by Sarah Monzon
Michael studied the balls on the table as he tried to get his breathing to even out and his vision to see another color besides red. His brothers didn’t understand. Not Trent, who had chased every girl from the Atlantic to the Pacific and back again. He’d never once thought about someone else before he’d thought of himself. Put another’s needs above his own. And Adam? Defense attorneys did what it took to get the job done. Guilty or innocent, didn’t matter. Not exactly the moral ground in Michael’s book.
“Believe whatever you want. I don’t care.”
“Why are you denying it?” Trent slid onto a high stool along the wall.
Michael threw his cue stick on the table. “You know what? I don’t need this. Not from you two.”
Adam crossed his arms over his chest, a challenge in his eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Trent held up his hands. “Whoa, dude. I’m sorry, all right? Didn’t mean to upset you.”
“It’s late. I’m calling it a night. I’ll see you guys in the morning.” He turned toward the exit.
“Wait. Don’t you want a ride back?” Adam asked.
“I’ll walk.”
“But your leg—”
Michael pinned him with a glare as he ground out the words again. “I’ll walk.”
The warm humid air matched his mood as he stepped outside. Waves broke on the beach yards away, and the lights of the pier shone down on nighttime fishermen. Only a quarter mile away stood the house Trent had rented for his wedding. By now everyone else was probably asleep. He could slip inside and finally be left alone in peace.
If only his own mind would do the same. It churned more than the ocean currents against the breakers, every crash heating the anger that simmered in the pit of his belly. The loose sand crunched under his feet as he looked up. Clouds hid portions of the night sky, but an almost full moon glowed without a blanket of coverage.
Michael’s fists clinched, pressure building from questions not answered. Or maybe just one question?
Why?
He looked to the moon, his eyes narrowed, as if he could see beyond the heavenly bodies to the One who hung them in place.
“Why?” His voice raw, edged with accusation and seeped in the bitterness he thought he’d rooted out long ago. “Why did You let this happen? I’ve followed You and served You all my life. Shouldn’t that count for something? Shouldn’t there be blessings instead of curses? Feasts instead of famine? Why would You rip everything away from me like that?”
Thick sand slowed his steps and fatigued his leg muscles. He slogged on, the constant discomfort feeding his temper. “And Jackie? Is she some kind of carrot You’ve waved in my face? Perfect but just out of reach.” A group of seagulls squawked and took flight. “Why now, after all of this, when I’m so much less than I was, do our paths cross? Why couldn’t we have met at another time, when we could be together? Are You just some cosmic bully, taunting me with things beyond my reach?” His toe caught on the soft sand, and he pitched forward, shoulder slamming into the ground.
“Ah!” He hit the earth repeatedly with his closed fist, putting the agony and frustration into every punch. Slowly his rage oozed out of him, leaving him spent and breathing hard. He rolled onto his back and stared up, clouds parting to reveal a display of twinkling stars.
He lay there for a moment, looking up, listening to the waves. The accusation no longer present in his heart but still no less confused. “Why am I still struggling with this, God? My head knows. I know you are loving and everything will work together for good. My faith is there. Solid. I trust in You.” He closed his eyes. “Why am I still struggling?”
He waited for…something. Maybe not an audible voice, but something. An impression. A feeling. Anything that would reassure him God was there. That his words hadn’t fallen on deaf ears.
All he got were shifting sands and salty sprays.
Chapter Thirty-One
Present Day, Florida
Jack stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Her paisley dress was pretty and fit her well, the spaghetti straps showing off her toned arms, the natural waist nipping at the right places. Her hair had been pulled out of its usual ponytail and hung around her shoulders and down her back.
Giggles erupted from the oversized bathroom to her right. Every other woman occupied that bathroom. The en suite was a flurry of activity from mascara application to the steam rising from the hot iron. She’d been pulled in earlier, but the girlie preparations had made her stomach flutter in an unpleasant way. What did she know of curlers and foundation? No need of either behind a welding mask.
She returned her gaze to her image in the mirror. Her heart had hammered since the moment she’d awoken that morning. Call it intuition, but somehow she knew it was now or never with Michael. She had one chance, one day, to change his mind, and she was about to face it. And while she looked nice, the person staring back at her would not cause any jaws to drop or produce lingering glances. Both of which she hoped for. Time to call in reinforcements.
With only slightly-less-than-confident steps, she walked to the open door of the spa-like bathroom.
Amber, Michael’s younger sister, noticed her first. “Jackie, that dress is so cute on you.”
She ran a hand down the front of the dress. “Thank you.” Her eyes flitted to the rest of the ladies, Anita, Summer, and Summer’s mom, Pat. “I was wondering…”
Anita straightened from the mirror where she’d been running a soft pink gloss across her lips. “Yes, dear?”
Jack cleared her throat. “I was wondering if one of you could help me. With my hair and makeup, I mean.”
They all smiled, but Amber grabbed her arm and dragged her inside the room of porcelain tile and marble slabs. “Can I do it? I love giving makeovers.”
“Ummm…” Second, third, and fourth thoughts passed in blazing speed at the teenager’s exuberance.
Anita patted her hand. “Don’t worry. Amber is terrific at this sort of thing.”
Hands on her shoulders pushed her into a stool. Amber’s face filled Jack’s vision as the girl hovered near.
“Close your eyes.”
Why did being nervous have to feel like hundreds of tiny bugs were marching around in her tummy? In spite of the stampede in her middle, she let her lids close.
Jack’s temple warmed from the outside of Amber’s hand, a cool metal touching her in a pinprick at the inside edge where her eyebrow started.
What kind of makeup is applied with metal?
Pain, sharp and shooting, brought instant tears to Jack’s eyes.
Holy Hannah! She reared back her head and rubbed at the painful spot, her skin sensitive. “What are you doing?” Her voice came out loud and accusatory, but what in the world? She’d asked for help with makeup, not volunteered for some torture treatment.
Amber’s eyes went wide in surprise. “Plucking your eyebrows.” The way she blinked slowly and tilted her head just slightly to the side practically screamed you should know that.
What Jack wanted to know, though, was why any woman would punish herself by pulling out tiny hairs. It hurt!
The tweezers moved toward her face again. No way! She threw up her hand to stop the madness. “Perhaps we can forgo the plucking?”
Amber shrugged and exchanged the tweezers for a brush. Jack hesitated to close her eyes after what happened the last time, but she also didn’t want to get the powder that Amber blew off the bristles in her eyes. Her fingers tightened around the lip of the stool as she braced for impact. Soft strokes brushed against her cheeks. Not so bad. Powders, pastes, and who knew what else were applied to her face. Jack felt like a painter’s canvas. If she turned out a masterpiece, the layers caked to her face would all be worth it.
“There.” Amber backed away with a huge grin.
Summer looked at her with kindness and teasing in her eye. “I’ll even forgive you for outshining me on my wedding day.”
Jack’s eyes rounded, but before she cou
ld offer a word, Pat shooed Summer away. “Stop that nonsense. You’re making the poor girl feel bad.”
Summer laughed. “I’m only giving you a hard time, Jack. You look lovely.”
“You really do, my dear.” Anita stepped up and spun Jack around so she could look at herself in the mirror.
Jack gaped. Her eyes seemed larger, the gold in her hazel irises brighter somehow. Her skin looked as soft as a rose’s petal, and her hand lifted to touch her cheek. Amber had transformed her. Instead of lying flat against her head, her hair curled in waves, appearing to have movement all its own. The illusion had her transfixed.
Anita leaned in next to her. “My son won’t know what hit him when he sees you.”
Their gazes met in the mirror. Warmth spread through her middle at the encouraging acceptance she saw in the woman’s blue eyes.
“You’re just what he needs.” Tears gathered despite the upturn to Anita’s mouth.
Pat clapped her hands. “Time to get the bride in her gown.”
They all filed out of the bathroom and into the master bedroom, where Summer’s dress hung on the closet door. Anita and Amber lowered themselves onto the edge of the bed, their faces bright. Anita looked at Jack and patted the spot next to her.
Lined in a row, they watched as Pat slipped the gown’s straps off the hanger and then held it for Summer to step into.
“Well?” Summer turned to display her dress, her sculpted brows raised.
The gown had a sweetheart neckline, the bodice overlaid with delicate white lace. The skirt billowed out in layers of pure white chiffon, a lace rosette belted at her waist. She looked like an angel.
Pat lifted up a crown of white hibiscus flowers and placed the circlet over Summer’s flaming-red curls, completing the ensemble. Pat sniffed, and her eyes glistened. “I can’t believe my baby girl is getting married.” Mother kissed daughter’s cheek. “You look lovely.”
“Beautiful.” Anita’s voice cracked as she stood and took Summer’s hands and then pulled her in for a hug. “Welcome to the family.”
A knock sounded at the door before it opened a crack. Summer’s stepdad, Mark, popped his head through. “About ready?” His gaze swept the room, then landed on Summer. He stepped through the door and paused, eyes tearing. “My beautiful girl,” he whispered with reverence.
Anita cleared her throat and blinked rapidly several times. She ushered Amber and Jack with a hand. “Come on, girls. Time to take our places.”
Jack led the trio out the door and through the house, leaving them in the kitchen with the rest of the bridal party. She picked her way down to the beach and took a seat in one of the rented folding chairs. The pastor and Trent stood under the gauzy arch made of simple wood and tulle, embellished with ivy and blue hydrangeas.
She kicked off her shoes and buried her feet, relishing how her toes scrunched in the sand. Strains of soft music filtered through speakers, although she couldn’t pinpoint a single one anywhere. Instead of competing with the other sounds of the beach—the ebb and flow of low tide, the coastal breeze through large palm trees, the screams of sea birds—the instrumental song harmonized.
Jack turned and squinted against the setting sun as “Ode to Joy” floated in the air. Trent stood by the pastor, transfixed. Anita and George walked down the aisle first, followed by Amber in the middle of Adam and Michael. Jack watched Michael as he took each step closer to her. A half smirk on his face, his eyes were straight ahead on his brother.
The song changed to the dreamy strains of Pachelbel’s “Cannon in D.” Summer stood between her mother and stepfather, a bouquet of hydrangeas in her hand. Her smile radiated in fullness. Slowly she made her way down the sandy aisle. Trent stepped forward, his hand held out for her. Pat and Mark both kissed Summer’s cheeks, then handed her off to Trent.
Jack watched but found her attention drifting to the third man standing in the front. The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up, exposing his muscular forearm. He was dressed the same as his two brothers, dark gray fitted pants and light gray vest over a white shirt, but his bearing was completely different. Spine straight, shoulders back, head erect, he was built to withstand, to weather the storms life threw and come out stronger for it. Whether his body bore marks of the beating or not, his true strength lay in his character and his heart.
His eyes wandered over the small group gathered to witness the exchanging of the vows, and her entire body stiffened as she held her breath. Would he like how his sister had made her look?
His observation skidded to a halt as it landed on her. He blinked slowly, but that didn’t hide the widening of his eyes or draw attention away from the bob of his Adam’s apple.
Cautious bliss swirled in her core. She had his attention, his admiration, and hopefully by the end of the evening, his good sense would see that if he wanted what was best for her, he’d stop fighting the pull of their hearts.
***
“Are you going to sit here all night with moon eyes, or are you going to go over there and talk to her?” Adam slid his fork through a piece of wedding cake and brought the bite to his mouth.
“I have to sit here, in case you’ve forgotten. This is the table reserved for the wedding party.” A tenuous excuse, but all Michael had been able to think up.
His brother gave a derisive snort and leaned back in his chair to see around Michael’s frame. “Trent.”
The groom peeled his lovesick gaze away from his new bride. “What’s up?”
“Is Michael chained to this table for the whole evening?”
Trent looked beyond them, his face registering when he spotted Jackie at the refreshment table. He looked back at Michael with a gleam and a smirk. “Go get ’em, tiger.”
“Something you’d tell a kid at a ball game, but whatever,” Michael grumbled under his breath.
Adam waited half a second before launching in again. “Look. Are you going to go for it, or what?”
Ignoring the bait, Michael shoved cake into his own mouth.
“I see how it is.” Adam stood and sauntered away.
Good riddance. He didn’t know what was with his brothers, but they were making themselves more of a nuisance than when they’d all been kids and the worst thing he’d had to fear had been noogies and fart wars.
His gaze drifted again to Jackie. He’d always found her beautiful, but tonight she’d stolen his breath. Her shapely legs peeked from under her flouncy dress, eyes round and alluring, drawing him in like an undertow. His heart was on course for a train wreck, and he couldn’t look away.
Adam’s figure broke into his view, jarring him from a trancelike wonderment. What was his brother doing? His fingers tingled as he watched Adam place a hand on Jackie’s exposed shoulder, his teeth gleaming in the flickering glow of the tiki torches as he flashed his most charming smile at her. Michael closed his fingers into a fist, the muscles along his spine squeezing in response to Adam cupping Jackie’s elbow, his eyes pleading with her as he gently tugged her onto the dance floor. Jackie lifted a hand and gave a small shake of her head, a polite smile on her lips.
His muscles relaxed by degrees. She’d turned Adam down.
Served him right. What had he been thinking? Sure, Michael hadn’t made any move toward Jackie, but that was because he was protecting her. He had her best interest at heart. Adam, though? What was he playing at?
Jackie’s gaze slammed into him, and she seemed to be asking a question. A question he couldn’t answer. Wouldn’t.
It killed him every time she looked at him that way. Open, vulnerable, so willing to give. The response of his own body… He wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and crush her to his chest. To taste her lips for the first time, knowing she’d pour all of herself into that kiss and he’d answer in kind.
But sometimes the right thing wasn’t the easy thing, so he shuttered his eyes and let his face become a blank canvas, unreadable, emotionless.
For her.
Even so, he couldn’t tu
rn away. Pain shadowed her luminous eyes, and his heart squeezed like a fist, draining all his lifeblood. Her chin quivered for a moment before she raised it in the air. Her lips pressed thin, and her hand fluttered.
Adam caught her fingers and tucked them into his palm. Michael couldn’t hear anything that was said between them, but that didn’t stop him from doing a voice-over in his head.
Don’t give my brother a second thought. He’s unworthy of your beauty and grace.
Michael snorted. Right you are there, brother.
His thoughts came in Jackie’s voice as he watched her lips move from across the dance floor. He’s an unprecedented moron, and I can’t believe I wasted a single moment of my time on him.
Adam tugged her toward the other couples swaying on the rented wood squares. Don’t waste another second. There are better Carrington men than him.
She must have agreed, because she allowed herself to be led to the dance floor. Instant heat filled Michael’s gut as he watched Adam place his hand on the curve of Jackie’s waist. She looked into his brother’s eyes, and Michael could see her searching. Was she looking for the same answer from Adam that she’d been seeking from him? Adam leaned in and whispered into her ear. Hot fire shot through Michael’s veins at the blush tingeing Jackie’s cheeks. What had Adam said to her? Michael’s nostrils flared at the increased depth of his breathing. No matter how much oxygen he took in or expelled, it did nothing to cool the rage simmering in his gut. Like lava erupting out of a volcano, he shot out of his chair, the crashing of which drew all eyes toward him.
Ignoring them all, he turned and stormed down the beach.
Chapter Thirty-Two
France, 1944
Alice’s legs cramped from her squatted position behind the bushes, though she dared not move a muscle. A rustle of leaves, a snap of a twig, a hint of unnatural movement—otherwise benign occurrences in the woods, but for her they could spell death. A single one could draw the attention of the SS officer to her hiding place.
Her thighs quivered and knees ached, back screaming for a change of position. Still she held, perspiration beading along her hairline, a rivulet of it drawing a damp line down her spine.