“Come to Barefoot Bay, Sean. Rest and relax here. I have more than enough room,” Sean’s brother said over the phone.
Sean Patrick O’Malley shoved his hand through his hair and leaned over the balcony of his one-bedroom apartment. The row was not impressive. Buildings after buildings. He hadn’t gotten it for the view, but still, this wasn’t anything to write home about. His job kept him away more than not, or it had until that last jump.
One bad jump—actually, the jump had been fine, the landing had been what screwed his career—and he was no longer a PJ. The title and position he’d worked so hard for, gone in the space of a messed up landing. He’d blown out his knee and now had pins in it. This was it, no more jumps for him. Even if he could jump, he wasn’t able to withstand the rigors of everything that came along with being a parajumper any longer.
“Stop thinking about your knee and as if your life is over,” Doyle spoke again. “It’s not. Come down here, soak up some rays. Relax. You’ll love Barefoot Bay.”
While he knew his brother didn’t mean anything harm, it still stung. No, this wasn’t what had him feeling as if his life was over. That had already happened before he landed wrong. Shoving those memories away, he turned his back on the metropolitan view. “Enjoy? What do you know about enjoying a beach? You’re a recluse.”
Doyle’s laughter had him smiling. He’d missed his brother. Both of them. They were close and it had been far too long since they’d been together.
“The people here don’t know that I’m Aden L Patrick, the famous painter. I’m Doyle O’Malley, independently wealthy, quiet, and a good neighbor.”
Sean rolled his eyes. “How you pull it off, I’m not sure. I do love how you used our names though for your pseudonym.”
Doyle had taken the middle names of all three O’Malley brothers to create his painting name.
“Come down. I’ll see if I can track down Lorcan and get him here as well. It will do you good to get away.”
“I’ll be there within the week.” His decision made, he’d hoped it would be good for him. There was a lot for him to think about and move beyond. The main thing would be moving on.
His mood dropped as memories of his past came up to haunt him. Shaking them off, he focused on the remaining bit Doyle was talking about.
After hanging up with his brother, he went to his small bedroom and stared at the queen bed that had been made the moment he got out of it. For a moment, he debated flying down to into Florida then driving out to Mimosa Key but nixed that idea.
The drive would do him some good. He packed up a suitcase, locked up his place, and headed for his truck. After unlocking the door, he tossed it into the backseat of his Dodge pickup, slid behind the wheel and rubbed his aching knee before heading to the gas station to fill up.
Four days later, he crossed the causeway from Naples to the island. The sun shone brilliantly down upon the crystal blue water making it dance with diamonds. Already, he had begun to relax.
Driving through town, he followed the directions his brother had given him to his place. He pulled into the complex and claimed a spot. Walking up to the door, it swung open even before he could even press the doorbell. Or knock.
“Big brother,” Doyle greeted him with a smile. “Thought maybe you got lost.”
Sean hugged him and ruffled his shaggy copper hair that had been covering his eyes. “Nope, your directions were perfect.”
They parted.
“It’s good to see you, Sean.”
“You too.”
“Come on it, let’s get you settled.” Doyle stepped back, adjusting the hold he had on his cane.
Suitcase in hand, he did with a slow whistle escaping as he took in the interior of his brother’s home. “Nice.”
Doyle limped beside him. “You could have a place like this if you’d spend a bit of your money instead of sitting on it. You can’t take it with you.”
“I’ve done the house once, better for me now with being gone all the time to rent.”
Doyle stopped and touched his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to bring that up.”
“I’m fine, Doyle.” He wasn’t, far from it. But this wasn’t the time to dwell on all the things that had gone wrong in his life. He was here to relax and hopefully, figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.
Intense blue eyes watched him for a moment before his brother dropped his gaze and continued on, taking him through the space he called home.
Once Sean had his items in the room, he met his brother in the living room.
He had a nice spread of snacks and beer sitting out, so Sean grabbed a longneck and claimed a seat on the couch. “What do you do around here for fun?”
A small wry twist showed on his mouth before Doyle controlled it. “I don’t have fun. I sit in the sun and I paint. There’s a lot of things you can do. I would suggest the beach. Lots of women down there.”
His heart wrenched a bit. He’d had a woman, once upon a time. The American dream, wife, and kids. He closed his eyes and took three long swigs from the beer then spoke, “I’m not here to hook up with a woman. I came to visit you.”
“I hate to say this as I know I was hoping to catch up with you and see Flynn when he arrives.”
Sean narrowed his gaze. He smelled a setup. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I have to go out of town for a meeting with my agent.”
Sean crossed his arms.
“I’m a recluse. I can’t meet with the gallery owners myself, but I have to get this for her and she’s refusing to do this over the phone.”
“Are you blushing?” If he’d been imagining the flush on his brother’s skin before, there was no mistaking it now.
“I’m Irish. It’s always going to look like I’m blushing.” He tipped back his own drink.
“I’m Irish as well, I’m not blushing.”
Doyle flipped him off.
Sean laughed and picked up some chips, popping them into his mouth. “When are you leaving?”
“Car will pick me up early in the morning to take me to the airport.”
“So we have tonight to catch up. And you mentioned Flynn, did you get a hold of him? Is he stopping by?”
“Nothing concrete, he said he would be in Jacksonville and he may find some time to swing down.”
Reclining back, Sean hooked his ankles. “Does he know you’re leaving?”
“No, I just found out this morning.” Doyle rubbed the heel of his palm down his thigh.
Sean managed not to ask him if his leg was bothering him. It would be a stupid question, of course it did. The man had a limp and still took pain pills as a result of the accident he had back in high school.
They caught up as the day morphed into evening.
As the sun lowered in the sky, he stood on the beach, toes buried in the sand with the warm water lapping over them. Down the beach, families enjoyed themselves and a few people jogged along the stunning sands.
He bit back his sneer as he thought about the long runs he wouldn’t be taking anytime soon. Therapy was supposed to help but he wasn’t exactly on board with doing it. His frustration building, he began walking along the shore.
Irritation mounting, he twisted sideways to avoid being hit by a jogger.
“Excuse me,” she called out as she continued by him.
Sean wondered if the ground hadn’t just fallen out from under him. Only one woman in the world had that specific voice that skated along his skin akin to a crushed velvet blanket. His ex-wife.
Spinning around and gasping sharp at the pain radiating through his leg, he called out, “Rica?”
A fan of blonde hair briefly obscured her features before it fluttered back to settle around her face. Beneath the tan of her skin, she paled, blue-green eyes widening with a mixture of shock and disbelief.
Then the suspicion and wariness crept in, replacing the previous emotion. Reminding him of how they’d looked when they’d divorced. Cold, wary, and not at all like the eyes that used to watch him when they were first married.
“Sean,” the word fell from her lips slow, almost as if she were testing it out to see if she could actually speak his name.
Nervous all of a sudden, Sean raked a hand through his hair then dropped his arm when he realized she knew that was an anxious habit of his.
Rica flicked her gaze around. “What are you doing here?”
αβ
Patricia “Rica” Sanford didn’t find many things that scared her but facing her past ranked at the top of the very short list. Not the man himself but the memories he invoked. One thing Sean hadn’t been was abusive. She wouldn’t have put up with him if he had been.
The memories however, no matter how she tried—she couldn’t outrun them. No matter how hard she fought—they remained, taunting her from the corners of her subconscious, torturing her from ever starting over and moving on.
He arched an eyebrow at her.
She cleared her throat and willed her expedited heartrate to slow. It could’ve been from seeing him after all this time or it could be the jogging. She bet the latter. The urge to rub her hands down her thighs gnawed at her like a dog with a meaty bone. Nausea churned at the back of her throat.
Searching hard within herself, she struggled to appear put together. “Been a while.”
He snorted and she had the impression he was fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “Six and a half years.” An easy shrug. “If you’re counting.”
Of course, he was. She ignored that. “What are you doing here?” she repeated her earlier question, with a lot less anger and attitude in it.
“Visiting Doyle.”
Figures. The one spot she’d labored over choosing for a place to visit that wouldn’t remind her of all she’d lost—would be the place where the man she’d struggled so hard to move on from—showed up.
She would now have to leave.
Forcing a smile, she stepped back, no longer possessing the desire to run. At least not in the direction that would force her to bypass Sean again. The man had the unmitigated gall not to change, as he got older. They’d aged the same amount, and she could see the negative effects in herself but with Sean, he’d only got handsomer.
A smattering of gray at his temples and a few strands in the scruff on his jaw only added to the attractiveness he portrayed. As he’d pointed out, it had been six and a half years.
Her fingers burned to reach out and trail her fingers along said jaw, just for a brief touch. Rica knew herself. It wouldn’t end there. Her touch would drift down to skim along those broad shoulders, trail down his flat torso, dipping into each of those dips and swells his six-pack presented.
Bastard probably doesn’t even have to work out like I do to keep in shape. He’s always been like that the entire time she’d known him. High metabolism and damn good genes.
His gaze deepened, eyes smoldering with increasing intensity and she scrunched her toes within the confines of her shoes, refusing to allow him to see the attraction she still had for him. More importantly…the love.
The pressure grew behind her eyes warning her the tears would be arriving soon. “Goodbye, Sean.” Rica turned and halted second the familiar touch of his callused hand landed upon her skin. Digging deeper than the core of the planet for some fortitude, she waited for the iron to sink into her bones. Drawing on her past years of being a woman in what was still seen as a predominately male profession, she angled back to him, expression composed and cold.
Of course, it wouldn’t be that simple. It never was with this man here. Not only had he been her husband and knew her as well as she did herself, but he’d been one of the best in the Air Force as a fearless PJ. He didn’t get intimidated.
“Can we not even talk now, Rica? Is that what this relationship has come to?”
She couldn’t ignore the anger and frustration lining his tone. But she didn’t have to be a pushover either. Pulling free of his grip, she shook her head. “We don’t have a relationship anymore Sean. That ended the day you slapped those papers down in front of me, telling me you needed some space.”
A flicker of pain glimmered in those blue eyes before it vanished so quick she wasn’t sure she hadn’t imagined it all the way around.
“Years, Rica. I tried getting in touch with you since.”
The tears burned harder and she bit the inside of her cheek to focus on something else. Only once the metallic tang of blood hit her tongue, did she release the bite. “Again…why? You made it clear to me you were moving on with your life and it was without me. Did you really think I would be sitting by the phone hoping and praying for the day for you to reach back out to me, because I couldn’t get along without you?” She held up a hand. “Never mind. I don’t care. You made your point and now I’m making mine. There is no us. Leave me alone, Sean.”
Rica walked away without looking back, doing her best not to run off like every fiber in her being yelled for her to do. She ignored that part of her, determined to keep it together until she got back to her suite. For a moment, she’d debated renting one of the villa’s at Casa Blanca Resort & Spa, but she wasn’t about to put out the money for that. Being on an extended leave from her job at the moment, she was living frugally. Not completely though, because she’d rented a suite at the resort, but not the villa.
The resort was stunning with the white stucco combined with the red tile roof, it all held a very Moroccan vibe to it. She pushed inside the building, willing those tears to hold off just a bit longer, and walked over the spotless marble floor, smiling at the young woman behind the registration desk. She jogged up the stairs to the third floor to her suite and sagged against the door when she closed it behind her.
Sliding down the smooth wood, she no longer fought the tears and allowed them to stream down her face.
If she hadn’t paid for an entire two weeks, she would’ve packed up her bags and bolted.
“Why did he have to come here?” She cradled her head in her hands. It wasn’t a fair question. He’d said he was visiting Doyle. Last she knew, Doyle was living in San Francisco running an art gallery.
Times changed.
Forcing herself up to her feet, she walked to her bag and dug through to her wallet. Drawing it out, she flipped it open as she sagged onto the comfortable mattress and stared at the picture she kept in the back. Behind the credit cards, folded up receipts and the other odds and ends she kept in there. She slid aside her paper that told anyone she was licensed to carry the firearm also in her luggage. What she sought sat behind that.
Fingers trembling, she withdrew it. The photo’s edges were rubbed raw from all the handling it had experienced. Fold marks were on it, the bottom left corner was missing. It didn’t matter—this was her prized possession.
First, she ran her fingers over the image of Sean, looking so damn handsome as he stood beside her in her dark blue windbreaker, hair blowing around in the wind. Then she focused on the other two in the picture. The two boys. She and Sean each held one of their twins.
They had his features, his dark brown with caramel streaks hair color but her blue-green eyes. Four years old, they were exhausted and for that reason, had settled down enough to be picked up for a picture.
Riordan and Rourke.
Her babies. Her boys that had made her life all the more special. Her boys who’d been taken from her before they even reached the young age of five.
The first hot tear splashed on her skin and she returned the picture with a trembling hand. After ensuring it was secure, she lay on the bed and curled up in a little ball. Her trip here was supposed to help her get past this date looming on the horizon, the anniversary of their death. And the one person she didn’t need close to her, the father of those very boys was closer to her now than he’d been the past six years.
What hell had she fallen into?