On the Rocks (A Turtle Island Novel)

by Kim Law

  She blushed. If her date didn’t go well . . .

  “I expect it to go great,” she replied primly.

  “What date?” Mrs. Rylander asked.

  Ginger ignored her.

  Carter eyed Mrs. R. again, as if wishing the older woman away, before switching his attention back to Ginger. “I really did want to talk to you.”

  “I’m—”

  “And it’s not about that,” he stressed.

  Mrs. Rylander made a low hmmm, before once again speaking up. “About what?”

  Carter’s jaw twitched, and both of them ignored the other woman.

  “Don’t avoid me, Ginger Root.” His voice always turned softer when he used the nickname. And it worked on Ginger every time. “I didn’t make that suggestion to—”

  “Stop.” Ginger cut him off in midsentence. She glanced at Mrs. Rylander again, who gave her an innocent smile, but Ginger could see behind the batting of the woman’s eyes. She wasn’t the sweet little bystander she was going for. She’d probably already one-handed out a message on her cell phone to the senior center’s social-media page.

  Ginger moved across the room and grabbed Carter by the elbow. “Outside,” she ordered.

  “Don’t forget to pay for that book,” Mrs. R. called out behind her.

  Looking down, Ginger realized she still held the paperback she’d grabbed from the stack beside the register. It was Jules Bradley’s latest. She set it on the nearest shelf, but Carter picked it back up. He held the door open, and motioned for Ginger to precede him out the door.

  Once on the porch, she faced him, and her hands began to shake.

  “I didn’t mean to make you nervous to be around me,” Carter said.

  “I’m not nervous.”

  He directed a look at her hands. She tucked them under her arms and ignored him, shifting her gaze to the quaint gingerbread shingles lining the front of the building, and chewing on her lip.

  “Gin—”

  “I’m not nervous,” she reiterated. “I’m”—she glanced back at him—“embarrassed.”

  “Embarrassed?”

  “You’re my friend, Carter. We’ve always just been friends. Yet . . .” She motioned with her hands, swatting them at him. “You freaking kissed me senseless the other morning. Not to mention, suggested we do more. That isn’t me. It’s not what I’m used to.”

  A smile covered Carter’s face.

  “Are you laughing at me now?”

  “Not at all.” His smile grew wider. “I kissed you senseless?”

  She sighed. “Stop.”

  “I can’t help it, Red. You kissed me senseless, too.” He took a step toward her. “You know it would be good between us.”

  She took two steps back. “And you said that wasn’t what you wanted to talk about.”

  His heel came off the ground, as if he intended to continue pursuing her, and she turned to leave.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Don’t go. I’ll behave. I swear. No more talk about kissing, or . . . other things.” She peeked back at him, uncertain whether to believe him or not, and he held up the Jules Bradley book in front of him. “This is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  She remained where she was. “What about it?”

  “You asked if I’ve read his books.” He swallowed, and suddenly he seemed nervous. “I . . . actually . . . wrote them.”

  His words didn’t compute. “What?”

  He held the book up to the side of his face and pointed at himself and then the book. “Me. Jules Bradley.” His finger motioned back and forth between the two once again. “We’re one and the same,” Carter finished.

  “You’re . . .”

  And then it sank in. Her jaw went slack. Her childhood buddy was Jules Bradley. He’d done it. He was an author, just like he’d always wanted to be.

  And he was Jules Bradley.

  The blood rushed from her head, and she reached out, grabbing the top of the half-empty clearance shelf that always sat on the porch. Carter came toward her.

  “Did you just swoon?” he asked.

  “No.” But that’s exactly what she’d done. And if she wasn’t turned on by him before, she sure as heck was now. The crush was definitely back.

  No words came to her. What could she possibly say, anyway? All she could do was stare.

  Carter gave her a sheepish grin. “Are you mad?”

  “Mad?” The word squeaked out through her constricted throat, and she shook her head, the motion seeming to be in slow motion. “Why would I possibly be mad? You did it, Carter. You accomplished your dream. I’m so happy for you.”

  He looked flustered by her adoration. “I’ve achieved some stuff.”

  “You’ve achieved it all.” She wanted to hug him. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “Because I wasn’t writing when I first came home,” he explained. “That’s part of why my mom has been so worried about me. I sold the new book and the movie deal—”

  Ginger covered her mouth with both hands. “So that’s true?”

  “It’s true.” He chuckled lightly and reached for her. He laced their fingers together. “But then everything happened with Lisa, and the divorce, and . . .” He lifted a shoulder. “I couldn’t write anymore. I hadn’t written in months, and the book is due in a few weeks.”

  “And something has changed now? You’re writing again?” If he hadn’t told her about this before because he wasn’t writing . . .

  “You,” he said. “And your house. The combination has gotten me writing again. Or maybe it’s the ocean air. I’ve missed that. Anyway, that’s what I’ve been doing out at your house early in the mornings. Writing. I sit up in that third-floor office, the doors open to the waves, and the words are finally coming.”

  “Go over anytime,” she told him in a rush. She still couldn’t get over who he was. “It can be your office if you want. I don’t need it.”

  He laughed at that, and she forced her look to shift from wide-eyed fangirl to happy friend. He was Jules Bradley, but he was also Carter. He was her friend. Who’d done what he’d set out to do.

  Without warning, she pulled him to her. His arms wrapped around her, and he held her tight. Pride swelled inside her. “Thank you for telling me.”

  “I wanted to when I first came home.” He looked down at her. “But then I saw that you read them, and . . .”

  “And I gushed like a fangirl.”

  His arms closed tight once again. “That means the world to me.” He spoke into her hair. “To know that you love my books.”

  “Just keep writing them,” she said.

  When he finally released her, she took a small step back, and that time she saw something else written across his face. Something that made her think of tonight’s date.

  “You’ll let me know if things don’t go well tonight?” he asked. Her cheeks heated at the implication of what might happen if the date wasn’t successful. Then Carter leaned in and whispered, “Never mind. I’ll watch for you to come home.”

  And then he kissed her.

  His mouth slanted over hers, hot and possessive, and just as it had the first time, it made her toes curl. She wound her fingers into his shirt, capable only of hanging on.

  He stroked her with his tongue. His hands roamed over her body. He filled every single one of her senses, and in the span of a few seconds, he seemed to touch her everywhere. It was as if he’d branded her. She shivered when he let her go.

  Seconds passed as they watched each other, both waiting for the other to make the next move, both breathing hard. Then he nodded, cupped a hand briefly over his mouth, and slowly backed away. “Don’t have too much fun tonight.” His voice was scratchy and raw, and held promises that heated her all over again.

  He turned to go, rapping a quick knuckle against the glass of the door as he passed it, and causing Cookie and Mrs. Rylander to jump back. “Nice meeting you, ladies,” he tossed out.

  Carter got into his car, and sped away, and
the distant chime of the store’s bell sounded once again. Then Cookie and Mrs. R. were standing on the porch next to her.

  “What was that?” Cookie asked.

  “That,” Mrs. Rylander began, her voice all knowing, “was dessert.”

  “How about going with me to pick out Mom and Dad’s new kitchen table?” Carter suggested to his sister. She’d gotten home from work fifteen minutes earlier, and they were sitting on the porch enjoying the end of the day—and Carter was not watching for Ginger to exit her house on her way to her date.

  “When?” Julie was in one of the two metal gliders her parents had owned forever, her head resting against the back, and both hands atop her burgeoning stomach. Her eyes were closed.

  “I was thinking tomorrow.”

  “You know I work tomorrow.” She peeked one eye open to look at him.

  He still thought she worked too much. “We could go Saturday.”

  “Actually”—she yawned behind one hand—“my Saturday person needed the day off, so I have to work then, too.”

  Carter kept his retort inside. At least she seemed to be doing better these days. She ate more, and she slept more peacefully. In the last two weeks she’d even plumped up and looked like a “normal” pregnant woman. She also didn’t seem to be crying as much lately. Which helped him to not lose his mind.

  “I’m not big into shopping right now anyway,” she told him. “Not after being on my feet all week.” She held her feet out in front of her, the long black-and-white dress she wore dropping away from her calves, and he could see her swollen ankles beneath. “You’ll have to go without me.”

  A Volvo pulled up next door, and instead of continuing the conversation, Carter stopped the motions of his glider and turned his attention to the man getting out of the car.

  He was tall, blond, and dressed in creased slacks, a button-down, and a blazer. He looked like he belonged on a runway.

  “She dates a lot,” Julie pointed out.

  “That she does.”

  The man strolled to the front door, but Ginger came out before he reached it. She’d toned her image down tonight. Dark-washed jeans, a dark green top, and sandals. No heels. No dress. And the makeup was minimal.

  Carter didn’t like it.

  “You have the hots for her,” Julie said.

  He didn’t acknowledge the comment.

  “That’s got to sting. Seeing a different man pick her up so often.” She slid from her seat onto his, hunched in close, and began speaking conspiratorially as they both watched the action next door. “Take her shopping with you,” she suggested.

  That was a good idea, actually. Ginger had things she needed to pick out for her house, too.

  He’d given her a week last Friday night to settle on the major kitchen decisions or he’d choose them for her. Tomorrow was Friday. It made sense to take her shopping. Or maybe he was simply letting his hormones get the best of him.

  Julie jabbed him in the side as Ginger’s breezy laughter rang through the night before she slid into the passenger seat of the other man’s car. And again, Carter ignored his sister.

  Because yes. He definitely had the hots for Ginger. He was jealous as hell right now.

  And yes, he wanted her spending time with him instead of some other man.

  But that was only because he wanted to bed her. He wasn’t about to fool himself that he desired anything more. He might be a bit better than when he’d first shown up, but that didn’t mean he was cured. He was still angry. He would still go home in little more than a week. And he had zero intentions of ever considering anything more than a fun, easy time with a woman again.

  Uncomplicated. That was the new game plan.

  But my god, he did like to kiss that particular woman.

  As the Volvo sped off, he relived the feeling of her mouth under his from earlier that day. The touch of her body in his hands.

  Julie’s phone rang, and Carter pulled his brain back to the present and watched his sister from the corner of his eye. She’d cried less in the last week. Her phone had also rung less.

  She looked at it and stopped the ringing. She didn’t answer.

  But the color washed from her face.

  “It’s him?” he asked. “The baby’s father?”

  It was her turn to ignore him, so he held out his hand.

  “Hand it over. I’ll make sure he never calls again.”

  She shoved his arm out of the way. “Stop it. This is my mess to clean up.”

  “I’m your big brother. I get to fix your messes for you.”

  “Carter . . .” The phone buzzed with a voice mail, and he saw her hand shake.

  “Talk to me, Julie.” He didn’t take her phone from her, but he closed his hand over hers. “It’s time. Dammit, you’re breaking my heart with all this moping around.”

  She smiled sadly at his words.

  Now that he’d experienced a bit of renewed energy for life—at least for writing . . . and sex—simply by sharing a portion of his burden with Ginger, he understand the importance of talking. Of having someone there to listen.

  “You need to talk, Sis, and I’m what you’ve got. So tell me. What happened?”

  “You’ll only get mad.” She looked away from him. “You’ll call me stupid.”

  She moved to get up, but he pulled her back. Ginger hadn’t judged him. And that had helped more than anything. He could do that for Julie. Even if it killed him.

  “I won’t judge,” he said. “I swear.”

  She shot him a scowl similar to his own. “You’re still my big brother.”

  “I am. And I’ll always be.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side. “But I can temper that for one night if I have to. Tell me what happened. Why are you here alone? Why will you be raising my sweet little niece alone?”

  She shook her head, and he didn’t think she would give in, but then tears slowly slipped over her cheeks. Her bottom lip quivered. “Because he’s married,” she whispered.

  Carter closed his eyes. He had to. To keep her from seeing his thoughts.

  And he did his best not to let the tension grow in the arm that was around her.

  “I feel your anger,” she told him.

  “Of course you do, but I’m not saying anything.” He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Tell me the rest.”

  She turned on the seat so she could look at him, and for the first time, he saw a kernel of hope in her eyes. “Do you really want me to?”

  “I do.” He nodded. “Talking helps.”

  “Is that what helped you this week? You talked to someone?”

  She’d noticed? “I did.”

  “To Ginger?”

  He chuckled. “Yes, brat. To Ginger.”

  “You’ve been sneaking out of the house with her every morning,” she accused. “I’m not an idiot. I know that’s going on.”

  “I’ve not been sneaking. Want me to start waking you to let you know I’m leaving?”

  She’d taken to sleeping later the last few days. “No.”

  “Want me to tell you what we’re doing?” He wiggled his brows, and her eyes rounded.

  “Really?”

  “No.” He laughed. “Not really. I’m teasing. We’re watching the sunrise together. That’s all. And talking.”

  Her eyes were more blue than green tonight as she studied him in the quiet night. He could hear a car pass on the main street, a block over from the house, but couldn’t see it from his seat. “You used to do that with her when you were in high school,” she said. “Meet up with her. Almost every morning.”

  “I did.”

  “That’s really nice. To have a friend like that. Someone to talk to.”

  He took her hand. “It is.”

  “I never had a friend like that.”

  “And I’m sorry about that. I wish I could fix it for you.” Because having Ginger in his life had been a big deal, then and now. “I’m your friend tonight, though. I’m your friend
forever. Now tell me the rest of it.”

  She slowly nodded, and apology touched her face. “He was my teacher.”

  “Julie—”

  “You promised.”

  He had promised. But he now wanted to find the man and beat the shit out of him. He gave a quick nod. “Go on.”

  “I thought they were getting divorced. He told me they were.”

  “How old is he?”

  Humiliation washed over her. “Not that old.” Her eyes pleaded with him not to yell.

  “How old?”

  She gulped. “Thirty-eight.”

  The man who’d gotten his baby sister pregnant was older than him?

  Instead of expressing his thoughts out loud, Carter forced himself not to look fierce. Then he motioned for her to keep going.

  “He might still get divorced,” she said. “Or so he says. That’s up in the air. But when confronted with the decision of whether to file the papers or not, he didn’t do it.” She sniffled and scrubbed the back of her hand under her nose. “He’d loved her once, and he wanted to try again. He wants it to work.”

  “Even though you’re pregnant?”

  She nodded, the move intensely sad. “I’m a nonissue.”

  “Then why does he keep calling?”

  She didn’t answer, so he asked another question. “What does his wife think about the baby?”

  She lowered her gaze. “He didn’t tell her.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Julie. He’s an asshole.”

  “I know. And I messed up. Bad. I know that.” She swallowed. “But you can’t tell Mom and Dad, Carter. Please. I’ve learned a lot from this.”

  “I have no doubt. But just so you know, if he thinks he can simply waltz back into your life if it doesn’t work out with his wife, then I’ll have to put myself in the middle whether you like it or not.”

  She smiled wanly. “No need, big brother. I’ve made that fact clear. He’s out. He made his choice. My baby girl is mine alone.”

  “Then why does he keep calling?”

  “We were working out the legal details,” she told him. “To give up paternity rights.”

  “Oh, Julie. I’m so sorry.” He hugged her tight. “Life can suck, can’t it?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “A lot.”

  He peered down at her. “For me, too. Lisa married someone else. Before she divorced me.”