Where We Belong (Hideaway Bay, #1)

by Lauren Harbor

  Nate rolled his eyes at Ryan before his gaze roamed down her body and he let out an appreciative sigh. “Looking good, Haley.”

  The town's biggest player never hit on her, not even before she and Ryan became romantically involved. Flirting with her in an attempt to get a rise out of Ryan, ultimately had nothing to do with her, but that didn't stop the heat flowing from her cheeks down to her chest as she tugged at the hem of her skirt. So focused on the attention Ryan received, she'd almost forgotten her own assets on display.

  Being the only female officer in Hideaway Bay PD meant working harder to prove herself, and to fit in as one of the guys. More so since she caught a bullet, and underwear-clad pictures of her ass circulating around town would only make things worse.

  The warmth of Ryan's hand settled on her hip in the small gap between her Barbie doll-sized skirt and vest, and sent a lick of flame roaring through her blood. He’d breached the physical contact no-go zone. One touch of his skin against hers and her damn body went into full rebellion against her brain.

  Shayla clapped her hands to regain their attention. “Alright, we're almost done. We're just going to pull over the bench seat so we can get a shot of Mrs. Clause on Santa's lap.”

  “Take off the pants, Santa.” Another round of cheers came from the crowd and Ryan's cheeks bloomed with a pink blush. An annoyingly sexy, yet adorable blush.

  Haley bit back a curse and stood to the side as they arranged the new set up.

  Nate stood beside her, arms crossed over his chest, shaggy blond curls waving in the breeze. “You'd better watch your man with these piranhas.”

  “You know he's not my man anymore, right?” They both glanced at Ryan who lifted the seat with ease and settled it into position. He stretched his shoulders, watching Haley and Nate with an intensity that took her breath away. In a blink, it disappeared and he looked away, but she couldn't unsee it. Apparently, his show at being over her had simply been some Academy Award-worthy acting. Warmth blossomed in her chest, but she tamped it down. Her body would not rule her head.

  “Don't think Ryan got the memo. I'm gonna go before he demands a duel at midnight.” Nate sent her a knowing look and gave a quick wave before walking away.

  “Haley. Earth to Haley.” Addi stood beside Ryan who sat on the chair now draped with the snowflake blanket. Duke sat at Ryan’s feet, his tail thumping against the floor. “You ready?”

  Haley nodded while her mind screamed, “No.” Sitting on Ryan's lap should be harmless, playful at worst.

  Yeah, right. It was DEFCON 1 dangerous. She shifted from foot to foot, building up her courage before Ryan's arm shot out to wrap around her waist and pull her sideways across his lap. She squawked like a churlish chicken and Duke jumped up, placing his paws on her thighs and licking her cheek.

  Haley giggled and hid her face in Ryan’s neck to avoid Duke's rough, slobbery tongue. Ryan's chest heaved against her, his deep laughter and spicy scent firing pin-pricks of desire through her body while Duke squirmed in front of them, desperate to join the game.

  “Give her a kiss, Santa.”

  Haley's laughter ceased and she wiped at her cheeks as the crowd began to chant. “Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.”

  She swallowed at the tightness in her throat and looked up at Ryan who shrugged as if his world wasn’t tilting off-kilter. “Why don't we give them a show?”

  The part of her brain controlling reason shut down and she pressed her lips to his, intending a short, sharp peck for the camera and the crowd. All good intentions flew out the window at the warm touch of his hand on her cheek and soft lips moving against hers. She sighed against his mouth. A sigh of relief. Of desire. The sigh of a woman desperately clinging to the man she couldn't get out of her system.

  His tongue wet the seam of her lips and she opened for him, welcomed him inside with soft strokes as she twisted on his lap, wanting, needing to get closer, her arms wrapping around his neck as her breasts pressed against his muscled chest.

  A wolf whistle shattered the moment like hot water on an icy windshield. Her chest heaved and she scrambled off Ryan's lap, her eyes locking with Officer John Ambrose who stood in front of the crowd, his chest puffed out like an emperor penguin and his beady eyes sparkled with triumph. Of course, the douche who'd hated her since she'd kicked his ass in every test at the academy would be the one to catch her out like this. Mortification singed every nerve ending in her body.

  “Lookin' good, O'Connor. You might wanna cover up before I have to arrest you for public indecency.”

  Duke appeared beside Haley his throat rumbling in warning. She placed a hand on his head until he sat with a disgruntled whimper.

  Ambrose deflated slightly and took a step back. Haley forced her arms to stay by her side. She would not show any sign of vulnerability. Bullies like Ambrose fed off insecurity; used it to build up their own fragile egos. She'd continue to do what she'd done for the past few years, resist smacking the superior smirk off his face.

  “Give it a rest, Ambrose.” Officer Jenkins rolled his eyes at his partner and nudged him to keep walking, but Ambrose wasn't done with his taunting. Fueled by the whispers of his audience, Ambrose's gaze slithered from her to Ryan. “At least you have a backup career helping Santa with his naughty list. It’ll come in handy when you finally decide to leave catching the real criminals to the rest of us.”

  Ryan tensed beside her, then took a step forward. She gripped his wrist, shaking her head when he looked down at her, murder in his eyes. The last thing Haley needed was her ex-boyfriend arrested for assaulting an officer. She really would be nothing more than a joke at the station.

  “That's enough.” Jenkins, who outranked Ambrose and outweighed him by at least thirty pounds, pointed towards the waterfront. “We've got a job to do.”

  The smirk slipped of Ambrose's face and he lifted his arms in surrender. “Hey, don't be so damn serious. O'Connor can take a joke.” He pasted on a fake smile and nodded at her “Right?”

  She gritted her teeth and forced herself to nod once. “Sure.”

  Jenkins sent her an apologetic look and gestured for the crowd to disperse. “Show’s over folks.”

  At least one officer wasn’t out for blood.

  Duke leaned against her leg. “Good boy.” Haley grabbed track pants from her backpack and pulled them on to cover her exposed skin, but not her vulnerable heart.

  Ryan caught her arm and turned her to face him. “You okay?” His eyes bore into hers and the air around them buzzed.

  She shook off his hand and concentrated on tying the cord of her pants, then unfastened the side zip of the skirt and let it fall to the ground. She wanted to trample it into the grass or stuff it down Ambrose’s throat. She wanted to burrow into Ryan’s chest, accept the comfort and support he offered. But that would show weakness.

  “Hales?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn't I be?” She didn't look at him, instead pulling a shirt on over the top her skimpy vest. She didn't know how to hide her feelings, so hiding her body would have to do.

  “You shouldn't have to put up with that shit.” He ran his fingers through his hair, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing with every movement, and she hated herself for noticing. Because Ambrose made her feel small, silly, and unworthy. The fact she'd lost herself in that kiss, and couldn't even focus on anything other than Ryan's hot body right now, just proved that jerk right.

  “I can handle Ambrose.”

  “I know you can. Doesn't mean I don't want to deck him.” Ryan frowned and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I'm sorry I put you in that situation...with the kiss.”

  She kept her face neutral and shrugged. “Just a bit of fun for a good cause. Besides, they’ll be lining up for copies of the calendar after word spreads of our...antics.” Her entire body felt heavy and rubbery like Play-Doh, and she hoped her attempt at a smile masked her mortification.

  Where’s a lightning strike when I need one?

  He observed her carefully, waiting
for a reaction, probably waiting for her to crumble, the same way Ambrose and some of the other guys at the station watched and waited, but she would never give anyone that satisfaction. She’d prove them all wrong.

  He sighed, grabbed his shirt off the floor, and pulled it on before giving her a final smile. “You looked gorgeous, by the way.” He jogged away from her, never missing a step, or breaking his stride.

  Because apparently, his world remained intact, unlike hers which had been shaken like a snow globe.

  Confusion combined with an epic case of pent up desire warred within her. She'd spent a year pushing down her feelings, and even though she'd been stupid enough to kiss her ex today, it didn’t take Einstein to figure out a line had been crossed.

  The state of play would inevitably change.

  Again.

  Chapter Three

  I hate when Dad has nightmares... but then he lets me snuggle under the covers.

  ~ Duke Harper-O’Connor

  Ryan hammered a nail into the timber playhouse with almost enough force to shatter the wood. He surveyed the frame for the sliding window he and his dad installed and let out a breath of satisfaction. Manual labor never failed as a frustration-buster and he needed a distraction.

  “I appreciate the help, but I'm trying to build something here, not break it.” Jack Harper raised his brow knowingly. In the shade of the big leaf maple tree, dressed in old jeans, a t-shirt, and work gloves, the Harper patriarch barely broke a sweat. Everyone said they looked alike. Not a bad compliment really. His dad kept in top shape since his retirement from the Fire Department a year earlier, and the way women still swarmed around him, Ryan assumed he was considered a good catch.

  And he didn't beat around the bush either.

  “So, what happened with Haley?” his dad asked.

  Taken by surprise, Ryan lost his grip on the hammer and swore as it landed on the edge of his sneaker, hitting his little toe and making it throb like a bitch. He shot his father a dirty look. “Who says it's got anything to do with her?”

  His father shrugged. “You kidding? You're always a special kind of pissy when it's Haley related.”

  “Whatever. I’m here to work, not gossip.”

  Ryan clenched his fist around the hammer, as tight as the fist around his heart. First, he'd been dragged into that ridiculous photo shoot, forced to stand inches away from Haley in the hottest little outfit he'd ever seen. The red vest showcased her spectacular tits, and don't get him started on the teeny skirt short enough to give him glimpses of red ass-hugging panties. And what an ass. Plump. Pretty. Perfect.

  Down boy.

  He deserved a medal for not drooling all over her.

  Unfortunately, his friend also noticed, and when Nate ran his gaze over Haley, Ryan wanted to pummel him. Being a good guy who would never go after a friend's girl didn’t matter because in that moment Nate Hawthorn became the enemy.

  And for the first time in a year, the possibility of Haley moving on with someone else morphed into reality. Back in that moment with his chest tight, the air suddenly thick as soup, he wanted to lash out. When Nate finally left, Ryan could breathe again.

  Then there'd been that kiss. How idiotic to think they could play along for the crowd with a harmless peck of the lips. No, natural instinct kicked in to deepen the kiss and she’d been right there with him, oblivious to the outside world. That kiss rocked his whole foundation. She hadn’t moved on despite how well she’d try to act otherwise. She still loved him and now he had no idea what the hell to do about it. Back to square one.

  Fuck.

  Ryan picked up the hammer and tossed it in his dad's toolbox, the clatter of metal sending birds screeching from the trees. He should probably quit before he did some real damage.

  His dad shook his head with a sigh. “Let's take a break. Have a beer.”

  A few minutes later, settled on a deck chair with a cold bottle of local ale in his hand, Ryan's gaze snagged on his mother's flower garden. She'd tended the roses, lilies, and lavender like children. Fostered a gift for gardening that did not pass down to Ryan or his siblings. But they'd managed to keep those flowers alive for almost twenty years now, mostly through sheer determination.

  He missed her so much it hurt.

  When she'd died, his brother had been in college, and his sister in high school. But Ryan had been the baby of the family, only nine years old. Didn't seem fair to have fewer memories than the rest of them.

  Nothing had seemed fair for a while now.

  Policing in Hideaway Bay should be safer than in the cities, but danger found his loved ones twice. The day his mother had been shot and killed should have been like any other day on the job. But a simple welfare check on a local farming family turned to a nightmare, his mother stumbling on a whole family slaughtered by a man mid-psychotic break. She never stood a chance.

  Two families shattered that day.

  “You gonna tell me what's got your boxers in a twist?” His dad's gruff voice pulled him back to the present.

  “Just having a bad day. Got roped into posing with Haley and Duke for that charity calendar.”

  “Can't have been that bad.”

  “I was a shirtless Santa for Chrissake.” He grimaced and let out a half laugh, half groan.

  His dad slapped his thigh and laughed so hard his shoulders shook. “You're never gonna live that one down at the firehouse.” The tension in Ryan's chest eased and he laughed along with his dad. “So, what happened with Haley? I thought the two of you were getting along.”

  “We were. We are. Things are just... I don't know what they are. That's the problem.” Ryan shook his head. “People kept stopping by to see what was going on, getting a little rowdy. We played it up for them. We were supposed to have an innocent kiss, in character, you know? Santa and Mrs. Clause. Things got a little full-on.”

  His dad cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the topic and placed his beer on the table. “You two have been dancing around each other far too long now. When are you going to get her back?”

  Ryan's head flew up, his fingers curling around the armrest of the chair. “She ended it. Not me.”

  “And she was right to.” The words fell off his dad's tongue, plain and matter-of-fact. No BS with Jack Harper.

  “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “I'm not trying to be a hardass, but we both know you drove her away.”

  Ryan closed his eyes, trying to chase away memories of the mess he'd become after her shooting. Nightmares. Cold Sweats. His mother's funeral on repeat every night, except it morphed into Haley's. The scent of flowers, morning dew, and gunpowder. The sobbing. The closed casket.

  The memories no longer wrenched the breath from his lungs, but his chest tightened a little.

  He inhaled.

  One, two, three...

  Exhaled.

  One, two, three...

  His dad's hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present. “A lot has changed since then. You've changed.”

  He had.

  Months ago, he'd have lost himself in those memories, in the panic any time he couldn’t escape reality by fighting fires or drinking with his buddies. Now when the anxiety hit—not as often—he could handle it with a few simple breathing techniques. Doctor Whittaker would be proud. If he'd gone to therapy when Haley asked a year ago, he might not have lost her.

  “I know she still cares, but I'm not sure it matters. Think I fucked it up beyond repair.” He launched from his chair and paced the deck.

  “You didn't fuck up.”

  Ryan met his father's eyes. “She needed support, but I was too busy dealing with my own shit to be there for her. I asked her to quit her job. I made her miserable.”

  “And you got help. I only wish I'd realized you needed it sooner. I saw you struggling, but I didn't know how to talk to you about it.” His dad ran a hand down his face, eyes full of regret.

  “It's not your fault, Dad.” Ryan dropped back into the chair, defl
ated. “This mess is all on me.”

  “I should have told you back then that I understood. That moment before you say goodbye in the morning when you pray it's not the last time. That churning in your gut every time you hear a siren or a news report that a cop has been injured or killed.” His father's mouth twisted in a rare show of agony. “Believe me, I understand all of those things.”

  The feet of his dad's chair scraped on the wooden deck as he turned it to face Ryan. He leaned forward, intensity radiating from him in invisible waves. “I should have told you what happened to Haley was a close call, but that's likely the worst day she'll ever have on the job. Just because we lost your mo...” His voice broke and he cleared his throat. “Just because we lost your mother, doesn't mean you'll lose Haley.”

  Ryan swallowed. His dad was a good man, a good father, but he'd never been one for touchy-feely conversations. Opening up this way filled him with relief as if part of the burden lifted.

  “I love her and I want her back, but how do I know I'll handle the fear this time? I can't expect her to take me back if there's a chance I could put her through that pain again. I still worry about her.”

  “And you always will.” His dad leaned back again and took a sip of his beer. “Have the nightmares stopped?”

  Ryan nodded. It had been months since he'd woken up drenched in sweat.

  “What does your therapist say?”

  “He thinks I'm ready, but I have no idea how to prove it. To myself or to her.”

  “Have you talked to her? Told her about therapy or the support group you set up?”

  Ryan shook his head and picked up his own bottle, picking away the edges of the label. “Haven't told anyone but the chief.”

  He'd worked so hard to heal himself, and help others to heal., He took pride in that. But the shame over what happened, over needing help, still lingered.

  “Tell her. Show her. Ask her to come to the support group. She went through hell and probably needs it as much as anyone else.”

  She went through hell. The words hit Ryan hard in his chest. He'd been so messed up back then he hadn't really thought about Haley's trauma until he'd discussed it with his therapist. Shame washed over him for letting her down when she needed him most. He couldn't change the past, but he could focus on doing better.