POOR KURT JONES. Born without a sense of humor, dumped by his fiancée, and now, blacklisted on Whidbey. Mom may have mentioned it to both Connie at the bank and Sandy at the market. Living on the island meant word got around quickly about Ellie Donnely being targeted at Pops’ funeral. Wagons circled and the big guns were brought out. No one messed with the Donnely matriarch. As for Bob, he was off the Christmas card list, permanently.
I didn’t think how the island gossip would affect Hailey, the former future Mrs. Jones. Or how easily someone could be tarnished by association. The gossip in the break room at work, which had once been around her legs, turned to greedy city people coming to the island and trying to take advantage. It was amazing to hear the things people said when they didn’t realize I stood in the room behind them.
“She probably used her family connections to get in sweet with the Donnelys. I heard she’s been friends with Ken’s youngest for years. Such a shame when islanders forget where they come from.”
“She’s always been a real stuck up bitch around here. She gets her coffee, but never eats in here with the rest of us.”
“Didn’t she call off the wedding?” Daryl asked, hope in his voice.
Geez, these guys were worse than my sisters with their gossip. Anyone who said men didn’t gossip, hadn’t hung around men very much. I cleared my throat from my place near the door.
“Hey, Donnely,” Stu greeted me. “Sorry to hear about the business with Ellie.”
With a shrug, I sat down. “Sounds like Ellie’s not the only person being discussed.”
A few of the guys at least appeared to be sheepish.
“From what I overheard, the bunch of you could give Connie’s circle a run in terms of gossip. You all get vaginas for Christmas this year?”
“Fuck you,” Jay said.
“This makes the second time you’ve stepped in to defend King. You sweet on her or something?” Stu asked.
“Maybe they like braiding each other’s hair,” some guy I didn’t recognize added.
That didn’t make sense. I shot him a look and he slunk lower in his chair. “This is why we can’t have nice things. A woman works here and you numb-nuts spend your breaks talking about her.”
“We don’t talk about Bertha in the office.”
A round of shudders made its way around the table like the Wave at Safeco Field.
Bertha had earned the unfortunate nickname of Bulldog around the yard. She didn’t accept any bullshit from anyone, let alone the men around here. Her jowls and big eyes complimented her personality. I knew under her gruff exterior, she had a heart of gold. In her free time she knit afghans for soldiers and the senior center. You didn’t piss her off if you could help it.
“Well, maybe you should pretend every woman is Bertha. Or your mother,” I said, crossing my arms and tilting my chair.
“I’d never get laid again,” Stu grumbled and drank from his mug.
“Again?” I joked. The tension dissipated into laughter. Talk moved to the Seahawks making the Super Bowl again, the price of diesel, and whether or not salmon season would be good this year.
“You think you’ll take the Master Baiter up the Strait of Georgia?” Jay asked me.
“Masturbator? Who’s that?” Daryl laughed.
“Besides you?” Stu snorted.
Conversation came to an abrupt halt. Not because of the inappropriate work conversation, but because Hailey stood at the counter, her empty mug dangling from her hand. Silence filled the space.
“Um, hi.” She faked a smile at the group.
None of the guys responded, instead becoming interested in their finished lunches and the napkins crumpled on the table.
“Hi, King,” I said, tossing my napkin at Stu’s head.
“Hello, hey,” he said.
Not awkward at all.
Hailey sighed and poured a cup of coffee. Pausing at the door, she said, “You know, I preferred it when you all talked about my legs instead of talking shit about my personal life.”
Shit.
“Sorry you heard all that,” Jay apologized.
“Nothing not being said all over the island.” She shrugged and walked out.
My leg bounced, and I struggled not to jump up, and follow her. I counted to fifty and stood. “You’re a bunch of assholes.”
Daryl stared at his hands and remained quiet. Poor kid had it bad for Hailey.
“You better be fucking her with all this white-knighting she has you doing on her behalf, Donnely,” Stu grumbled into his mug.
“They’ve got to be screwing,” Jay added. “I’ve never seen him get all territorial about someone he wasn’t related to before.”
“I don’t see any of your names on this building, Jay. Have some respect for the company. There are other boatyards that might be hiring.” I threw away my lunch and stomped out of the room.
“Fucking assholes,” I mumbled as they continued to talk shit.
I intended to head out to the boat, but instead found myself waving to Bertha as I passed through the front office. With two quick knocks, I announced my arrival at Hailey’s door.
She glanced up, her mouth full of a bite of sandwich. A little dab of mayo lingered on her cheek as she chewed and swallowed. “Yeah? Not finished with the break room talk?”
I couldn’t have a conversation with her with mayo on her face. I gestured to her cheek and she wiped it off, blushing.
“I’m really sorry you overheard a bunch of asshats gossiping.”
She gestured for me to sit. Instead, I leaned against her filing cabinet.
“Honestly, it’s nothing new. Trust me. Sandy gave me an earful when I bought groceries yesterday. She went on and on about my poor choice in men with a judgmental frown on her face. Everyone in the lines around us could hear her. No one seems to remember I called off the engagement.”
“Why don’t you remind them?”
“How? Put an ad in the local paper?” She threw the rest of her sandwich in the garbage.
“Might not be a bad idea.”
“Stop giving me the dimples. They’re not helping.”
I froze my face into a serious expression. “You know the island. Some other scandal will take the attention from your poor choice in men.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Trust me. Some teen will get pregnant, or steal a car, some politician will do something corrupt, or any number of things will distract the locals. There are enough Donnelys around, someone else is bound to cross us soon.”
She sighed. “I didn’t do anything.”
“I know.”
“I stopped by and saw Ellie this weekend. She was so lovely, and told me she knew plenty of nice young men.”
I smiled at my grandmother’s kindness. “Did she mention me?”
“Oddly enough, no.”
I pouted.
“She did say I needed to meet a nice young man like John Day. You know any guys like him?” She bit her lip to fight her grin.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. She did not.” My pout turned sullen. “What does he have I don’t?”
“A girlfriend and a dog?”
“What does Babe have to do with anything?”
“Shows loyalty and the ability to commit to something.”
“I could get a dog. We had a dog growing up.”
“Minnie? The schnauzer? I thought she hated you?”
“She did. Always peed in my room, but no one believed me. What about a fish?”
“Fish?”
“I could get a pet fish.”
“Why?”
“To show I’m not a sociopath.”
“People think you’re a sociopath?”
“No, but my grandmother doesn’t think I’m a nice young man.”
She sighed. “Your grandmother loves you, and knows you well, apparently.”
I twisted my mouth.
“Tigers don’t change their stripes.” She gave me a sympathetic smile.
“I did defend you back there.”
“I heard. You don’t have to come to my rescue. I think it might make things worse.”
“How?”
“People will be suspicious, start asking questions about why you’re taking my side, why you’re so interested.”
“So?”
“Isn’t the first rule of Tom Cat never draw attention to yourself?”
“That isn’t the first rule of Fight Club.” My anger simmered. “I’m not the one who said we couldn’t tell anyone. You’re the one who worried about Lori finding out.”
“You didn’t object. Plus, that’s over, isn’t it? Back to being friends, right?” Her eyes were cold.
I nodded to placate her.
“Thanks for the knight in shining armor act, but I can handle things on my own.”
“Fine.” I pushed off the cabinet so hard it rocked.
“Fine,” she echoed.
I stormed out of her office and right into the paunch of Al.
“Donnely. Everything okay in there?”
“It’s fine.” I emphasized the last word.
“I hope you aren’t bringing your personal issues with King into work. Whatever happened between her fiancé and your grandmother should be resolved privately.
“Ex.”
“Pardon?”
“He’s her ex-fiancé. Ex. No one around this goddamn island seems to remember she broke up with him.”
I shoved past him and out to my truck. Work wasn’t over, but I was clocking out for the day.
My fists banged on the steering wheel while I decided what to do. Screw it. I’d drive and figure it out.
A short loop around Holmes Harbor cleared my head. This was exactly why I didn’t get involved in other people’s drama and bullshit. Anything happening to Hailey had nothing to do with me. As we’d both agreed multiple times, we were friends. That’s it. Friends who had sex a few times. Now it was over.
I pulled into my yard and parked near the shop. Inside, I cranked up the classic rock station, fired up the wood-stove, and went to work on a new sculpture. Slicing through the wood with a buzzing chainsaw required all of my focus and I soon lost myself in drawing out the otter, which lay trapped in the log. Wood chips flew and fell to the ground, creating a blizzard around me.
I carved until my arms grew tired. Quieting the saw, I stepped away and observed my work.
Hailey’s silver hood appeared through the trees and she slammed on the brakes a few feet from my truck.
“There you are,” she shouted, stomping through puddles and mud to the shop’s entrance.
I turned off the chainsaw and laid it on the bench before walking toward the doors to meet her. “What do you want, friend?”
“Stop butting into my business.” Her voice screeched and her arms flailed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I blocked her entrance to the shop by spreading my legs and putting my hands on my hips. “You’re the crazy woman showing up at my house screaming at me.”
“Al spoke to me after you took off. Something about not bringing personal drama into work and distracting the crew. Guess if your last name is Donnely, you can do no wrong at the boatyard.” She poked me in the chest. It was annoying as hell.
I grabbed her finger and held her hand in mine. Her other hand gripped and clawed at my hand as she tried to free herself. “Let go.” She pried my finger back, but I held fast.
“Stop hitting me.”
“Let go,” she whined.
“Are you going to stop acting like some crazed she-devil?”
“I can’t make any promises.” Scowling, she tugged her arm.
I shouldn’t have done it, but the big brother in me saw the opportunity and took it. When she pulled far enough to be off balance, I let go of her hand, and she fell in a lump on the threshold in front of me.
“Damn you.” She cursed out a string of expletives.
I laughed, closing my eyes. Next thing I knew, I was falling ass-over-elbows, tumbling on top of her, and landing with my head between her thighs, my weight on my forearms. I’d missed her foot coming up to swipe my legs out from under me.
“Get up!” She batted my head.
I smiled and bit her inner thigh through her jeans. Suddenly, this was the most ridiculous thing to happen to me in a long time.
“Ow!” Her thighs clamped tightly around my head, squeezing until I couldn’t breathe. I used my knees and weight to shift forward to freedom and found myself eye level with her heaving boobs.
Angry or not, she was fucking hot. I hadn’t had sex in a month. Hell, more than a month. Not since before Pops died.
“Remember the last time we were in here?” I let my mouth hover over her nipple, but raised my eyes to meet hers.
Her face was flushed. Behind her eyes a battle between lust and anger raged. The two emotions elicited similar physical responses, so I knew I was walking a thin line between sex and a knee to the balls. It was a risk I was willing to take. I held down her hands near her shoulders.
Giving into desire, I bit her breast through the thin material of her shirt and bra. It wasn’t a gentle nip. I wanted to mark her, to inflict a moment of pain. I needed to see some evidence I affected her.
“Ahh,” she whimpered, her hands struggling for freedom.
I released one of her hands, and she clawed at my bicep, her short nails digging into my skin. It hurt enough to make me pause, but not stop. I let my hand trail a path down her buttons until I reached the exposed skin above her pants while my nose skimmed her cleavage.
She held her breath, but didn’t shove me away. I took that as enough encouragement and kissed her nipple with open lips. It rose to salute the familiarity of my mouth. Smiling, I bit it again, gently this time.
Her hands found their way into my hair and she pulled my face to hers. Our mouths clashed together in a collision of tongues and teeth, lips and breath. She bit my lip and tugged . . . hard. I expected to taste blood. Instead, she softly sucked away the pain.
She yanked my shirt over my head and then pushed off her jeans. I sat back to unbutton mine. My jeans ended up being shoved out of the way, but never taken off completely.
On the cold, concrete floor, covered in wood-chips and sawdust, I fought the demons of gossip and reputation the best way I knew how. My body silenced her arguments and anger. My tongue trailed over her skin, leaving behind desire. I worshipped her. She clawed, scraped, and dug into my skin, using my body to release weeks of frustration and shame. We weren’t kind. This wasn’t making love. This was claiming and owning one another on a purely physical level. This was passion. I held on as she thrashed and clenched, and then with a low moan, came inside her.
It was only after the haze of lust and orgasm faded did I remember the condom.
Shit.
I rolled off of her and sat up without a word.
“What?” She lay naked on the floor, where our bodies had created a bare spot in the sawdust, resembling a snow angel.
“Are you on the pill?” I tugged up my jeans, but didn’t zip. I shot her a serious look.
“Why?” She sat up and rebuttoned her shirt, covering the mark of my teeth on her breast.
“Answer the question.” What if she’s pregnant?
“Thanks. That was great for me, I hope it was great for you, too.” She stood and brushed wood-chips off her jeans. “Yes, I’m on the pill and have been since I was seventeen. Read into it what you want.” Sawdust fell from her hair when she shook her head in disgust. She’d never looked more sexy to me. Or beautiful.
“Okay, good,” I mumbled, distracted by the panic crushing my chest.
“Really? You honestly think I’d come over here and have unprotected sex with you? For what? Why? To get pregnant?” Hurt edged her words.
I shrugged. Coming from her mouth, I was instantly aware how wrong my words sounded. “Sorry.” I was an arrogant prick to think she would try to trap me.
“Do I need to get tested?” She slid on her underwear.
It was my turn to be indignant. “Why?”
“No condom, remember?”
I muttered a string of expletives. “No. I always wear one and get tested. I’m not that big of a dipshit.” I watched denim cover the legs which had taken over my fantasies.
“Good. Great.” She stared at the floor as she ran her fingers through her hair.
“You started this.” I gestured between us.
“Then I guess I’m finishing it, too. There’s nothing to finish.” She mimicked my gesture. “Listen, this has always been a casual thing. I knew from the first night what I was getting myself into. It’s my own fault I didn’t stop it before . . . when my feelings became involved,” she whispered the last words. “But I didn’t and that’s on me.”
I stood still, trying to absorb her words.
“Okay, then.” She turned to go.
“Hey.” I reached for her arm, but she moved it out of the way. “None of that came out the way I meant it to. I . . . freaked out.” I studied her face.
“I . . .” Her words bounced around in my head, crowding out my own thoughts.
“I . . .” I started again, but whatever words I tried to find to express what was happening in my gut and how my chest hurt, not from panic, but from the idea of her leaving with hurt in her eyes, escaped me.
She exhaled, her cheeks pink from the cold and my beard, her hair still tangled and matted with wood shavings. “I need to go.”
“Don’t.” My hand brushed her back as she walked away from me. Everything coming out of my mouth was wrong.
“I—” I didn’t know what to say.
I tried again. “Don’t go,” I said with my eyes closed.
The slam of her car door answered me.
“Stay,” I whispered to no one.
“Fuck!” I snarled, picking up the half-finished otter, and chucking it out into the yard. The soft bounce across the muddy grass didn’t feel satisfying, so I swept all of the tools off my workbench. I kicked the saw across the shop, the blade scraping roughly across the cement. Nothing helped. I stormed out of the shop, then picked up the otter, and threw it into the woods.