Wingmen (Modern Love Story #2, 4, & bonus)

by Daisy Prescott

  Guess I’d stayed long enough. “Sure.”

  A FEW WEEKS after the first of the year, I sat next to Gramma on the couch in my parents’ living room, watching the Seahawks in the playoffs. She wore a blue and lime green sweatshirt and matching wristbands in support of the team.

  “Pops and I used to have season tickets when they first opened the King Dome. But you weren’t born then, so you wouldn’t remember.” She patted my arm.

  “Wish we still had those season tickets,” Dad complained from his recliner.

  “You could afford a box now if you wanted,” I said. It was true. He had the money, but came from a long line of cheapskates. It ran in our blood.

  “Nah. You see the game better right here in the living room.” He dunked a chip in Mom’s crab dip. “And the food’s better.”

  My sisters and mom were in the kitchen, probably drinking white wine or mojitos, and gossiping. After what I overheard on Thanksgiving, I knew to avoid eavesdropping on their opinions on my social life. Or lack thereof.

  I had to admit, right now I had zero life. Cold, rainy days followed one after the other and nothing seemed to dry out, or warm up. Work sucked. I spent a week exposed to the damp, welding the hull of some rich man’s yacht. Work, complaining about the cold, carving in the shop, eating over here . . . was the extent of it. I still played pool with John on Thursdays, but otherwise avoided the bar scene.

  New Year’s Eve and my polar plunge marked the turning point. I hadn’t gone out and picked up a woman in weeks. It didn’t appeal to me. Spending time with Gramma, listening to her tell stories about her life with Pops before I was born kept me more entertained than inane conversation to get laid.

  “Someone wants to buy the old place overlooking Mutiny Bay,” Gramma said out of the blue.

  “What?” my Dad and I asked at the same time.

  “Where the old barn still stands,” she clarified.

  “I know the property, Mom, but since when have you wanted to sell any land?” Dad sat up and flipped down the footrest, planting his feet on the carpet and leaning forward to focus on her.

  “Oh, I hadn’t given it any thought. It’s always had a lovely marsh near the beach, and for years there was an eagle’s nest in the cedar grove near where the house stood.”

  Sometimes I forgot how much land my family owned around here. The Mutiny Bay farm came down through Ellie’s family and sat apart from the main holdings closer to Double Bluff. A crooked barn leaned precariously in an overgrown field, but the fifty acres of land around it were a jewel. We rented out the fields to a local family who kept up the tradition of farming on the island.

  “Who’s interested in the place?” I asked. Her comment after the funeral flashed through my mind. “Were these the same people who gave you their cards at Pops’ funeral?”

  “What?” Dad exploded from his chair. I didn’t see it often, but he carried the same gene for the Donnely temper I did. “Someone came to Pops’ funeral to talk to you about selling land?”

  “Ken, sit down. No, they only gave me their business cards. And yes, Tom, it’s the same young man. I think he’s an island boy, but lives over in Seattle now. Really made a success of himself.”

  Bile rose in my throat. “What’s his name, Gramma?”

  “Oh, I don’t remember, but I said no. I felt terrible about it after they made such a nice presentation with model homes and all their ideas for how the land could benefit the island. I’m not in a place right now to make any decisions. I told your cousins the same last week after we left.”

  Dad’s neck went red with anger and his eyes bulged out, however his voice remained calm. “Mom, start from the beginning. Which cousins?” He began pacing the room.

  “Bob set up the meeting.”

  Of course. Bob, the only Donnely in generations to serve time.

  “Now, Ken, I don’t want to start any trouble, not after losing Pops. We all need to stick together. I explained the estate was still in probate.”

  “It’s a matter of respect, Mom. Pops hasn’t been gone two months, and they’re already sniffing around for an in. Like the miserable coyotes around here.”

  “Dinner’s ready!” Amy announced cheerily from the hall. “Let’s eat—Hey, what’s going on in here? The Hawks losing?” Her eyes swept the room and landed on me. I gave a subtle shake of my head to say not now.

  Mom entered the room, wiping her hand on an apron, her other hand still holding a glass of white wine. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ve got a phone call to make. Start without me.” Dad stomped off toward his office.

  “Not now, let’s have dinner,” I whispered to Mom, gesturing to the dining room.

  Gramma fretted under her breath to Mom as they walked ahead of us.

  I lagged behind to fill in Amy on the dirty dealings of our favorite cousin. I had to cover her mouth to keep her cursing from being overheard in the dining room.

  “I think I know who’s behind this,” she said once I removed my hand.

  “Go on.”

  “Kurt Jones,” she whispered like it was a bad word and we were kids.

  “Jones? The last name doesn’t ring a bell. And I only know one—” Shit.

  “Kurt. Hailey’s ex.”

  “That little fuckwad.” I spat out the words.

  “I never liked him, but didn’t think he would sink to trying to get a grieving widow to sell property when the grave is still fresh,” Amy whispered.

  “He gave her his card at the funeral. Shit. I saw him at the church. He stood near the door with a bunch of other guys I didn’t recognize.”

  “He did not!” Her voice rose.

  “Yep. I thought he must have been there to support Hailey, but I never saw him at the reception.”

  “They broke up months ago and she was more than clear she wanted nothing to do with him, so he wasn’t there for her.”

  “Unbelievable.”

  She echoed me and then continued, “Hailey’s going to die if she finds out he did this. I guess he was always talking about how underdeveloped the island was. He thought more subdivisions and fewer woods and farms would, to quote him, “bring you into the 21st century” as if we were some backward time warp.” She huffed with the remembered insult.

  “Well, he went after the wrong land and the wrong family.”

  “He picked on the wrong little old lady, that’s for sure.” She bumped shoulders with me as we made our way down the hall. “I can’t say I don’t want to kick his ass, though.”

  “Amy! You’ve never been in a fight in your life outside of tackling our sisters or whatever emotional warfare you waged on each other as teens.”

  She sighed. “I know, I know. But I love the idea of a good old-fashioned movie style ass kicking for Kurt. Come on, it would be awesome.”

  I blinked at her. “You know, I’m so going to bring this up when Sam gets in his first fight at school.”

  “That’s different!”

  “Uh huh. You’re such a bruiser, Amy.” I sat down and smiled at Mom, who appeared worried, and Gramma, who quietly ate her stew.

  A few minutes later, Dad sat at the head of the table. “All settled. Where’s my dinner?”

  POOR KURT JONES. Born without a sense of humor, dumped by his fiancée, and now, blacklisted on Whidbey. Mom may have mentioned it to both Connie at the bank and Sandy at the market. Living on the island meant word got around quickly about Ellie Donnely being targeted at Pops’ funeral. Wagons circled and the big guns were brought out. No one messed with the Donnely matriarch. As for Bob, he was off the Christmas card list, permanently.

  I didn’t think how the island gossip would affect Hailey, the former future Mrs. Jones. Or how easily someone could be tarnished by association. The gossip in the break room at work, which had once been around her legs, turned to greedy city people coming to the island and trying to take advantage. It was amazing to hear the things people said when they didn’t realize I stood in the room behind them. />
  “She probably used her family connections to get in sweet with the Donnelys. I heard she’s been friends with Ken’s youngest for years. Such a shame when islanders forget where they come from.”

  “She’s always been a real stuck up bitch around here. She gets her coffee, but never eats in here with the rest of us.”

  “Didn’t she call off the wedding?” Daryl asked, hope in his voice.

  Geez, these guys were worse than my sisters with their gossip. Anyone who said men didn’t gossip, hadn’t hung around men very much. I cleared my throat from my place near the door.

  “Hey, Donnely,” Stu greeted me. “Sorry to hear about the business with Ellie.”

  With a shrug, I sat down. “Sounds like Ellie’s not the only person being discussed.”

  A few of the guys at least appeared to be sheepish.

  “From what I overheard, the bunch of you could give Connie’s circle a run in terms of gossip. You all get vaginas for Christmas this year?”

  “Fuck you,” Jay said.

  “This makes the second time you’ve stepped in to defend King. You sweet on her or something?” Stu asked.

  “Maybe they like braiding each other’s hair,” some guy I didn’t recognize added.

  That didn’t make sense. I shot him a look and he slunk lower in his chair. “This is why we can’t have nice things. A woman works here and you numb-nuts spend your breaks talking about her.”

  “We don’t talk about Bertha in the office.”

  A round of shudders made its way around the table like the Wave at Safeco Field.

  Bertha had earned the unfortunate nickname of Bulldog around the yard. She didn’t accept any bullshit from anyone, let alone the men around here. Her jowls and big eyes complimented her personality. I knew under her gruff exterior, she had a heart of gold. In her free time she knit afghans for soldiers and the senior center. You didn’t piss her off if you could help it.

  “Well, maybe you should pretend every woman is Bertha. Or your mother,” I said, crossing my arms and tilting my chair.

  “I’d never get laid again,” Stu grumbled and drank from his mug.

  “Again?” I joked. The tension dissipated into laughter. Talk moved to the Seahawks making the Super Bowl again, the price of diesel, and whether or not salmon season would be good this year.

  “You think you’ll take the Master Baiter up the Strait of Georgia?” Jay asked me.

  “Masturbator? Who’s that?” Daryl laughed.

  “Besides you?” Stu snorted.

  Conversation came to an abrupt halt. Not because of the inappropriate work conversation, but because Hailey stood at the counter, her empty mug dangling from her hand. Silence filled the space.

  “Um, hi.” She faked a smile at the group.

  None of the guys responded, instead becoming interested in their finished lunches and the napkins crumpled on the table.

  “Hi, King,” I said, tossing my napkin at Stu’s head.

  “Hello, hey,” he said.

  Not awkward at all.

  Hailey sighed and poured a cup of coffee. Pausing at the door, she said, “You know, I preferred it when you all talked about my legs instead of talking shit about my personal life.”

  Shit.

  “Sorry you heard all that,” Jay apologized.

  “Nothing not being said all over the island.” She shrugged and walked out.

  My leg bounced, and I struggled not to jump up, and follow her. I counted to fifty and stood. “You’re a bunch of assholes.”

  Daryl stared at his hands and remained quiet. Poor kid had it bad for Hailey.

  “You better be fucking her with all this white-knighting she has you doing on her behalf, Donnely,” Stu grumbled into his mug.

  “They’ve got to be screwing,” Jay added. “I’ve never seen him get all territorial about someone he wasn’t related to before.”

  “I don’t see any of your names on this building, Jay. Have some respect for the company. There are other boatyards that might be hiring.” I threw away my lunch and stomped out of the room.

  “Fucking assholes,” I mumbled as they continued to talk shit.

  I intended to head out to the boat, but instead found myself waving to Bertha as I passed through the front office. With two quick knocks, I announced my arrival at Hailey’s door.

  She glanced up, her mouth full of a bite of sandwich. A little dab of mayo lingered on her cheek as she chewed and swallowed. “Yeah? Not finished with the break room talk?”

  I couldn’t have a conversation with her with mayo on her face. I gestured to her cheek and she wiped it off, blushing.

  “I’m really sorry you overheard a bunch of asshats gossiping.”

  She gestured for me to sit. Instead, I leaned against her filing cabinet.

  “Honestly, it’s nothing new. Trust me. Sandy gave me an earful when I bought groceries yesterday. She went on and on about my poor choice in men with a judgmental frown on her face. Everyone in the lines around us could hear her. No one seems to remember I called off the engagement.”

  “Why don’t you remind them?”

  “How? Put an ad in the local paper?” She threw the rest of her sandwich in the garbage.

  “Might not be a bad idea.”

  “Stop giving me the dimples. They’re not helping.”

  I froze my face into a serious expression. “You know the island. Some other scandal will take the attention from your poor choice in men.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Trust me. Some teen will get pregnant, or steal a car, some politician will do something corrupt, or any number of things will distract the locals. There are enough Donnelys around, someone else is bound to cross us soon.”

  She sighed. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “I know.”

  “I stopped by and saw Ellie this weekend. She was so lovely, and told me she knew plenty of nice young men.”

  I smiled at my grandmother’s kindness. “Did she mention me?”

  “Oddly enough, no.”

  I pouted.

  “She did say I needed to meet a nice young man like John Day. You know any guys like him?” She bit her lip to fight her grin.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake. She did not.” My pout turned sullen. “What does he have I don’t?”

  “A girlfriend and a dog?”

  “What does Babe have to do with anything?”

  “Shows loyalty and the ability to commit to something.”

  “I could get a dog. We had a dog growing up.”

  “Minnie? The schnauzer? I thought she hated you?”

  “She did. Always peed in my room, but no one believed me. What about a fish?”

  “Fish?”

  “I could get a pet fish.”

  “Why?”

  “To show I’m not a sociopath.”

  “People think you’re a sociopath?”

  “No, but my grandmother doesn’t think I’m a nice young man.”

  She sighed. “Your grandmother loves you, and knows you well, apparently.”

  I twisted my mouth.

  “Tigers don’t change their stripes.” She gave me a sympathetic smile.

  “I did defend you back there.”

  “I heard. You don’t have to come to my rescue. I think it might make things worse.”

  “How?”

  “People will be suspicious, start asking questions about why you’re taking my side, why you’re so interested.”

  “So?”

  “Isn’t the first rule of Tom Cat never draw attention to yourself?”

  “That isn’t the first rule of Fight Club.” My anger simmered. “I’m not the one who said we couldn’t tell anyone. You’re the one who worried about Lori finding out.”

  “You didn’t object. Plus, that’s over, isn’t it? Back to being friends, right?” Her eyes were cold.

  I nodded to placate her.

  “Thanks for the knight in shining armor act, but I can handle things on my o
wn.”

  “Fine.” I pushed off the cabinet so hard it rocked.

  “Fine,” she echoed.

  I stormed out of her office and right into the paunch of Al.

  “Donnely. Everything okay in there?”

  “It’s fine.” I emphasized the last word.

  “I hope you aren’t bringing your personal issues with King into work. Whatever happened between her fiancé and your grandmother should be resolved privately.

  “Ex.”

  “Pardon?”

  “He’s her ex-fiancé. Ex. No one around this goddamn island seems to remember she broke up with him.”

  I shoved past him and out to my truck. Work wasn’t over, but I was clocking out for the day.

  My fists banged on the steering wheel while I decided what to do. Screw it. I’d drive and figure it out.

  A short loop around Holmes Harbor cleared my head. This was exactly why I didn’t get involved in other people’s drama and bullshit. Anything happening to Hailey had nothing to do with me. As we’d both agreed multiple times, we were friends. That’s it. Friends who had sex a few times. Now it was over.

  I pulled into my yard and parked near the shop. Inside, I cranked up the classic rock station, fired up the wood-stove, and went to work on a new sculpture. Slicing through the wood with a buzzing chainsaw required all of my focus and I soon lost myself in drawing out the otter, which lay trapped in the log. Wood chips flew and fell to the ground, creating a blizzard around me.

  I carved until my arms grew tired. Quieting the saw, I stepped away and observed my work.

  Hailey’s silver hood appeared through the trees and she slammed on the brakes a few feet from my truck.

  “There you are,” she shouted, stomping through puddles and mud to the shop’s entrance.

  I turned off the chainsaw and laid it on the bench before walking toward the doors to meet her. “What do you want, friend?”

  “Stop butting into my business.” Her voice screeched and her arms flailed.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I blocked her entrance to the shop by spreading my legs and putting my hands on my hips. “You’re the crazy woman showing up at my house screaming at me.”

  “Al spoke to me after you took off. Something about not bringing personal drama into work and distracting the crew. Guess if your last name is Donnely, you can do no wrong at the boatyard.” She poked me in the chest. It was annoying as hell.