Chapter Five
Eight Years Ago . . .
“You drove Pete’s truck into a pole?”
“Reversed it, actually.”
Apparently the distinction didn’t help. Dad’s face remained heavily lined and unhappy.
“We were practicing reverse parking and Pete thought it might be better not to do it near other vehicles,” I said. “So we had a trashcan up one end and the pole down the other.”
“And you hit the pole.”
“Yes.”
“Not the trashcan, which would have just fallen over and made a mess, but not damaged anything.”
“Dad, I didn’t plan this. It was an accident.”
“She was actually doing pretty well there for a while,” said Pete, sitting on the couch with a bottle of beer. “Then her foot slipped off the clutch and . . . yeah.”
Dad turned the unhappy look on him.
“How’s your neck feeling?” I asked.
Pete just shrugged. “I’ll live. The truck’s tailgate is a fair bit fucked, though.”
“Language,” grunted Dad.
“Sorry.”
I held up my hands. “I need the practice if I’m going to pass the test. I’m seventeen now, you know.”
“And ready to hit things with vehicles, apparently.”
Pete snickered and threw back some beer, rubbing at one of his shoulders. He had nice shoulders, thick and strong. I hoped I hadn’t permanently damaged them.
“You know, that’s really harsh. I feel very unsupported right now,” I said. “Need I remind you, we called and you said it was okay for Pete to give me driving lessons?”
“I didn’t expect you to hit something and damage his truck on your first lesson.” Dad started to pace. Never a good sign. “Jesus Christ, is this what it’s like to have a teenager?”
“Been a teenager for a while now—thought you might have noticed,” I said, sitting curled up in the corner of the couch. Not getting teary, because that would be stupid.
Dad didn’t need to know there had been a sudden mess of crying straight after the crash. The impact probably wouldn’t have seemed like much to an onlooker, but it had jerked our bodies about fiercely. Pete, of course, had been infuriatingly relaxed about the whole thing, though it had been quite a shock to me. But damned if I would show Dad any glimpse of that.
“Look on the bright side,” I said. “You only have to put up with me for six weeks a year. How many vehicles can I possibly damage in such a short amount of time?”
“Let’s not find out,” muttered Pete.
“Sweetheart, you know I don’t mean it like that.”
“I’m sorry I messed up and interrupted your work,” I said.
Hands on hips, Dad hung his head, taking several deep breaths. “Okay, I deserved that.”
Silence.
“Let me make something very clear to you,” he said, gaze glued to me. “Adele, you are my daughter and I love you. When you called me to say there’d been an accident, you scared the absolute crap out of me.”
I was not convinced.
“The thought that I can’t protect you . . . that there are things out in the world that might hurt you.” He sighed. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
I swallowed hard. “Okay.”
“And this idiot’s probably due a company vehicle anyway.”
Pete’s sudden smile was beatific. He lifted the beer to me in toast. “Way to go, kid. I knew you’d come through for me in the end.”
Dad laughed. “If she dents that one, at least the insurance claim will be handled through the business.”
Funnily enough, Pete stopped smiling at that.
Thursday Night . . . Now
By the time I got down to the pool, he was already in the water, happily drifting in the deep end. My eyes took a minute to adjust to the dark, since the lighting was dim. Just enough to be able to get down the steps and everything without falling on your face.
“Hey,” I said quietly.
“Hey.”
I felt more than saw his gaze drift across my face, down the length of my body. My nipples of course loved the attention. Goddamn them.
This was new and unexpected, even after his maybe checking them out at the bar. Wildly different from the way he used to look at me. Back then, his gaze was more along the lines of pat-on-the-head-cute-puppy fondness. I don’t know. Then again, maybe I was just imagining it all.
“Jump,” he said.
“No.”
His laugh was low and rough and perfect. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.
“Pete, you of all people should know better than to encourage me to go jumping into things.”
He made a humming noise. Then strong arms stroked through the water until he reached the edge. “But this isn’t making decisions without thinking them through. This is just for fun. Jump, Adele.”
Carefully, I stepped into the water, down the stairs. “Not going to happen.”
“That’s a nice bikini,” he said.
“Thanks.” I went up to my shoulders. All of the lovely wavy hairdo had been carefully rolled up into a bun. “Don’t splash me. I don’t want to get my hair wet tonight.”
“Whatever you say.”
On the edge, he had his bottle of scotch, a bucket of ice, a bottle of gin, and a bottle of tonic water. The man had even sliced up a lemon. Talk about hospitality. “I don’t know if I chose right. Guy at the shop told me this one was the best.”
I joined him at the side, examining the gin bottle. “Hendrick’s is great. Thank you.”
“It is? Good.”
“My liver is never going to survive this trip.”
He laughed. “I don’t normally drink this much either.”
“Am I driving you to drink?” I joked.
“A little, maybe.” He glanced at me, then got busy pouring in the gin and topping it off with tonic water. Last but not least, the slice of lemon. A gin and tonic without a slice of lemon is rubbish and never let anyone tell you differently.
“I don’t know whether to be honored or offended.”
“Kid, why don’t we just be?” He exhaled, handing over the drink. “For you.”
“Thank you.”
Once he’d poured his very minimal two to three fingers of scotch, no ice, he tapped his glass against mine. “Cheers.”
“To just being,” I said.
We both drank, side by side, floating at the edge of the pool. He looked spectacular with his wet hair slicked back, the muscles in his shoulders and arms right there. I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs, overexcited over nothing. Because nothing was going on and nothing was going to happen. I mean, of course it wasn’t. Maybe, though, if I was really lucky we’d eventually be sort of friends again. I’d no longer have lost him from my life completely.
That would be so great.
“How are things really going with your mom?” he asked.
“Good. But, you know, she and I are always good.” I shrugged. “She has her life and I have mine. Mostly, she just wants to hang out in her studio or go on the painting trips, hold her classes. That’s her whole world.”
“Thought you might have followed her into art for a while there.”
“Me?” I laughed. “No. I can sketch okay, but nothing like what she does. I always preferred books to paintbrushes.”
“What about writing? You always kept a diary.”
“Yeah, it’s full of salacious details about you.”
“Great,” he said drily. “But you did see the journalism through?”
“I did a couple of classes and honestly . . .” I shook my head. “They were scarily hardcore and competitive. That’s when I realized, if I wasn’t willing to share that cutthroat attitude, then I didn’t want it badly enough.”
“Hm.”
“It just wasn’t for me.”
He took a sip of scotch. “What about all of the traveling you talked about doing?”
“Funny thing about flitting all over the globe,” I said. “It costs serious money. Plus, my current workplace isn’t keen on us taking all our leave at one time. Makes it difficult to plan a decent trip. But I’ll get there.”
He nodded, just watching me.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Leona, huh?”
“We already covered that ground. Tell me about your friends.”
“No, it’s my turn,” I said, downing some of the gin and tonic. Ah, the essence of life. “What about your father? Did he ever get over you not working behind a desk?”
His laughter was short and somewhat pained. “I really did used to talk to you about all sorts of shit, didn’t I? He’s pretty much written me off as a lost cause. My sister keeps him happy. She has two small kids and runs the branch of a bank. She’s basically Superwoman.”
“Wow. Good for her.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Meanwhile, as far as he’s concerned, I still just bang shit with hammers. Makes for interesting dinner conversation at Christmas.”
“If only you’d followed in your father’s footsteps and gone into finance too . . .”
“Exactly.”
I snorted. “Not that you wouldn’t look pretty in a suit, but it’s absolute bullshit. You build homes for people. You help create these amazing art-like buildings all over the coast. If he can’t see that, forget him.”
He smiled. “Thanks.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Maybe I should take you as my date next Christmas, let you defend poor little old me,” he joked.
“I’m interested.”
“I’ll keep you in mind.” He laughed. “You got lots of friends down south?”
“I’ve got my roommates, Hazel and her girlfriend, Maddie. They’re good people.”
“Good.”
“Honestly though, it’s hard to find kindred spirits you can really let loose with,” I said. “I don’t know if you ever noticed, but my sense of humor can be a little strange. Some of the things I come out with . . . people don’t always get me. So not really a whole bunch of people, just a couple of close friends.”
He nodded.
“People you can be yourself with are rare.”
“You’re right, they are.” His gaze turned serious.
“What’s that look?”
“Not to interrupt our just being,” he started, “but I am still sort of curious about a few things . . .”
“Such as?” I asked.
He groaned, shoving back his hair. “I almost don’t want to ask, but I’ve got to know. What did you honestly see happening in your eighteen-year-old mind that night?”
I winced. “Really?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
Maybe I could just drown myself. That might work.
“I just, I can’t square it in my head. Did I make you think there was something more?”
“Shit. Okay.” I downed a goodly amount of the drink because emergency. “It wasn’t care of anything you did outside of breathing, and I don’t know . . . science says you can’t exactly stop that and stay alive. So not your fault.”
“Alright.”
I grimaced. “I suppose I thought that if I could declare my desire and undying affection for you in such a grand manner then you would be hit by the stunning realization of my flourishing womanhood.”
“That was the baring-your-breasts part?”
“Right,” I said. “But you can’t forget the words, Pete. There were words. I practiced that speech a lot, you know. Though I then forgot most of it due to internal panic and alcohol. But they were weighty poetic words that were supposed to sway you as to both the determination and righteousness of my cause.”
“The righteousness of your cause?” His brows rose and he too, drank. “Jesus. So what was I meant to be doing during all of this?”
“I don’t know. Swoon?”
“No, come on. How did you honestly think I would react?”
“How did I think you would react?” I sighed. “Upon reflection, the smart money was probably on you telling me to stop being an idiot and put my clothes back on.”
He snorted. “Sounds about right.”
“But there was of course a small, timid flame of hope burning inside my chest that you’d be shocked and stunned into admitting that you felt exactly the same way,” I said. “Next would have come the passionate kissing and deflowering segment of the evening.”
“I was supposed to take your virginity in the hallway of your dad’s house?” he asked, expression somewhat appalled. “You must think I have balls of steel.”
I laughed. “The fantasy went more toward us moving things over to your place. Or maybe your truck. Less chance of getting busted.”
“Right. And you thought your dad’s reaction to all of this would be what?”
“Hey now.” I held up a hand. “I was finally, at long last, eighteen. His opinion didn’t really much matter to me. But I guess ideally we would have gone to him hand-in-hand the next morning and told him of our love and how we were destined to be together. Possible engagement ring involved. I don’t know . . . details were sketchy by that part.”
“Fuck,” he said, shaking his head.
“You already said that.”
“It bears repeating.” He swiped the water off his face. “Knew I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Yeah, but you did. Too late to go back now. I was young, dumb, and in love,” I explained. “Reality, consequences, things like that didn’t particularly factor into it. Add a few drinks, and that was that.”
He mumbled something under his breath.
“What?”
“You weren’t in love with me. You just thought you were.”
And yeah, no. “Pete, there’s a lot about what happened back then that I’ll readily admit was ill-judged, outright wrong, and even possibly plain stupid. But don’t tell me how I felt. I know how I felt.”
“You do, huh?” he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
“Yes. Just because I was a teenager doesn’t negate it.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Oh come on,” I said. “Look at the facts. Plenty of people meet their significant others when they’re young.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But let’s look at your feelings in a larger context.”
“Alright.”
He stopped to taste the scotch, obviously thinking it all over. “So, am I to understand that in none of the years since then have you met someone and been with them in a more . . . what shall we say, a more intimate, real, and involved way than our platonic friendship, and realized that you felt more for them than you ever did for me?”
“No,” I said simply.
“No?”
“No.”
His forehead creased, then he shook his head. “Maybe you just haven’t fallen for anyone yet.”
“I fell. It hurt like hell. Eventually, I picked myself up and moved on.”
A grunt.
“I’d also like to point out that sex doesn’t necessarily equal true intimacy. It’s physically baring, that’s true,” I said. “But sharing your innermost thoughts, your heart and soul, being who you really are with someone—that’s a whole other level.”
“You were a teenager. You didn’t even know who you were yet.” He sighed. “And apparently you didn’t know a thing about sex, either.”
“Don’t be so condescending. I was getting there.”
Another adamant shake of the head.
“Hey, you asked. I’m sorry you don’t like the answer I gave you, but it’s the truth. By all means, however, continue to believe what you like.” I shrugged, taking a sip of my drink. “You’ve been in love, right?”
“Once or twice.”
“And at what age did you first fall in love?”
He exhaled, dunking his head under the water and coming back up before answering. Keeping the single malt out of the water, of course. “I don’t know. About your age. A few years younger, maybe.”
“Who was she?”
“A girl I worked with. She was one of the salespeople at a building supplies place.” He smiled. “Bought a shitload of stuff I didn’t need just to get to see her each day. Nearly left me broke.”
I laughed.
“We lived together for a year or so.” The smile faded from his face. “But she was ready for marriage and kids. I wasn’t.”
“Think you’ll ever want that?”
“Don’t know.” His gaze narrowed on me. “What about you? You want the whole marriage and kids, kid?”
I smiled. “Cute. Honestly, I don’t know either. No one I’ve dated has made me think we might be headed anywhere near that direction.”
“You’ve got plenty of time.”
“It’s such a huge commitment, being with someone day in and day out.” I waved my hand across the surface of the water, watching the ripples. “You agree to spend the rest of your life with them, but there’s lots of things that could go wrong. I don’t want to choose the wrong person and wind up divorced like my parents.”
“Hm.”
“They wound up hating each other. It wasn’t pretty,” I said. “I mean, they’re fine now, not that they really have anything to do with each other.”
“I get what you’re saying. It’s a risk.”
“Yes, it is.” I moaned. “God, this is getting maudlin.”
He finished off his scotch. “I’d better be off to bed. Not all of us are on vacation, sleeping in till all hours.”
“Please,” I said, likewise finishing off my drink and setting the glass on the side of the pool. “You’d be up with the sun anyway. You’re just one of those unnatural morning-people weirdos.”
He smiled.
I held out my arms.
Brow furrowed, the man stopped and looked at me.
“You can’t have it both ways, Pete,” I said. “Either in your platonic eyes I’m still basically a kid, in which case we do hugs. Or I’m this tempting thing, in which case you’re absolutely entitled to keep your distance.”
His gaze narrowed, then he swallowed. “A hug would be fine, I guess.”
I stepped into him, wrapping my arms around his neck and resting my head on his shoulder. Fuck, he felt good. His warm skin and hard body pressed against mine. Though, yes, I was doing the bulk, if not all, of the pressing. Most of it gratuitous. Meanwhile, his big hands kind of patted my back a couple of times uncertainly. But he didn’t move away. Beneath the salt of his skin, the scent of him, of his cologne, was only just detectable. The man made my mouth water. I didn’t even really feel bad about putting him in this position.
“See, isn’t this nice?” I asked.
He took a deep breath. “Yeah.”
I sighed happily.
“Okay, we’re done.” Strong hands gripped my hips, setting me back from him. His smile had returned to being of the strained variety. “Time to get to bed. I ah, yeah . . .”
“Good talk.” I headed for the steps. “Can I carry some of the bar gear up?”
“No. You just go on ahead,” he said. “I’ve got it. ’Night.”