To Have and to Harley

by Regina Cole

“Trey?”

  That deep, rough voice never failed to warm her from the inside out. “Beth. How are you?”

  “Okay,” she said, wrapping her free arm over her stomach in an effort to calm the butterflies.

  Hadn’t she told herself that she was going to keep her distance from Trey? That she’d treat him like a brother from now on? Why hadn’t her body gotten the hint?

  “Sorry to bother you so early on a Saturday, but I wondered if you would have some time to help me with those invitations this afternoon. I need to get the proofs to Mrs. Yelverton soon.”

  Bethany bit her lip and looked toward the spare bedroom, where her die-cut machine sat in the same place that Trey had left it.

  “Oh, I wish I could. Believe me, I do. I would much rather be doing that than going where I’ve got to go today.”

  “It’s okay. We can work on them some other time. Just thought you might have a free day. Don’t want to interrupt your plans.”

  The wheels in Bethany’s head started turning then. A smile broke out across her face as the notion formed.

  “Hey, Trey. You’re pretty good at keeping people straight, right?”

  Trey snorted. “I’ve made a career out of it.”

  Incredulity crept into Bethany’s tone with a good bit of mirth. “I guess wedding planning is kind of an exercise in crowd control.”

  Trey cleared his throat. “Yeah. Um, yes. Right. Why do you ask?”

  “If you’re free this afternoon, think you could give me a hand? It’ll take a little acting on your part, but you’d be making my life a lot easier.”

  She could almost imagine him crossing his arms over that broad, muscled chest as he said, “Details. And don’t skimp.”

  As much as she could without talking about her father, Bethany gave him the scoop. She finished up with “…and if you’re with me, I think they’d be much more inclined to behave. I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you’re a little, erm, physically intimidating.”

  His laugh brought the blood rushing to her cheeks.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. But what’s the excuse for bringing me to a family function? Won’t they wonder who I am?”

  Her cheeks got hotter. “Well, if you were to pose as someone important to me, that’d explain it pretty well, I think.”

  “I could do worse than act like the boyfriend to a perfect blond princess like you.”

  Her hackles rose. “I’m not a perfect blond princess.”

  “You’re right, Strong Girl. My mistake. I’m in. No charge. Where should I meet you?”

  Relief soaked her as she rattled off the address to the restaurant her grandmother had chosen.

  As the call ended, Bethany looked down at the phone in her hand.

  Well, it was a Hail Mary pass for sure. Here’s hoping it worked out. And if not? Worst case?

  She got to pretend to be Trey’s girlfriend for an afternoon.

  That was a guilty fantasy almost worth facing her family for.

  * * *

  Trey cut the engine of his bike at the back corner of a crowded parking lot. His nostrils twitched as he took in the sight of all the SUVs, minivans, and hybrid sedans crowded around the Olive Garden like suburbanite piglets rooting for a spot at the faux-Italian teats.

  Of all the places Bethany’s family could have picked…

  He gritted his teeth and swung his leg over the bike. He could put up with the place for her. At least they had good breadsticks.

  Frankie Blue Eyes crooned through the tinny speakers aimed at the poor jokers stuck outside in the chilly breeze. Trey strode past them toward the entrance. Bethany had already texted him that she was inside.

  The hostess shrank back a bit at the sight of Trey—or it could have been the dark look that probably crossed his face when he took in the pungent scent of garlic that clung to the place like cheap perfume. But in any case, she ushered him back to the corner of the restaurant where Bethany was sitting alone at a table for ten.

  “Hi,” she said, smiling up at him. And with that one expression, ninety percent of his pissed-off drifted away on the vampire-repellent breeze.

  “Hey,” he said, sinking into the chair beside her. Despite the crowded restaurant, there was a good amount of space around their mostly empty table. “How long have you been here?”

  “Since they opened,” Bethany admitted, circling her glass of water with both hands. Drops of condensation puddled in the tender spot between her thumb and palm. Trey wanted to reach over and brush it away, but he didn’t. “It’s better if we’re back here. Disturb fewer people that way.”

  “It’s only one. You really think he’ll get that drunk?”

  Bethany bit the side of her lip as she looked up at him. Damn. She really shouldn’t do that. It reminded him how soft her mouth was, how it had felt as he kissed her—

  “He starts early. And he doesn’t really need to be drunk to be an asshole. He’s a lot like Grandmother Trudy in that respect.”

  “I see.”

  And Trey did. In the way her hand shook a little as she lifted her glass to her lips. In the wary way her eyes darted toward the room’s entrance over and over. In the waves of frustration that were almost visibly rising from her.

  His strong girl was rattled, and if that didn’t make him want to throttle whatever was bugging her, almost nothing would.

  “You’ve got this,” he said, reaching over and catching her hand. Her skin was cold and damp from the glass, and he rubbed it with his warmer one. “I’m here with you. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  “Thanks,” she whispered, looking up into his eyes with those baby blues of hers. God, she was so beautiful. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this, but I can’t help but be really happy you’re here.”

  He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. There weren’t words for the weird feeling taking over his chest, the swelling mixture of pride and he didn’t know what else inside him. But it was a good feeling. A big feeling.

  She was shaking him up in ways he’d never expected.

  “Oh God,” she said, looking out the window. “They’re here.”

  She started to jerk her hand away. He gripped it tighter. “We’re supposed to be together, right? Let me help.”

  She nodded and squeezed back. “You’re right. Oh God, this is going to be a nightmare.”

  Trey sank back into the chair’s cushioned backrest, smiling a little to himself.

  Bethany didn’t know who she’d chosen for her backup. She had no clue that Trey regularly handled addicts, prisoners, the dregs of society. There was no way for her to understand that there wasn’t anything her drunk uncle Reuben could throw at him that he wasn’t prepared for.

  This, Trey thought, rubbing his thumb across the rapidly jumping pulse at Bethany’s wrist, is going to be fun.

  But, then again…

  “Bethany!”

  Trey blinked twice. The man was probably 150 pounds soaking wet. His face was flushed, his walk unsteady, as if he’d already been hitting the bottle before walking in.

  Behind him was a pinched-faced, thin woman with dyed-black wispy hair. His wife, Trey presumed. Behind them was a stooped-backed, gray-haired woman whose sweatshirt had entirely too many fake gems hot-glued to it. The way her faded blue eyes darted around the room, her fingers curling into her palms, Trey guessed this was the hoarding grandma that Bethany was not fond of.

  A group of teenagers followed behind them, staring down into their phones and pretending not to be there. Trey couldn’t blame them as Bethany and he rose to greet the newcomers.

  “Hi, Uncle Reuben,” Bethany said weakly as the man gathered her into his arms for a hug. He lingered too long, and Trey’s protective instincts kicked into gear as the guy’s bony fingers wandered a little too far down Bethany’s back for a friendly uncle’s hug
. He reached over and grabbed Bethany’s arm, pulling her free of Uncle Handsy’s embrace. She shot him a grateful look as he slung his arm possessively over her shoulder.

  “Who’s this?” Aunt Wendy sniffed as she sank into a seat in the center of the long table.

  “This is my…my boyfriend.” Bethany didn’t meet his eyes as she said it, but Trey gave her an encouraging squeeze. “Trey Harding. This is my aunt…”

  As Bethany made the introductions, Trey started cataloging their opponents.

  Reuben. More than half drunk. Obviously too fond of his niece. Asshole to the waiter. Huge potential for trouble.

  Wendy. Chronic bitch face. Jealous of Reuben, with good reason. Prone to talking loudly over anyone and everyone. Huge potential for escalating whatever Reuben decided to start.

  Grandma Trudy. Narcissistic klepto. Had already tucked her silverware and napkin into her oversized purse and asked the confused waiter for more. Had skewered Bethany with more than one comment about her “trashy gangbanger” boyfriend. Needed a good kick up the bony ass, but would probably stay out of Reuben’s way if he went postal.

  The teenagers were non-issues. They were Reuben and Wendy’s grandkids and would obviously rather be pretty much anywhere other than at the Olive Garden seeing their Great Aunt Trudy and distant cousin Bethany.

  Trey ordered an iced tea when the waiter got around to him, and settled back with his hand firmly on the back of Bethany’s chair.

  “So, how long has this little…thing…been going on? I’d never have dated someone like that.” Grandma Trudy looked like she’d smelled something bad as she asked the question. Her face resembled the backside of an alley cat.

  Bethany smiled shyly over at Trey. “A couple months now. Trey’s such a great guy.”

  “He’s got an awful lot of tattoos,” Reuben grunted over his “sample” glass of wine. He’d intentionally bumped the waiter’s arm so his glass had gotten overfilled.

  “I do,” Trey said smoothly, presenting his fist to Reuben, knuckles first, only inches from his nose. “Want to check them out?”

  Reuben blinked owlishly as he realized Trey’s smooth reply was a threat.

  “No, no, that’s okay.” Reuben rounded on the waiter, who’d stopped by with his notepad to take their order. “This sample tastes bad.” He lifted his mostly empty glass of white. “What’ve you got in red?”

  Trey’s muscles twitched as he settled back in next to Bethany.

  That poor waiter better keep those breadsticks coming. This was going to be a long lunch.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bethany wondered if the green floral carpeting beneath her feet could swallow her up if she wished for it hard enough.

  As glad as she was not to be alone with her terrible, loud, getting-drunker-by-the-second family, she couldn’t help but be embarrassed that Trey was seeing all this and taking the brunt of the rude questions and comments about his, well, everything.

  First Uncle Reuben had started on the tattoos, then Aunt Wendy on his beard stubble and shaggy hair. Then Grandmother on his clothes. So what if they were dark? So what if his leather jacket had scuff marks on it? And yeah, he was a big guy, but it was all muscle. Aunt Wendy’s sniffling comment about big, hairy men was completely uncalled for.

  When their entrees arrived, Bethany picked at her pasta, trying to let the conversation blow right over her. Beside her, Trey was munching on a breadstick instead of his own bowl of noodles and sauce. She wanted to ask him to make sure his food was okay, but she didn’t want to draw attention to them again, since the discussion seemed to finally have veered away from Bethany’s poor life decisions.

  “…should have let me help you with that,” Uncle Reuben was saying to his older sister. Grandmother was shooting daggers at him as he continued, completely oblivious. “At your age, you shouldn’t be trying to do all that paperwork on your own.”

  “It’s none of your business,” Grandmother fired back as she speared a meatball with her fork. “I can handle my own affairs.”

  “But I’ve told you a million times, that’s not the right investment for you. When your son died, I told you at the funeral that you should take that money and—”

  Bethany’s stomach dropped as if the penne she’d just swallowed was made of solid lead instead of wheat. “What did you say?”

  Trey sat up straighter, as if the tension in Bethany’s question had put him on alert.

  God, she was glad he was there beside her. Even gladder when he reached beneath the table and put his broad hand over her cold one, squeezing slightly.

  “It was life insurance money. Nothing that should have gone to you, you greedy little snot,” Grandmother said, alternating her dirty looks between Bethany and Reuben. “I paid the premiums. It was my policy on my Marine.”

  Bethany didn’t say anything further. Nothing surprised her anymore. Of course her grandmother had hoarded the money from her father’s life insurance. The funeral he’d had had been so sparse, it had looked like he’d died penniless.

  But a funeral wouldn’t bring her father back. She’d given up being upset about her grandmother’s decisions after Dad’s death several years ago.

  That didn’t mean salt in the old wound didn’t sting though.

  “I’ve told you many times not to bring up my money matters in front of people,” Grandmother said to Reuben with a glower. “My finances aren’t to do with anybody else.”

  “They will be when Reuben puts you in a home,” Aunt Wendy said with a gleeful little cackle. “He’s just trying to make his job easier.”

  “What do you mean, a home? There ain’t a thing wrong with me!”

  “Now, Trudy, we both know you’re getting on a bit,” Reuben said, gesturing with his wineglass. A good bit sloshed out onto the front of his shirt. He frowned down at the stain before taking another swig and continuing. “I’m just looking out for your best interests. When you can’t handle living on your own anymore, what do you think will happen?”

  “I’m not going into any home!” Grandmother’s voice pitched into a near-shriek as she stood and looked at her brother. “All my things are at my house. That’s where I belong. And if I need help, I’ll make Bethany move in with me. It’s where she’s supposed to have been all along.”

  Bethany’s blood turned to ice in her veins, and instantly the promise she’d made felt like an iron shackle around her future. “No,” she said, weakly at first and then stronger as she repeated it. “No. This is not happening. And it’s not appropriate to talk about this in public.”

  “You’re damn right it’s not.” Uncle Reuben slammed his wineglass down so hard Bethany was afraid the stem would shatter. “I’ve got rights, and I’m not about to lose them to a girl who’s sleeping with some kind of gangbanger. She’s probably got all kinds of diseases now, and—”

  “I’m going to give you about two seconds to shut your damn mouth before I shut it for you.”

  Four heads turned as if on swivels. Trey was smiling, but his expression wasn’t cheery in the least. He was staring down Uncle Reuben like a big cat sizing up his prey.

  “Bethany’s off-limits. Talk all the shit you want to about the rest of your family, but keep your trap shut when it comes to her.”

  Bethany could do nothing but stare at Trey as Uncle Reuben’s temper shot through the roof. Gratitude suffused her. She’d been silently praying for a fire in the kitchen or a meteor strike, anything to get them out of there. Apparently Trey was a mind reader.

  “Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?”

  Aunt Wendy wouldn’t sit back for it either. She jumped to her feet much quicker than Bethany had ever seen her move before. “My husband’s got every right to talk however he wants! This is a free country!”

  Grandmother, suddenly realizing that none of the attention was on her, jumped into the fray
. “I can’t believe you’re acting like this in front of the family! You’re embarrassing me, Bethany Ann Jernigan! I’ve never been so humiliated in my life!”

  This was a scene Bethany had watched play out a billion times before. It was as if she were frozen in place, desperate to escape but held by the invisible shackles of an unlucky genetic link and the promise she’d made. God, she’d give anything to get out of this.

  Trey stood too, pulling Bethany to her feet and grabbing the strap of her purse in his free hand. “We’re not going to sit here and listen to you be like this. We’re leaving.”

  “The hell you are! You’ll sit down and act like a civilized person and not ruin my family dinner!” Grandmother reached for Bethany’s arm, but Trey blocked her grip. Not to be outdone, Uncle Reuben decided that he’d be the one to pull his prodigal niece back into the fold where she belonged.

  But because of his impaired depth perception—thank you, alcohol—he missed entirely, his balance falling victim to his ill-advised movement. Instead of Bethany, he grabbed the table and jerked.

  Breadsticks and pasta went flying, glass breaking, wine spreading across the plush carpeting like floodwaters overtaking a flowered field. Bethany jumped back to avoid it puddling around her shoes.

  Reuben stumbled toward them, red-faced and yelling, his fists held up as if he intended to start beating one or both of them.

  “We’re leaving,” Trey said and dragged her out of the path of stampeding Reuben.

  The waiter arrived then. “What’s going on? What ha—”

  His words were cut off midsentence, and Bethany turned just in time to see Reuben’s wild swing connect with the waiter’s midsection.

  “Reuben!” Aunt Wendy screamed. Not to be outdone, Grandmother sank to the pasta-covered floor in a dead—presumably faked—faint.

  Trey didn’t stop. He shoved through the front doors like the devil was on their heels. Bethany could have told him he didn’t have to worry—Trudy was “passed out” in a pile of broken breadsticks and a river of wine.

  It was true. They were leaving. She was getting out. For a moment she wondered if she was dreaming, as if mortification and a blow to the head had rendered her unconscious.