Roughing the Passer

by Jami Davenport

  “He won’t marry me.” And that was a deal breaker for Lavender. She needed marriage from him because she knew what it would take for him to make that final commitment.

  Zan raised one eyebrow. “What he gives you is stronger than that. You need to see the strength in his love, but you deny it.”

  “If it’s so strong, he needs to give her a ring,” Kelsie couldn’t resist a good argument. The others nodded their agreement.

  “The ring and the marriage are signs of commitment, but not the only signs. Tyler chooses to commit in a different manner. Does that make his commitment any less strong?”

  No one had an answer for that, not even Lavender, whose stomach moved from the wash cycle to the spin cycle.

  “Heed my warning carefully.”

  Things were getting way too serious for a fun girls’ weekend that had been planned to help her move on and not regret her decision.

  Lavender decided to navigate the conversation to safer waters. “How about a ghost hunt one night this week?”

  Zan closed her eyes briefly, as if communicating with some unseen source. “It would have to be Saturday. The ghosts will be most active.”

  Lavender nodded her agreement, trying to ignore the conflict raging inside her. She wanted to deny any truth in Zan’s words about Tyler’s commitment.

  But truth or denial didn’t erase the one fact in all of this fucked-up mess. Without a marriage she and Tyler were over. Done. Finished. No more.

  And that was her sad reality of the situation.

  * * * *

  Zach flipped through the channels on Tyler’s mega flat screen until Tyler grabbed the remote out of his hands and debated shoving it down Zach’s throat.

  “Sorry; I’m bored.” Zach didn’t sound sorry. He sounded like a whiny-assed two year old about to have a tantrum in Wal-Mart. Tyler didn’t have the patience for it. Not today. Not one damn bit.

  Derek stared at his cell phone, waiting for a text from Rachel. Bruiser and Brett squared up in a half-hearted card game.

  They’d worked out all Friday morning together, ate lunch, and now they were wasting a Friday afternoon at Tyler’s condo.

  Tyler didn’t want to do a damn thing but feel sorry for himself. He hated being in this condo without Lavender and had avoided it for the most part. When the guys invited themselves over, he couldn’t come up with an excuse fast enough to prevent them from filling up his living room.

  One thing was for damn sure—he wasn’t hanging around this place all weekend with this group of wimps. Maybe he’d drag their whiny asses elsewhere. They had the next three days off and a change of scenery was what they all needed. Especially him. Otherwise, he’d do just what these wimps were doing and pine for his woman. Okay, not his woman anymore—because she couldn’t leave well enough alone and trust that his commitment to her was as good as any wedding ring.

  Still irritated that she didn’t seem to understand how claustrophobic marriage made him, how much it paralyzed him with fear that once they signed that paper, things would change. He’d seen it happen so many times. Couples that got along great suddenly were at each other’s throats once they married.

  Then divorce always followed. Divorce was failure, and Tyler didn’t do failure. He’d never, never divorce. It wasn’t in his DNA. And the one way to make sure he didn’t would be to never marry. Only Lavender pushed it, and he refused to back down.

  Tyler Harris wasn’t afraid of anything—except marriage.

  Okay, enough of this shit.

  He stood up. “Let’s hit the road. If your women can go on a weekend away, we deserve the same instead of sitting around her moping like a bunch of spoiled princesses.”

  “We need to pack. Make arrangements. All that crap.” Derek, ever the responsible guy, tried to put a damper on Tyler’s last-minute plans.

  Tyler didn’t give up that easily, not when he was committed to an idea. Plus, he knew Elliot, Brett’s adopted son, was spending the weekend with Bruiser’s mom. “Hey, it can be done. Freddie can take care of the animals. Of course, Coug is coming with.” Tyler consulted his Rolex. “You fuckheads have two hours to meet me back here, packed and ready to go. Get moving and make sure you leave your fucking tiaras at home, ladies.”

  At first the men just looked at each other. Then one by one they stood and headed for the door. Zach hesitated with his big hand on the doorknob. “Where are we going?”

  “To my mansion in the San Juans. Where else would we go at the last minute?” It was close, they didn’t need reservations, and it was private.

  The words seemed to tumble out of his mouth before he could stop them. Originally, he hadn’t known where they were going, only that it would be away from Seattle, out of town where the memories wouldn’t chase him.

  But too late he realized if that was his goal he’d picked exactly the wrong spot.

  Now that he’d said it, he wasn’t going to admit what a stupid destination he’d picked. But he wasn’t backing down. Tyler never backed down. He’d just deal and leave his own tiara at home.

  Who knew—maybe going to the mansion would exorcise some of those memories.

  Chapter 4—Bare Chests and Barbecue Tongs

  After a day of whale-watching, Lavender and crew headed back to the mansion, tired from the salt air and feeling relaxed in a boneless sort of way. Lavender had actually enjoyed herself, forgetting about her troubles for a while as she watched the huge, graceful creatures cavort in the Straits of Juan De Fuca.

  As they neared the mansion, she became more and more agitated, as if some of Zan’s psychic abilities had rubbed off on her, and she sensed a storm on the horizon.

  “Isn’t that Tyler’s SUV in the driveway?” Estie said incredulously from the front seat.

  Lavender craned her neck to see around Estie and Kelsie. She went cold inside. “It can’t be.” But she knew it was his. Tyler and her shared a weird sixth sense about each other, which explained why she’d become increasingly nervous the closer they’d gotten to the mansion.

  “He’s here,” Lavender whispered as her stomach pitched and rolled.

  “He followed us.” Kelsie literally growled, like a mama bear protecting an injured cub, obviously not accepting what was going on.

  “How did he find out we were here? Who ratted us out?” As they pulled into the driveway Estie turned in the seat to glare accusingly at Rachel, the only one who hadn’t been totally invested in a penis-free weekend.

  Rachael raised her hands. “Honest. It wasn’t me.”

  Estie’s narrowed eyes promised a long, tortuous death to the perpetrator as she glared at each of them. Everyone shook their heads no.

  Tyler’s sister got out and stalked up the front steps, her girlfriends in tow, ready to kick some Harris brother ass. Lavender hung back. As she walked inside she heard an “Oh, shit” from Estie.

  Tyler’s sister turned to reveal her findings to the rest of the group, her face a tight mask of annoyance. “They’re all here.”

  Great, just great. Not only did Lavender have to face Tyler, but his entire posse of stubborn alpha males.

  The women marched into the den, a formidable group if there ever was one, more than a match for said alphas. At least every one of them but Lavender. She didn’t feel like a match for anyone right now, but she could fake it.

  Tyler looked up from his spot, perched on a bar stool by the window. The others turned to gawk at open double doors of the den in unison. Their mouths dropped open.

  Only then did the situation become crystal clear. They hadn’t expected the women to be here. They really thought they’d gone to Vegas or somewhere else.

  “Wh—what?” Super-confident Tyler actually stuttered as he took in what must have looked like an estrogen-driven lynch mob.

  Estie stepped forward, squaring off with her brother. Lavender stayed in the background, sick to her stomach and heartsick at the sight of the man she loved more than she loved moonlight walks on the beach, chocolate cream pie, an
d Hogue Late Harvest White Riesling.

  “What are you guys doing here?” Tyler’s chin jutted out in that belligerent manner that annoyed the hell out of Lavender, even if he did look like an awful damn hot alpha with an attitude.

  “We told you we were having a Girl Vacay. What the hell are you guys doing here?” Estie included every one of them in her murderous gaze, even her sweetheart of a fiancé, Brett, who managed a half smile before he started thumbing through a Vogue magazine as if “Picking the Right Purse to Match Your Shoes” was the most interesting read ever.

  “We needed a guys’ weekend.” Tyler rose to his feet, using his height advantage to intimidate his sister. He should’ve realized that after all these years that sibling intimidation never worked on her. If anything, it pissed her off even more.

  “Well, have it somewhere else. We were here first.”

  Tyler, oozing sexy belligerence, crossed his arms over his chest. “No way in hell. This is my mansion.”

  “It’s mine, too.” Estie’s irritation matched Tyler’s. “We’re not going anywhere.” To illustrate her point, she plopped onto one of the leather couches placed around the fireplace and motioned the rest of the she-gang to follow her. Lavender skirted past Tyler but not before their eyes met. She shouldn’t have looked up, shouldn’t have peeked at him.

  He wrapped his big hand gently around her arm and searched her face, as if he might be able to read it like he read ESPN’s sports news every morning. For a split second, his armor fell away, and the sadness, despair, and hurt were broadcast across his outrageously handsome features. He was hurting just as much as she was. Even though he deserved it, she couldn’t help but miss him, even when he was being a stubborn jerk. The heat from his fingers sent a shock through her body, as memories flooded back of all their times together.

  Her heart went out to him, but he opened his mouth and ruined the moment. “What did you do to your hair?” He narrowed his eyes and gaped at her with undisguised shock and disapproval.

  Well, screw him. She embraced the anger, letting it overpower her earlier sympathy.

  “Out with the old, in with the new.” She tossed the words flippantly at him, pulled out of his reach, and flounced down on the couch next to Kelsie, who puffed up into full mean-girl mode, protecting Lavender from Tyler.

  “We aren’t leaving either.” Tyler frowned and glanced at his teammates. They quickly gathered next to him in a show of solidarity, five muscular men with determination in their eyes.

  “Fine.” Estie stood. “But don’t think for one moment that you’re hanging with us this weekend. This is a no-guys weekend, and it’s a huge mansion. Let’s divide the house up.”

  “You can have the kitchen and dining room. None of us will be cooking. We get the den where the TV is.”

  “We didn’t come here to watch TV. We can do that at home. We came to enjoy nature,” Estie said. “And we’ll take the front parlor, the kitchen, and the deck.”

  “Whatever.” Tyler waved his hand as if he didn’t give a shit.

  “The bedrooms in the north wing are ours. You can have the ones in the south wing.”

  Tyler frowned, his eyes narrowing. “Wait a minute. There aren’t any beds in the south wing.”

  “Rough it. You’re men.” Estie motioned to the girls. “Let’s move into the parlor away from these interlopers.”

  A few minutes later, each with a glass of wine, the women sat stiffly in the formal parlor on antique furniture designed for appearances and not comfort.

  “What are we going to do? Should we go somewhere else? Maybe Roche Harbor?” Mac suggested.

  Lavender finally spoke. “No way are those guys driving us out of here. Didn’t you see how smug they were?”

  Everyone started talking at once until Lavender held up a hand. “We’re staying here. We’ll just avoid their areas. The last place they’d be caught dead is the parlor—no TV—and the kitchen.”

  Everyone agreed to that. Kitchens were so not part of their men’s makeup. Lavender sipped her wine and hoped this girls’ weekend didn’t turn into anything more than a girls’ weekend.

  * * * *

  That evening, Tyler tossed and turned in his sleeping bag on the cold hardwood floor, unable to relax enough to sleep. He was wound tight, causing his legs to cramp. A half-dozen beers hadn’t relaxed him. In fact, he’d stayed annoyingly sober. Tyler grunted and tapped his foot on the floor.

  “Would you quit making so much noise?” Derek threw a pillow at him.

  Grateful for a distraction, Tyler scrambled to his feet, mad as hell and ready to take his frustration out on his cousin. “You fucking want to fight about it?” He flipped on the light and clenched his fists, waiting for Derek to make the first move. He itched to kick someone’s ass. It might as well be Derek’s.

  Derek shucked his sleeping bag and crawled to his feet, rubbing his back. He worked his jaw, as if contemplating whether to fight or be the peacemaker. “Go sleep on the couch in the den. Get your ass out of here so at least one of us can get some sleep.”

  For a moment Tyler hesitated, considered his options and decided not to ruin what little of this weekend could be salvaged. Holding onto his pride, he spoke, “It’d be a hell of a lot more comfortable than lying on this hardwood floor. It’s killing my back.” He shrugged into a hoodie and stalked out of the room.

  Only Tyler didn’t go to the den. He couldn’t sleep. Instead he pulled on some shoes and walked outside toward the beach and the small marina. Halfway there he spotted someone standing on the end of the dock. Her long blonde hair caught the moonlight. He’d know that hot little body anywhere. Tyler licked his lips and cleared his suddenly dry throat. Her sweatshirt didn’t disguise those curves or those shapely legs of hers, legs that wrapped around him and—

  He stared down at his sweats and the bulge under the stretchy fabric. He was getting hard. Really, really hard. This bullshit had to stop. Yet, he couldn’t yank himself away from the sight of her. He could stare at her all night like a stalker with an obsession. He sucked his breath through his teeth when she tossed back that mane of hair. He loved her hair—especially when she’d been a redhead—loved how it felt gliding across his naked body, tickling his dick when she went down on him, and the feel of it fisted in his hands.

  Lavender sat down on the dock, feet dangling above the water line.

  He wanted to go to her, wrap his arms around her, kiss the hell out of her, and beg her to forget about marriage and come back to the way they’d been.

  His body responded with a resounding yes. His head told him he was a hopeless closet romantic. He couldn’t fix what he’d broken. Only one thing could fix that. The one thing he wasn’t willing or able to give, the thing that scared the crap out of him more than an all-pro defensive line. He wasn’t any good at relationships. He was too selfish. He’d just end up hurting her. He knew he would. Somehow, someway he’d screw it up and fail at the one thing he could not fail at. Divorce would never be an option, not for him, and he didn’t trust himself to give enough to make a marriage work.

  Yet, his legs carried him closer. A slight breeze masked the sound of his footsteps, at the same time pushing sound toward him, a strange sound, yet familiar. He stopped and listened, frowned, and hoped like hell he wasn’t hearing what he thought he was hearing.

  He heard it again, and the mournful whimper put a dagger through his heart and twisted his gut.

  Lavender was crying, and he’d sure as hell put those tears in her eyes.

  Damn, but he was douche. A real great guy, yeah, that was him, and it killed him inside to see her like this.

  Tyler started toward her, but as he put that first foot on the dock, he hesitated.

  What good would come out of approaching her? He’d give her false hope, not to mention what it’d do to him, because right now he wanted that false hope, too. He wanted her. Really wanted her. Not just her body, but her naughty sense of humor that’d put him in his place more than once, her sassy sm
ile that did all kinds of things to get his engine running, and her common-sense, non-judgmental approach to any problem he might have. He was so lonely and empty without her.

  Tyler shook off his regrets. He couldn’t go back down this road with her, not when they were each on their way toward healing. Or at least attempting to heal and move on.

  She was better off without him. He wasn’t good for her, even though he’d tried to kid himself into believing differently. She needed a man who could give her all those things he couldn’t give, an unselfish man—so not him. A man who wouldn’t argue with her just to win an argument and make up later. A man with more to offer than he offered. A man who’d be able to put that ring on her finger with total commitment rather than panic and fear. She needed a man who could make a marriage work like his buddies were making their own marriages work.

  That man wasn’t him.

  Tyler couldn’t do it. He’d never been good at giving. He was a selfish bastard, and Lavender deserved better. What if he failed? He’d never failed at anything he put his heart and soul into. Never. Which was exactly why he couldn’t give her what she wanted. He didn’t have that indescribable special thing it took, that thing his father had, to make it work because he wasn’t half the man his father was and could never hope to be. It came down to that. He didn’t believe he could measure up to the loving example his parents had set. Risk-taking Tyler Harris couldn’t seem to make that leap of faith and take the ultimate risk.

  He cast an apologetic glance at Lavender’s back and shuffled up the bank to the mansion.

  A lone tear fell down his face for what could have been, even as a voice inside his head whispered: you’re a chickenshit dumbass.

  He wanted her, and Tyler always got what he wanted, but for the first time in his life the risk was too huge.

  He stopped near the house in the shadow of a tree and turned back to watch her. He’d never been a coward until now, and he didn’t want to back down. It pissed him off to think he was backing down.