Isle of Hope

by Julie Lessman

  “That’s bull, Lacey, and you know it.” A muscle throbbed in his temple as he leaned in, his gaze piercing hers. “We were crazy about each other. For crying out loud, you couldn’t keep your hands off me, and you were everything I ever wanted.”

  “But not everything you needed,” she whispered, aching inside that the decision she’d made for his “good” back then had only backfired, driving him to the “bad” instead. She reached for his hand, clinging to it like a tether of hope, her eyes pleading with his. “The past is over and done, Jack, but we can start over again if you’ll let us—as friends.”

  He stared at the hand that clutched his, gaze slowly lifting to hers. “Friends,” he said quietly, his eyes deep pools of hurt and pride and more than a little longing. “That’s how we started out before.” Her stomach flipped when his glance lowered to her lips. “What makes you think we won’t end up there again?”

  Heat swamped her face, and she looked away lest he see the regret in her eyes. “We won’t,” she whispered. “We were oil and water back then, Jack, and we’re oil and water still.” She looked away then, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that the same thing that had separated them then, still separated them now. Her eyes flickered closed as she felt a wrench in her chest.

  Faith.

  Avoiding his gaze, she slipped her sandals off and slowly rose to her feet. “I need to go.”

  “Lace.” He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets like an awkward little boy.

  She forced herself to look up, her smile half-hearted at best. “Yes?”

  His gaze locked with hers, the sobriety in his face so reminiscent of the serious young boy who had been her whole world. “I’m not sure I can be your friend.” He shifted, glancing away at the moonlit waters. “Too much past, you know? And too much hurt.” Exhaling a wavering sigh, he turned to face her head on, the faint pulse of a nerve in his cheek. “And way, way too much chemistry,” he whispered.

  She nodded, stomach looping as she studied her bare feet in the sand for several seconds. “Okay. Well then, how about just friendly wedding partners?” Tipping her head, she glanced up with a faint smile, determined to forge a truce for Nicki’s sake, if not her own. “And I promise not to step on your toes this time,” she said, bringing a ghost of a smile to his lips over the first time they’d danced at her junior prom. “Deal?”

  That slow smile with which she’d fallen in love eased across his lips, causing the faintest of quivers in her belly. “Deal.” His grin took a slant. “As long as I get to lead.”

  “Sure, why not?” She released a slow and silent sigh, peace settling for the first time all night. Sandals dangling from one hand, she offered a handshake with the other, ignoring the jolt of electricity that sparked when his palm met hers. With a sassy flip of her ponytail, she turned on her heel and marched toward the highway, tossing one final smirk over her shoulder. “Just don’t expect me to follow.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jack plucked the basketball from Matt’s hands and bounded in the air, his jump shot skimming the net with nary a sound, effectively trouncing his cousin without mercy. Fetching the ball, he tucked it under his arm while he swiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his T-shirt, searing Matt with a menacing look. “You could’ve warned me.”

  “Seriously?” Matt perched hands low on his hips, his breathing labored as he peered up. “Give me a break—you would’ve bailed.”

  A scowl tainted Jack’s face as he upended his Dasani, throat glugging while he watched Matt over the upturned bottle. “You know me better than that.”

  “Yeah, Jack, I do,” Matt said with a heavy sigh, gouging his fingers through his water-spiked hair. “You didn’t talk to me for a solid month when I started dating Nicki, remember? Then when I told you I asked her to marry me, you stormed out of here like I just insulted your mother.” He rubbed the side of his jaw. “Not to mention the swing you took at me when I refused to tell her she couldn’t have her cousin in the wedding.”

  “I was drunk,” Jack said with a loud crunch of the empty water bottle, sailing it into the recycle can as easily as a ball through the net. “And I apologized, didn’t I?”

  Matt grunted, one edge of his lip zagging into an off-centered smile. “Only after Aunt Tess threatened to throw your butt out if you didn’t.”

  A predatory grin eased across Jack’s face as he bobbled the ball in his hand. “Two out of three?”

  “Why not?” Matt rolled his neck, his faded Third Day T-shirt soaked with sweat. He positioned himself close to the net, hands on his knees and grin going head-to-head with Jack’s. “Maybe it’ll help vent some of that deep-seated anger and jealousy you have.”

  Arms poised for a throw, Jack paused to fry Matt with a razor-thin stare. “What deep-seated anger and jealousy?”

  Matt grinned. “Over the fact that in two short months, I’ll be waking up next to the love of my life, enjoying all the bells and whistles of a marriage with the girl of my dreams.”

  Jack grunted, eye on the basket as he rose up on the balls of well-worn Nikes to sail a three-pointer that clipped the back of the board. “Don’t need marriage for that,” he said, lips curling in a satisfied smile when the ball ricocheted into the net. He snatched it on rebound and slid Matt a smirk. “Right now I’ve got more bells and whistles than Amtrak.”

  With a low-throated chuckle, Matt slapped the ball from Jack’s hand and spun to launch it into the air, making Jack wince when it dropped in with a neat, clean swish. He swooped it away with a lazy grin that told Jack exactly what his cousin thought of his love life. “Oh, that’s right—with the ‘loves’ of your life—one for every day of the week, just like underwear.” He squinted and took aim, arcing the ball into the basket with an annoying whoosh. Rushing to retrieve it, he scored with a hook shot, obviously indifferent to Jack’s searing gaze. “So, tell me, Jack,” he said with an arch of his brow, eyes intense despite the humor lacing his tone, “which one is the number-one ‘love of your life’?”

  Thoughts of Lacey burned in his brain, torching his temper. “Shut up, Matt,” he said with a sneer, slamming his cousin out of the way to steal the ball. A groan erupted when it bounced off the backboard, right into Matt’s hands.

  With a quick flick of his wrist, Matt skimmed the rim with a backhanded toss, laughing out loud when the ball spiraled in with a near soundless thrum. He palmed it with a cheeky grin, giving Jack a wink. “Kinda looks like I’m in the lead.”

  Sweat rolling down his face, Jack slacked a hip, hands planted low on his thighs. “You can be a real horse’s butt, you know that, Ball?”

  He grinned, passing the ball hand to hand with a cocky air. “Yep, learned all I know from my older cousin.” A glint of trouble sparked in his eyes. “What d’ya say we make this more interesting, O’Bryen? Say, a little wager?”

  A broad smile spanned Jack’s lips while he wiped the sweat from his face with the front of his shirt. “I thought gambling was a sin to you straight-and-narrow types.”

  Matt chuckled, spinning the ball on his finger. “Not when it gets a heathen’s butt into a church pew, Pagan Boy.”

  It was Jack’s turn to laugh. “As if that’s gonna happen.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Matt bandied the basketball back and forth. “This ball says it will.” He paused, his voice a dare as his chin dipped low. “Unless, of course … you’re chicken?” He began to flap his arms. “Balk-balk-balk …”

  Jack flashed some teeth, egging Matt on with a wave of his fingers. “Bring it on, Choir Boy—I’d kind of like to see you spend your summer painting the house for Mom instead of me, so name your terms.”

  Matt’s gaze flicked to the side of the high two-story house with its steep pitch and peeling shutters, including a blistered wraparound porch with endless pickets to sand. A muscle ducked in his throat before his shoulders finally squared, facing Jack with a smile considerably more sober than before. “If you lose, you attend every event at Hope Church I ask you to wit
hout complaint.”

  Jack sized his cousin up, the challenge more than tempting. Since Matt had asked him to be best man, he’d been hounding Jack to go to church, and to be honest, Jack was getting tired of it. He pinned him with a narrow gaze. “Wedding-related events only,” he said with a slow grind of his jaw, uneasy that he could be roped into setting a foot in a church more than he liked.

  “Wedding party-related events only, Jack, which means anytime the wedding party does anything at the church, you’re there on time—a mime in his Sunday best.”

  Jack’s lips canted into a dry smile. “My Sunday best is a sheet and a pillow, Ball, but you have my word I’ll dress appropriately, complete with a piece of duct tape on my mouth.” He swiped the ball from Matt’s hands and let it fly, grinning when it spun into the net with a satisfying swoosh. “If you win, which is a pretty big ‘if’ given I’ve whipped you five games out of six just last week.”

  “And …” Matt continued, “you have to shine up that Boy Scout badge of yours till it dazzles both Lacey and Nicki blind with your charm, got it?”

  “Piece of cake.” Jack strolled away from the net with a swagger meant to assure his cousin he intended to win, cutting loose with a three-pointer that shot through the basket like a net-seeking missile. “I was an Eagle Scout, remember? But if I win,” Jack threatened, nailing Matt with a pointed look, “I don’t want to hear one whiney word out of you about me and church ever again, you got it? Your wedding and rehearsal will be the last time I darken a church door for you until they baptize your babies or wheel you in in a box, understood?”

  Matt’s teeth gleamed white. “Or you … after I annihilate you.”

  “Ha!” Jack strolled to the half-court line with a shake of his head. “Dream on, buddy boy, and I’ll even let you have the ball first.”

  “Deal. Except for two more conditions.” Matt followed with the ball under his arm, eyeing Jack with the same bull-headed look he wore when his team at school battled on the field. “If you lose, I don’t want to see a hint of temper, sulk, moodiness, sarcasm, or complaint out of you until this wedding is over, Jack, because if I do …” He inhaled slowly, his six-foot-two frame expanding as his eyes narrowed in threat. “Not only will you be painting this house, dude, but you’ll be attending church with Nicki and me for a solid year after the wedding, got that?”

  Jack stared, sleet slithering his veins at the notion of going to Matt’s church at all, much less for a year. The very thought churned his supper like a garbage disposal chewing up chicken bones, and he had to suck in some air to steady his nerves. For one solitary moment, he toyed with the idea of telling Matt to take a flying leap, but the deadly dare in his cousin’s eyes stopped him cold. All he could think of was in all the years he and Matt had challenged and dared each other—be it eating worms or racking up shots in a bar before Matt got religion—neither of them had ever backed down. He rotated his neck to unkink any hesitation that stiffened his bones. “I got it, bro, but six months, not a year.”

  Matt grinned. “Why, afraid you’ll lose?”

  He skewered his cousin with a pointed look, his smile grinding along with his jaw. “I don’t plan to lose.”

  “Neither do I, so the year stands,” Matt said with a secret smile that held way too much confidence.”

  Jack offered a tight smile to deflect the jitters inside. “And the last condition?”

  Matt’s good humor dissolved, giving way to a serious look that underscored his cousin’s deep affection and concern. “Lacey’s home to stay, Jack,” he said quietly, “so you’re just gonna have to accept it and move on, for your peace of mind and hers.” A trace of a smile shadowed his lips as he tossed the ball to Jack. “And mine.”

  With a short nod, Jack ambled over to half court and lined up, his hands sweaty beneath the ball. Home to stay? Yeah, he could accept that. Eyes on the basket, his killer instinct kicked in, jaw and will as steeled as the post that held up the net. In Georgia, maybe. His soles lifted off the pavement as he let the ball fly, watching as it spun into the net with a stony clamp of his mouth.

  Not in my heart.

  Chapter Ten

  Shoulders square and body taut, Lacey stared straight ahead with a cement smile, not daring to blink. Lips pinched to restrain a giggle, it was everything she could do not to laugh out loud as Jack sat in the pew next to her in Hope Church, as rigid and unmovable as the polished wood beams overhead. Her lips squirmed. And just as “trussed” up in an Armani charcoal suit with silk tie that matched the stormy blue of his eyes. A veritable mannequin with an expression more starched than his shirt.

  “I, Sydney Anderson, take you, Calvin Robert Ryan, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse …”

  For better, for worse …

  Lacey couldn’t help it—her cheeks puffed with a renegade snicker just aching to break free. Poor old Jack certainly got the ‘worse’ according to Nicki, who said the only reason he was even in a church tonight—and would be innumerable times between now and the wedding—was he had lost a bet to Matt.

  “Till death do us part …” Mouth compressed, her face tightened into chipmunk cheeks, as if she were holding her breath to stop hiccups. Ah, yes, ‘death’—an appropriate word, indeed—at least for Jack O’Bryen—who swore he wouldn’t be caught dead in a church before Matt’s wedding. A tiny grunt broke free through her nose, and she quickly lifted her chin to thwart impending laughter. Especially since he sat stiff as a corpse without a casket, hands deathly still and folded over his lap. Not unlike a trap about to spring. She could almost hear the tic in his hard-angled jaw—tick, tick, tick—like a bomb about to explode …

  The snort she’d been holding erupted from her lips mere seconds before the pastor pronounced ol’ Syd and Cal husband and wife, so at least she was saved by a swell of applause and whistles. But … not before Jack gave her the stink-eye from the corner of his, completely unhinging any control she may have had with a snorting fit of giggles.

  “This-isn’t-funny,” he ground out, the same lethal tone as when Cat and her used to play practical jokes on him when they were small, or when she’d tempt and tease him when they were going together. So studiously serious, she practically had to beat a sense of humor into the man. But she had—slowly, over time—and it meant the world to her when he’d told her once that was one of the things he loved about her most.

  Or used to.

  “Sure it is,” she whispered close to his ear, “I’m pretty sure I heard God snickering too. ‘Hey, Pete, looky here—got that ol’ heathen Jack O’Bryen on a technicality.’”

  He slid her a sideways glare, but she grinned when she saw the bare twitch of a smile. “You are such a brat, Lacey Carmichael, and you haven’t changed a bit.”

  “Wanna bet?” She wiggled her brows, rising when the wedding march ushered the happy couple out of the church. “I’ve finally taken the high road, Brye, while you …” She scrunched her nose, a touch of tease in her smile. “Well, let’s just say we’re swinging on different pendulums now, Doc.”

  “I guess we always were,” he said quietly, a hint of melancholy in his smile that plucked at her heart.

  “So, what’d ya think?” Seated to Lacey’s left, Nicki prodded her while the crowd filed out. “I loved the trellis idea with pearls and hydrangeas. But, yikes, those dresses looked like something from a 70’s ragbag, didn’t they? Oh, but the photo collage video of their history together was pretty cool, although that would take extra time we don’t have.”

  “Agreed,” Lacey said, not a fan of technology ruining the natural beauty of a garden wedding. “Besides, a screen would be so crass and not at all intimate, so I’d nix the video.”

  “I guess you’re right.” Mouth puckering in a reflective pout, Nicki whirled around to badger Matt instead, leaving Lacey to scoot out of the pew. She nodded at Jack with an impish smile while he waited beside their row like a Mafia usher, hands clasped low in a fun
eral-director wrist cross. The moment she stepped foot in the aisle, he hooked her arm and all but dragged her down a runner scattered with rose petals.

  “Whoa, where’s the fire, big boy?” She peered up with a sideways grin, a bit of the devil tickling her tone. “Trust me, from what I hear, you’ll get there soon enough.”

  “Cute.” Smile flat, he tugged her down a corridor of classrooms, not stopping until they rounded a corner where they were completely alone.

  Lacey’s pulse stuttered along with her mischievous mood, causing her words to do the same. “Uh, J-Jack, I’m s-sorry—I d-didn’t mean to laugh, honest—”

  “Shut up, Lacey, and let me get this out.” He pressed her to the wall with one hand and took a step back, fists sinking into his pockets as he studied the shine on his Cole Haan shoes. Her heart thudded slow and hard while she waited, grateful she could study him unaware, without those blue eyes probing hers like some hypnotic spell, making her want to do things she didn’t want to do. At least not anymore. Sinfully dark lashes longer than hers—a playful bone of contention in the past—fanned his bronzed cheeks while a crimp appeared between thick brows angled low in thought. His lips were parted, emitting shallow breaths, triggering memories of those same lips fondling hers. She quickly averted her gaze, no desire to go there whatsoever.

  Liar.

  Her mouth tamped down. Okay, yes, judging from the acceleration of her pulse and ragged breathing that now matched his own, she obviously still harbored some deep-seated attraction to Jack O’Bryen. But … there was no way she could act on it. Not with a man who no longer embraced the same faith as she, and especially one who’d always held too much sway over her emotions. The annoying swirl of heat in her belly was clear indication of that, as well as the sudden dampness of her palms, which she attempted to casually rub down her silk floral sundress. Come on, Jack, spit it out, before me and my dress melt into a puddle …