used to think I could save him.” She’d been so naïve. “There isn’t a more futile pastime than trying to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.” He didn’t want her saving him any more than she wanted him saving her. “Trust me. He doesn’t want anything from me.”

  Except the one thing he’d already claimed.

  There wasn’t any going back to the way things were. They’d just have to move forward from here.

  And somehow, Sofie vowed anew, she was going to keep her heart to herself.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Workaholic,” Charlie said as her fiancé slipped an arm around her shoulders.

  “Am not.” Sofie turned from her paint bucket and pointed at the wall with the loaded brush. “I’m just going to touch up two things.”

  Faith yawned. “I have an hour-long drive after I leave here.”

  Oh, that was true. Faith had carpooled from the shop rather than bring her own car to the mansion. Sofie hadn’t expected to be here well after dinnertime.

  Sofie sent a longing glance at the wall, then to her very patient, darling friend. “Ten more minutes?”

  They’d long since sobered from their day of wine drinking, especially after eating fully loaded pizzas that had been delivered. Thank God her friends worked cheap. Earlier, the guys had argued they could have taken care of the painting in half the time, Evan’s grumbling a cute “I paint for a living,” but the girls had shooed them away.
The two of them needed their male bonding time as much as Sofie had needed girl time.

  “We can drive her to her car,” Charlie offered.

  Faith’s shoulders dropped in relief. “Oh, thank you. I need to get home.”

  Which would mean Sofie was on her own. “Um…” She flashed a glance at Donovan, who came into the dining room, pizza slice in hand, mouth chewing.

  Evan politely pointed out the pachyderm in the room. “You sure you and Donny can hang out without killing each other?”

  Donovan’s brows jumped. He flicked his eyes to Sofie and took another bite.

  Concentrating way more than necessary, Sofie ran the brush along the wall. “We’ll be fine.”

  Satisfied, Faith grabbed her purse and bolted for the door. “Perfect. I have to get up early.”

  Right. Skylar, Faith’s sister, was moving out of her boyfriend’s house—yet another relationship-gone-bad. The Shelby curse. Maybe there was something to Faith’s family’s urban legend after all.

  Evan, Charlie, and Faith made their way out the front door and Sofie kept painting, acutely aware of Donovan behind her, polishing off his pizza and brushing his hands on his jeans.

  “Thanks for dinner,” he said.

  “Was there enough left for you?” The girls had eaten almost two entire pizzas on their own, and Sofie ate three slices herself. “I ate too much. Should probably put down this brush and run a few laps around the house.”

  “You worry a lot about what you eat.”

  She peeked over her shoulder. “All girls do.”

  “Not all girls.”

  Well. He probably knew what he was talking about, considering he had a wide sampling of ladies to pool.

  I use the word ladies loosely. And the word loosely literally, she thought with a smile.

  “You look good, Scampi. I wouldn’t sweat it.” He pulled his thumb and index finger over his lips. She watched him draw his mouth open, watched his lips close again. The star tattoo on his finger caught her eye and her stomach fluttered to life. So did parts much lower.

  Paint fumes. She turned back to the wall. She’d blame the fluttering on the paint fumes.