Lacey gave her a grateful smile. “Of course.”
“They can stay here,” David said. “No need for you to go out so late alone.”
“Or they can take Grandpa’s van,” Ashley suggested, suddenly the voice of reason and maturity.
No, Lacey had to get away from this house and talk privately with her friends, even if just for the forty-five minutes it would take to drive to the mainland and back. “Their stuff is at the hotel and, honestly, David, I want to see Jocelyn. I’m worried about her.” None of that was a lie.
Her phone vibrated again and she ignored it, throwing it into her purse without looking at the screen.
“It won’t take long,” she promised, giving Ashley a kiss. In her purse she felt the vibration of another text. She didn’t need to look; she knew it was from Clay Walker, the man who always got what he wanted.
“How long will you be gone?” Ashley asked.
If she went to the beach to talk to Clay one more time? “An hour or two, tops.”
Not that she’d even consider something so mind-numbingly dumb.
“David is relentless,” Tessa said the minute they were alone.
“I know.” Lacey cranked the AC to full blast and whipped out of the driveway. “Do you believe him? Do either of you believe Clay?”
Tessa didn’t answer, shifting in the passenger seat to adjust her long, lean frame, and let out a sigh. “I’m the wrong man-hater to ask, I’m afraid.”
Zoe picked up Lacey’s bag. “Mind if I see if Jocelyn was texting you?”
“You can look, but I think it was Clay. He wants to meet me at Barefoot Bay.”
Neither one of them said a word.
“I’m thinking about going.”
Still no response.
“Are either of you going to talk me out of it?”
Silence.
“Okay,” Lacey said with a soft laugh. “You’re not advising me because you know that some decisions a person just has to make on her own.”
They shared a look, but not a word.
“Or,” Lacey said, “meeting Clay at Barefoot Bay tonight is so flipping stupid the idea has left you two speechless.”
Zoe leaned forward and quietly set the cell phone in the console. “Bingo.”
“Well, what do you think I should do?” Lacey demanded. “Just let it go? Not talk to him more about why he wasn’t honest?”
“They lie once, they’ll lie again.” Zoe turned to the window, crossing her arms, her expression drawn.
“And you know this from experience?” Tessa said, not the least bit of challenge or sarcasm in her voice.
Zoe was silent. They’d all tried to pry out the story of why the doctor they’d seen at the hotel had made her cry, but she was uncharacteristically quiet on the subject. Just like Jocelyn, who was hiding hurt the size of a small country but refusing to talk about it.
“Damn it, are we friends or not?” Lacey demanded. “Don’t friends tell each other everything?”
Zoe finally tore her gaze from the street to meet Lacey’s in the rearview mirror. “Friends don’t let friends have booty calls with liars.”
“I am not talking about Clay. I’m talking about you and that married doctor.”
Her eyes flashed. “I’m not considering meeting that ‘married doctor’ at the beach, Lacey. And, Jesus Christ, can’t a person have a single drop of privacy around here?”
Her words echoed into the confined space of the car, Lacey’s heartbeat keeping time with the wheels on the causeway bumps. They never fought, but some things had to be aired out. Didn’t they?
“I don’t get the secrets,” Tessa finally said, a little frustration in her voice. “Maybe we could help you, Zoe. You guys knew every time I got my period and how much it hurt to know I wasn’t pregnant. Lacey’s told us everything about Clay.” She hesitated. “Haven’t you?”
“Pretty much. I may have left out a hot kiss or two, but you know everything.”
“Well, I for one think you ought to go to the beach,” Tessa said. At Lacey’s surprised look, she added, “To talk to him. You can’t just end this without a conversation. That’s why he’s waiting there.”
“That is so not why he’s waiting there,” Zoe said.
“You’re both right,” Lacey said. “And I think I should go for a completely different reason. There is something about him that makes me feel wonderful.”
Zoe snorted. “Dude, that wonderful feeling is your lady bits getting all fired up. A couple more lies will douse the flames, trust me.”
“How can we trust you?” Tessa shot back at Zoe. “You won’t tell us anything.”
Lacey shook her head, glancing out at the causeway lights dancing on the water as they crossed. “Anyway, it really is more than sex.”
“That’s what I—” Zoe caught herself and laughed. “That’s what all women think, Lace.”
“I know,” Lacey agreed. “Of course there’s a sexual attraction. Shit, it’s off the charts. But, I also really connect with him.” She took a hand off the wheel to stop the jokes or argument before they started. “I mean I see a fundamental goodness in him. And it makes me hope that…” He’s the one. “He’s really a good guy.”
Zoe didn’t answer, but Tessa put her hand on Lacey’s shoulder. “I happen to agree with you. I think you should meet him.”
Lacey looked in the rearview mirror at Zoe. “What’s your vote?”
“I think you should make him sweat and dangle a little more.”
Lacey smiled. “I hate to break it to you, Zoe, but that magic drafting tool doesn’t dangle. But let’s let Jocelyn cast the tie-breaking vote. I’ll do what she thinks is right.”
“Fine,” Zoe said, turning back to the window.
“Zoe?” Tessa asked softly. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about. I knew the guy in another life. He screwed me over. It’s so not interesting. Let it go.”
Because they always gave each other what they wanted, Lacey and Tessa let it go. Zoe didn’t say another word until they walked into the suite and found Jocelyn in the bedroom, her clothes piled on the bed like neat little mountains of neutral colors, two half-packed suitcases on the floor.
“What are you doing?” Zoe demanded, grabbing a white cotton shirt and yanking it from the suitcase. “You can’t leave!”
“I have a client emergency.” She took the blouse out of Zoe’s hands and laid it on the bed, smoothing the sleeves.
“What client emergency?” Tessa asked. “That crackpot Coco Kirkman?”
“Or did something happen at the meeting this afternoon that freaked you out?”
At Lacey’s question Jocelyn’s hands froze. She closed her eyes, then silently folded the crisp pleating on the blouse to a precise right angle, her fingers shaking but her breathing calm and steady.
“The only person freaked out is, as Tessa accurately guessed, my client, Coco. And since she pays me an outrageous sum of money to be her sounding board and voice of reason, I’m going back to work.”
“Really?” Tessa asked. “You have to go back?”
They both looked at Lacey, expecting her to chime in with agreement. Or maybe acceptance, because wasn’t that what they did? Support each other and whatever decisions they made, dumb or not?
Lacey, about to be queen of the dumb decisions, didn’t say a word. After an awkward beat, Jocelyn continued packing.
“I know what you want to hear from me,” Lacey finally said. “You expect me to say, ‘Oh, what a shame, we’ll miss you, but do what you have to do, Joss,’ right?” They all looked at her, waiting for the but to be added. “But I want to ask you a question instead.”
Jocelyn’s slim fingers hesitated on the next article of clothing. “Go ahead.”
“Why’d you leave the meeting?” Lacey asked.
Three, four, five long seconds ticked by before Jocelyn finally said, “Coco called and that took forever, then I got back here and
made my reservations.”
She wasn’t telling them everything, but how far to push? How much does a friend have to know? Where did they draw the line between friendship and privacy?
“Maybe,” Lacey said softly, “you should ignore this plea from a client and face down the things that are making you unhappy.”
Jocelyn wet her lips. “And maybe you should solve your own problems before tackling my imaginary ones.”
That would be the line Lacey just crossed.
“Oh, shit,” Zoe mumbled. “We’ve had a tough day. Can we just drop all the interrogating of friends and let everyone just do what she wants to do?”
“Because that’s not what friends do,” Tessa said, sitting next to Lacey in a show of support. “Are you telling us the truth, Jocelyn? Is Coco Kirkman really why you’re leaving?”
Jocelyn took a deep breath, pain and angst painted on every delicate feature. “Yes. But I will admit she’s a convenience, because I want to go.”
Lacey leaned forward. “Is it Will Palmer?”
“Who is Will Palmer?” Zoe asked, sitting up. “That hot guy sitting in Lacey’s row? I noticed him. Big dude.”
“No, it’s not Will Palmer,” Jocelyn said with so much conviction Lacey believed her. Jocelyn’s pain was never about a guy. Not that guy, anyway.
But her father…
“My issues have nothing to do with him, honestly.” Jocelyn dropped onto the bed, letting some clothes tumble. “Listen, you guys. I’m not asking you to just feed me a line of bull and say you understand. I’m not asking any of you to do that. All I’m asking for is some space. I need space.”
She always wanted space, and, like good friends, they’d given it to her. Maybe that was the wrong thing to do. Maybe it was the absolute right thing to do. Lacey surely didn’t know.
Jocelyn stood and shook her head in dismay. “Now I’ve wrecked my color-coded packing system.”
Zoe grabbed a cream-colored T-shirt. “Someone needs to teach you that black, beige, white, and gray are not colors.”
Jocelyn just shook her head and her eyes got watery. “’Scuze me.” She dashed into the bathroom, leaving them in shocked silence. Then Zoe put up her hand as if she’d had enough and couldn’t bear another word.
Tessa sighed heavily and put an arm around Lacey. “Do you see a pattern here? Our two best friends are not telling us everything.”
“Should they?” she asked. “Do we owe each other completely bare souls?”
Tessa shrugged, Zoe shook her head, and Lacey just stared at the door of the bathroom where Jocelyn had gone for her precious space.
“Who’s the Will Palmer guy?” Tessa asked.
“It’s not about him,” Lacey said. “At least I don’t think so. Remember how weird she was with her father at her mother’s funeral all those years ago? This has to do with him and, honestly, I just don’t know how much we should push.”
“Thank you,” Zoe said, blowing out an exasperated breath. “She’ll tell us what she wants us to know when she’s ready.”
And so, Lacey assumed, would Zoe. “Then maybe that’s what friends really do for other friends,” she said, leaning her head on Tessa’s shoulder.
“What’s that?” Tessa asked.
“They wait for each other.”
The bathroom door popped open and Jocelyn emerged, her face completely empty of the pain she’d worn when she’d gone in there. Her dark eyes were clear and her color was normal.
“By the way,” Zoe said. “We need you to break a tie for us, Joss. We’re voting on whether or not Lacey should go to the beach to meet the building stud.”
“Do you know what happened?” Lacey asked Jocelyn.
She nodded. “They texted me. Why would you go?”
She closed her eyes. Did they have to know everything? Only if they could really help her decide, and, face it, she’d made the decision a while ago. Now she just needed to rationalize it. “I feel like there’s a chance for something different with him.” Zoe rolled her eyes, but Lacey ignored her. “And I’ve never wanted anything so much in my whole life. I really care about him.”
At their silence, she laughed softly. “I’m making excuses to do something. Is that the same as making excuses not to do something?”
Jocelyn didn’t answer at first, but started straightening clothes, methodically folding already crisply ironed khaki shorts. “I think,” she finally said, “that you should do whatever you want and not worry about what we think.”
“But I need your opinion.”
“You need our blessing,” Jocelyn continued. “Which you know you’ll get for whatever you decide to do. But what’s really important is that whatever you decide to do, we’ll be there to cheer you on or pick up the pieces.” She smiled at the others, a hint of tears in her eyes. “That’s what friends do for each other. Even when they don’t understand everything.”
No one argued with that.
“So,” Tessa asked, “what are you going to do?”
“I’m going. And when I get there, I’m going to…” She let her voice trail off.
“Do something that starts with an f and has four letters,” Zoe said.
“Right,” Jocelyn said. “Fire him.”
Lacey just laughed. “One way or the other, somebody’s going to get burned.”
Chapter Twenty-two
Clay lay flat on the hard-packed sand, close enough to the water that the occasional wave passed under him, soaking his clothes and digging a sinkhole for his body.
A sinkhole. The perfect metaphor for this mess.
He’d been out here long enough that his eyes had completely adjusted to the darkness, allowing him to see the Milky Way in all its celestial glory. A nearly full moon hung in a cloudless sky, cutting a river of silver over the calm waters of the Gulf. Nothing but the sound of the steady surf and the distant buzz of cicadas interrupted his miserable thoughts.
Thoughts that had turned dark, cynical, and circular as each moment passed and he accepted that Lacey wasn’t going to show.
A warm wave punctuated the realization, seeping around his body again, leaving him wet and chilled, sucking him deeper into the sand.
Who could blame her? He’d lied, even if it was a lie of omission. Sure, he had plenty of reasons—she’d back out, he wanted the affidavit, the allegations were false, the charges dropped—but that didn’t change the truth.
And he’d given her a hard time for having excuses.
Who could blame her for blowing him off tonight? For staying with her friends and family, or letting her ex-boyfriend work his magic and convince her that he could be a real father to Ashley? Because Clay sure as hell didn’t want that job. Did he?
He slapped his hands on the wet sand and pushed up, wanting to wash away the thoughts and the sticky muck that had turned his skin and clothes into forty-grit sandpaper.
Popping open his button-down shirt, he shimmied free of the wet sleeves and threw the shirt on the sand. Then he stripped off his sopping wet pants and boxers and tossed them on the pile with the shoes he’d long ago abandoned.
Naked, he strode into the surf, instantly relieved of the sand but not of the agony in his chest. He dove underwater and stayed down; his lungs ached. He popped up and sucked in a mouthful of salty night air, wiping the water from his eyes just as headlights cut a swath across Lacey’s property.
Holy shit. She came.
She killed the lights, then the engine, and slammed the car door. He heard footsteps on the cement foundation, imagined Lacey walking around her property looking for him.
Why didn’t he move? He couldn’t. If she came to him, if she forgave him, if she joined him in this water and let him do all the things their bodies wanted and needed to do, he’d say things he’d regret in the morning.
Things like This isn’t casual.
When, exactly, had that happened? Probably when he’d walked into that town hall and seen the heartbreak on her face—and felt it right in his own gut. S
he mattered, damn it. She mattered to him already.
He caught a glimpse of her hair in the moonlight, and the peach-colored dress she’d worn that afternoon. She stood still by the picnic table, looking around, probably trying to get her own eyes to adjust.
After a few seconds she climbed up on the picnic table, wrapped her arms around her legs, and rested her chin on her knees. In a matter of minutes her eyes would adjust and the moonlight would reveal his pile of clothes or his truck parked near the bushes.
But she put her head down and started to sob. Chest-tearing, throat-ripping, nose-sniveling sobs of bone-deep pain.
Oh, man.
Way to go, asshole. Way to crush the spirit of the most spirited woman he’d met in years. Maybe ever.
Goddamn it. He strode forward, unable to stop, scooping up his pants in one move as he walked, barely stopping as he stepped into them, ignoring how wet they were. She didn’t hear him over the bawling that already had her shuddering.
He didn’t want to scare her, so when he got about fifteen feet away he started to whistle softly. The six notes he often whistled, a favorite song, a simple sentiment, the music from her movie.
A kiss is still a kiss.
She stopped crying, but she didn’t lift her head.
He whistled the next bar.
Very slowly, she looked up and met his gaze. With each step closer, the moonlight emphasized more clearly her swollen, red eyes, the streaks of makeup and tears, the tremble of her lip.
“Of all the sandy beaches in all the world…”
She shook her head at the lame attempt at humor. “Don’t.”
He stopped a foot away, aching to reach out and take away all that pain. He went for the obvious instead. “I’m sorry this happened, Lacey.”
“Not as sorry as I am.” She wiped her face, but that just made her makeup smear worse, and punched his gut a little harder.
For the time it took for two, then three, waves to break on the sand, they just stared at each other.
“Did you talk to David?” he finally asked.
Meet Me in Barefoot Bay Page 20