Face the Music: Beyond Jackson Falls Book 1

by Laurie Breton

“True. And nobody’s thrown a beer bottle at me in at least five years.”

  “Well. There you go.”

  “It’s a trade-off. And I have no reason to complain. I have a great life now.”

  He got up, picked up a big stick, and stirred the fire. “Aside from the fact that you ran away from it.”

  “I didn’t run away.”

  He leveled a glance at her. “Okay,” she admitted, “I ran away. But not from my life. From an untenable situation. It wasn’t meant to be a permanent retreat.”

  He returned to stirring the fire. “Jackson Falls is a pretty dead-end place. I can’t imagine there’d be much here that would make you want to stay.”

  You.

  The thought came unbidden, resonating so noisily inside her head that for an instant, she thought she’d spoken the word out loud. Stunned, she cleared her throat while casting about wildly for some kind of response that wouldn’t make her sound like a damn fool. She settled on something light-hearted, although her own heart was hammering at twice its normal speed. “If only this place had some really good Chinese food.”

  He dropped the stick, gave her a small smile. “As opposed to not-terrible.”

  “Exactly.” She set down her beer. Said, “I really need to go. It’s late, and—”

  He tilted his head at an angle and studied her face. “It’s not even ten o’clock yet.”

  “I know, but…there are some things I need to do. Will you tell everyone I said goodbye?”

  He raised an eyebrow, but saluted her with his beer. “Have a good night.”

  “You, too,” she said, and fled.

  Inside the car, her hands shook so hard she could barely fit her key into the ignition. What in bloody hell was she thinking? Was she really this much of a glutton for punishment? Ry had gutted her, but what he’d done was child’s play compared to the gutting Mikey Lindstrom could inflict. She should have run away at the first sign that she was drifting into troubled waters. Because trouble was the only thing he could bring her. There were too many dark places inside him. Too many holes she couldn’t fill. Too much history between them. You couldn’t go backward in time. There was only forward, and forward didn’t include Mikey. It was time to go home, back to California, to her house and her career and her life, before this quicksand she was standing in sucked her in completely.

  Driving aimlessly, she spied the neon lights a half-mile before she reached them. Alfie’s was a roadhouse, a place where the redneck crowd hung out to drink and dance and raise a ruckus. A place with lousy pizza, hard liquor, and a jukebox that was probably loaded with country music. Crying-in-your-beer songs about love affairs gone wrong. It was what she needed tonight. A stiff drink and some honky-tonk music to calm her nerves. To get her head straightened out, before she did something idiotic and irreparable.

  She wheeled the car into the parking lot and shut it off.

  If she’d had any worries about being recognized, they were put to rest when she saw the inside of the place. It could easily have been 99-cent beer night at the VFW. If anybody here recognized her, it was only as Rob and Casey MacKenzie’s oldest kid. She doubted any of these people had listened to rock music since Elvis sang about blue suede shoes. George Jones wailed from the jukebox, but nobody was paying much attention.

  Paige worked her way between tables to the bar, ordered a whiskey and ginger ale from the buxom blonde working there, and found a table in a dark corner.

  George Jones gave way to Patsy Cline’s Crazy. The song fit her mood. Paige unzipped her purse, pulled out a folded envelope and a pen. She flipped the envelope over to the blank side, and across the top, she wrote Reasons Why I’d be Crazy to Start Something With Mikey Lindstrom. While she nursed her whiskey and ginger, she listed all those reasons.

  He already broke my heart.

  I already broke his heart.

  It’s not real, just leftover teenage lust.

  We both just came out of bad relationships.

  Rebound romances always end up with someone getting hurt.

  We live three thousand miles apart. Long-distance relationships don’t work out.

  He’s family. It’s too messy. Nobody would approve.

  He’s a wreck emotionally. Too much baggage.

  My career would get in the way. I live my life on the road. It tanked the last relationship. It would probably tank this one, too.

  Who’s talking about a relationship?

  Old stuff, MacKenzie. We’ve already covered this ground. Come up with something new. She tapped the pen impatiently against the table, thought some more, flipped the envelope over, and began writing again.

  Not fair to subject him to the media. FUCK THE MEDIA.

  We have nothing in common.

  I’m sloppy and disorganized. He’s anal-retentive and probably has OCD.

  He won’t want anything but sex, and I’ll get my heart broken.

  He’ll want more than sex, and he’ll get his heart broken.

  What if he doesn’t like dogs? (Oh, God, what if I don’t get the dogs back?)

  MEN ALWAYS LEAVE!!!

  It would be idiotic.

  It would be idiotic.

  It would be idiotic.

  She tossed down the pen in disgust. All the same old arguments she’d already wrestled with a hundred times before. She’d thought the booze would clear her head, but it hadn’t. They still were circling her brain, the same flying monkeys that had plagued her since the first time she’d allowed these impossible thoughts about Mikey Lindstrom to flit around inside her head.

  And there lay the truth of it. No matter how much she might want it—and that wasn’t an admission of guilt—starting something up with Mikey Lindstrom was an impossibility.

  Flat. Out. Impossible.

  And the sooner she admitted that to herself, the better.

  The envelope was now covered with scribbled words, front and back. She flipped it over again, found a tiny blank space, and squeezed in one final line of print.

  21. IT’S NOT GOING TO HAPPEN.

  There. It was done. Her mind was made up. She’d go back to the house tonight and start packing. In the morning, she’d tell Dad and Casey that she was leaving. They’d try to talk her out of it, but she was resolved. Hanging around would only make the situation more dire. As long as she stayed, a part of her, the soft, romantic side she kept hidden, would continue to believe in possibilities. And as long as that traitorous part of her harbored that belief, it would continue to sabotage the logical, rational side of her.

  “Impossible,” she said aloud, and drained the rest of her drink.

  MIKEY

  BY THE TIME the fire died out, the party was winding down. He made his goodbyes, then stood in the front entry, debating whether or not to go upstairs and talk to his sister. But Paige was right. He needed to give Beth some time to cool off. She’d come around. Or not. Pushing her would only make the situation worse.

  Instead, he got in his truck, then sat in the dark with the radio playing, his stomach churning. Paige had run from him tonight like a scared jackrabbit. Was she afraid of him? He couldn’t fathom that. The woman was fearless. Look at the life she’d built, all on her own. Not the life she shared with Ryan Legend (and what the hell kind of name was that anyway?), but the life she’d built before Legend came along. The music, the career, the dogs, the house. All of it hers, all of it acquired by her mid-twenties. Look at how she’d hopped in her car and driven all the way from California alone. Three thousand miles, without thinking twice. That took courage. So why did she think she needed that dickhead with the ridiculous stage name, anyway? Paige MacKenzie didn’t need any man. She was probably the strongest woman he knew, and his family tree was ripe with strong women.

  Which was great, except it meant she didn’t need him, either. And where did that leave him? Twisting in the wind, that’s where.

  This wasn’t the direction his life was supposed to go. This had crept up on him and attacked from the rear, this i
nsidious barrage of emotion. After everything that had happened, he’d believed he was immune to this kind of thing. He wasn’t supposed to feel like he’d swallowed ground glass every time she walked away from him. He resented the hell out of it. Resented her for making him feel this way.

  But most of all, he resented Rachel for dying. Because if Rachel hadn’t died, he wouldn’t be here right now, sitting in his father’s driveway, furious and frustrated and horny and weaving elaborate fantasies about the woman he’d been in love with fifteen years ago.

  Mikey crammed the truck into gear and headed down River Road toward the cold, sterile trailer he called home. He didn’t want to go back there tonight. Normally, he’d stop by Gunther’s place, but he was still pissed at the old man. Like Beth, he needed time to cool off. Besides, it wasn’t Gunther’s companionship he craved tonight. Tonight, he felt itchy and edgy and dangerous. Tonight, he wanted things he shouldn’t be wanting.

  It would be a mistake. He was a washed-up wreck with no future, and Paige had a life to go back to. A good life. Solid. Successful. She didn’t need some half-assed loser hanging around, some cripple who’d lost his manhood and his self-respect in the Iraqi desert. He would only fuck things up for her, and she’d already been fucked over by Legend. If he truly gave a damn about her, he would walk away. It hadn’t worked out for them the first time, all those years ago. Or the second time. Why the hell would he expect it to work out this time? It wouldn’t. And the scars it left this time would be deep.

  Just walk away, Lindstrom. Let her be.

  Mikey viciously punched a button on the radio, then another, looking for something that wasn’t there, aching for a comfort the music couldn’t give him. It wasn’t music he wanted. What he wanted was her hands, touching him. Healing him. Cauterizing the bloody mess he carried inside.

  This is all your fault, Rach. Your fault! You owe me. How am I supposed to know which way to jump? Help me out here.

  But Rachel, who’d been in his head and by his side for two long years, was disturbingly silent. He was on his own tonight.

  What he needed was a sign. He’d never been one to believe in signs, but he was lost and desperate. He needed something to point him in the right direction. A green arrow, a walk signal. Something concrete and certain and unmistakable. Something that would tell him whether he should cross the street or turn away and forget he’d ever met Paige MacKenzie.

  He reached the main highway, waited at the stop sign for an eighteen-wheeler to pass, and pulled out behind it. A half-mile down the road, the flickering neon from Alfie’s garish roadside display lit up the night. He hadn’t been inside the old roadhouse since he was twenty-one, back when it was the only place in town to buy alcohol, and he was finally old enough to drink legally. That had been a long time ago. Before Iraq, before he lost his leg, before he’d seen the woman he loved blown to pieces by a roadside bomb.

  The car stood out like a Tiffany diamond in the middle of all those pickup trucks and two-hundred-dollar beaters with Bondo all over the fenders. Small and square and girly. Bright yellow. British pedigree. California plates.

  He hit the brakes so hard his tires squealed. Mikey checked his mirror, backed up, and took a second look. Just to be sure. But it was unmistakable. Concrete and certain and unmistakable.

  Paige’s car.

  Parked directly beneath Alfie’s humongous neon sign.

  PAIGE

  WHEN SHE OPENED the door, music and laughter spilled out into the night like soap bubbles floating gracefully to the ground around her feet. Paige took a single resolute step away from the door, raised her head, and came to an abrupt halt. Thirty feet away, a rusty and dented Ford pickup was squeezed in between her little yellow puddle jumper and a blue Ford Focus. A man, long and lean and broad-shouldered, muscled arms folded across his chest, leaned against the tailgate. Waiting. Beneath flickering neon, his pale hair turned red, then yellow, then red again.

  She knew that truck. And that man.

  Knew what he was waiting for.

  And her heart burst with joy.

  Every reservation, every resolution evaporated into the night. You were always going to listen to your heart anyway. Her eyes locked with his, and they held a wordless conversation. Words weren’t necessary. They both understood everything that wasn’t being said.

  Was this the legendary destiny, or just some random coincidence because one day she’d zigged and he’d zagged and they’d both ended up back here? Did it even matter? The only thing that mattered was that they’d been moving toward this moment since she first walked through the door of that convenience store back in June.

  No. Further back than that. Since the first time she lay eyes on him, when she was fifteen and he was sixteen, and she’d looked into those dark eyes and fallen like a downed redwood.

  He stood still as stone, leaving the decision up to her. She understood that, understood its significance. He was giving her an out, in case she needed one.

  As if that would ever happen.

  Paige fumbled in her purse, pulled out the list she’d made. Without looking at it, she tore it into tiny pieces and dropped them to the ground. A breeze picked them up, swirled them around, and scattered them over the pavement. Eyes still locked with his, she moved smoothly, confidently, across the parking lot to him. “Lindstrom,” she said.

  “MacKenzie.”

  “How’d you find me?”

  “I was driving by. That yellow car’s like a beacon.” They stood close enough for his breath to mingle with hers. “Are we done screwing around,” he said, “and finally ready to take this thing seriously?”

  In response, she clutched his shirt in both fists, yanked him down to her, and kissed him.

  He shuddered. Then his arms closed around her and he hauled her into all that heat and hardness. She released his shirt, wound her arms around his neck, and buried her fingers in the soft thatch of hair at his nape. Body to body, breath to breath, heat to heat, her breasts crushed against his hard chest, they devoured each other with lips and tongues and restless hands. She’d never been kissed like this before, not by any man, kissed like he would suck the very breath out of her and leave her an empty shell. His hands cupped her butt, dragged her hips tight against his, rock-hard and ready. A soft, aching cry escaped from somewhere low in her throat. His mouth left hers, worked its way down her cheek, her chin, her neck, to the hollow at the base of her throat. Against her skin, he said, “We have to stop, before we make a public spectacle of ourselves.”

  It took a minute to remember they were in a public parking lot in a small town with big ears and eyes. He released her, and she took a step back. Put a hand to her hair, more rattled than she cared to admit.

  He took her hand and dragged her to the door of his truck, opened it and helped her in. She slid across the bench seat, past the steering wheel. He got in behind her, closed the door, and then he was kissing her again, kissing her until there was no breath left in her body. They broke apart, gasping, and he cupped her cheek in his big hand, those dark eyes of his holding steady on hers. Neon light bathed his face in red, then yellow. “You look so serious,” she said. “Why do you look so serious?”

  “I’ve been thinking about this since I was sixteen years old. I don’t want to screw it up.”

  “The probability of that happening, Lindstrom? It’s somewhere between slim and none.” She caught his hand in hers and kissed his palm.

  “You might want to call home,” he said, “so they won’t think you’re dead in a ditch somewhere.”

  While he buckled his seat belt and put the truck into gear, she took out her cell and called Emma. It was late, but her sister would be up. The kid never slept. More important, she would be discreet.

  “Hey,” she said, when Emma answered. “I just wanted to let somebody know that I won’t be home tonight.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine.”

  “Are you with Mikey?”

  She g
lanced over at his profile, strong and solemn as he focused on his driving. “Yes. But don’t spread it around.”

  “My lips are sealed. I’ll tell Mom and Dad you’re spending the night with a friend.”

  “Thanks, kiddo. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  She hung up the phone, pushed the power button. The display went dark, and she tucked it back in her purse.

  “Seat belt,” he ordered.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I never kid about traffic laws.”

  “Of course you don’t. Well, then, Officer, I’ll just take care of that right away.” She fumbled in the dark for both ends of the belt. Clicked it, then adjusted it to fit snugly. “There. Are you happy now?”

  “Very. Seat belts save lives.”

  “You’re such a pompous little prick.”

  He slipped his arm around her and she rested her head on his shoulder. After a moment, she said, “This is like being sixteen again.”

  His fingers played in her hair. “This is way better than sixteen.”

  “Why?”

  “No curfew. No angry parents. No making out in a Ford truck.”

  In the darkness, she smiled. “We just made out in a Ford truck.”

  “Foreplay,” he said. “We have the luxury of sealing the deal in private.”

  “Good point.”

  At this time of night, the trailer park was deserted, except for a black cat that stood in the tall grass by the culvert at the entrance and watched them pass. Mikey pulled into his driveway and shut down the lights, the engine. He opened the driver’s door, drew her out of the truck behind him. Closed the door and pressed her up against it.

  She’d never felt this alive. Her body buzzed with anticipation, so electrified she could have lit up the night. He grasped the roof rack on either side of her, leaned in, and pressed his mouth to hers. Together, they swayed, as if there were music playing that only they could hear. “Paige,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. “God, I want you so much.”