Troublemaker (New Orleans Bourdons Book 2)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  "What?" The word came out louder than I anticipated, earning me a warning look from Coach. I cleared my throat and slid down in the seat. "She sent him away? Why?"

  "Nobody seems to know why."

  "So she's still in jail?" My stomach curled at the thought and I had to forcibly swallow to keep the water I'd just guzzled from coming back up.

  "I don't think so, no. Everyone seems to think that no formal charges were brought against her."

  "Then where the hell is she?"

  "Jacqui thinks she's still at the Eighth District station."

  "Where the hell is that?"

  "In the Quarter, on Royal Street. That's where she was when the attorney went to meet her."

  "And if she's not there?"

  Nathan shrugged but he wouldn't look at me. I sat up straighter and closed my hand around his arm, forcing him to face me.

  "If she's not there, where is she?" I repeated the question, my tone demanding that he answer. I already knew, just from the look in his eyes, that I wasn't going to like the answer.

  "There's a chance she may have left."

  "Left? Left where?" I didn't need to ask the question, just like I didn't need Nathan to answer. I knew. I didn't know why, but I already knew.

  Nathan simply confirmed it.

  "She was heading to the bus station yesterday when Addy and Jacqui caught up with her. They talked her into staying when, well, when everything else happened." Nathan shifted in the chair and looked away. I didn't know if it was because he couldn't face me—or if he couldn't bear seeing the look of shock and betrayal and hurt on my face. He pulled in a deep breath and kept talking, even though I no longer wanted to hear what he had to say.

  "She could have been released. If she was, Jacqui thinks she may have gone straight to the bus station."

  "What time?"

  Nathan didn't ask what I meant. He didn't need to. "The bus left at eight-fifty this morning."

  I stared at my watch as my entire world crumbled around me. The bus had left an hour ago and we were at least four hours away from getting home, if not more. I'd be too late. If Morgan had left—

  No. No! I refused to believe it. Morgan wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. She wouldn't.

  Except she had tried to do just that a few weeks ago, leaving nothing but a note behind. Why would anything have changed since then? Especially if she'd been arrested, or detained, or questioned, or whatever the hell had happened. She'd been accused of stealing. Nobody believed that—I didn't believe that—but she would have no way of knowing that.

  I still didn't think she'd leave, not without saying goodbye. Not after all the time we'd spent together. Our relationship had changed, we'd become closer. I wanted her but it was more than that. I wasn't sure exactly what I felt for her—I refused to examine it too closely—but I knew I sure as hell didn't want to lose her.

  Only she didn't know that, any of it, because I hadn't told her.

  And now I might never get the chance.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Morgan

  I twirled the straw through the fruity drink then took another sip. It was surprisingly good, even though I could taste the alcohol through the sweetness of whatever tropical fruit made up the base of the drink. It would be a little too easy to drink it down all at once, something I couldn't do—not if I wanted to stand up when it was time to leave.

  The man sitting across from me watched me, a playful smile tilting one corner of his full mouth. I was struck again by how handsome he was, with a full head of dark hair and a chiseled jaw and startling blue eyes that would have made him a lot of money if he'd pursued modeling. He'd stayed here in New Orleans instead, choosing to pursue law. I wondered if that had been his choice, or if he'd done it to make his mother happy. If it had been his choice, fine. If it hadn't—well, I couldn't say what I thought about that, not out loud.

  I reached for my drink only to have him gently remove it from my hand. His smile widened, showing off his almost-perfect teeth. One top tooth had the tiniest chip in it, which somehow only made him more irresistible.

  That didn't stop me from frowning at him. "I think that's mine."

  His mouth closed around the straw and he took a small sip before sitting the cup out of my reach. "Correction, love. It was yours. If I remember correctly, you don't drink."

  "I don't."

  "Yet you ordered one of the stronger drinks on the menu. How curious."

  I sighed and propped my chin against my palm. "If ever there was a time to drink, wouldn't this be it?"

  The smile in his eyes dimmed as he shifted in the chair, not bothering to hide his discomfort. Or maybe it was embarrassment, I couldn't really tell.

  "I apologize once again. She was out of line."

  "It's not your job to apologize for your mother, Brandon."

  "Maybe not but I still feel responsible. I am the one who dragged you into this, if you'll recall."

  "I don't remember the dragging part. If I remember, I pretty much came willingly."

  "Maybe, but you had no idea what you were in for when you accepted the proposal."

  "Maybe not, but I knew exactly what might happen when I ran away." I shrugged and reached for the sandwich in front of me, picking off a small piece and popping it in my mouth. I wasn't hungry but it was probably a good idea to get something in my stomach besides alcohol.

  Brandon pushed the plate closer to me, silently encouraging me to eat more. I took another bite to placate him then sat back and sighed again. "I really didn't mean to cause so much trouble."

  "Morgan, nothing that happened is your fault."

  "But it is. If I hadn't run away—"

  "You did us both a favor, love."

  "Yeah, sure I did."

  "You did. You made me realize what I really wanted—"

  "You already knew what you wanted."

  "True. But you made me realize that it was worth going after, in spite of Mother. And from what you've told me, you managed to meet someone as well. I'd say that makes us both winners."

  "The situation's a little different for me. No happy-ever-after."

  "Because you're insisting on running away again?"

  I shrugged but didn't defend myself. How could I, when that was exactly what I was doing?

  "I still think you should stay."

  "I can't. I've already stayed too long."

  "So you keep saying but you don't really know that for fact, do you?"

  "I do." I looked up, my eyes widening at the words. Our gazes met and we both started laughing.

  "About a month late with that, aren't you, love?"

  "Yes, I suppose so." I sighed and rested my arms on the table. "Do you think we would have been happy if we'd gone through with it?"

  Brandon leaned back in his chair, deep in thought for a few moments. His gaze finally met mine with a self-awareness that I hadn't seen there before.

  "I think our marriage would have been an amicable one. Friendly, even. But happy? No, Morgan, I don't think so. You'd be saddled with a man who worked too long just so he could forget he was in love with someone else. I think, at the end, you would have resented me for that."

  "I couldn't resent you, Brandon."

  "Maybe. Maybe not."

  "What about now? Are you happy now?"

  His blue eyes shone from the power of his smile. "I am, and I owe it all to you."

  "I told you I didn't do anything—"

  "But you did and this is one argument I'll win. Cut your losses, love, and concede the argument."

  "Fine, I concede. I don't believe you but—"

  "I think you need to reacquaint yourself with the definition of 'concede'."

  "Maybe."

  Brandon reached for his own drink, something clear with lots of crushed mint in it, then settled back in his seat and watched me for a few long moments. His gaze was intense enough that I shifted and glanced around under the pretense of taking in our surroundings.

  We were at a
little cafe on Bourbon Street, tucked behind what was supposed to be a small park. The park was mostly a patio, complete with bronze statues of music legends and even a small fountain, all behind a heavy black iron gate. Brandon had chosen the location after picking me up earlier, insisting on treating me to a late lunch even though I'd told him I wasn't hungry. I would have probably been able to eat more than I had if Dylan's apartment wasn't right around the corner. I couldn't shake the feeling that he might show up at any minute, even though I knew that had more to do with guilt than reality.

  "So tell me more about this guy you've been shacking up with."

  I turned back to Brandon and lifted both eyebrows. "Shacking up? Not exactly words I'd expect to hear from you."

  "Living with, then."

  "We weren't living together. I was just staying with him."

  "From the moment you left me at the altar."

  "A slight exaggeration. And there's nothing to tell."

  "You can't blame me for being curious. You said he was a hockey player?"

  "Yes, for the Bourdons."

  "Gerard's team?"

  "Who?"

  "Gerard Landry, the owner."

  "Oh. You mean Addy's father. Yeah, that's the one."

  "You know Addy?"

  "A little." Enough to call her a friend. At least, she would be if I wasn't leaving.

  "What are you hiding from, love?"

  "Me? Hiding? I'm not hiding—"

  "Not literally, no. But I don't think you're being completely honest with yourself, either."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Did I sound defensive? Probably. Judging from Brandon's smile, he didn't take it personally.

  "It means I see something in your eyes when you think I'm not looking. You care for him—more than I think you want to admit."

  I forced a smile I didn't feel. "If that's what you want to think, I can't stop you. Doesn't make it true."

  "Ah, denial. That's even more convincing."

  "I'm not in denial—"

  "Tell me why you're leaving."

  The sudden change in topic threw me for a few seconds and I floundered as my mind struggled to find an answer. "I just...it's time, that's all."

  "And you're set on San Diego?"

  "Yeah. For now."

  "And you insist on taking a bus?"

  "There's nothing wrong with taking a bus."

  "No, I suppose not. As long as being crammed into a moving sardine can with the unwashed masses for two days is your idea of fun."

  "It won't be that bad." At least, I hoped not. Even if it was, I could handle it. It wasn't like I had any other options.

  "Let me buy you a plane ticket."

  "No. Absolutely not—"

  Brandon leaned forward and caught my hand with his. "Maybe I should rephrase that. I will buy you a plane ticket."

  "I can't let you do that."

  "I'm afraid you don't have any choice, love. It's the least I can do for everything you've done."

  "Like what? Walk out on you the day of our wedding? Upset your mother? Create a rift between the two of you?" I laughed, the sound a little bitter. "I'm surprised you even want to see me again."

  "And like I said earlier, you did me a favor. As for Mother, she'll get over it. Eventually."

  I doubted that very much but I didn't say it out loud. "You, uh, you told her?"

  "I did." Brandon's smile flattened, but just for a second. "She didn't want to believe me at first. I think part of her still refuses to believe. She's convinced herself that Brad is just a colleague of mine who's staying with me. We just happen to be sharing the same bed."

  "Wait, hang on. Your boyfriend's name is Brad? Seriously?"

  "Something wrong with that?"

  "No, it's just—Brad and Brandon? Did you plan that on purpose?"

  "No, although it does have a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

  I nodded then started to laugh, the sound clear and real. At least, I thought so until unexpected tears filled my eyes—tears that had nothing to do with laughter. I reached for a napkin and dabbed at my eyes, praying Brandon wouldn't notice. He did, of course, but at least he didn't say anything. He didn't have to, not when his expression said it all.

  "I know that look, Morgan."

  I blew my nose then crumpled the napkin in one fist. "What look?"

  "The one in your eyes. It's the same look I see in Brad's eyes when he looks at me—and the one he sees when I look at him. You're in love with him, aren't you?"

  "Of course not. I just met him."

  "About a month ago. Love doesn't necessarily follow a schedule."

  "It doesn't matter—"

  "It should."

  "It doesn't. It can't."

  "So you still insist on leaving?"

  "I have to."

  "I think it's a foolish move on your part, love, but I won't try to change your mind. At least, not for the next hour."

  "Gee, I'm so lucky."

  "Yes, you are. Because not only am I going to get you that airline ticket, I'm going to take you home with me. You can stay the night until your flight leaves."

  "I can't do that—"

  "Of course, you can. Besides, I want you to meet Brad. I think you'll like him."

  "But will he like me? I mean, we were almost married, you know."

  "I don't think he'll mind." Brandon leaned back, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Especially since I ended up marrying him."

  "What? Oh my God! Brandon, that's great. When?"

  "Two weeks ago."

  I pushed out of my chair and circled the table to give my ex-fiancé a huge hug. "I'm so happy for you!"

  "Thank you, love. I'm pretty happy about it myself. And I have you to thank for it."

  "But I didn't—"

  "You did, whether you realize it or not." He tightened his arms around me, pressed a kiss against my forehead, then released me. "Now, how would you like to meet him?"

  "I'd love to." And I did. That didn't mean I had any intention of staying with them. I didn't have any intention of accepting Brandon's offer of an airline ticket, either, but he didn't need to know that.

  We turned up Bourbon Street, Brandon's hand wrapped around mine as we walked. It was a nice feeling, warm and friendly and comforting.

  And completely different from when Dylan held my hand. Brandon wasn't quite as tall or broad as Dylan but he wasn't small, either. His hands were smoother than Dylan's, lacking the gentle roughness from years of playing hockey.

  I shouldn't compare the two men. I had no reason to compare them—but I was. And as fond as I was of Brandon, he just wasn't Dylan.

  Maybe that was why my reaction time was so slow. Or maybe I'd just been thinking so much about Dylan that seeing him turn the corner and walk toward us didn't surprise me at first. My gaze landed on him and for a second, I thought maybe I was imagining him. The idea that he was actually here, just a few feet away, was unrealistic. It was just my mind working overtime, that was all.

  Except it wasn't my imagination. Dylan was really here. He paused, looking as surprised as I was as he stared at me. Only he wasn't staring at me, he was staring at us. At Brandon and me, together. Dylan's gaze dropped to our clasped hands and he frowned. Then his gaze shot to mine and he started forward again, each step measured and deliberate.

  I opened my mouth, ready to introduce Brandon, but I never got the chance. I could only stand there, watching in disbelief as Dylan swung out with one arm, his fist solidly connecting with Brandon's nose.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Dylan

  I'd fucked up.

  Completely and utterly fucked up.

  There was no excuse for what I'd done. I had reasons, yeah, but they weren't excuses. Hell, they didn't even make sense, not even to me. It had been nothing but an impulse, an automatic reaction when I'd seen Morgan—and the man holding her hand.

  I'd never been the jealous type. Never. I'd never cared enough before. But seeing that guy's hand wrapp
ed around Morgan's, like he somehow had the right to be with her?

  I'd lost it. Not just my control, but my sanity as well. That had never happened to me before and I hoped like hell it never happened again.

  Losing my control in a fit of jealousy was bad enough—but doing violence at the same time? That made it a hundred times worse. I'd never willingly hit someone before, not unless you counted when I was on the ice, which I didn't. Maybe I'd gotten into a few shoving matches when I was younger but an actual fight? Nope.

  Not until forty minutes ago.

  I grabbed a fresh ice pack from the freezer then offered it to the man sitting at the island counter. He removed the one he'd been holding against his nose then shook his head.

  "I think the one will be fine."

  I nodded and accepted the pack he held out to me, then placed both of them on the counter. "I, um, I don't think it's broken."

  He reached up and gingerly touched his nose, wincing only a little bit. There was a slight bump on the ridge, and his nose was a little red, but there wasn't much bruising and his eyes didn't show any signs of turning black. His nose had bled a little but not as much as it would have if I'd broken it—something I was sure would have happened if I hadn't tried to pull my punch at the last second.

  I doubted Morgan would appreciate the difference. In fact, knowing her aversion to violence of any kind, I was positive she wouldn't.

  Yeah, I fucked up.

  I glanced over at Morgan but she ignored me, the way she'd done for the last forty minutes since we came back to my place. She was sitting on the stool next to the guy I'd clobbered, her back perfectly straight, her hands clasped in front of her.

  Still. Silent. Ignoring not just me, but the man sitting next to her as well.

  I reached into the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of beer and a bottle of water. I uncapped all three, slid the water in front of Morgan, then offered the guy one of the beers.

  He accepted it with a small smile then took a generous swallow the same time I did.

  "So." I cleared my throat, slid a glance at Morgan, then looked back at him. "You're the fiancé, huh?"

  "Was, yes. And you're the boyfriend."

  Morgan stiffened and I half-expected her to say something, or maybe even get up and storm out. But she didn't move, not even to look over at us and glare.