Chapter Three

Landon

 

I step into Becca’s house, handing my coat to the staff member who rushes toward me.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I say when she lifts it from my grasp.

The band, the Three Amigos (all five of them), blast their version of Cake By The Ocean, the explosion of bass pounding against the marble floor. Streamers of gold and silver fall like icicles from the ceiling, sparkling against the spinning strobe lights while waiters dressed in head-to-toe black weave through the crowd, hoisting trays covered with booze, more booze, and tiny hors d’oeuvres of shrimp and thinly sliced filet.

I’ll give Becca this, she knows how to throw a party.

“Landon?” she yells from clear across the open foyer.

I offer a small wave, not expecting her to leave the group of men gathered around her with their tongues waggling. I recognize most of them, professional ballers from the Carolina Cougars. She doesn’t pay them any mind, too busy pretending she doesn’t notice Hale standing a few feet away.

Hale has his own entourage of admirers closing in fast; long, leggy women he finds about as interesting as Becca found those ballers. He and Becks had a bad falling out years ago, so bad neither have recovered from it, but not so bad they still don’t find ways to run each other. When you love hard, you hurt even harder, and those two . . . yeah, they ain’t done hurtin’ or lovin’ yet.

The woman closest to Hale skims the back of his neck with her nails and whispers into his ear. He doesn’t respond, too busy watching Becca and how she shakes her ass a little harder when she passes him.

“Hi, Becca,” I say when she reaches me. I put an arm around her and give her a hug. After all these years, she’s more family than friend, that doesn’t mean I don’t notice how pretty she looks.

A strapless mint dress hugs her figure. She holds out her drink and kisses my cheek. “Hi, baby,” she says. “Look at you being all social.” She steps back, giving me the once over. “Damn. Trin was right, you look like shit.”

There’s a reason she and my sister have been best friends since they tore off their diapers and went skinny dipping in the ocean.

“Still,” she adds. “I’m glad you’re here.” She fusses with my sweater, smoothing it out. “There’re a couple of ladies from the cheer squad I’d like you to meet, and some I’d like you to stay away from. Not because they’re not friendly, more because they’re a little too friendly, if you know what I mean.”

She doesn’t wait for me to answer, not that I could get a word in, even if I tried. I edge back when she starts stroking my beard. “Oh, Lord, I’m not sure about this thing,” she says.

“You don’t like the beard, I get it.”

“Yes, that, and the hair isn’t working for me either. Goodness, Landon, when was the last time you had a decent cut?”

I’ll admit it’s been a while. I’ve always kept my hair short all around and a little long on top. The top’s now long enough to brush my eyebrows, and the back, well that’s grown out too. I didn’t think it looked bad, except according to Becca, I’m dead wrong and shouldn’t be out in public without a paper bag covering my head.

She purses her lips like my beard physically pains her. “No, this just won’t do at all. Let’s get you upstairs and give you a little trim.”

“No.”

“It won’t take long,” she says, as if that’s the issue. “I have a beautiful grooming set one of our sponsors gave me. High-end, expensive, it will do the trick nicely.”

“The beard stays and so does the hair,” I tell her. “And I’m not interested in meeting cheerleaders.”

“Are you gay?”

I roll my eyes. “No, Becca.”

She points at me. “Then trust me, you’re going to want to meet dem cheerleaders, son.”

“Where’re Trin and Callahan?”

She smirks, knowing I’m trying to distract her. Becca may be blond, but she’s never been dumb. “Upstairs. Hmm, come to think of it, they’ve been gone a long time. Must be they’re working on baby number two. Shit, it’s like they’re twenty or something. Every time he touches her, it’s like they’ll burst into flames if they don’t fu—”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” I say.

She throws back her head, laughing. I’m not laughing, that’s my baby sister she’s talking about. Grown married woman or not, that’s who Trin’s always going to be to me.

I step away and around her. “Hey,” she calls out. “What about the cheerleaders?”

“If I need to score a touchdown, I’ll be sure to find them.”

I follow behind a waitress hustling back into the kitchen. Becca’s place is roughly ten-thousand square feet like mine. Except where my house is two-stories and wide, hers is tall with three levels. Just like I’ve made my money, she’s made hers, snatching the public relations world by the throat and shaking it hard.

I’m near the band who’ve been strategically set on the second floor overlooking the foyer. Smart. With the acoustics, they probably don’t need speakers, except here they are at full volume, converting the foyer into a dance club.

Hale nods as I pass, easing away from a redhead and “the whisperer” who seem to be getting a little too close for his and Becca’s taste. I grin, pausing to take in the show.

Becca shoves her way between the women and Hale. “Hi,” she says, all Southern lady like. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Becca Shields.”

The women smile the way hyenas do when a lioness tries to invade their territory. Neither say much, eyeing Becca like she’s interrupting and needs to leave.

That’s when the Southern lady shows her claws, all the while hanging tight to her smile. “Becca Shields,” she repeats. “This is my house, my party, and my man. Keep your hands to yourself, watch your manners, or get the fuck out.”

And how about that, those other women are no longer smiling. They are, however, stepping way back. Becca waits until every last hyena abandons Hale Mountain, the martini glass dangling elegantly between her fingers as if she wasn’t ready to toss it aside and scratch their eyes out.

“Hale,” she says, giving him a stiff nod as she turns on her heel.

He hooks his arm around her waist, and drags her to him, slamming the front of her into the front of him. If he were anyone else, I’d already have him on the ground. But like I said, there’s something there neither seem ready to let go of.

Becca’s breath catches, her eyes widening briefly as she meets Hale’s face. “So now I’m your man? Could have fooled me, sugar.”

Becca rises to her full height, her grit and fire returning. “Just trying to save you from yourself,” she glances over her shoulder to where the women watch her from the corner. “And from any communicable diseases you may or may not acquire.” Her gaze is rock-steady as she turns it back on him. “You’re welcome.”

Hale laughs, his hand sliding down her back and over her ass as he releases her slowly. The contact is brief and barely a touch, but I can feel the heat from here.

“Thanks, Becca.” He loses his smile. “What would I do without you?” he asks, drawling out the words.

He walks away without another glance. That doesn’t stop Becca from watching him leave. The ballers who couldn’t seem to get enough of Becca’s presence, eye Hale closely as he passes them, the one in the front appearing seconds from taking a swing.

“Watch it boys,” Hale tells the large group. “Don’t start shit you can’t finish.”

I turn in Becca’s direction when Hale disappears out the door, and the ballers don’t follow. Hale’s a friend and if those men had started in on him, I would have started in on them.

For a fleeting moment, I see a chink in that magnificent armor Becca keeps perfectly polished. “Damn it,” she mutters, her heart appearing to sink.

I start toward her, but as quick as a snap, that peek into her vulnerability is stowed away. She beams at a couple who approaches. “Hey. So glad you could come,” she says, hurrying to kiss cheeks in greeting.

Hale and Becks, they have it bad. I only hope they can work through what’s keeping them down and soar off into the sunset together.

I push off the wall and bump into a man kissing his very pregnant wife. “Oh, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he tells me, chuckling when the woman wipes the remnants of her lipstick off his face. “Is it that bad?” he asks her.

She grimaces. “Sorry, honey,” she says.

They ignore me and kiss again. I give them space and work my way to the rear of the house. Bernadette refused to kiss me in public, always worried I’d mess up her makeup. Maybe that was part of the problem, I needed a woman who cared more about loving me than loving what she looked like.

I head toward the kitchen, nodding to a few more of Trin’s friends. There’s Sean at the bar, just as tall and lanky as the day he turned fifteen and already slamming back shots. Some blonde I don’t know jumps up and down, giggling and egging him on.

Mason stands nearby, one woman on each arm. He was always the strong silent type, built like a brick wall and about as brilliant as he is tough. He’s never been chatty, but whatever comes out of his mouth works well enough.

Women love Mason. Sean, well, he’s always been one toy shy of a Happy Meal, but he means well. “Damn,” Sean says, wiping his mouth. “That was harder to swallow than a cow’s teat.” He holds out a hand. “Not that I’ve ever tried.” He pauses. “At least not on purpose.”

The blonde stops laughing.

“Hey, Landon,” Sean says, waving to me.

Mason, like Hale, offers a tilt of his chin. I answer with another nod. They’re good men, but I only told Trin I’d stop by. I’m not in the mood to shoot the shit.

Nor am I in the mood for some of the looks cast my way.

I don’t know any of the professional players, but you’d think with them here, all those people who’ve known me most of my life would be somewhat distracted. Instead, there’s Darlene Sotta watching me like she expects me to keel over and die.

She and the woman beside her exchange glances, whispering low. I don’t know her name, and I don’t want to especially after that.

“Poor thing,” Ivy Lionelle, mouths to her friend, her attention latched on me.

Four men who used to play ball with Hale glance at me as I pass. I keep my focus ahead. I don’t like the reception I received from Darlene, Ivy, and those women they’re standing with, and I don’t want to hear shit one way or another from these men. As ballers in high school, they were the first to get laid. None are married, to my knowledge, which means they’re still getting their fair share of dates.

Hale, Sean, and Mason took me out the moment the ink dried on my divorce papers, insisting I needed to get some, and doing their damnedest to make it happen.

They ended up getting drunk and (I shit you not) hooking up with triplets. I ended up driving their drunk asses home and pouring myself a cold one to drink alone in my living room. Although Hale’s clearly into Becca, and Sean and Mason have plenty of company, I know them and my sister well enough to guess they’re going to try and fix me up tonight.

Fuck that.

I step inside the large kitchen that opens up into an even larger great room where a New Year’s Eve show is taking up the giant flat screen along the wall. I glance at the time at the bottom of the screen. Damn, it’s only eight-thirty. Why am I so tired?

I slide into a stool at the raised counter where another bartender is mixing specialty drinks. It’s a lot quieter in here which is fine by me.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asks.

She’s blonde, with hints of leftover tan like a lot of women here on Kiawah. The only difference is she’s in a tight black T-shirt and pants as opposed to a tight dress. “What do you have, ma’am?”

Her lips curve at my “ma’am” remark. Even before she spoke, I knew she wasn’t originally from the south. In the south, your parents are your “momma” and “daddy” no matter how old you get, and everyone is “ma’am” or “sir” regardless of age.

“You can just call me Apple, cowboy,” she tells me.

I could also probably get us a hotel room by the sounds of it. “Why Apple?” I ask, ignoring the cowboy reference.

“My specialty is Appletinis.” She points to all the drinks along the counter. “But tonight I’m making Jack’s Grand Ball, Royal Clovers, B-52s, New York Cocktails, and Romance.” She plays with her bottom lip. “But if you’d like something more like Sex on the Beach, just let me know.”

“I’ll take a beer, thanks.”

I’m trying to be polite, and maybe I shouldn’t be. Maybe I should take her up on the offer, or tell Becca that yeah, I’d be happy to meet one of her cheerleader friends. But her offer, and all the ones I’ve received this year, aren’t what I want. They don’t mean shit.

Until I see her.

A redhead, almost as tall as Becca trails in, sprinkles of freckles in all the right places peppered against her cream-colored skin. A deep green velvet dress hugs what looks like a dancer’s body. I only know she dances because her figure is similar to Bernadette’s, though I can’t be sure this woman dances as good on the pole.

She’s a gorgeous girl. There’s no denying it. But she’s not who my focus trains in on. Behind her is a petite, slender young woman with light eyes and a pale pink strapless dress. The skirt doesn’t hug her body, it flares out, skimming just above her knees.

Long brown and gold waves fall along her bare shoulders, natural curls from what I can tell, unlike the crazy amount of hairspray that must be holding her friend’s spirals in place. And where her friend’s skin is so fair it glows, hers is olive.

If she’s wearing make-up, I don’t really notice it, at least not from here. What I do notice is her angelic face.

She glances around, unsure she should be here, unlike her friend who’s already making herself at home.

I lift the beer the bartender passes me and take a hard pull. I can’t remember the last time a woman caught my interest. It was nice while it lasted. Maybe in another year, I’ll be willing to say hi to one.

“Landon!”

“Landon!”

I scrunch my eyes closed when I hear not only Becca, but Trin, too.

They rush me, all enthusiastic-like. Lord, help me.

Trin gets to me first, throwing her arms around me. She’s in a simple blue dress, and the only jewelry she’s wearing are small stud earrings and her wedding band, but that’s just Trin. “There you are. Becca and me have been looking everywhere for you.”

“I’ll bet,” I say.

“I couldn’t get him to trim the beard,” Becca interjects, like I’m not right here.

“Mmm-hmm,” Trin says, nodding.

“Or the hair,” Becca adds.

Trin pats her arm. “The important thing is you tried, girl.” She clears her throat, veering on me. “Becca has a few friends she wants you to meet. Isn’t that right, Becca?”

“Sure is,” she says. She claps her hands. “Ladies, can y’all come over here a moment? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

At once, what seems like the entire Carolina Cheerleading team appears. One of them leans in close to Becca. “He’s cute,” she says, loud enough for me to hear.

And cue the introductions. Becca shimmies forward. “Darlins, this here is Landon Summers, engineer extraordinaire. Landon, these are my girls, Britney, Teenie, Mindy, Sandy, Chrissy, Lizzie, Brandi, Clarey, and Blythe.”

“Hi,” they all say, offering a well-rehearsed wave. All, but one.

The cute brunette who walked in with the redhead is off to the side, checking her phone. I almost ask Becca what her name is, but change my mind.

“Nice to meet, y’all,” I say. I nod for like the hundredth time since I’ve walked through that door and turn back to my beer.

My mind starts to wander to next week, when my self-appointed mental-health break wraps up and the time to get back to work begins. Becca introduced me as an engineer, which I was and probably always will be at heart. I don’t remind her I’m an attorney now. After attending law school and passing the bar two years ago, it still feels new to me, probably since this last year numbed the last few years away.

“Landon?” Trin presses her hand on my shoulder. She looks sad, I suppose I should try to smile and reassure her, but I don’t manage that much.

“I only promised you I’d show and that I’d have a drink. Here I am.” I tilt my bottle of beer. “And there it is.”

She glances toward the great room where the cheer team has begun to work the room. “Didn’t one of those ladies pique your interest?” she asks.

I almost turn to see if the little brunette is gone. Almost. Instead I answer the best way I can to explain what I’m feeling. “Trin, I need time and space. I don’t want to force something that’s not there. I spent three years doing that when I was married, and never want to go there again.”

She smiles softly like she understands a lot more than I’m admitting to her and myself. Wasted time, that’s all those years with Bernadette were. I knew something was missing. I beat myself up trying to make her happy—trying to make up for her troubled childhood and convincing myself that her past was what held us back from the life we needed and deserved. I was convinced that if she could just be happy, I would be, too.

It took finding her in that kitchen with her manager to see what was actually missing was love. She never loved me enough to want my happiness, no matter how hard I worked to make sure she had hers.

As I think about it, and what I told Trin, I’m not sure I’m right. Time and space may not be enough. Christ, it’s like the day I found Bernadette and that idiot, I lost everything, including my trust in women and belief in forever. It eats me alive even now, even as all these sexy women strut past me. They think they have a shot. They don’t. Hell, how can they when I don’t bother to bring a gun and load the damn bullets?

“Hey, Landon.” I look up to find Callahan, tension tightening his brow. He doesn’t clap my shoulder in that brotherly way we’ve been doing for years. His long, bulky arms immediately find Trin’s waist.

That’s my first clue that something’s wrong. Trin senses it, too, angling around to get a better look at him. “Is it too loud for you in here, love?” she asks.

“Some,” he says, the strain building along his shoulders telling us otherwise.

“Then we’ll go,” she says.

He doesn’t reply, something in his expression keeps widening her eyes. She lifts her hand, stroking his beard. “Baby,” she says. “Can you hear me?”

The little brunette in the pale pink dress appears behind Callahan as he slowly nods. She makes her way to the other side of the raised counter, unaware of what’s happening. “Hello,” she says, her voice as soft as her appearance. “May I please have some water?”

The bass from the music intensifies, and from the foyer, the crowd screams, energized.

Callahan’s lids fall closed and he seems to be working to breathe. “I saw Becca near the stairs . . . told her I’m taking off,” he says, struggling to speak. “She told me to take a bottle of champagne.”

“Okay. Let me check on the crab cakes. I just put them in the oven.” She cuts herself off when she realizes Callahan may not last that much longer.

“Excuse me, do you need help?”

We turn in the direction of a small voice. The little brunette, raises her hand in a way of an apology. “I’m so sorry,” she says. “I don’t mean to be intrusive. But if you need to leave, I’m happy to check on the food for you.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Trin says. She glances at Callahan who is leaning against the granite counter, rubbing his eyes, the muscles along his broad back straining against the collared blue shirt he’s wearing. “Wait for me outside, love. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

He doesn’t argue, making me think he’s a lot worse off. “All right.”

Trin snags my arm when I start to follow. “Give him a moment, won’t you?”

She knows him better than I do, so I watch him cross the great room and open the sliding glass doors leading onto the terrace. The ocean is loud in her song tonight, I can hear her over the roar of the music and the growing throng of people. He and Trin will likely walk home, in the opposite direction from my house. The walk will do him good, the ocean waves crashing along the shore a better remedy to restore the soul than any medicine I know.

“What’s wrong with him?” the bartender asks.

She’s not being rude, she seems concerned. “He’s a war hero,” I reply. It’s the best way to sum it up, and the best way to honor what he’s been through.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

I am, too. I’m thankful for soldiers like Callahan. I just wish there was a way to ease their suffering and erase the damage of war.

The bartender gives me her back, allowing me to focus on Trin where she’s whipping an orange sauce in a bowl. “It’s okay, you go,” the tiny brunette tells her. “I’ll make sure they get done.”

“Thank you. They’re Becca’s favorite,” Trin explains. She doesn’t tell her Becca’s grandmother would make them every New Year’s Eve, and how Trin took over the tradition when her beloved grandmother died. Knowing Trin, she wouldn’t share something so personal about her friend, even if she wasn’t in a rush.

Becca appears behind her with a bottle of champagne, along with Hale who’s carrying a couple of coats. They talk low and fast, and move even quicker, Becca’s hand tight in Hale’s as she follows him out.

They pause by the doors to the terrace, waiting for Trin. Trin throws her arms around me, everything she’s feeling for her husband seeping through in that tight hug. “Love you, Trin.”

“Love you, too, Landon,” she pauses to look at me with those same sad eyes. “Happy New Year.”

She takes off, shrugging into the coat Hale handed her, Sean and Mason at her heels. Like Hale and Becca, they seem to know what’s happening. These are Trin’s real friends. Through thick and thin, they’ve always stood by her.

Banging from the kitchen has me turning in the direction of the wall oven. The brunette shoves the tin of crab cakes into the center, shiny with the sauce she basted them with.

No sooner than she sets the timer and takes off her oven mitt than Kirk Watson arrives. “Hey, sweet thing. How about you fix me a plate of food?”

How about I punch you in the head, Kirk?

I glare in his direction. She’s the only non-Caucasian woman in the immediate vicinity. I’m not trying to be a dick and assume he’s racist, I’ve just known him long enough to know that’s what he is. Not to mention, she’s in a cocktail dress or whatever the fuck, not dressed in a black shirt and pants like the caterers Becca hired.

Her small chin juts slightly forward. “I’m sorry, sir,” she says. “I don’t work here, I was just helping someone out.”

Kirk is already drunk and way past horny. He leans his arm against the overhead counter and gives her the kind of once-over that should send her to the nearest shower to wash his filth clean. “Then how about I buy you a drink?”

“It’s my understanding the drinks are free,” she tells him.

He sidesteps in front of her when she tries to walk away, blocking her. “Come on, sweetie. I’m just trying to be nice.”

I don’t think things through. I storm in from the opposite side and from one blink to the next, I’m suddenly there.

The brunette takes a step back and into me, my presence startling her and making her jump. “Back off, Kirk. She’s with me.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have said what I did, but Kirk’s the type who doesn’t know when to quit unless there’s a bigger man there to make him.

Tonight, that bigger man is me. He swipes his shaved head, offering me a slick smile that turns challenging real quick. “Is that right?”

“Damn straight.” I think the brunette looks up at me, but I’m too busy looking at Kirk. Yeah, he’s drunk, and ready to take a swing. The protective side of me kicks in. I grasp my supposed damsel in distress by the elbow and gently guide her behind me.

His gaze trails to her briefly before returning to me. “I thought you were hard up.”

“Nah,” I say, not wanting to give this idiot any amount of satisfaction. “Onto bigger and better as you can see.”

“Or tinier and cuter?” he offers.

“Watch your mouth,” I fire back, knowing he’s not complimenting her, but rather trying to rile me. “Like I said, she’s with me.”

I clench my fists, causing my knuckles to crack. I don’t think he hears the crunch, not over the music and escalating clamor of voices. He does see me, though. Whatever he catches in my hardening features is enough to make him back down. Smart man, at least when it comes to a fight. He knows I can take a hit, and give one a hell of a lot harder.

He grunts and slinks away, like he did me a favor by letting me off and not the other way around. I keep him in my sights. By the time he reaches the door leading out to the foyer, he perks up, likely having spotted the next woman he’ll approach.

I wait until he disappears into the next room before turning back to the brunette. “Ma’am,” I say, tilting my chin.

I mean to step away and back in the direction of my beer. One drink and out, right? Sounded good in theory except the moment I shift my weight to walk away, her smile holds me in place.

It’s not the kind of smile that promises anything close to what the bartender offered, nor is it teasing and daring, like the half-dozen cheerleaders Becca introduced me to flashed. It simply is, fragile like the first snowflakes that fall in winter, and shy like a young woman at her first dance, hoping no one notices she’s not dressed like the rest.

I like what she’s wearing. She looks nice just to look nice, not to impress or show off. And someone as pretty as her, well, she doesn’t need to be so shy.

Her lips are glazed in a soft pink like her dress, not overly done, just enough to give them a shine and glisten her light eyes. “Thank you,” she says, quietly. “For helping me out.”

“You’re welcome.”

I take a step in the direction of the bar, eyeing my beer like it’s waiting for me to return. But the step feels unusually heavy and I think, my friend the beer, can wait.

I turn slowly and offer this little thing with the pretty eyes and soft smile my hand. It shouldn’t seem like such a big deal or much of an effort, but it’s a little of each. Maybe for both of us. “I’m Landon.”

She takes my hand. I watch it as it disappears within my grasp.

“Hi, Landon,” she replies quietly. “I’m Luci.”