Falling Hard

by Tina Wainscott

  That wasn’t why he’d turned back to his game. She heard it as clearly as if he’d said because you’re my brother’s girl.

  She swallowed back a sigh and watched him play. He’d racked up a ton of points and a free play. When he lost the last two balls in the game rather quickly, she asked, “Am I making you nervous, watching you?”

  He straightened, meeting her gaze. “You don’t make me nervous.” His mouth moved slightly with whatever words he’d wanted to say. “Wanna play?”

  She nearly made a sound at the invitation. He means pinball, stupid. “Sure, I’d love to.” But she didn’t mean pinball, and that was a big problem. At her protest, he fed money into the machine and gestured for her to take control.

  She felt right, here with Pax. Just as she had that night at the races when he’d shown her his car. She wished she’d kissed him, as forward as that might have seemed. She wished…

  But she hadn’t, and now she was no doubt off-limits.

  “The Hand of Fate,” the display read. “Fate will choose.” She wondered what fate would have chosen, had she let it.

  Pax watched her play, giving her advice, cheering when she hit a bonus. “Damn, you’re good.”

  Which made her lose her ball. But the words had been worth the loss. “I played a little at a friend’s house. He had one in his apartment.”

  “Ah, a pinball shark.”

  She winked. “Only if I offered a wager.”

  Their gazes held, with the lights flashing and the machines all around dinging and pinging. His fingertips were stroking the metal edge of the machine. Their smiles faded as the tension between them grew heavier. His gaze flicked to her mouth, and he turned away as he dug into his pocket. “Let’s play another game.”

  She could have played all night. They laughed and groaned, and her heart sped whenever their hands or arms brushed as they changed positions. Forget all the dramatic music, screaming monkeys, and gunfire, the bonuses and the multiballs careening over the board; that wasn’t where her excitement lay. He stood close enough as he bent down to insert more coins that she could smell whatever soap he’d used.

  “You look different from when we met,” he said, his gaze sweeping over her jeans and blue top when he stood again.

  She shrugged. “I looked too New York City for this place.”

  He nodded, but he didn’t seem to really understand.

  “Are you still racing?” she asked. “I heard there was a bad accident the weekend after I was there.”

  “Racing’s done for good.” His face shadowed, and she wished she hadn’t brought up the subject. His ball went right through the middle of the paddles. “My friend and his girlfriend were hurt, and she was burned bad. He went to jail, even though the wreck wasn’t his fault. Racing itself is illegal.” He stepped aside so she could play.

  “I’m sorry.” She remembered the couple who were parked next to his car. They’d looked so in love. “Is she going to be okay?”

  He shrugged. “She’s back in Minnesota, and her parents aren’t exactly keeping us updated. But according to her grandma, who lives here, she’s doing all right, considering.”

  He looked as if he needed a hug. Bad. But she couldn’t do that. She stepped in front of the machine, though she’d lost interest in the game.

  Blake’s voice shouted from the doorway, “Gemma! We’re rolling. Party at the practice field.”

  She didn’t want to leave. The struggle knotted her stomach, but she couldn’t say that she wanted to hang here with Pax and play pinball. “See you later,” she said, turning away. Fighting the impulse to glance back at him. Heck, to walk back to him.

  “Goth candy,” she muttered, pulling herself from that memory to their encounter by the road. Had he meant that as an insult? She sure wasn’t going to explain how her Misfits Posse attire was a security blanket in a foreign land. How she’d wanted to set herself apart in a misguided attempt to say, I’m too cool for all of you beach bums. She remembered the way his eyes had taken her in the night they’d met. He’d seemed to like her look then. Well, she’d sure changed.

  Pax had, too, in some ways. He’d filled out a little but was still lean. His shoulders had widened and his biceps had thickened. He had some bristle along his jawline and around his mouth, and his hair was tousled, as always. She remembered how he’d scrub his fingers through it in an unconscious gesture. How, even as she’d been dating Blake, her gaze would always find Pax, drawn to his loud bursts of laughter in the school hallways or cafeteria. The brothers seemed friendly toward each other but rarely hung out together. Not surprising, since they were nothing alike.

  Thinking about Pax kept her mind off her father. Off what Pax had told her. She found the hospital and parked, her heart heavy as she made her way inside and up to the ICU.

  Thankfully, the nurse informed her that they were lenient about ICU visiting hours, since they believed visitors were beneficial for a patient’s health. She led Gemma down a hallway lined with rooms that had glass walls and sliding doors. People in bed after bed, hooked up to all manner of machines.

  My dad’s in here.

  No! It has to be a mistake.

  She hadn’t seen him in more than a year, when he’d come to New York City for a quick visit. She absolutely could not process that he was in one of these beds.

  The nurse stopped in front of one of the rooms. “He’s sleeping, but go on in and talk softly to him. Patients can hear what’s going on, even when they’re asleep or unconscious.”

  “Daddy,” Gemma whimpered as she took in the man she hardly recognized, with a face swollen and marred by cuts and bruises. Thank God Pax had warned her. Machines flanked his bed, sending wires and tubes toward her father in a scene she might see in a sci-fi movie.

  Bruises and salve-covered cuts covered his arms, too, the IV adding a bruise of its own to the back of his hand. She couldn’t find any place that was safe to touch, so she rested her hand on the bed beside his.

  His eyes fluttered open and wobbled before settling on her. “Gem…”

  All the pain and fear that had seized her heart released on that one word. Tears blurred her vision, and she imagined her smile was more of a grimace. “Daddy.” She moved closer, lightly brushing the hair from his face. “I’m here. I’m going to be here until you’re out.”

  The corners of his mouth curved in a faint smile. He tried to say something more, but the words came out as soft huffs of air.

  The door slid open, and the nurse came in. “He’s awake,” she chirped. “Bet you’re happy to see your daughter, eh, Mr. Thornton?” She leaned closer to him. “Are you feeling all right? How’s the pain?”

  “Okay,” he croaked.

  “Good.” She started to change out an IV bag. “But don’t be a martyr, okay? Let me know when it becomes too much.”

  Gemma shifted her attention back to her dad. “Do you need anything?”

  “The B and…”

  The bed-and-breakfast. She hadn’t even thought about that, only about her dad. It would need to be repaired. There might be guests to contend with. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll even run it while you’re here. I remember some of the stuff you taught me, and it’s only four guest rooms. I can handle that. You just relax and get better.” She had a ton of questions, but he wasn’t in any condition to answer them.

  He smacked his lips, gathering steam to speak. “How bad…”

  She guessed at what he tried to ask. “I don’t know. I came straight here. I’ll show you pictures tomorrow.”

  “Call…” His eyelids drooped.

  Panic thrummed in her chest as she sought out the nurse. “He’s gone. He was saying something and then he just…left!”

  “It’s normal for him to slip in and out of consciousness, hon.” She gave him a warm, assessing look. “The first thing he asked was if any of his guests had been hurt. Fortunately, no one else was injured. The guest rooms were untouched.”

  “Have you seen th
e house?”

  “Just on the news. It looked pretty bad, but they were only showing the gaping hole and the car half in and half out. Pax said the guests have been relocated.”

  “You know Pax?”

  She smiled. “Mmm, yeah. Seen him around town, and he came in this morning and this afternoon to check on our guy here. He’s a cutie.” Her eyes widened. “Pax, I mean. I’m not coming on to your dad or anything.” She rolled her eyes. “Dayum, the guy gets me all mind-tied, and he’s not even in the room. Anyway, Pax told your dad they’d temporarily patched the hole.”

  “I hope it’s habitable.” She hadn’t thought about having to rent a hotel room. For as long as she might be here, that would suck a ton out of her measly savings account.

  “I guess you’ll find out soon enough.” The nurse made a notation on her iPad. “Good luck. See you later.”

  The prospect of having to find accommodations propelled Gemma from her place next to the bed. “I’d better go, Daddy. I’ll be back tomorrow.” She paused, taking in his relaxed features. “I love you.”

  The GPS app led her back to the coastal road where her tire had blown. Chambliss used to roll up its carpets at nine and apparently still did, given the lack of traffic. She realized how lucky she’d been that Pax had stopped to help her. Living in the city, she didn’t have a car. Didn’t have roadside assistance. She might have been able to change the tire during daylight, but here, in the pitch dark, it would have been quite the challenge. She still didn’t want to see him again. Just the thought of running into him at the hospital tightened her chest. If he showed up, she’d simply go down to the cafeteria for a coffee and let him visit with her dad.

  The stretch of lonely road that cut through the St. Joseph National Park seemed to go on for a hundred miles, though in reality it was only about twenty. When her father, desperately in need of a vacation from his high-stress financial job, had announced that he’d booked rooms at a bed-and-breakfast right on the Gulf Coast, she’d had visions of lounging on crowded beaches filled with cute boys. Which made Chambliss a grand disappointment. It was close enough to Panama City Beach for a day trip, but nowhere near it funwise. Much of the coastline was protected stretches of marshes and mangroves, with only one small beach in the national park. Because it lacked miles of sandy beaches and the bars, hotels, and restaurants along them, it had none of the population or tourist appeal.

  The discreet FOR SALE sign at the front of the inn’s entrance had seemed inconsequential at the time. During a family walk on the beach, her dad confessed that he’d had a heart “event.” He wanted out of the financial business, out of the city. Suddenly that little sign meant a complete life change; he wanted to buy the B&B.

  Her mother wanted no part of it, needing to remain in the city to build her successful photography business among the elite crowd. Their prolonged discussions featured her mother’s anger over her father’s “impetuous whims,” while he calmly spoke of de-stressing and living longer. Even at thirteen, Gemma saw how her mother was getting sucked into the glamour and gloss of the high life, realizing that the days of their marriage were numbered anyway.

  Nine months later, her father lived in Florida, and her mother lived in her work and her new social circles.

  Gemma reached the northern edge of the park’s boundary and looked for the inn. A pack of loud motorcycles passed her from the other direction.

  Thank God for streetlights. This area had grown, too, with a few more homes along the road across from the beach. Some were under construction.

  She braced herself for the damage as she spotted the sign for the Coastal Bliss B&B on the right. The NO VACANCY sign was lit in bright blue. The sight of the crime-scene tape froze her heartbeat. Yellow ribbons whipped in the breeze, one strand having broken loose. Large plywood boards made an unsightly “bandage” to the right of the softly lit walkway.

  Her mind conjured up the moment the car smashed through the wall. Her father, lost in thought as he prepared soufflés, the inn’s signature breakfast. Gemma could see herself popping into the kitchen, backpack slung over her shoulders as she picked up a piece of bacon set on a paper-towel-covered plate.

  “Egg?” he’d ask.

  She crumpled the crispy bacon into her mouth as she kissed his cheek. “No time. Gotta get to school.”

  As the memory Gemma exited the kitchen, a car smashed into the space. Shoving him into the cabinets, the wall. She shook her head, not wanting to dwell in either place. Too late. Her body was already reacting in sympathy, imagining the shock and the pain.

  She pulled around the side to the garage and had an unpleasant realization. She had no key. Eyeing the keypad at the side of the doors, she tried to recall the code he used. After trying various combinations, she slumped against the door.

  Though most of the windows were dark, she saw a faint glow through the glass panels in the front door. Probably a night-light. Gemma stepped onto the porch, which ran along the width of the building, and peered into what her dad called the den. The groupings of coffee tables and plush chairs looked as normal and inviting as ever. Right now, though, they taunted her. All she wanted to do was collapse and—

  A dog barked viciously at the same time that the door opened. She yelped, stumbling backward and falling on her ass, as bright light flooded the porch and a man stepped into view. Her terrified scream as the figure stepped out jammed in her throat when she saw who it was.

  Pax.

  What?

  And a dog, racing out and growling, the fur at his scruff raised.

  “Settle down, Harley.” Pax snapped his fingers, and the dog reluctantly settled on his haunches. Pax turned back to her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. I was about to turn on the light for you.” He jabbed his hand toward her in what she belatedly realized was an offer of help to her feet. “You kinda gave me a scare, too.”

  She might have refused his hand, but one look at the awkward position in which she’d landed, with her skirt hitched up to her thighs, legs askew, and she relented. He hoisted her up so hard that she fell forward right into him. Her hands shot out, flattening against his chest as he slowed her momentum with his hands on her shoulders.

  “Sorry, I forgot how small you are,” he said.

  She quickly regained her balance and stepped back, the feel of his shirt still tingling against her palms. “Are you trying to scare me to death? What are you doing here?” Anger and embarrassment stretched her voice tight, and then fear kicked in. He knew she’d be coming here. He’d been waiting inside the darkened house. He had a vicious dog. She took another step back, wanting to at least put herself in view of the road.

  “Gem—” He lunged forward, hands out to grab her.

  “No,” she managed just before her heel slid off the steps and she fell backward again.

  His arms wrapped around her waist, but momentum was already in play, and they both tumbled sideways into the flower bed. He’d twisted them as they fell, and she landed half on top of him and half in the mulch. Her face was buried against his neck, the scent of him swamping her senses, his hair tickling her nose. Damn, he was hard, all muscle and bone, not a soft spot on him.

  The dog circled them, his tail whipping back and forth.

  “Hell, woman, what’d you think I was doing?” Pax muttered, untangling them.

  This time she used the railing to help her to her feet. “You were grabbing for me.” Stopping her from falling backward, she realized as humiliation washed over her. Paranoid much?

  “To keep you from falling,” he confirmed. “You got this look like you’d seen a ghost behind me and started backing up.”

  “I’m…afraid of dogs.” True. She eyed the dog that was sniffing at her feet, mostly black with white down the bridge of his nose and on his chest. “One bit me when I was a kid.”

  “Harley won’t hurt you none,” Pax drawled, issuing a soft whistle and crooking his finger.

  The dog gave her a hurt look, she swore, before he sat down
next to Pax. His nostrils were still wiggling as he tried to scent her from a distance.

  “Isn’t he a pit bull?” she asked, using the time to calm her breath and her heartbeat.

  “Mix, yeah. But he’s a lover.” He knelt and tumbled the dog onto his back, grabbing his snout and wrestling with him. The dog snorted happily, wriggling back and forth as Pax jabbed playfully and the dog tried to catch his fingers. “See? He’s a pushover.” When Pax stood, the dog remained on his back, his white belly and his blue eyes imploring to be further rubbed. After a moment, he twisted and eyed her.

  No friggin’ way.

  “Yeah, cute,” she said. “But he’s your dog. Of course he’ll let you do that to him.”

  “Go ahead and do the same. Long as you scratch his belly first. He’s a shameless glutton for lovin’.”

  The dog was still looking at her, his teeth showing in an upside-down grimace.

  “I’ll pass, thank you.”

  “Kids’ll grab hold of him, pull on his tail, tug his ears. His middle name is Cuddlebug.” He lifted a shoulder. “Not my idea. I named him Harley. Two other people gave him Cuddlebug Slobberbuckets as the rest.”

  “Slobberbuckets? Does he…slobber?”

  “The vet discovered he had an infected tooth. Once that was fixed, he stopped drooling.”

  The dog…Harley…twisted again so that he could implore her better. His tail thumped on the ground in a pretty please, pet me, pet me, pet me rhythm.

  Her fingers twitched, and she blinked to clear away the absurd notion of kneeling down and stroking the dog’s belly. Instead, she focused on Pax. His flat stomach beneath a tight black T-shirt. Sculpted pecs. Farther up! The way his hair curled over the back of his neck. His gorgeous face, pouty lips. Intruder. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m keeping an eye on the place. Given the recent publicity, the flimsy wall”—he tipped his head toward the plywood—“and the bike rally going on in PCB, I thought it would be a good idea. We usually see an uptick in break-ins during these rallies. People know the owner was injured, and they might figure the place is easy pickins.”