Life Shocks Romances Collection 4

by Jade Kerrion

  No, there had not been any men, not since Phil. She had brushed off well-meaning friends and their attempts to set her up with dates. She didn’t have time—which was true—but she also wasn’t ready. Marie still didn’t know where her marriage had gone wrong, and to blame all of it on Phil, PTSD notwithstanding, seemed a total cop-out. She didn’t want to blame Phil. It simply wasn’t her style.

  “Earth to Marie.”

  She jerked her head up at Rio’s voice.

  “You looked a thousand miles away,” Rio teased. “Why would you be anywhere else when you’ve always wanted to be here?” He tugged her hand and led her up to the food truck, which served exotic wraps, including grilled mahi mahi and Korean-style steak.

  Marie studied the menu. “What do you recommend?”

  “It’s all good. If you like shrimp, the Tiki prawns are amazing. The sauce is slightly sweet, slightly spicy, and it melts into the avocado, grilled onions, and corn kernels.”

  She wrinkled her nose, thought hard, and then laughed. “How can I resist? I’ll have the Tiki prawns.”

  Marie hung back as Rio placed an order for three wraps—a Tiki prawns, a grilled mahi, and a Korean steak. “Wow, you’re hungry.”

  “Not all for me.” He winked at her. “Three iced teas, please.” He added to the order as he handed the food truck operator his credit card.

  “Who’s…?” Marie stiffened at the familiar spark along the length of her spine—a spark she had not felt in a long time. Phil. She turned and saw him, standing on the other side of the street, his hands shoved into the pockets of his denim jeans.

  He didn’t have Rio’s careless good looks, and God knew…she knew all the scars he carried, physical and emotional, but her heart raced in a way it hadn’t with Rio.

  Rio handed her a bottle of iced tea. “Phil and I have lunch together every Sunday,” he noted, his tone casual, as if discussing the weather. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  Marie couldn’t get the words out past her throat. She stared at Phil. He stared back. Two car breadths separated them, but it might as well have been an impassable ravine.

  Rio cut through the layers of tension. “I’m going to wait here and see who chickens out first.” He spoke loudly enough for his voice to carry across the street.

  Marie wasn’t surprised to see Phil stiffen further, but he shocked her by crossing the street to join them.

  “Here’s your mahi mahi and your iced tea.” Rio deposited the aluminum foil encased mahi wrap and bottle of iced tea into Phil’s hands, before handing another foil-wrapped roll to Marie. “This way.” He nudged his head at a tiny cluster of picnic tables tucked in a shady corner of the parking lot. All but one was already taken. “I don’t want to have to eat my lunch standing up.”

  Rio, walking ahead, reached the table before a loud bunch of teenagers, leaving Marie and Phil to catch up. Suddenly, Phil dropped his bottle of iced tea, and as he bent to pick it up, he dropped his wrap too.

  “Are you okay?” Marie asked before she noticed the subtle but uncontrollable tremor in his hands. His fingers shook too hard to grip the slippery sides of the bottle, but Phil said nothing as he kept trying. He could not, however, hide the tension bulging in his neck or the embarrassment flaring in his eyes. “I’ll get that for you.” She grabbed the items he had dropped, and then carefully balancing them, carried his meal and hers to the table Rio was holding for them.

  Rio’s concerned gaze darted past her to fix on Phil, but he did not say anything as he scooted over to make space for Phil on his side of the picnic table.

  Marie was, at first, relieved not to have to sit next to Phil, not when her nerves were in such disarray, but a moment later, she realized that sitting directly across from him was probably not the greatest idea either. It gave her every opportunity to study him, and to realize how much he had changed.

  He had lost weight—twenty pounds, perhaps—and his slightly scruffy chin—experience told her he hadn’t shaved for about two days—further accentuated his haggard look. His hair was a little too long, and he looked tired, just like he had in the days immediately following his return from the war, when he had not slept at all. His clean, simple clothes, however, and the fact that he smelled of soap saved him from looking like a homeless bum.

  “You all caught up?” Rio asked Phil before taking a bite of his Korean-steak wrap.

  “Almost,” Phil muttered, the slur in his voice obvious next to the clarity of Rio’s voice. “Got a bit more weeding to do around the cottages.”

  “You work on Sundays?” Marie’s question popped out before she could stop herself.

  “I work if there’s work that has to be done. Doesn’t really matter how long it takes.” Phil’s tone was defensive. His hands shook as he unwrapped the foil around his sandwich.

  Marie’s brow drew together. The tremors in his hands—they weren’t souvenirs from the war. They were the result of nerve damage when he had shot and nearly killed himself. Was he seeing a doctor? Why wasn’t he in therapy? “How bad is it?” she asked.

  Phil glowered at her. “It’s fine.”

  “Are you getting help for it?”

  “Yeah.” A muscle twitched in the corner of his eye.

  That wasn’t nerve damage. That was a lie.

  Marie scowled at him, but he ignored her and kept eating. His involuntary tremors didn’t seem any better, but by bracing his elbows against the wooden table, he was able to stabilize them enough to eat without major mishaps. He hesitated, however, when he reached for the bottle of iced tea.

  He wouldn’t be able to unscrew the top.

  Without a word, Marie grabbed the bottle and tried to twist off the cap. Unfortunately, it was sealed tight; besides, when they were married, Phil had been their bottle opener. Nine times out of ten, she never managed to twist hard enough to get it open.

  “Here, hand it over.” Rio beckoned for the bottle. “Maybe it’s time to add some bicep curls to your gym routine.”

  Marie giggled.

  Phil didn’t. His scowl darkened. “She’s perfect as she is.”

  Marie’s mouth dropped open. I’m…perfect?

  “Okay,” Rio deferred cheerfully as he set the now open bottle in front of Phil. Without waiting to be asked, he twisted open the cap on Marie’s iced tea too. “It’s job security for me.” He winked at Marie. “You’ll always need to keep me around.”

  Marie flinched. Her alarmed gaze darted toward Phil. Her ex-husband’s jaw was so tense it would have broken any fist aimed at it. The muscles bunched around his neck and shoulders gave him sudden heft. She stiffened and braced herself to duck or run.

  Phil sucked in a deep breath. His fingers tightened around his sandwich, his knuckles turning white.

  Marie looked at Rio. He seemed watchful, but not alarmed. In fact, his stance seemed to say, Wait and see.

  Wait for what? To get hit? No freaking way. No, thanks. Marie was way past believing that she could change Phil. She had tried and tried. She was still trying when his lawyer had called, telling her that he had filed for divorce and she needed to find a lawyer to represent her.

  Tension fisted around her throat, making it hard to breathe. She had to leave without drawing any attention to the situation. The spotlight would only make it worse for everyone, especially Phil, now that he worked here in Key West.

  “Rio, you’re an ass. Quit hassling her.” Phil grunted. He expelled a breath, his shoulders relaxed, and he took another bite of his sandwich.

  Marie’s mouth dropped open. You’re an ass? That was it? The Phil she knew—the one who had come back broken from the war—would have, at the very least, slammed his palm on the table, spilling drinks. He could have swung his fist at Rio, and she would not have been surprised. But, no, he was calmly seated at the table, chewing slowly on his sandwich.

  He changed, a little voice whispered. But how?

  Rio wasn’t smirking, but he did have a knowing gleam in his eyes, the same kind her third-graders wor
e when they brought a surprise to school for her.

  Marie inhaled, the salty air expanding her lungs. “I thought I heard you last night, when Rio and I were at the crab shack.”

  Phil looked confused for a moment, but his expression cleared. “The AA group meets in the back room.”

  “Why do you attend AA? You’re not an alcoholic?”

  His eyes narrowed as he scowled at her. “How do you know? You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know you’re not getting physical therapy.”

  “Of course I am.” His eye twitched.

  Marie chuckled, but the sound lacked humor. “No, you’re not. You can’t lie to me, Phil. We’ve been friends for too long. We were married.”

  “All in the past.”

  She tilted her head. “Is it?”

  Is it?

  Marie’s words frightened Phil. Her matter-of-fact tone terrified him. She was headstrong—no, stubborn—and once she had it in her mind to do something, she almost always did. The one time he had thwarted her was when he had filed for a divorce, and the only way he had been able to do so was to avoid her completely. Communicating through lawyers was impersonal but safer; otherwise, Marie would have talked him into staying, into giving their marriage a second, third, fourth, and fifth chance, because that was the kind of person she was. It was why he had walked away and stayed away. He wasn’t strong enough to resist her love and her optimism, not in person.

  Rio, thankfully, steered the conversation into neutral waters, not difficult to do in light of Marie’s eagerness to hear about life on the Keys. Still, Phil could not shake off the feeling that he was being observed and evaluated by her. He hated it—absolutely hated the knowledge that he came up short of what he needed and wanted to be.

  “So, what do you want to do first?” Rio’s voice cut through Phil’s thoughts. “The local thing or the wide-eyed touristy thing?”

  Across the table, Marie laughed, the sound like a fist to Phil’s gut. He hadn’t heard her laugh in so long, and it was another man who had finally drawn laughter out of her. In that moment, Phil didn’t know whether to punch Rio or high-five him.

  “Well, it’s my first full day here. How many times do I get to be a wide-eyed tourist?”

  “Considering the way you were dancing on the beach, I’d say you’d probably hold on to that special feeling for a little longer than most.” Rio grinned back.

  Phil sucked in a breath. Beneath the table, his hands curled into fists. Hitting Rio was edging out over high-fiving him. He tucked his tongue between his teeth and bit down hard. The snap of pain was like a dash of cold water to his face, just enough to yank him out of a thought pattern that could have spiraled down into actual violence.

  Coping mechanisms he had aplenty. His psychiatrist had spent the past eight months teaching him ways to cope. “Talking about why anger and violence aren’t appropriate won’t make you any better. What you need are simple ways to manage your anger, spend it somewhere other than on people.”

  That Phil had only used two of the ways instead of ten was a good thing. He grimaced. On the other hand, it gave Rio many more opportunities to get on his nerves.

  At that moment, Rio shot Phil a sideways glance.

  Phil stiffened. Damn, he hated it. Rio’s uncanny ability to sense when something was wrong was unnerving.

  The teasing gleam in Rio’s eyes told Phil that Rio knew exactly what kind of affect he was having on Phil.

  What does he think this is? A game?

  A female voice from across the street cut into their cozy circle. “Hey, Rio!”

  A young woman—she looked like she was still in high school—waved at them. “That’s Candice.” Rio’s grin widened. “I have to go talk to her. You guys don’t wait up for me.”

  “But—” Phil’s objection fell on deaf ears. Rio was already striding across the parking lot toward Candice.

  “Does he know everybody on the island?” Marie asked.

  “Feels like it. He’s lived here a long time. He’s not quite Hemingway, but the locals are proud of him anyway.”

  Marie pressed her lips together, hesitating. “Will you show me Hemingway’s house?”

  “Rio can take you later, or tomorrow.” He mentally winced at the gruffness in his tone, but the tangle of conflicting emotions made it impossible to be otherwise.

  He wanted to be near her, see her smile, watch her eyes light up.

  He knew he needed to be far away.

  He wanted to ask how she was doing, wanted to know if she was happier, even if he wasn’t. Was she sleeping better, eating better?

  Pain knotted in his chest. Was she dating anyone?

  The words couldn’t get past the blockage in his throat. Instead, Marie asked quietly, “How are you?”

  He shot to his feet and strode away.

  “Hey!” Marie shouted.

  Phil’s grimace was part smile. Right…Marie was more tenacious than a squirrel storing food at the onset of winter. Walking away was never an option. It was how their arguments degenerated into fights. He would walk away, and she would follow.

  The sound of her footsteps racing to keep up with him warned him he wouldn’t get away. He braced himself, but even so, he wasn’t prepared when she grabbed his arm. Her touch jolted through him, at once achingly familiar and shockingly new. He spun, pulled her to his chest, and crushed her lips with a kiss.

  She didn’t stiffen. She didn’t melt.

  She attacked him, her arms and legs wrapping around him to keep him from fleeing. But running was the last thing on his mind, not with her scent, her warmth, all of her, consuming him, and her lips locked on his, as if trying to share the air in his lungs. Memories rushed over him. She had kissed him just like that when she had welcomed him back from Afghanistan. She had kissed him just like that when she had seen him off at the airport. She had kissed him just like that at their wedding, to the sniggers of their family and friends. She had kissed him just like that when he proposed, offering a tiny diamond ring and all his love.

  The little he offered had been enough for her. It had been all she wanted.

  Marie was the girl who had agreed to stay with him, and who had never left.

  And now she was back.

  No. I’m not good for her. Not safe for her.

  Behind him, Phil heard a voice chuckle. “Go get a room, folks.” Phil gripped Marie’s arms and firmly pushed her back. Rio was still across the street, although he was no longer talking to the teenager. Instead, he was watching them intently, a half-smile on his lips. The person who had spoken was just some guy hanging out with a bunch of friends, and he was right—they were creating a scene.

  Phil shook his head sharply and turned away.

  “Oh, don’t think you can walk away,” Marie said in that prissy tone she reserved for her third-graders. “You’re not leaving until we talk about why you divorced me.”

  The titters of the crowd around them fell silent. Curious pairs of eyes shuttled between Phil and Marie.

  Phil’s jaw tensed. Damn, he hated the spotlight, but Marie was never going to leave him alone until she had it out. “Fine, we’ll talk. But not here.”

  “Where?”

  “On the beach.” Where you always wanted to be.

  Chapter 5

  Marie and Phil walked side-by-side, their footprints vanishing into soft, tiny grains of sand, lusher than any carpet. The heat of noon had sent all but the most hard-core beachgoers indoors for lunch and respite from the sun. Marie sneaked a glance at Phil. They did not hold hands, but his hand twitched toward hers, brushing occasionally. Apparently, he was, like her, fighting the natural instinct to hold hands. Even at their lowest, with the marriage falling apart, they had held hands when walking together.

  She sucked in a deep breath. She was here, where she had always wanted to be, and she was with Phil. How many times had she dreamed of walking along the beach in Key West with him—the man she had loved since high school? Well, here they
were now and—she sneaked a look up at his stern expression, softened by the unruly lock of hair that always fell over his forehead—he was as gorgeous in person as he was in her dreams each night. His hair was longer; he had probably grown it out to conceal the scar on the side of his head, but he still looked like a soldier, one who had survived a brutal war.

  Phil led her to a cluster of rocks shaded by the widespread leaves of a sabal palmetto tree. The rocks curved, forming a cozy nook with an opening just small enough to squeeze through. Marie walked into, what was in effect, a tiny private room right on the beach. A smile spread over her face as she twirled a pirouette in the sand. “Wow, I love this.”

  “I found it three months ago,” Phil said as he entered behind her. “I like to lie down here and look up at the sky.”

  Marie followed his gaze up. The blue was so bright as to be piercing. “It’s gorgeous,” she said, allowing the sounds of the wind and waves to flow over her. Without direct sight of the sea, the music, channeled by the narrow opening of the rocks, was as ethereal as if coming from heaven itself. “Do you come here often?”

  He nodded. “As much as I can. To sit and think.” He waved his hand toward the sand, inviting her to sit and waiting for her to do so before joining her.

  They didn’t touch, but he was close enough for her to revel in the warmth of his body heat. She didn’t want to break the silence. Being near him again, being with him again, was a moment too precious to carelessly dismiss.

  Phil finally cut through the quiet. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “You wanted to talk. We’re here. So talk.”

  “You’re the one who owes me explanations.”

  He grimaced. “Well, I don’t want to talk.”

  Marie rolled her eyes. “Do you want to go someplace else then so that we don’t ruin your favorite place with an argument?”