by Jade Kerrion
“Oh look, another smart-ass. You think you’re funny, don’t you? We’ll smear that pretty face of yours all over the carpet.”
“There isn’t any,” Rio said.
“What?”
“Carpet, which is just as well, because bloodstains are hard to get out of the carpet.” Rio released his grip on Phil’s arms, but to his surprise and relief, Phil did not charge forward. Instead, the former marine straightened. He did not have the benefit of a heavy leather jacket to add to his heft, but he looked formidable—unafraid and steely-eyed. “Get out.” His gruff tone was practically a growl.
The bikers stared at Phil, their gazes flicking sideways to Rio. Rio could almost hear their thoughts: Four against two.
In the end, it was Phil’s silence and his solid stance that broke their nerve. One of the bikers swatted another on the arm. “These losers ain’t worth it. They’re just a bunch of lousy beach bums. Let’s get out of here.”
Rio sensed Phil tense, but his friend did not fall for the obvious bait. Neither man relaxed until the bikers sauntered out of the bar. Rio looked around. The only damage was a tipped over table and several spilled mugs of beer—not bad in the grand scheme of things.
What Rio hadn’t expected was Phil’s willingness to step up to protect a woman, and as a bonus, his restraint in not escalating the fight when it was clear it could be handled without fists. More importantly, he hadn’t struck out blindly when Rio had pulled him back.
Rio studied the subtle flicker of expressions on Phil’s face, a combination of bewilderment and an odd kind of relief, as if Phil had surprised himself. “I gotta get some air,” Phil said before barging out the back door, obviously putting space between him and the biker gang that had walked out the front.
Getting air was a huge and significant improvement from the man who had been ready to strike out with little provocation months earlier. Phil’s regular meetings with his psychiatrist, Dr. Biles, and his attendance at the AA meetings were obviously paying off.
Back in Phil’s living room, Rio shook off his memories of that almost-brawl and stared Phil in the face. “You’re not the same guy who came here nine months ago,” he said with absolute certainty.
“No, but I’m not the same guy who left Marie and went off to war, either. I’ll never be.” Phil turned away. His shoulders slumped beneath the burden of guilt. “She deserves better, and I know it, even if she doesn’t.”
Chapter 4
The problem with Key West, Phil reflected, wasn’t just the sand, which did get everywhere. It was the S-L-O-W pace of life on the island, and it drove him—a native New Yorker—nuts. The sun was just peeking over the horizon. In fact, there was scarcely enough light to work by, but that morning, like all other mornings, he started work early. The flower beds needed constant care and weeding to stay as pretty as they looked. Tending them and taking care of all other outdoor activities in the morning allowed him to spend the rest of the day working indoors, on the electrical and plumbing systems, or on whatever emergency came up.
Now that Marie was on the island and, worse, at the resort, he would have to do his best to avoid her. Marie wasn’t much of an early riser when on vacation. Getting through his outdoor work early and then staying indoors seemed like the ideal solution.
The not-so-distant sound of a door opening drew his attention to Sunrise Cottage. His breath caught, stuck against the clog in his throat, as Marie stepped out, her fingers wrapped around a mug. He darted a quick glance back at the safety of his cottage. There was no way he could get there.
Damn it. Out of options, Phil crouched behind the waist-high ficus hedge. He’d just have to wait her out.
At first, he kept his back to her, but curiosity was too compelling. His unexpected encounter with her last night had been too short, too jarring. He had been too shocked yesterday to manage any more than a growling self-defense.
He hadn’t really looked at her—not beyond noticing her missing wedding ring.
How odd that it would have been the first thing he noticed.
A muscle twitched in Phil’s cheek as he peeked through the dense foliage. Marie was skinny—his expert assessment estimated a weight loss of twenty or more pounds. She was one of those people who stopped eating when she was stressed. He frowned; her stress must have been through the roof—she had shed those pounds like a Labrador shaking off water after a bath. He didn’t like what the weight loss did to her. She had already been too thin from the stress of living with him and his PTSD.
As the sun rose and spread its light over the beach, it embraced Marie in its warm glow. She raised her face to the sea breeze, closed her eyes, and swayed slightly to music only she could hear. A matching smile crept over Phil’s face. She was beautiful. She had always been, and it came down to the kindness in her eyes and the warmth in the curve of her lips. Her heart was so huge, it was a wonder it fit into her chest. She would have kept taking him back—
Until the day I kill her. Coldness gripped Phil’s heart. It was only a matter of time. Tough love was what he had needed. She had taken the first step with the restraining order, but the divorce he sought was as much to save her as to save him. As long as she stayed with him, there was little reason to change.
Now that he faced life without his Marie, there was nothing to do but change.
Had he changed as much as Rio said he had, or was his friend just blowing hot air? Was Rio loyal but optimistically misguided?
Rio? Gullible? Phil dismissed the absurd thought with a snort. Rio Loren only looked laid-back. His eyes, however, were sharper than anyone Phil had ever known, his mind more incisive. He possessed an edge beneath his easy-going exterior, and a deep core of empathy under his seemingly natural nonchalance.
In fact, Rio would be great for Marie. He would charm her out of the sadness that seemed to linger about her, lure laughter back into her life, and treat her with the care and love she deserved.
Rio would be perfect for Marie.
The thought wrenched at Phil’s stomach with such force that he thought he would throw up. His hands clenched into fists so tight that his fingernails dug into the palms of his hands, leaving crescent-shaped indentations.
Marie’s mine.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
No, she’s not. Not anymore. I had her, and then I screwed it up.
The sense of loss was too fresh. He couldn’t be charitable, not yet—couldn’t play Cupid when so much of him was still tied in what he had lost—but he could tell Rio to keep an eye on Marie, and then he could get the hell out of their way and give things a chance to work out.
And if it did work out, he’d have to find himself a new job far away from Key West. Rio was practically a lifelong resident of the Keys, and Marie would jump at the chance to live on the beach year-round. She could too, with her lottery winnings, he reflected. It wasn’t as if she had to work.
He grunted, a small discontented sound.
Marie’s head snapped up and she looked in his direction.
Shit.
“Who’s there?” she called out. Her brow furrowed. “Phil? Is that you?”
No way he would allow her to catch him sneaking behind a bush like a teenaged voyeur. He stood stiffly and brushed the dirt off his hands. “’Morning.”
Her smile was hesitant, but it was a smile. “It’s my first Key West sunrise. I’ve dreamed about this for so long,” she continued when he said nothing in response to her first observation. She stared at him, heartache in her gaze. He knew what she was thinking. I’d always imagined I would be here with you, but not like this. Divorced.
Her attention flicked back out to the sunrise. Did she find the view somehow less magnificent, diminished because of their altered circumstances? Phil grimaced. Ruining the experience for her had never been part of the plan.
Nothing’s ever part of the plan, is it? It just happens, and she’s the one who gets hurt. When am I going to man up and just own the damn situation?
Marie
continued, apparently willing to hold a one-sided conversation. “I didn’t get a chance to say thank you yesterday for fixing the water. It was very good of you to come out so late—”
“What are you doing, Marie?”
Her eyes widened. “Saying thank you.”
“No, I mean this.” He flung his arm out to encompass the world. “Talking about the sunrise and plumbing like they’re the only things that matter.”
Pain flared into Marie’s brown eyes. She hissed like water sizzling against a volcano edge. “They are the only things that matter now that we’re divorced. You insisted on it. How dare you come here, where you knew I always wanted to be?”
“Hey, it’s a big world. A free world. I can go wherever the heck I want.”
Marie sucked in her breath sharply and took a tiny step back. She was reacting to the snarl in his voice. She had done that before, many times before. His memories tangled with the present day—her face drawn with worry, pinched with fear. Damn it. He had left to stop being the source of her worry and fear.
But as he watched, her chin lifted in the way that was also uniquely Marie—the refusal to back down in spite of fear. In spite of himself, he smiled. She was amazing; she hadn’t changed, and now he realized he should not have expected her to.
“If you didn’t want to come to Key West with me, you should have just said so.” Marie’s voice was frosty, but he knew it was a thin, cold layer over the smoldering fury of a no-longer-dormant volcano. “We could have saved ourselves a lot of heartache if you’d told me you no longer loved me a long time ago.”
“Whoa.” No longer love you? I still love you. Wait—she had given him the opening he needed. He fixed an indifferent expression on his face. “Like I said, free world. I go where I choose, with whom I choose. I always wanted to be here,” he added, lying with practiced ease. “Just not with you.”
“Phil?” a hesitant female voice cut in.
He looked up. Lucy, the young woman who worked the overnight shifts and who spent many nights at his cottage, thanks to the wonders of forwarding the front-desk calls to his cottage phone, emerged from his cluster of the woods, carrying a lunch box. His breakfast sandwich. He had forgotten to take it with him that morning, not that it mattered; the stress of seeing Marie the previous night had killed his appetite anyway.
She approached Phil and Marie, her gaze shuttling between them. “Good morning, ma’am.” She greeted Marie with the politeness of a resort staff greeting a guest. “Fabulous day, isn’t it? I’m sorry for interrupting,” she continued, although Phil was certain she was not in the least bit sorry. Her green eyes blazed with curiosity and something else he couldn’t quite put a name to, but it unnerved him. She held out the lunch box to Phil. “You forgot your breakfast when you left the cottage. Would you like some coffee too?”
He frowned. What was with Lucy’s sudden domesticity?
Hurt flared in Marie’s eyes, but she squared her shoulders, and the pain on her face smoothed into the calm expression she had polished to perfection on her third-graders. “I have to get back to my own breakfast.” Her voice was polite, but distant. “Have a nice day,” she directed the farewell into the empty space between Phil and Lucy before walking away.
Lucy waited until Marie shut the door of her cottage before turning to Phil. “Who was that?”
Phil grunted. “Marie.”
“Your ex-wife?” Lucy’s eyes widened. “Here? Why is she stalking you?”
He snorted. As far as Marie was concerned, he was spiting her by being here, where she had always wanted to be. Of course, Lucy would see things differently. “She’s here on holiday.”
“Why here? Couldn’t she go somewhere else? Why come here to spite you?”
“I don’t think she knew I was here. I didn’t tell her. It’s summer vacation. School is out. This would be her first real vacation in a long time.” His chest ached at the truth in his words. Marie hadn’t had a vacation for years. First, he had been away in the Marine Corp and she hadn’t wanted to vacation without him. Then, when he had come back, he was in too bad of a place, mentally, to vacation.
“But she’s a school teacher, right?” Lucy asked.
Phil nodded his head.
“How can she even afford this place? It’s three hundred dollars a night, on sale.”
Phil grunted again as he squatted down to pull weeds from the flower bed. “Probably the lottery she won.”
“Lottery? When?”
“I don’t know exactly. A few months back.”
“Isn’t some of that money yours?”
“Nope. She won it after we divorced.”
Lucy wore a disgruntled frown. “It’s not fair, is it?”
“What?” He tugged a dandelion out by its roots and tossed it into his growing pile of weeds.
“Life. You’re working here, barely making ends meet, and paying alimony, while she’s living it large as a resort guest.
Phil lifted and dropped his shoulders in a shrug. “Marie deserves a lucky break.” After me.
Heedless of her denim jeans, Lucy squatted down beside him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. It was all Phil could do not to pull away. Her scent, which typically lingered on his skin—although not last night or this morning—suddenly smelled too cloying, too sweet.
“You need something to take your mind off her, soldier,” Lucy said, her voice pitched low and seductive. “How about you and me go grab some margaritas at Spotlights tonight and enjoy the sunset.”
Phil grimaced. “Probably not tonight.”
For a moment, Lucy stiffened at the subtle rebuff—as long as Marie was this near, Phil couldn’t work up the interest or enthusiasm for anyone else—but unexpectedly, Lucy relaxed. “Oh, right. It’s the end of the month.”
Great. Saved by being broke. The end of the month was always tight for him, as Lucy knew well. His salary included room and board, but after paying his alimony, and making the difficult choice to pay his psychiatrist or his physical therapist, there wasn’t much fun money left for margaritas.
Phil grimaced as he rolled his shoulders. He would, in fact, have to scrounge up some money for physical therapy soon. The tremors in his arms and legs were worsening in spite of the exercises he did every morning and evening. A hell of a choice. Get better mentally and emotionally while I fall apart physically, or get better physically and fall apart mentally and emotionally.
He had chosen the former and didn’t regret it, but on some days, like this one, when the tremors made it hard to grasp weeds with sufficient strength and accuracy, it doubled, even tripled, the amount of effort and time needed to do his work. Whatever it takes, Phil grimaced. He didn’t doubt he was getting better, even if the nightmares didn’t lessen. What had improved was his ability to breathe through the initial surge of panic, to forcibly not act when propelled by the first burst of anger.
The triggers did not go away, but his ability to cope with them had—perhaps—improved, a little, although not enough. The muscles in his shoulders bunched. It was not safe enough to be around Marie, though. He was not good enough for her. Not yet.
Hope was a tiny voice in his head. But someday?
Phil grunted and shoved the voice away. Hope, however, was not so easily dismissed.
Salt was always in the air, a constant reminder of the sea that never seemed farther than several hundred feet away. Marie raised her face to the warmth of the sun and drew in a deep breath. It smelled different from New York City, where the scent of refuse mixed with human sweat and body odor. Here, the air was as fresh as if a sea breeze had swept through and wiped the slate clean.
“Is it always like this?” Marie asked, turning to Rio with a smile.
“No.” He grinned. “It’s better when a hurricane is bearing down on the island. There are no tall buildings to block the view, and it’s stunning to see nature’s full weight descend on the island.”
“You’ve been around for a hurricane?”
He nodde
d. “The one that swept through the Keys in November, shortly after Phil joined the resort staff. It didn’t chase him away though. He was in the storm, tying everything down and picking up after the mess.”
“He wasn’t hurt,” Marie said, uncertain if she was asking a question or whispering a prayer.
“No. He was out there, on the edge of the storm, as if he had been born to it and knew exactly what do to. He kept his head, which is hard to do when a category four is screaming down at you.”
“He’s never been in a hurricane.”
“Perhaps not, but he’s faced danger. The storm gave him a focal point for his anxiety and his energy. The build-up of adrenaline could be safely spent.”
Marie’s eyes narrowed. “You sound like you know something about it.”
Rio shrugged; his smile was whimsical, but his eyes were clouded. “I’m a writer. I know something about everything. How are you enjoying your Key West tour so far?”
“Immensely, and working up an appetite. You said we’d stop at the best restaurant in Key West for lunch. Is it much farther?”
“Right over there.” Rio pointed to the side of the road.
Marie’s jaw dropped. “A food truck?”
“Best in the Keys, or maybe I’m just a cheap date.” He winked.
Marie laughed. Rio’s light-hearted attitude was disarming, his flirtations charming and natural. He probably flirted with most women, his easy warmth at contrast with the subtle shadows in his eyes. When he had knocked on her door late that morning, she had leapt at the chance to spend the day with him. She needed someone to take her mind off Phil.
She was beginning to wonder, though, if Rio was the right person to take her mind off Phil. He clearly knew Phil well, and Marie had to bite her tongue often not to ask about Phil. Even so, Phil seemed to come up in their conversation without either of them trying too hard or too obviously.
Maybe I’m overthinking it. Marie smoothed the skirt of her bright yellow sundress, a recent splurge. The brown leather sandals on her feet were old, worn, and comfortable, a gift from Phil many years past. Phil. Marie rolled her eyes. She had been doing an almost decent job not thinking about him. She had filled the deep hole he had left in her life with many things—school, extra projects, extra tutoring, heading up several fundraising drives. But no men…a little voice said in her head.