Always Our Love

by Tawdra Kandle

  “I’m more than sure. But I don’t need to play hard to get, Luce. That’s high school shit. I’m not a kid who has to play games. I’m a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to go for it.”

  “Jenna. Honestly. I applaud your female empowerment speech, but chasing after a dude who’s pretty much the undisputed man-whore of the town isn’t exactly enlightened thinking.”

  Since I’d been a little girl, my temper had been legendary in my family. I thought I’d learned to control it in the last few years, but just now, I was ready to explode, which was why I spoke without thinking.

  “Jealous, Luce?”

  Hurt and betrayal flashed over her face. “No, Jenna. No, I’m not.” She pushed herself to stand up, grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair and looped her pocketbook over her head. “But I’m also not going to sit here and watch you make an ass out of yourself over a man who barely knows that you exist—or if he does, looks at you like a kid sister. I don’t need this shit, and I definitely don’t need it from the person who’s supposed to be my best friend.”

  She spit out the last words, yelling them over the music, and then turned and pushed her way through the crowd. I watched in shock as she stalked out the door and into the night.

  Damn. One good thing about my temper was that it was short-lived. I felt instant guilt for what I’d said to Lucie. We’d been friends since grade school, but ours was a relationship of contrast, not similarity. When I’d begun experimenting with makeup, Lucie had been deep in learning about music, playing the guitar and listening to the same dark songs over and over. She’d never cared about how she looked, what she wore or how others saw her—or at least that was what she wanted the world to think. I knew that her hard shell protected a girl who’d been hurt by the taunting words of bullies from elementary school on and whose parents had never paid enough attention to help her cope with that.

  In high school, where I was popular and gone out with boys from our freshman year through graduation, Lucie had never had a single date. She’d never gone to a dance, never participated in anything extracurricular and barely scraped by with passing grades. We were complete opposites: the head cheerleader and the emo chick.

  Still, we’d remained friends. Actually, we’d grown even closer after graduation, when we both chose to attend the local community college instead of going off to a distant school. Lucie was pursuing a business degree, which she hoped would help with her eventual career in music. She played gigs on weekends in Savannah or at small bars in nearby towns. If I were being honest with myself—and I almost always was—Luce was more together and driven about her future than I was. She had plans, and I had . . . well, I had a vague outline of how I wanted my life to be. Once Trent had entered the picture, some of that vagueness had morphed to include him in the role of husband and love-of-my-life. But I still didn’t have anything concrete to count on, not like Lucie did.

  I knew she remained insecure about her looks and her total lack of experience with boys. Or with men. Hell, I didn’t know that much about the opposite sex—I was still a virgin, the result of having dated often but never seriously—but I knew more than Lucie, who had trouble just talking to guys, unless it was about music. Even then, she shut down the minute they expressed any interest in her as a person, beyond her guitar and songwriting.

  Once, about a year before, I’d finally gotten up my courage and asked Lucie a question that I’d been curious about for a long time.

  “Luce, are you . . . you know. Is it boys you’re interested in? Attracted to, I mean?”

  When she’d frowned at me, puzzled, I’d rushed to add, “It’s okay if you’re . . . you know, not. You’re my best friend, and I love you no matter what. I just wondered, because if the guys aren’t doing it for you, there’s no need to pretend about it around me. I accept you for who you are.”

  Realization dawned in her eyes. “Oh . . . you think.” With a half-laugh, Lucie shook her head. “I wish that were it. No, I’m hetero. It’s the dudes for me. Not that any of them ever see me, of course, or would want anything to do with me if they did.”

  “That’s crazy, Lucie. Any man would be lucky to go out with you. You just need to try a little bit harder. You know, maybe smile every once in a while. Flirt. Act like you care.”

  To my utter amazement, Lucie had begun to cry. She didn’t burst into tears the way I did when I was upset; rather, her eyes welled up, her shoulders shook in silent sobs, and she covered her face with two hands.

  Once I’d gotten her to calm down, she’d admitted that she had a massive crush on the drummer in the group she played with sometimes on weekends. He treated her like one of the guys, and she almost never spoke to him, but it was slowly killing her to watch him pick up a different girl every week, knowing that she could never be like the women he was banging so casually.

  I’d tried to encourage her to talk to him, explain her feelings, but it had never happened. As far as I knew, Shane the drummer was still trolling band groupies for his weekend sex fix, and Lucie was still pining away, wishing he’d notice her and terrified that he would.

  So what I’d said to her tonight? Yeah, that went beyond the boundaries of a gentle jab. It was a sucker punch, and one no decent girl would ever use against her friend. I’d taken information Lucie had never shared with another living soul and used it to hurt her. I was a bitch.

  Part of me knew at that moment that I should’ve run after my best friend, caught her before she left the parking lot and beg her to forgive me. I should’ve told her that we could go back to my house and binge-watch Veronica Mars while we ate my mom’s amazing brownies. I should’ve groveled.

  But I didn’t, because just as I was deciding, Trent came back into my view, emerging from the crowd around the bar. I spotted a woman wearing a tight, low-cut dress approaching him. She tilted her head and twirled a lock of her bleach-blonde hair around one finger, and I wanted to pull every strand out of her stupid head.

  I didn’t have time to wait. And I couldn’t go after Lucie, because if I did, there was no doubt in my mind that Trent would go home with this bimbo, and I’d lose my shot with him. Maybe forever.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I stood up and pushed my way across the dance floor. With a confidence I wasn’t quite feeling, I walked right up to Trent and smiled, ignoring the trashy ho whose fingers were teasing his bicep.

  Cocking my head, I raised one eyebrow. “So what’s a girl got to do to get a happy birthday kiss?”

  Trent looked down at me. I’d expected—hoped—to see in his eyes a flare of happy surprise, maybe even banked desire. But even I had to admit to myself that there was nothing but a friendly smile on his face, the same expression I’d seen at work.

  “Hey there, Jenna. Happy birthday.” He bent to kiss my cheek. “How’s the celebration going?”

  “I think it’s looking up now that you’re here.” I offered my hand. “Come dance with me.”

  He laughed. “Sorry, darlin’. I don’t do this kind of dancing. Why don’t you go find your girlfriends? This is a chick song.”

  I looked back over my shoulder and realized that he was right; the majority of people on the dance floor just now were female, which probably had something to do with the fact that Carrie Underwood was belting out the lyrics. My face heated, but I wasn’t going to let a little embarrassment get in the way of my plans for the night.

  “I’d rather stay here with you.” I flicked a glance to the blonde who was still hanging on Trent’s arm. “You could buy me a drink. You know, to help me celebrate. Now that I’m legal and all.”

  The bitch next to him giggled, and not in a nice, sisterhood solidarity way. I wanted to claw her face.

  “Honey, you may be legal now, but you’re still on the hands-off list.” Trent lifted his beer up and cast a wary glance over to the bar, where Mason was still working hard. “If you think I’m going to risk getting your cousin up in my face, you’re wrong.”

  “Cousin-in-l
aw.” I made the correction automatically, as if it mattered. “Mason doesn’t care. Besides, he can’t tell me what to do.”

  “Maybe not, but I have too much respect for the guy to risk it. But hey, I’d be happy to buy you a soda and some nachos.”

  It wasn’t what I wanted, not by a long shot, but it was a start. “Okay.” I jerked my head backwards. “Mason set up a table for me. Let’s take the party over there.”

  Trent hesitated. I could see something battling in his eyes, something sober with something hard. But after a moment, he nodded and followed me.

  “Nice balloons.” He smirked as I dragged out the decorated chair and sat down.

  “Yeah. Rilla’s idea, I guess. Well, you know family.”

  I could’ve bitten off my tongue. Bitterness flickered across his face, because, of course, he didn’t know family. Not the kind I did, at least. All he had was a mother who’d abandoned him time after time and a town who talked about him behind his back.

  Before I could say anything, apologize for my words or try to take them back, Andrea the waitress was at our table. “Y’all okay here? Need to order food? Refresh drinks?”

  “Nachos.” Trent lifted his bottle. “Another of these.” He glanced at me. “Jenna?”

  I smiled at Andrea and tapped the rim of my glass. “More of this, please.” The ice in my Cuba Libre had melted, leaving it looking like plain soda. Trent didn’t even blink, but Andrea’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. I raised my eyebrow just a little, and she shrugged.

  “Coming right up.” And then she was gone, melding back into the melee of bodies surrounding us.

  Trent leaned back in his seat, assessing me. “So . . . it’s your twenty-first birthday and you’re out at a bar alone?”

  I sighed. “I wasn’t alone. I came with my friend Lucie. But she . . . uh, she had to leave. Earlier than she expected. And I wasn’t ready to go yet.”

  “Uh huh.” He tipped the beer against his mouth, finishing it off. “Well, you don’t want to hang around here too long on your own. I mean, I know your cousin is the owner and all, but still—some of the guys can be a little rough, the later it gets. And Mason can’t be everywhere.”

  “Hmmm.” I rested my elbow on the table and pressed my chin into my hand. “Then I guess I need a bodyguard. Can you think of anyone who might be up for the job?”

  “Jenna—” He began to speak, the vaguest trace of a frown creasing his forehead, but somebody pushed against his chair, distracting us both. Just as he was turning back to me, another waitress—not Andrea—dropped off our drinks.

  “Food’s coming.” She flashed a smile and then was gone, heading to another table.

  I raised my glass. “Here’s to . . . friends.”

  Trent tapped the neck of his new bottle to my drink. “Happy birthday, Jenna. I hope tonight is everything you want it to be.”

  There was no way to hide the grin that spread over my face. “Me, too.”

  Trent took a healthy swig of his beer and then pushed back his chair to stand. “Be right back. Need to hit the men’s.”

  Watching him stride away from me toward the hallway in the back that led to the restrooms, my resolve strengthened. His jeans hugged that perfect backside to perfection, and lust rose in my chest.

  Oh, yeah. I wanted a piece of that.

  “Jenna.” A voice at my shoulder caught my attention, and I glanced back. Mason stood behind me, his jaw tense and his eyes clouded as he set the plate of nachos on the table. I stiffened, waiting for him to yell at me for hanging out with Trent.

  “Rilla just called. The baby’s picked up some stomach bug, and he’s puking all over. She’s starting to feel sick, too, and I need to get home to give her a hand.” He seemed to notice the empty chair across from me for the first time. “Where’s Lucie?”

  Relief flooded through me. He hadn’t seen her leave. “She, uh . . .” My gaze strayed in the direction of the bathrooms, mentally willing Trent to stay in there until my protective cousin-in-law was safely away.

  Mason misread my meaning, though, and his expression cleared. “Oh, gotcha. Okay, well—listen, you take it easy, all right? Don’t stay here too late, and you and Lucie stick together. Rocky’s at the bar if you need anything.”

  “Sure, Mase.” I patted his arm. “Go on now, and tell Rilla I hope she feels better. Oh, and if you guys want me to come over tomorrow to sit with the kids so you can get some rest, just call.”

  “That’s sweet, honey. I’ll keep it in mind.” He bent to kiss my cheek. “Be safe, darlin’. Happy birthday.”

  I exhaled, closing my eyes. It was as though the gods of hook-ups and good times were smiling on me: the last huge obstacle between Trent and me getting together had just swung out the door.

  “Hey.” Trent reappeared, picking up his chair and turning it in one hand so that the back hit the edge of the table. He straddled it, folding his arms over the table. “Great, food. I’m starved.” He scooped up a chip with a pile of cheese and peppers and slid the whole mess into his mouth.

  Picking up my glass, I tossed back the contents, feeling the welcome burn of the rum down my throat, warming my stomach. The rocking song that had been luring crowds to the dance floor segued into a slower, more seductive beat, and imbued with new courage, I stood up and snagged Trent’s hand.

  “This one’s not a chick song. It’s most definitely not something I want to dance to with my girlfriends. Come on. Give me just one dance tonight.”

  He paused. I would remember that long after the song ended, after the night ended, that Trent had hesitated. That he didn’t pursue me, but that it was me who tugged him to his feet and led him onto the dance floor. It was me who wrapped my arms around him, pressed my boobs into the hard planes of his chest and tucked my head beneath his chin as we swayed to the music. And before the song ended, it was me who threaded her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck and coaxed his mouth to mine for a searing, no-holds-barred kiss.

  That moment, slow-dancing with Trent Wagoner on the dance floor of the Road Block, was the last purely happy moment of my first twenty-one years. It would be a long time before I found another reason to smile . . . or another way to be happy again.

  Two Years Later

  “THE WATER FEELS AMAZING.”

  I turned my head toward the glare of the ocean as Abby Donavan—uh, Abby Kent now, I had to remember that she was married—dashed up the beach to where I sat next to her husband Ryland. I had to smile; I still wasn’t used to this more spontaneous, impulsive version of the contained Miss Abigail Donavan. When I’d met her a few years back, she had been our boss on the restoration of an old hotel, and I’d described her as steely. Maybe even a little bit icy. The lady had definitely melted, and I knew for sure it was more than the heat of the Florida sun that had done the trick.

  In the beach chair next to me, the man who was responsible for most of Abby’s melting grinned. “Looking good there, Mrs. Kent.”

  She shot him a saucy smile before dropping to the beach blanket in front of me, where my daughter sat with her arms around her knees. “Becca, come out with us! It’s so much fun. You can body surf with Ollie and me.”

  Becca’s jaw tensed as she shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m fine here.”

  “Bec.” I nudged her rear end with my foot. “Why don’t you go enjoy the water? This is your first beach trip. Don’t you want to play in the ocean? Have some fun, darlin’.”

  My daughter replied without turning her head to look at me. “No, thanks. I don’t want to go into the ocean.” She paused a beat before adding, “It’s not safe. See that flag? It means there’s a rip current. People get carried away, and they can’t swim back.”

  “We’re not going that far out, sweetie.” Abby pulled a towel out of her bag and dried off her legs. “I’m keeping my eye on your brother, too. We won’t go any further than just our hips, okay?”

  “No, thanks.” Becca hugged her legs a little tighter as she repeated the words. �
��There could probably be jellyfish, too. And there can be bacteria in the water. Sometimes people die just from putting their feet in.”

  I fought the strong desire to roll my eyes. “Becca, don’t be—”

  Ryland jabbed an elbow into my ribs. “Hey, Becs, how long have I known you?”

  She glanced back at us, frowning. “Ummm . . . I don’t know. All my life?”

  “Yeah, just about. Did you know you were the first baby I ever held? Your mom didn’t give me a choice about it. She just plopped you into my arms. Now, would your mom have done that if she didn’t trust me?”

  She gave a tiny headshake.

  “Okay. And you know how much I love both you and your dweeby little bro?”

  For the first time all day, my daughter’s mouth curved into a slight smile. “Yeah.”

  “So you also know I would never, ever let you do anything where you might get hurt, right? Never. I’d throw myself in front of a speeding train to push you out of its path. Take on a grizzly bear if it were chasing you. You got that?”

  Becca nodded.

  “Then do you think, really think, that I’d let Aunt Abby take you down to the ocean if there were anything the least bit dangerous there?”

  She pursed her lips and lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know.”

  Ryland cocked an eyebrow at her. “We got to stick to logic here, tootsie roll. And logic tells you the truth.”

  “But Uncle Ry—”

  “Hey.” He pointed to her. “Not finished yet. Because I want you to think of something else. Do you know how much I love Aunt Abby?”

  Becca sighed. “Yeah.”

  “So you know I’d never want her to do anything where she might get hurt either.” Ry glanced at his wife. “I’m going to tell you something I haven’t even told your dad. Aunt Abby and I are going to have a baby.” He paused, letting that news sink in. “As much as I love you and Ollie, as much as I love Aunt Abby and this little peanut in her belly, would I sit back and let all of you do anything where you might get hurt?”