Maybe everyone on earth was hiding something massive inside them. He had the anger he didn’t want and could rarely release. And Rae, apparently, had sadness. So much fucking sadness.
He’d never noticed before now.
Clearly, she hadn’t wanted him to, and still didn’t. She avoided his gaze as she said, “I’m just nervous about something. Work stuff. It doesn’t matter. I’m taking up your break, aren’t I?”
He wanted to say no, but that would be a lie, so he said nothing at all.
She gave him a wry smile. “Go on. Duke and I need to get home.”
But I don’t want you to go. Not until I figure out how to make you smile for real.
“If you ever want to talk about the… work stuff,” he said carefully, “you should call me.”
She rolled her eyes, all light-hearted amusement. “I’m sure. Let’s pour some wine and have a DIY therapy session.”
“Rae.”
But she was already walking away, Duke trotting loyally beside her. Opportunity gone, then. For now.
“Wait,” he called. “Just—will I see you tonight?”
She paused, shooting a look over her shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“You should come.” To the pub, he meant, for their group’s unofficial Friday night drink. “When you don’t, I’m surrounded by couples.”
“Poor baby,” she snorted, and left.
Rae had heard on the small-town grapevine that once upon a time, not so long ago, Zach Davis had been… well. Sexually prolific. She’d never seen him in action as the town sex god—apparently, he was now retired—but she’d bet he’d been fucking magnificent. He could certainly seduce her with the crook of a finger. She’d pay good money just to run her tongue over the fine map of raised veins on his thick forearms.
Then again, Rae was horribly sex-deprived, so perhaps that didn’t mean much.
By the time she and Duke got home, she was still overheated by the memory of the man’s smile. Zach Davis, barely clothed, was an atomic weapon. He looked like something out of a book: twelve years younger than her and ten times hotter, all broad shoulders and rough hands and subtle, effortless flirtation. Since he was practically a fictional character, he was safe to salivate over. The lust she felt towards him barely counted: they were friends, and he was the epitome of delicious impossibility.
He was also a complete sweetheart.
Thank God she hadn’t buckled under the force of his quiet concern back there and spilled her guts. What would she have said—that her debut novel had been nominated for a prestigious award, and it was making her miserable? That she’d agreed to sign copies at an amazing fantasy convention, and the thought filled her with dread? That she was so anxious she couldn’t write a word, all because she was about to spend a weekend working and sleeping in the same hotel as her ex-husband?
“No, no, no,” she murmured to Duke, leading him into the kitchen. “Because that would be pathetic. And Ravenswood Rae is not pathetic.”
But that was the problem: at the Burning Quill convention, with Kevin and his new wife swanning about, she wouldn’t be Ravenswood Rae. She’d be Kevin’s Rae. Abandoned Rae. Sad, pitied Rae. And the thought made her want to vomit.
It was time to think of other things.
She filled her baby’s massive water bowl, set it down before him, and asked, “You felt Zach’s chest, right? Is it heavenly? Is it like a big, sexy slab of concrete?”
Duke gave her a look that said, You’re sick, and lapped up his water.
She stepped out of the splash zone, chuckled to herself, and sat down at the kitchen table. But when her phone dinged with a new text message, her smile collapsed like a deflated soufflé. It was her mother. Oh, joy.
Marilyn: If you’d put as much effort into your marriage as you put into whining, you wouldn’t have lost Kevin in the first place. Please grow up, darling. I worry for you.
In the space of ten seconds, Rae’s stomach turned to lead.
She squeezed her phone tight—so tight that her fingers paled and the touchscreen display took on a strange, rainbow cast. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and her blood seemed to prickle in her veins.
She’d woken up especially anxious that morning and had messaged Marilyn about the convention during a moment of weakness. But really, what had she expected? Maternal advice, reassurance, support? “Idiot,” Rae muttered through bloodless lips. “Absolute idiot.”
This was all feelings ever got her. From the sour, murdered love between Kevin and her to the toxic, twisted thing between her and her mother, Rae should know by now that seeking comfort came with a price.
She loosened her grip on the phone and pushed her tongue against the scar on the inside of her cheek, her private talisman. After a few deep breaths, she typed out a response.
I didn’t lose him, I left him.
No. It sounded defensive, and Marilyn thought Rae was weak for leaving Kevin, anyway, and… Rae sighed and tried again.
I’m not whining, I just
No.
I put plenty of effort
Delete. That would only cause an argument. In fact, any response that wasn’t obsequious and self-flagellating would cause an argument, and Rae’s stomach was already churning at the thought of her mother’s call. She could almost hear the quiet, razor-sharp words couched as straight-talking concern, draped in affection like sheep’s clothing. Ugh. She didn’t have time for this.
Something heavy and warm landed in her lap. She looked down to discover that Duke had abandoned his sloppy rehydration-fest to come and see her. Rae set her phone aside and slid from the chair to the cold kitchen floor, wrapping her arms around her monster of a dog. His nose snuffled, wet and supportive, against her neck.
“I know what you’re going to say,” she murmured. “If we didn’t talk to Mother at all, she couldn’t bother us.” Easier said than done, though. Easier said than done. Forty long years, and part of Rae was still waiting hopefully for her mother to change.
Sometimes, she hated that part of herself. And sometimes she needed it.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled herself together and muttered, “You know what I want? Wine.”
Duke huffed disapprovingly.
“Yes, I realise it’s early. Don’t judge me.”
Today was just one of those days.
Chapter Two
Even Rae’s ill-advised day-drinking didn’t awaken her hibernating creativity. She spent the rest of the day grappling with her own mind and staring at the words ‘Chapter Four’ on her computer screen, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. By the time evening arrived, she had two options: take a break, or throw her bloody laptop out of the window.
The laptop had been rather expensive.
She arrived at the Unicorn before anyone else and snagged their usual table on the gently heated patio, Duke stretching out by her feet. A dozen judgemental eyes followed her every move, as if she’d stripped off her clothes instead of simply sitting down—but after months in Ravenswood, Rae was used to that. She made the achingly ordinary, upper-middle-class residents twitter like birds. New in town. Mysterious scars. Divorced and rolling in cash.
After a day of frustration, she felt like behaving badly. A long, languid stretch drew back the sleeves of her jacket, and the Cartier bracelets stacked on her wrist caught the light. They were a reminder of her previous life, gifts she hadn’t gotten around to removing because it would require a literal tiny screwdriver—but no-one else knew that. The scandalised looks increased. Good.
Most of the time, she hated being stared at—but here in Ravenswood, where she had some wild, Cruella de Vil reputation built off rubbish and assumptions? It was hilarious. It felt like a game. It felt like being a protagonist. Here, she enjoyed being outrageous.
But when she left this small town behind for Manchester, for the convention, for the world that Kevin ruled—it wouldn’t be the same. Her newfound confidence would vanish like a gown at the stroke of midnight. She�
��d be sad and self-conscious and…
She couldn’t bear it. She really fucking couldn’t.
Thankfully, her phone buzzed just in time to cut those moody, panicked thoughts short.
Hannah: Beth just lost a tooth and swallowed it. This might take a while.
Rae chuckled softly and tapped out a quick reply. Hannah Kabbah didn’t nanny her boyfriend’s adorable kids anymore, but she’d taken to mothering them like a duck to water—which surprised exactly no-one. Rae assumed that the second couple in their little group, Ruth Kabbah and Evan Miller, would also be late. They usually were, and Rae didn’t blame them: if she had to watch a man like Evan get ready, she’d be late all the time, as well.
So. Deliciously. Late.
“Penny for your thoughts.” The voice was low and warm, like sunlight through the clouds. Zach.
She looked up to find him looming over her, fully dressed—unfortunately—and handsome as ever. He wore black jeans and a white shirt, like an echo of his jet-black hair and pale skin. His eyes were like that, too: winter-frost irises surrounded by a blue-black ring. His gaze was the kind of exhilarating cold that burned.
She pulled herself together and said primly, “My thoughts are not fit for public consumption.”
His fine, expressive mouth curled. “Now you’re just driving up the price.” He dragged a chair closer to her, sitting with the sprawling grace reserved for tall men who knew every inch of their bodies. For a moment, she salivated over the pretty-boy definition of his jaw and the tiny mole above his eyebrow. Then she remembered that the mole was on his left side. Which meant he’d just gone out of his way to sit on her right side.
Her fingers itched to flutter over the scars there, but she curled her hand into a fist and lifted her chin. Rae always wore her hair pulled back for a reason: she refused to hide. And anyway, Zach never stared, or studied, or dissected her scars with a guilty, sliding gaze.
He simply looked.
"So,” he said, shattering her thoughts. “Since we’re alone…”
…Fancy a quickie in the bathroom?
“Any chance you want to talk about the thing that’s not bothering you?” he finished.
Rae bit back a smile at her own wild thoughts and said, “No. And it’s not bothering me.” God, she was such a bloody liar. But, no matter how much she liked Zach, she couldn’t pour her messy, bleeding heart out to him. It was too embarrassing. It was too vulnerable. The idea made her vaguely nauseated. With him, she was Ravenswood Rae, and that was how she wanted things to be.
He sighed dramatically, irreverent as ever, and raked a hand through his hair. At least ten pairs of covetous eyes drank down the sight, but he seemed oblivious. “Come on, sunshine. You’re really going to deny this face?”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. “It’s for your own good.”
He cocked a brow. “Because…?”
“Someone has to tell you no once in a while.”
His grin was slow and sexy and clearly delighted. He leaned closer, the electric force of his presence crackling over her skin. “You don’t think I hear it enough? Why’s that, Rae?”
This was the part where she said something almost flirtatious and definitely outrageous, and he fell about laughing, and she felt ten feet tall. That was how they worked. Only, tonight, with the weight of everything crushing her, she suddenly didn’t have the energy. She opened her mouth, but nothing witty sprang to mind, and she was tired of working for it. Of working for everything. She tapped her tongue against the inside of her cheek and shrugged.
Zach shot her a frown, confusion with an edge of concern. “You’re really upset, aren’t you?”
She reached down to stroke Duke, avoiding Zach’s gaze. “Don’t be ridiculous. About what?”
“I don’t know.”
She straightened. He reached out and took her hand. A jolt of electric awareness crackled through her, inconvenient and uncontrollable, her nerve endings alive with pointless anticipation. She tried not to fall out of her chair, or faint, or float away like a balloon. Inappropriate lust: twice as buoyant as helium. That’s what the newsreader would say, during the human interest segment on Rae’s mind-blowing spontaneous flight.
Zach leaned in, his voice low in a way that made her stomach dip. “Seriously. Talk to me. Please?”
She blinked like a bamboozled chicken, which was appropriate, because she felt like a bamboozled chicken. “It’s… I’m…” I’m fine is what she meant to say. But his hand. His big, broad hand with its calloused palm, holding hers so gently. And the frown on his face, so disarming with its obvious concern.
All that worry, just for her. She marvelled at the way her life had transformed. As a child, she’d hidden sadness by whatever means necessary, knowing her mother would take it as a personal insult and punish her accordingly. With Kevin, Rae’s negative emotions were evidence that she considered him a terrible husband—no matter how many times she tried to explain that it was about work, or something she’d seen on the news, or just a bad fucking mood.
But here was Zach, asking about her feelings as if he wanted to help. As if they were solely hers, but he’d happily take the burden. As if he was mining for gold, because the opportunity to understand her was that precious.
Or not. She’d always had an overactive imagination. Rae opened her mouth, knowing she should brush him off, suspecting that she might spill a secret instead. He had an unnerving ability to tease out the things that made a person most vulnerable.
Thankfully, she was saved by the sound of Hannah’s voice, dripping with amusement. “Zachary. Leave the nice lady alone.”
Just like that, Zach was no longer serious. He shot Rae a look that lasted a second but seemed to say a thousand things. Then his hand left hers and he was himself again, so wonderfully scandalous, no-one would ever think him capable of caring.
“Hannah,” he said. “Baby. Sweetheart. Love of my life. You came.” He looked at the man standing behind her, a leaner, meaner version of Zach covered in tattoos, and scowled. “Oh. You brought him.”
“Fuck off,” Nate Davis grinned. He grabbed his brother’s shirt, dragged him to his feet, and the two men hugged like they hadn’t seen each other in a century. In reality, they’d probably seen each other yesterday. Still, Rae wasn’t complaining. Double the Davis equalled double the hotness.
Ignoring their antics, Hannah turned to Rae. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She bent down to pet Duke gingerly. Probably didn’t want to get fur on her fabulous wool skirt. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
For a while, neither had Rae. She tried not to look shifty. “Why?”
“Because, aside from the Beth situation, you’ve been ignoring my texts all day,” Hannah said sweetly.
“Ah, yes. So I have. Well. As you know, I’ve been very—”
“But Nate saw you walking Duke through the old meadow this morning.” Hannah’s smile turned even sweeter. “So I’m certain you’re not about to say that you were stuck at your desk, phone-free.”
“Stop bullying Rae.” Nate appeared behind his girlfriend, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “She can ignore you if she wants.”
“Well!” Hannah gasped. “Of course she can. She has free will, doesn’t she?” With the kind of grace Rae would never achieve, Hannah sank into the nearest chair and arranged her long skirt and countless braids effortlessly. “The thing is, there are sensible ways to exercise one’s free will—such as eating cake—and then there are silly ways to exercise one’s free will, such as avoiding one’s best friend.”
“I wasn’t avoiding you,” Rae corrected. “Honestly. So dramatic.”
At which point, Ruth and Evan arrived, saving Rae from Hannah’s narrow glare.
Ruth was a tiny, grumpy woman wearing a Hulk T-shirt and a pair of loose trousers that seemed to be pyjamas. Evan was a cheerful, blonde behemoth who looked at his girlfriend as if he might easily be persuaded to kill for her. Rae still hadn’t decided if she was absolutely sick of them or horribly
jealous. She was leaning toward the latter.
“Evening, you lot,” Evan said, and pulled out Ruth’s chair for her. She looked at him as if he’d just yanked off her glasses and thrown them onto the street. He arched a brow. She pursed her lips. He flashed the sweetest smile Rae had ever seen on a man.
Ruth sighed, sat down, and said to the table, “Yes, hello, etcetera. Pointless greetings accomplished. Now, let’s get on with it, shall we? Drinks and conversation, please.”
Across the table, Nate pointed at Ruth. “This is why I like you.”
“Really? I thought it was because you’re in love with my terrifying sister.”
Nate grinned. “I’m glad someone else admits she’s terrifying.”
The usual banter began, and Rae smiled a little, just to herself. Her fingers wound through Duke’s fur again as she studied the misfit friends she’d found in this gossipy little town. There was Zach, of course, the town’s resident charmer. Hannah, the prim and pristine childcare expert with a criminal record. Nate, the tattooed, widowed, single dad who’d once been Hannah’s employer. Evan, all sweet and gorgeous and manly in a way that made sensible folk lose their minds. Tiny, prickly, introverted Ruth, whose autism made the ignorant feel uncomfortable, and whose lack of patience for bullshit made the guilty feel awkward.
And, of course, Rae couldn’t forget herself. That gauche divorcée, as she’d heard one old man tell his wife at the supermarket just last week. She was considering putting the phrase on a T-shirt.
The beer garden was close to full despite the cool evening air, so it was impossible to miss the attention their group garnered. The flick-knife looks from two middle-aged women in the corner, with their £300 Barbour jackets and rapid whispers. The hard jaws and low mutters of three young men to the right, who nursed their beers like baby bottles and glared mutinously. But it wasn’t all bad. There was also a group of giggly women in the corner who’d nodded at Ruth as she’d come in. And then there was the sweet, older couple—the man wearing a cap that read CLARKE’S PIPES and the woman in a shiny, blue wheelchair—who sent over encouraging looks like proud parents.
That Kind of Guy Page 2
