Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  This morning, I woke up to a message from him that he couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend for his sister, except maybe Levi, because his ass is nicer than mine.

  I haven’t told Ellie, because we’ll sort that all out after the wedding’s over, when she doesn’t need me to play this role anymore.

  I hope I don’t lose a friend over this.

  But if I do, I probably didn’t deserve him as long as I had him anyway.

  “Want me to paint pirate flags on your toes?” my foot lady asks.

  Ellie dissolves in a fit of laughter.

  “You don’t have to get nail polish,” Monica tells me with a grin.

  “Yeah,” I tell the lady. “Pirate flags.”

  Ellie laughs so hard she has a coughing fit that ends with her gasping and rubbing her leg, but she’s still smiling, so there’s that. Her foot lady has to stop. Jason gives me a thumbs up. The Blond Caveman rolls his eyes behind his magazine, which he’s not using very effectively to block his face.

  When we’re done, I have pirate flags on my two big toes, and I look like an idiot, but I don’t really care. Tucker thinks it’s awesome and begs me to take a picture to send to his mom.

  I oblige while I’m waiting to pay, and when I get to the front, the cashier smiles. “Mother of the groom took care of you, your son, and your girlfriend. Go show off those pretty toes, and come back and see us again!”

  Outside, Mrs. Dixon is speed-walking toward the hotel at the end of the street. Jason and Monica and her mom are talking to Ellie and Sloane while the Blond Caveman makes a phone call.

  I stop next to Jason. “Your mom didn’t have to pay for us.”

  “It’s the only way she’ll say thank you.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t mention it or she’ll get bitchy again. We’re heading to the food trucks on the square. You guys coming?”

  “Wyatt promised Tucker another trip to the water park,” Ellie answers for us. “They’ll catch up with us later.”

  “You want to go with them?” Monica asks. “We’re just going to be walking and stuffing our faces and badgering Patrick into wearing a pirate hat and an eye patch. You’ll have more fun at the water park.”

  “I didn’t bring my swimsuit.”

  “I have six.”

  “Monica.”

  “Oh, hush. Don’t give me that I’m here for the bride stuff. When’s the last time you went down a water slide?”

  “I can’t—”

  “And the lazy river? You love the lazy river.”

  “Babe, you love the lazy river,” Jason says. “Let’s all go.”

  “Yeah!” Tucker cheers.

  Ellie tries to send Monica another meaningful look, but it’s completely lost on the bride.

  “Nobody cares about your scar,” I tell her quietly.

  “I care,” she mutters.

  I study her a minute.

  She’s not meeting my gaze, and her cheeks are going pink.

  She’s soaked in the tub at least three nights this week, so I know the water itself isn’t the issue.

  It’s the swimsuit.

  “Give me thirty minutes,” I tell her.

  Her brows furrow. “For what?”

  “A solution. C’mon, Tucker. We’ve got a job to do.”

  “You’re not bailing on us, are you?” Monica asks.

  “Nope. Meet you there. Make sure Ellie’s with you.”

  I don’t know if my idea’s even possible, but it’s worth a try. And if there’s anywhere that can pull it off, it’s Shipwreck.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ellie

  I am in severe like with Wyatt Morgan.

  The man found me scuba shorts.

  He activated Shipwreck’s gossip network and found me scuba shorts that cover me down to the knee, completely hiding my scars.

  We spend the entire afternoon at the water park, destroying our pedicures, Jason and Wyatt trying to out-cannonball each other, floating around on the lazy river, helping Tucker learn to swim, laughing as he climbs through the two-story pirate adventure sky fort with its water cannons and dodges the water that dumps out of the giant bucket on top, and soaking up the gorgeous afternoon sunshine.

  I bypass the water slides, but Tucker and Wyatt go down them a million times.

  Monica declares it naptime around five and gives me a gentle push toward Wyatt’s car. “Go home. Jason and I are having a pizza-in-the-room night and leaving the families to fend for themselves. We’ll see you for the rehearsal in the morning, okay?”

  “Not The Grog?” We missed it last night with all the worry over Mrs. Dixon almost choking.

  “Oh my god, Ellie, I am so tired,” she says with a laugh. “Besides, I think Jason’s feeling neglected.”

  “If you need anything—”

  “My mom’s here. And you know all I have to do is lift a finger and any of the Rock family will be right on it.”

  “C’mon, Ellie,” Wyatt says. He waves at somebody on a bike, and the rider slows as he approaches, a double-handled plastic bag dangling from the handlebars. “Train’s leaving in three minutes.”

  “Mr. Morgan?” the kid on the bike says.

  “Yep.” Wyatt hands him a couple twenties, and the kid hands over the bag.

  “Is that fried chicken?” I ask, sniffing the air.

  “And potato salad, french fries, banana pudding, and a funnel cake. Ordered it all from the food trucks.”

  “Jason, I’m sorry, I’m marrying Wyatt tomorrow instead,” Monica announces.

  “Shut your mouth, he’s mine,” I retort without thinking.

  She grins at me, and I feel my cheeks heat up.

  And not because of all the sun this afternoon.

  “Girls are weird,” Tucker announces. “I’m never getting married. Except maybe to my sister if I ever have one. Can I have a sister?”

  For once, Wyatt seems to be speechless.

  “You should ask Santa for a sister,” I tell Tucker while I herd him into Wyatt’s SUV. “Sisters are the best. I know, because I am one.”

  “Sisters are annoying,” Wyatt corrects.

  “He’s just jealous because he never had one,” I whisper to Tucker, who giggles while he pulls his seat belt over his booster seat. “Sisters are totally awesome.”

  Tucker loops his arms around my neck and hugs me tight, and surprised, I hug him back.

  “You’re awesome, Miss Captain Ellie.”

  “Not as awesome as you.”

  We make it back to Beck’s house without incident and dive into the food like we haven’t eaten in a week. Tucker tries two bites of banana pudding and declares it gross.

  “Then I guess it’s my paternal duty to eat yours,” Wyatt announces.

  “Hello, we share it,” I argue.

  “He’s not your kid.”

  “Tucker, may I please have half of your banana pudding?”

  He looks between us. “It’s nice to share, Dad,” he finally whispers.

  “It really is, Dad,” I agree.

  “Bath time for you,” Wyatt tells him without answering either of us.

  But he leaves half a carton of banana pudding in the fridge when he takes Tucker upstairs.

  I clean up the dinner mess, realizing with a start that it’s been days since I cleaned up in here, yet everything’s nearly spotless anyway. Except for our small dinner mess, of course.

  Because Wyatt takes care of things.

  I’ve sometimes wondered why Beck stayed close with him. Once the guys started their boy band adventure, an entire new world opened up. Beck, Levi, Tripp, Cash, and Davis could’ve gone anywhere, done anything. They each lost a few friends along the way—money changes things—but Wyatt was the one constant outside immediate family.

  And I think I get it now.

  Just like we called Davis to fix Frogger, any one of the guys from the neighborhood could call Wyatt, and he’d have their backs. He’d do anything they needed done.

  Including keeping an eye on a si
ster they’re worried about.

  Once the dishes are put away, I fix myself a cup of tea—a new habit since the accident—snag my doodle pad from the bedroom and carry it out to the living room. Tucker’s crying upstairs. Wyatt’s talking to him softly, steady, calm, his deep voice reassuring me too even though I don’t realize I need reassurance, nor do I have any idea what he’s saying.

  It’s just the calming cadence of his voice.

  Nothing could be that calm and soothing if there was actually a problem. Poor kid’s probably exhausted from too much fun.

  I glance at email on my phone, decide there’s nothing that can’t wait until next week, and toss it aside to open my doodle pad instead.

  I doodled all the time when I was a kid, but sports, clubs, and other extra-curriculars didn’t leave me much time for it in high school or college. It wasn’t until I was forced to take two months off work for recovery this winter that I picked it up again.

  And it turns out, I realize as I flip through the pages, I had a lot of anger to work through this year.

  Dick and the Nuts was supposed to be fun, about a schlong and a pair of peanuts—no, not testicles, actual peanuts, like the legumes—who set out to take over the world despite one of the nuts being on crutches.

  Dick was supposed to be a funny, lighthearted evil genius.

  He’s actually everything I hated about Patrick by the time he broke up with me. Addicted to his job first, his phone second, his bloodline third, and everything else was just gravy. I met Patrick at a fundraiser for Jason’s company—clean water and green energy pretty much go hand-in-hand, and my parents like to send corporate dollars from Ryder Consulting toward various nonprofits every year—and I thought we shared a lot of the same passions in life.

  I don’t know if I looked at him through rose-colored glasses that first year, or if he slowly changed away from the man I thought he was when we met, but by the time this past Christmas rolled around, I was more angry that he’d kept me from meeting my goal of being married and pregnant than that he hadn’t proposed.

  I should’ve realized that meant I wanted the wrong thing out of our relationship, but it took a car accident and, honestly, this week for me to fully connect the dots.

  There’s more to life than marking off checkboxes.

  I’m smiling to myself over the Nuts—I named them Joe and Bob, because I’m creative like that—and their plan to put Dick in a trance so they can run the controls on the spaceship to blast the earth with a laser beam that’ll give everyone the giggles so they can rob all the chocolate shops they want without anyone raising an alarm, when Wyatt steps down the stairs.

  He disappears into the basement, and when he returns with an armful of sheets and the comforter for Beck’s bed, I start to get up.

  “Move one muscle, and I’m calling Beck and telling him we’re getting married.”

  “That would show the Dixons,” I reply. “And you know that’s the fastest way to get Beck here. He loves weddings. And me. And sometimes you.”

  Wyatt grins.

  I grin back.

  He’s not winning this round.

  “I’ll swap out your bubble bath for itch powder,” he offers.

  “You would not.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  “You don’t have itch powder.”

  “Last time I stayed here, your brother salted my sheets and put a life-size taxidermied bear in my bedroom to scare the shit out of me. I owe him. So yeah, I brought itch powder.”

  And I’m suddenly quite certain I don’t want the man making the bed I’m going to sleep in tonight.

  I start to move again. “Sit,” he orders.

  Damn, that military order voice is hot.

  Hot hot.

  And that’s why I sit.

  Because if I follow Wyatt into the bedroom, the mattress won’t be the only thing undressed.

  “Thank you,” I say, conceding with a regal nod. “Also, if you itch powder my sheets, I’ll itch powder your underwear.”

  He just grins again.

  Which is also freaking hot.

  I go back to flipping through my doodles. After a few minutes, Wyatt appears again. He stops in the kitchen before joining me with a water bottle in one hand and the rest of the banana pudding in the other. He claims the recliner angled to give him a view of both me and the scenery of the town below—or it would, if dusk wasn’t falling—and props up the footrest. “Trade you,” he says, lifting the banana pudding and pointing to my doodle pad.

  I hesitate only a moment before I lean over, ignoring the twinge in my hip and thigh, to snatch the pudding and toss him the notebook.

  “I was kidding, Ellie.” He holds out my book for me to take it back, but I shrug.

  “I was going to show you anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “To scare you into your senses so you’ll quit trying to kiss me.”

  He smirks and settles deeper into the recliner as he flips the cover open. “Do I want to know where you got the inspiration for Dick?”

  “You don’t recognize him?”

  Dick’s a short, squat, not very pretty penis. He looks nothing like Wyatt’s package.

  “Can’t say I do,” he replies easily, completely bypassing the opportunity to ask if I’ve gotten an eyeful of my brother without the sock the photographers make him put in his briefs.

  It’s an old joke. Possibly we’ve worn it out.

  Also, possibly I don’t want to think about my brother in his underwear. It’s been nice having the cardboard cutout of him in the corner turned around.

  Wyatt’s perceptive gray eyes skim the page, and he snickers.

  “Not a word on my talent,” I warn him around a mouthful of heaven. I mean, banana pudding. My mom makes awesome banana pudding, but there’s something about the meringue on Crusty Nut’s banana pudding that puts it head and shoulders above.

  “I was laughing at the Nuts,” he tells me.

  “Oh. Then maybe you do have good taste after all.”

  Sparring with him is so easy. We’ve done it a million times. It’s habit. But it’s also comfortable, which isn’t something I ever noticed before.

  Maybe it’s never been comfortable before.

  Or maybe we’ve both grown up.

  Considering how long we’ve each been legal adults, it’s probably past time.

  “Why’d you date the Blond Caveman so long?” he asks as he flips another page.

  “Ambition made me blind. Why didn’t you quit the military?”

  His smile fades into a resigned scowl. “Paperwork and networking failure.”

  “Networking?”

  “Need a job to pay child support. Don’t have enough experience yet in flight test to be valuable to anyone who’d hire me in Copper Valley. And my request for a waiver to get out of my service commitment got lost on some colonel’s desk. Found it last week, got denied.”

  “Beck always said you’d be career military. That it suits you.”

  “Shit happens. Rather have Tucker than a long career though.” He skims the next page and cackles.

  Wyatt Morgan.

  Cackling.

  Because he thinks my doodles are funny.

  My nipples go tight and a familiar heat pools between my legs.

  “Broccolisauruses? Eating underwear models?”

  “Beck might’ve pissed me off that day.”

  “What’d he do, tell you that you couldn’t do something?”

  “He asked me to be his date to some gala in Paris.”

  He glances at me in surprise. “That pissed you off?”

  “You want to know the last time Beck asked me to be his date to anything?”

  “Ah.”

  I think he’s done, that he gets it, but instead, he shuts the book and looks at me. “Ever consider he finally realized what he almost lost?”

  I open my mouth, but I suddenly don’t know if he’s talking about Beck, and the possibility of losing a sister, or himself, and
the possibility that he might’ve lost an opportunity.

  With me.

  Which is crazy, because I have always irritated the shit out of him.

  I used to run marathons. I knew I was pretty—I’m Beck Ryder’s sister, for god’s sake, last year’s People’s Sexiest Man Alive, and we’re clearly related—and athletic and smart. I didn’t have insecurity issues, and so when Wyatt was willing to do the naked tango with me, I assumed it was because he wanted the same thing I did.

  A little human companionship and confirmation that I was still attractive to somebody.

  And possibly he was a little tipsy.

  And angry. And hurt. And lonely.

  Just like I was, except I wasn’t tipsy.

  And maybe, just maybe, seeing him lonely and hurt and angry, made me realize what I’d been missing all those years between hating him, then crushing on him, then hating him.

  That I wouldn’t have given him a second thought if there wasn’t something there.

  “I considered a lot of things after the accident,” I tell him. “But it’s complicated. I don’t want pity dates. But I don’t want to take anything for granted either, so I understand other people not wanting to take people for granted. But I also wanted everything to go back the way it was before. Except it can’t.”

  “Embrace what’s better, Ellie. Change what you can change. Fix what you can fix. Accept the rest.”

  “You mean like accepting that the house will burn down if we sleep together again?” I whisper.

  He gives an exasperated laugh. “Sure.”

  “Okay. Good. Glad we agree on that.”

  “You gonna eat that?” he asks with a nod to my banana pudding.

  Our banana pudding.

  I lean over and hand it to him.

  “Did you spit in it?” he asks suspiciously.

  And I laugh.

  Because we’re a little messed up, but for the first time in my life, I’m really glad to have Wyatt as a friend.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Wyatt

  After a long and restless night, Tucker and I agree he needs to learn to play air hockey more than he needs to go dig for more pirate treasure or hunt for the peg leg that apparently still hasn’t been found in town. Ellie was up early to take the box of parrots into town and get ready for the wedding, but she hung around long enough to have breakfast with us and draw Tucker a parrot for him to color later.