Something loosened in Carly’s chest, moving up to her throat and finally, finally pushing intelligent words to her lips.
“Absolutely, Richard. You’ve made things crystal clear.”
It was only after Carly had sent out the last ticket of the service and made sure her line chefs were dutifully breaking down their stations that her conversation with Richard had really sunk in. Not wanting to risk being overheard by anyone on the restaurant staff and knowing they’d all be more than busy inside, Carly caught Adrian by the sleeve.
“I need a word with you. Privately.” She jerked her head to the single door leading to the loading dock through the back of the kitchen, heading toward it without waiting for a reply.
Adrian followed, his words becoming gruff as he followed her to the dark quiet of the loading dock. “Did Boy Wonder say something to piss you off? I swear to God, if he hurt you, I’m going to—”
Realization seeped into Carly’s brain in a slow leak, and she shivered against the night chill. “What? Oh, no. No, this doesn’t have anything to do with Jackson.” Her words prickled with the intensity of a lie, but she shook them off. One thing at a time. “Richard Buchanan came to see me.”
“From Gracie’s?” Adrian’s eyes flashed round with shock in the moonlight filtering down from the canopy of inky clouds overhead. A thick breeze rustled the leaves in the nearby grove of trees framing the parking lot around the corner, sounding like soft footfalls, and Carly hugged herself to ward off the streak of cold it sent through her.
“Yeah.” On a deep breath, she told the story from start to finish, ending with Richard’s entreaty to call him tomorrow with her decision.
“Holy shit, Carly! This is everything you wanted,” Adrian breathed, seeming stuck between excitement and disbelief. “No wonder Travis has been so desperate to get you to do the show.”
The words hit Carly low in the gut, like a delayed reaction. Of course. Travis had to have known his career was in the balance. The favorable PR that would’ve come with another season of a popular show like Couples in the Kitchen would’ve been his best shot at keeping his name afloat in the job market. Without it, he’d be screwed.
Oh, the irony.
“I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.” Feeling duped where Travis was concerned was really starting to get on her nerves, and she exhaled a hot breath into the cool night.
“You had no way of knowing Gracie’s was going downhill. Occupational hazard of being out here in the middle of nowhere. In order to keep your name out of the loop, sometimes you gotta be . . . well, out of the loop yourself, you know?” Adrian’s words held no trace of disdain, yet they yanked at Carly’s pride. “But that’s a thing of the past, baby! When does Richard want us to start?”
Carly felt a twist deep in her chest. “As soon as possible. Travis is already officially gone.”
Adrian nodded, his brow folded in thought. “I could stay here until they find a temporary replacement for you. Plus, you’ve got a couple of chefs here who could definitely move up the line, so your backup staff is solid. It might be a rocky transition to another head chef, but they always are. This place will manage.”
Carly dropped her chin in an absent nod, the twang between her ribs morphing into a painful ache. She eyed the wide, bricked entrance to the loading dock, and the sight of the grassy lot beyond it jerked her head in realization.
“The garden,” she breathed. “Someone else would have to lead the garden project.” The words tasted stale and acidic, like month-old lemons, in her mouth.
Adrian cocked his head, platinum hair gleaming in a shaft of moonlight. “Just because the resort approved the project doesn’t mean you have to head it up. If they want to move forward, they can do it without you. Unless you don’t want them to,” he finished slowly, pinning her with a knowing stare.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Great. Just what she needed. A good shot of defensiveness as a chaser to all the unease bubbling within her. Still, she’d opened her mouth, and it was too late not to follow through. “I wouldn’t have busted my ass on that proposal if I didn’t think it was a great project. Regardless of who heads it up.”
Understanding trickled over Adrian’s features in a hard splash. “You don’t want to leave, do you?”
“Of course I want to leave,” she snapped, even though it was childish as hell. Damn it, she just needed to think. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just . . . I’m still trying to process it all, okay? Richard’s offer is a meal ticket and a half, but that doesn’t mean I can just leave things undone here.”
Boy, was that the understatement of the year. Carly stuffed down the dread forcing its way upward in her chest. “Can you give me a little time to figure out how to do this? Please?”
Adrian regarded her with a critical stare, one that seemed to read the roiling emotions practically oozing from her pores. Damn it, why couldn’t she get it together? This was the opportunity of a lifetime, one she’d have begged for less than two months ago.
And yet, when she’d been sitting there, in front of Richard Buchanan, she couldn’t make her mouth form the words yes, I’d love to take the job if you paid her cold, hard cash. Which Richard was willing to do, and then some.
Carly had to say yes. She’d be crazy—no, check that—she’d be 100 percent, bat-shit certifiable not to take this job.
So why did she feel like she wanted to throw up?
Finally, Adrian spoke. “Breakfast tomorrow. Seven o’clock, my place. I’ll cook, you’ll talk. Now get out of here, would you? You’ve had a helluva night.” He jerked his scruffy chin toward the parking lot, partially hidden by the brick wall and night shadows.
“You sure you’ve got breakdown covered?” Even now, exhausted and reeling, Carly was tempted to retreat to the comfort of the place she’d created.
“Go, gnocchella. I love you, but I’m not asking. You feel me?”
Carly dug into her back pocket for her keys. The stuff in her bag would have to wait in her locker until morning. If she went back to get it, she’d never leave to clear her head. “Okay, you win. I’ll see you for breakfast. We’ll talk.”
She waited until Adrian had disappeared into the rectangle of light leading to the momentarily exposed kitchen before releasing the shaky breath she’d been holding. Carly knew she had to really think, to sort through the details and figure out what to do next, but she didn’t want to do any of that.
She wanted to curl up with Jackson, just like she had at her mother’s house, and let the rest of the world fall away while he comforted her.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, eyes filling with tears.
And as she stood there, alone in the dark with the best career opportunity she’d ever have laid out in front of her like an exotic banquet, Carly knew she wasn’t going to take it.
Jackson stood in the parking lot at La Dolce Vita, trying to meter the frenzied rhythm of his breath. He’d come here knowing it was late enough that Carly would be breaking down the kitchen with the rest of her crew. Then she’d saunter out to the parking lot, bag slung over one shoulder, rumpled chef’s whites and tired smile showing all the signs of a typical double shift. He knew he needed to leave her now, tonight, before this got any better. Worse. Whatever.
He’d been walking through the parking lot, hands jammed in the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt, when he’d heard a hushed, yet perfectly distinct voice forming his name on the breeze.
“No, this doesn’t have anything to do with Jackson . . .”
Instinctively, Jackson jerked toward the sound of Carly’s voice, even though he was clearly eavesdropping on a private conversation. Something about her tone, so caught up in a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite place, kept him from doing anything other than listening. The sound of Adrian’s gravelly voice met Carly’s on the breeze, and as the conversation between them had unfolded, Jackson had had to fight off both being sick and wanting to punch a hole through the bricks to his right.
“Of
course I want to leave!” Carly’s words, spoken so matter-of-factly, speared through every vulnerable feeling he had for her, fraying those emotions even further. Jackson heard fragments of the rest, Carly saying she needed to think, Adrian sending her home, but all Jackson could feel was the ragged hole in the center of his chest. He’d come to let her go, to keep her safe from getting too close, but he’d never once thought she’d beat him to the punch.
Better for her to do the hitting, he thought now. Numbness spread through him like frostbite, painfully cold for just a flash before leaving a tingling sensation that barely hinted there had once been feeling. Crickets hummed their nighttime symphony, and somewhere in the distance a car engine started.
But Jackson simply felt nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jackson forced his feet around the corner of the brick wall sheltering the loading dock from the rest of the parking lot, and Carly whipped toward the sound of his footsteps.
“Who’s there?” She stood, silhouetted by the moonlight and her moxie, a few steps from the restaurant’s back door. His lips wanted to curl into a smile at her feistiness, but the grim foreboding coursing through the rest of him kept them weighted down.
“It’s me, Carly.” Jackson approached her carefully, and she wrapped her arms around herself with a shiver as she exhaled over a soft laugh.
“You scared me! What’re you doing out here in the parking lot?” She paused, shaking her head. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. I’m really glad to see you.”
He got close enough to catch her grimace as she shivered again, and he moved to guard her from the chill in the air so automatically that he was halfway out of his sweatshirt before it even registered.
“Here. You’re freezing.” Rather than wrap his hoodie around her petite frame, though, he simply held it out at arm’s length. If he got too close to her, letting go would be that much harder, and he didn’t have the luxury of not letting go.
“Mmm, thanks.” Carly slipped into the sweatshirt, which looked more like a blanket around her slim shoulders. She lifted her fleece-draped arms to pull him in, getting close enough to touch before Jackson stopped her cold.
“I heard what you said to Adrian.”
She jammed to a halt against his chest, her arms an incomplete circle around his body. “You . . . you heard everything?”
Jackson inhaled, letting the cold night air seep through his lungs. “I guess congratulations are in order. You must be excited to be going back home.”
Carly stepped back. “I, um. I think we need to talk.”
Gossamer-thin possibility tickled at Jackson beneath the numbness, capturing his attention and mesmerizing him for a split second before he snuffed it out. Fate had given Carly the chance to leave Pine Mountain, to go back to the familiarity and comfort of her family and her blooming career, and she’d taken it just as she’d said she would.
It was the perfect out. All he needed to do was hammer it into place and send her on her way.
Jackson forced himself to shrug. “There isn’t really anything to say, is there? You’ve never made any bones about the fact that you weren’t here for the long haul. I never thought you’d stay.”
“You didn’t,” she replied, her raspy voice shaking across the space growing between them. “But I thought . . . I mean, last night, I said—”
He cut her off swiftly, before she could repeat the words out loud. “It’s fine. It was a heat of the moment thing, just like our relationship. I know you didn’t mean it.”
Carly’s lips parted on a tiny gasp, and she flinched as if he’d struck her. “Oh,” she choked out, and everything inside of him howled that he should take it back. But then he saw the faded flicker of memory from twenty years ago, the angry splash of blood, the hastily packed suitcases, and his resolve became cement, thick and unyielding. Better he hurt her now by letting her leave than the alternative.
He couldn’t hurt her the other way.
“Really, Carly. Feel free to go with a clear conscience. The resort will find someone to replace you.” Jackson paused, his next words swirling burnt and bitter in his mouth. “Plus, you never belonged here anyway.”
A spark of anger flared over her wet eyes, making them glitter. “I never belonged here, or I never belonged with you?”
“Both. What was going on between us wouldn’t have worked out in the end. Now you can go home and start fresh, just like you wanted.”
Carly stiffened, her demeanor shifting as she hardened her answer. “If that’s what you think, then you don’t know shit about what I want, Jackson Carter.”
Their eyes clashed, hers flashing an equal mixture of sadness and anger, and Jackson knew she was telling him she wanted to stay, to be with him. That she meant what she’d said last night.
That she loved him.
If he didn’t walk away from her, right now, he wasn’t going to. They stood, unmoving, in the open mouth of the loading dock, caught up together by one last strand of possibility.
Feed her.
His lips parted, but the only thing he could hear was the twenty-year old sound of fists on flesh, and it knocked him back to reality.
No. No.
Jackson turned his back on her and walked away.
Every one of Carly’s survival instincts shrieked before yanking her in opposite directions, and she watched Jackson’s broad shoulders slump in retreat for only a fraction of a second before her feet kicked into gear.
“Jackson, wait.”
He didn’t even break stride, which both pissed her off and terrified her. Consumed by sparks of emotion moving too fast to identify, Carly stumbled toward him, awkwardly jerking her arms out of his too-big hoodie as she moved.
“Wait! Take your sweatshirt.” It was utterly lame, but it spilled from her lips nonetheless, and she gained on him from behind as his gait finally broke.
“Keep it.” His voiced strained on the terse reply, but he didn’t turn around. The heavy rush of his boots echoed over the inky pavement, and in that white-hot instant, Carly’s anger pulsed through her like a living thing. She rushed forward, slipping behind him with speed that would’ve impressed her if she’d been conscious of it.
“Damn it, Jackson! Wait.”
Suddenly, everything shifted to slow-motion, and Carly lunged forward to grab Jackson’s arm at the exact instant he reared back to answer her. She felt the force of his body as he jerked around, emotion roiling from him in waves. Her cheekbone, right where it sloped into the bridge of her nose, absorbed the sharp crack of his elbow as it made the sickening connection with her face, whirling her all the way around. For one breathless second, she felt nothing save the loss of balance, and tried to right herself on her feet although the accidental blow had turned her nearly 180 degrees.
Then the pain slammed into her like a wrecking ball, and she couldn’t do anything except crumple to the ground, the back of her head hitting the pavement with a hard whump.
“Oh, Jesus. Carly, I didn’t see you. I didn’t know you were there.” There was a shuffle of movement—feet, maybe?—and Carly tried to open her eyes to gain her bearings.
But they were already open, and the only thing she could see was a handful of white spots she was pretty sure didn’t exist. She blinked, and the pain splintered into a thousand pinpricks dipped in acid.
“It’s fine. I’m . . .” She trailed off, overcome by dizziness. Something hot and wet dripped over her fingers, which she’d splayed over her face by sheer instinct, and she channeled all her energy into trying to focus through the pain.
Oh, hell. Was that her nose bleeding like that?
“You’re bleeding. Oh, God, you’re really bleeding.” Jackson’s hollow words reverberated through her, and she tried unsuccessfully to train her vision on him. He halted into silence at the sound of the back door squeaking open, and Carly heard rather than saw how he jackknifed to his feet to run toward the sound, calling for help.
A wave of nausea surprised it
s way over her, pulling at the tight cords of her throat in its demand to be known. The spots multiplied and swam like frenzied fireflies, darting around her line of sight in chaotic circles and making coherent thought impossible.
Why couldn’t she think?
Snippets of sound, erratic and thoroughly angry, threaded past her, but she couldn’t make them out. Someone touched her face, and even though the motions were gentle, it magnified the pain in the back of her skull, and she batted at the sensation with heavy, clumsy hands. She struggled to sit up, to tell Jackson she’d be fine eventually, if she could just get that annoying buzzing noise to shut the hell up.
Maybe if she just lay down for a second it would get better, and she’d be able to catch her breath. Yeah, that would be good, Carly thought, allowing her chin to list heavily into her chest.
But then there were more hands, so many that she couldn’t keep them off of her. A pair of thick, well-muscled arms pulled her close, and she gave in to the weightless sensation of being carried home.
As soon as Jackson saw Adrian’s hulking form cut through the light cast from the open door, he knew he’d at least get a fraction of the hell on earth he deserved.
“What the hell is going on out there?” Adrian jumped from the edge of the loading dock to the pavement below. Jackson bent over Carly, his gut instinct telling him to take care of her, but then reality stabbed at him with unforgiving clarity.
He had no business touching her. The best way to protect her was to get far, far away.
“You need to call 911. Right now, Adrian! Do it.” Jackson felt the high-pitched screech of panic sink its claws into him and manhandle him like a ragdoll, and he took a step back just as Adrian bolted forward.
What had he fucking done?
“Bellamy! Call 911!” Adrian yelled, even though Bellamy was right behind him in the doorframe leading back to the building. She disappeared, nothing more than a blur of blonde curls and shock, leaving Adrian to zero in on Carly with laser-like accuracy.
Gimme Some Sugar Page 29