Something to Prove

by Kimberly Lang

  Mike liked to talk a big game, but he had zero credentials to back any of it up. Hell, although he’d somehow managed to letter, Mike had spent more time on the bench than on the field, and any coaching he was doing these days was strictly from his recliner. But he certainly looked the part of a former football player—a bulky and barrel-chested good ol’ boy stuck reliving what he saw as his glory days from a stool at a local bar.

  While he liked Julie Swenson just fine, he and Mike had never been good buddies to begin with, and knowing his lies about Helena gave him an additional reason to dislike him. And Mike’s “Well, hel-lo there, Hell-on-Wheels. You’re lookin’ good these days,” verbal leering didn’t do much to help that.

  “Wish I could say the same about you, Mike,” she retorted, flipping her hair over her shoulder before looking him up and down. Her nose crinkled. Then, in a pitying tone, she said, “You might want to consider laying off the longnecks and pork rinds. The older you get, the harder it is to lose that belly fat.”

  Chuckles could be heard around them at their sparring. “Oh, it’s just more to love, darlin’. Just more to love.”

  “Well, it’s good to know you’re still not letting your deficiencies affect your self-esteem. But you keep thinking positively, sport,” she said with sarcastic cheerfulness. “Maybe one day you’ll actually accomplish something worth stroking your ego over.”

  “Everyone already knows how much you like stroking my ego,” he sneered.

  There was a sharp gasp. Helena opened her mouth to respond, but Ryan was already reacting. Between the name-calling, the crudity, the insinuations everyone would take as true again . . . he just snapped.

  He didn’t realize he’d even thrown the punch until he heard the satisfying sound of bone cracking against bone, and Mike dropped like a rock into the dirt.

  Helena was the first to recover, grabbing his arm. “Have you lost your mind?” she hissed into his ear.

  Mike was flat on his back, eyes wide, a lovely red mark already showing where the bruising would be across his cheek.

  “What the hell?” he said, rubbing a hand over his face and wincing in pain.

  “Come on, tough guy, get up. Somebody should have beaten your ass years ago, you lying little piece of shit.”

  Tate stepped between them and turned to Mike. “Stay down,” he ordered. Helena still had hold of his arm, pulling him back, but he shrugged her off. Seeing that, Tate grabbed his shoulders and pushed him backward, keeping his body between him and Mike. “Back off, Tanner. That’s enough.”

  Julie had pushed her way through the crowd. Kneeling next to her husband, she inspected the damage, then turned to him and shouted, “What the sweet hell is your problem?”

  Before he could respond, Tate got his attention. “Do you think you’re the only person in all of Magnolia Beach who’s ever wanted to beat him to a pulp?” he said quietly. “I’m glad you threw the one punch, but I can’t let you throw another.”

  “Let me? Don’t make me land the next one on you, Harris.”

  “Would you listen to yourself? Jesus, get a grip. You’re an adult. There are a hundred kids here who just saw you attack another man over some trash talk. Way to lead by example.”

  Tate was right. Damn it.

  “And since Helena basically started it,” he continued, “you just look like an ass with anger-management issues right now. And anyway, even if you did beat the truth out of him, it won’t change the past.”

  Ryan didn’t like that, but he’d have to be satisfied with that much. And punching Mike—as juvenile as it had been to do it—was far more satisfying than he’d expected, even if he was going to be denied the pleasure of a complete ass kicking.

  Mike was being helped to his feet, the look on his face clear evidence he knew exactly what Ryan was angry about.

  “Man up, Swenson,” he warned, “or next time I will kick your ass.”

  The murmur racing through the crowd grated across already irritated nerves, and even as the rational part of his brain yelled at him to stop, his mouth was already moving. “You all need to grow up. Every single one of you has something stupid or horrible in your past you’d rather forget, and the rest of us are simply nice enough not to constantly throw it in your face. It’d be nice if y’all extended the same courtesy to Helena.” The guilty looks, lack of eye contact, and intense cuticle inspections told him he’d made his point. But to drive it home, he added, “You act like she’s got to prove she’s changed, but y’all aren’t even willing to give her a chance.”

  With that, he turned to find Helena and get her out of there, but she wasn’t standing behind him anymore. He scanned the now-dispersing crowd: nothing. His questioning look at Molly was answered with only a shrug.

  Helena was gone.

  Chapter 17

  Fury, embarrassment, shock, disbelief—the combination of emotions was hard to process, but they definitely kept her feet moving. There was no way she could stick around and watch that circus unfold even further.

  She should’ve known better. She shouldn’t have gone to the game at all. Just when she was starting to make inroads, she’d been sucked back into all the high school drama with a cringe-inducing display of immaturity. It was infuriating. And embarrassing.

  And then Ryan had thrown that punch. Oh sweet Jesus. That was its own level of disaster. Mayor Tanner brawling? Like anyone wouldn’t believe that wasn’t a result of her bad influence on him. There wasn’t a person in that crowd who hadn’t heard—and probably believed—Mike’s conquest story, so it was glaringly obvious what had set Ryan off. Especially since they’d been seeing each other recently. She didn’t know which of them it would be worse for—him for doing it or her for corrupting him.

  Either way, any ground she’d gained with these people was probably lost now.

  Besides, if anyone was going to throw a punch at Mike Swenson, she should be the one doing it. God knew she’d wanted to do it for years, but to see Ryan do it . . . As shameful as it was to admit, she almost found it flattering, somehow. Of all the things she’d felt when Ryan’s fist hit Mike’s face, the little flutter in her chest was the most difficult to explain or understand.

  And that was just all kinds of messed up.

  She heard the rumble of the truck’s engine long before it coasted to a stop at the curb. She kept her head up, staring straight ahead, and kept walking.

  “Helena, wait!”

  She didn’t even bother to look back, much less stop. “Go away, Ryan.”

  There was a sharp curse, followed by the sound of the truck’s door slamming. Then Ryan was trotting at her side, holding her elbow. “At least slow down, okay?” he joked.

  Now she wanted to throw a punch at Ryan. “I can’t talk to you right now.”

  “Look, I’m sorry. Really sorry about that.”

  “And you should be.”

  He shook his head. “I should have shut his mouth for him sooner.”

  That stopped her in her tracks. “Wh-what?”

  Ryan smiled crookedly in apology and took her hands gently in his. “I’m sorry I let it go that far.”

  She jerked her hands away. “No, you should be sorry for making a scene like that. Are you just completely insane, or do you want to try to explain that ridiculously immature display of testosterone poisoning some other way?”

  Ryan blinked twice, then cleared his throat. “Mike was way out of line.”

  “Maybe. But so were you. So was I, for that matter. But, it’s not your place to swoop in like some kind of redneck Avenger because Mike Swenson is being his normal asinine self.”

  “I thought that—”

  “You thought what? That I needed you to defend my honor or some such?” Her head felt like it was about to explode. She fought to stay calm. Or calm-ish. “Go home and cool off, and just pray that Mike doesn’t decide to press char
ges.”

  “He deserved it.”

  “Good Lord. ‘He had it coming’ isn’t a valid legal defense for assault—not even in Alabama. Do you want to spend the night in jail?”

  Ryan looked so confused, she almost felt sorry for him.

  She took a deep breath. “While your gallantry is kindly noted, it’s very misplaced. If you want to beat the crap out of Mike Swenson, then do it. But find your own reasons. Don’t do it because of me or something that happened years ago.”

  “The fact he’s never been called on it before doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be now.”

  “Why? What possible purpose could it serve?”

  “I thought you just wanted to be accepted here.”

  “Your punching Mike Swenson doesn’t exactly advance that cause. It only makes both of us look foolish.”

  Ryan waved that away. “Mike’s an ass. Everyone’s wanted to take a swing at him at some point.”

  “Great. They can form an orderly line. That doesn’t change the fact you shouldn’t have done it.”

  “I’d have thought that you, of all people, would be glad someone finally did. And better I do it than you.”

  “I’m not some meek little miss who needs the big strong man to defend her or jump to her rescue because some guy’s being a jerk.”

  “Is that why you’re mad? That I beat you to the punch? Literally?”

  She was about to pull her hair out. “Argh. Why couldn’t you just leave it alone? Do you have no sense of self-preservation? Mike Swenson might be an ass, but he’s an influential ass around here. As mayor, it behooves you to stay on the good side of the president of the Chamber of Commerce. That act of immaturity—regardless of why you did it or what he did to deserve it—does not bode well for your future dealings with him.”

  “Why do you even care? You’ll be gone soon enough, and life will go back to normal. Isn’t that the song you’ve been singing this whole time?”

  Why did that feel like she’d been hit between the shoulder blades with something sharp? She lifted her chin. “You’re right. And that’s only all the more reason for you not to go mucking around with the current state of affairs.”

  Ryan’s face was stony and expressionless except for the muscle twitching in his jaw. If she hadn’t felt like pulling her own hair out, she might have felt bad about it, but honestly, she just needed to get home and be alone. “Just go home, Ryan.”

  He started to say something, then stopped as if he’d changed his mind. After a deep breath, he stepped back. “Come on. I’ll drop you off on the way.”

  She was not going to get into his truck. She felt too raw, too on edge to put herself into that kind of close proximity. Not at least until she had time to think it all through. She didn’t want to do or say anything else she might regret tonight. “No, thanks. The walk will do me good.”

  Wisely, Ryan didn’t argue with her. He just nodded and walked away, instead.

  Helena deliberately started walking, even before she heard his engine rumble to life. After a long moment, Ryan put the truck in gear and drove away, leaving her in a picture-perfect setting for an evening walk.

  For the next block, she tried to focus just on the peaceful sounds of a quiet town, the cool gentle breeze, and the sound of her own deliberately slow breaths. Instead of heading straight home, she walked down to the water. Not the Shore where the kids had gone to party, but the sandy beach on the Mobile Bay side. This time of year, she could pretty much guarantee it would be quiet and nearly deserted. It was a long walk, but she needed the time to calm down.

  When she got to the boardwalk over the dunes, she kicked off her shoes and left them on the bottom step, letting her toes sink into the sand. A small dinghy was overturned down by the high-tide line, and it made a perfect bench. The sound of the water was relaxing, and she leaned back to stare at the sky. Wispy clouds moved over a full moon, but it was clear enough to see all the way across the bay to the lights of Bon Secour on the other side. A cool breeze blew her hair into her face, but it felt good, as though the wind could clear some of the cobwebs and confusion out of her brain. It worked—kind of—to calm her, giving her the mental space she’d need to sort through the events and reactions of the evening in some kind of organized manner.

  Yes, watching Mike hit the ground had been immensely satisfying. She gave herself one small minute to remember that moment and enjoy it.

  Regardless of Ryan’s assertion that everyone had wanted to punch Mike at least once in their lives, the fact remained they’d think Ryan was acting out of jealousy, not justice. There wasn’t much she could do about that. It would always be her word against Mike’s, and launching a protest this late in the game seemed rather ridiculous anyway.

  If Ryan thought a fistfight at the homecoming game wasn’t going to be all over town by morning, he was deluding himself. And once again, she’d be swimming upstream to try to counter any gossip, as the truth was never as interesting as the speculations.

  And there would be gossip. Lots of it.

  That was what was so infuriating. While it was galling to admit, somehow in the last few weeks she’d bought into the idea that she didn’t just have to survive this trip; that it might actually be possible to reconnect and yes, even redeem, herself. And the ground she’d just lost made her sad and angry at the same time, because starting over again was just too much to contemplate. Getting involved with Ryan was a double-edged sword: people might see her differently—better—based on Ryan’s acceptance of her, but they might also resent her for the bad influence on him—as Ryan had just demonstrated in bone-cracking detail. She had a sinking feeling it was that side of the sword that was about to cut her deeply.

  If she acted like she didn’t appreciate Ryan’s white knight routine, she’d be making him look like a fool for defending a woman who didn’t appreciate his efforts or concern. Of course, if she did show appreciation for it, he’d still look like a fool for defending the honor of someone whose honor didn’t deserve defending.

  There was no way for either of them to win on this.

  What was even worse, though, was the fact that she did appreciate it, even though she couldn’t—and didn’t want to—admit it. It made her feel special, and that was definitely a first.

  Because the reality was that she wasn’t special. Ryan was the kind of guy who’d probably do something like that for any woman in that situation. That was what white knights did. Letting herself believe otherwise—even for a second—was a good way to get her feelings hurt.

  According to Ryan, his life would go back to “normal” once she was gone. She was a disruption, a distraction from the way things were supposed to be.

  So why did knowing all of this—reasonably, rationally, knowing this—make her feel a little sick?

  Because you fell for him, you idiot.

  Oops. When had that happened?

  In a lifetime littered with bad choices, that could possibly be the stupidest thing she’d ever done. She didn’t have a future in Magnolia Beach. She didn’t have a future with Ryan. Falling for him was pointless.

  He said he cared about you.

  That actually made things worse. The “if”s and the “but”s and the “maybe”s were too tempting to ponder, but every conceivably realistic scenario played out like a bad movie.

  Wow, she’d walked right into this. Set herself up to get hurt, engaging in a semipublic fling to somewhat disastrous results for one or both of them.

  Was she stupid or just a masochist? Good Lord, she wasn’t really helping herself much.

  The facts were simple. It didn’t really matter if Ryan cared for her or not; she would never be good enough in anyone’s eyes for him to be serious about. Regardless of what he said, wouldn’t that eventually be too much to deal with? And would she even want to put him in that position? Caring about someone meant doing what was right for tha
t person, even if it meant being disappointed in the process.

  Of course, if Ryan was mistaken and really didn’t have feelings stronger than friendly, friend-with-benefits, fling-type ones, then she was setting herself up to get smacked down hard.

  Damn.

  Simple facts didn’t make it any easier to hold conflicting emotions, but facts didn’t lie, and staring at the stars didn’t provide answers other than the obvious.

  She’d gotten the house done, and Grannie was getting stronger every day, pretty much at the point now where she needed a support staff more than a commander in chief. She’d accomplished what she set out to do.

  It was time to go home.

  * * *

  Oh, he’d known he’d hear from his mother. There was no way in hell she wouldn’t hear about what happened after the game, so there was no sense pretending it was a surprise to find his mother at his door with an annoyed frown on her face. The only real surprise was that he hadn’t heard from her sooner than this. It had been twelve whole hours since he’d landed the Punch Heard Round the Bay.

  “Hi, Mom. Come on in,” he said as Tank growled a greeting from his cushion by the window.

  Mom seemed to be looking him over, searching for damage. When her eyes reached his right hand, her frown deepened. “Let me see that hand.”

  “It’s fine,” he assured her, but he placed it in hers anyway. There was some swelling around a knuckle and a mild bruise, but he’d done worse to himself fighting with his own brothers.

  Still, she manipulated the fingers, looking for injuries with the expertise only a mother of three boys could have. “I don’t think anything’s broken, but you should probably let me take you to the clinic and let your father x-ray it, just in case.”

  “Really, I’m fine,” he assured her. “If the swelling doesn’t go down today or if the pain gets worse, I’ll call Dad.”

  “Pain?”

  “Nothing some ibuprofen can’t handle.”

  “Good. Keep ice on it and consider yourself lucky.” Mom set her handbag on the side table, then spun to face him, the frown of concern replaced by the mask of an angry, unhappy mother. “Now, Ryan Ray Tanner,” she snapped, “explain yourself.”