Crazy for Your Love - Lexi Ryan

by Lexi Ryan

  “She’s fine.” I shove a forkful of egg into my mouth and chew to avoid having to say more.

  Shay grunts. “It was all pretend, Mom.” She doesn’t sound like she believes it.

  “I feel so bad,” Molly says at the other end of the table. “If I’d realized how much you didn’t want to be auctioned off, I never would have asked you to do it.”

  I shrug. Truth be told, I feel like an ass for essentially backing out. I should have let the richest woman in the room get her night with me, but I saw Teagan standing there, and I knew the only way I was going to make it through was if she was there to keep me laughing. If I had to listen to some woman wax poetic about my “bravery,” I might have had a total breakdown. My family has been through enough in the last decade. They don’t need to worry about the middle son losing it. “I hope I didn’t cost you too much,” I tell Molly.

  “Well, your donation was more than generous, and I can tell you for certain we wouldn’t have made half as much without you there. The other bachelors went for more than expected, and we did great in the silent auction thanks to the numbers you brought in.”

  “Our local hero,” Levi croons.

  I take a pull of my coffee, trying to swallow back the bile surging in my throat. “Don’t call me that.”

  Ethan and Brayden exchange a look. I focus on my plate. I don’t want to see the worry on their faces. I don’t want to see how well or how badly I’ve done hiding what a mess I’ve been.

  “That picture of you and Teagan was in the paper,” Lilly says. “Are you gonna get married?”

  Ethan chokes on his coffee, and Nic says, “Lill.”

  “They’re just friends, sweetie,” Shay says. “Uncle Carter isn’t nearly cute enough for a girl as smart and cool as Teagan.”

  “True story.” I nod. “I’m lucky she even danced with me.”

  “But my friend Jasper said his mom was there, and she said you and Teagan are having a secret love relationship,” Lilly says.

  “We’re not,” I say gently.

  “But she showed him a video of you on the stage and said you kissed Teagan in front of everyone. With slobber.”

  “Eww! Slobber!” Noah says, wrinkling his nose.

  Ethan frowns at his daughter. “When did you see Jasper?”

  “He texted me this morning,” she says.

  Red creeps up Ethan’s neck. “You’re exchanging texts with a boy? You talked about kissing and slobber?”

  “Um, yeah, I’m eight.”

  “That phone is a privilege, Lilly. If—”

  “We can talk about it later.” Nic puts her hand on top of Ethan’s and squeezes until he looks at her. I can practically see his horror receding as he meets his wife’s eyes. Lilly’s lucky Nic came along. If it weren’t for Nic, Ethan might have put Lilly in a bubble by now.

  “I’m more curious about what happened when everyone wasn’t looking,” Levi says, only to be elbowed by Ellie again. “What?”

  “Seriously?” she says.

  “Everyone’s thinking it.”

  Ellie shakes her head. “That doesn’t make it okay to say out loud.”

  Molly clears her throat. “I took Teagan home last night. If that, uh, clears up any questions.”

  Levi shakes his head at me, truly distraught. “You are such a shitty closer.”

  “Language!” Noah says, and Lilly gives him a nod of approval.

  Jake shoots me a look. He’s at the bar enough to know my old reputation doesn’t hold true. I used to be incredibly picky about who I’d take home. I used to be more interested in a relationship than an evening of fun. But since Max died, my female friends have been my favorite escape from the hellish churn of memories that wait for me in the quiet moments. I’m still selective and want nothing to do with women who hold me up as some sort of idol, but I “close” just fine. Not with Teagan, but maybe that’s for the best.

  “What’s a closer?” Lilly asks.

  Ethan chokes on his coffee again, and I cringe.

  “Yeah, Uncle Levi,” Shay says, propping her chin on her hands. “What’s a closer?”

  Ethan scowls at our youngest brother, daring him to say something inappropriate to his daughter.

  Levi keeps a completely straight face as he looks Lilly in the eye and says, “It’s the person who cleans up the bar and locks up at the end of the night. And if they do a bad job, it makes more work for whoever opens the next day.”

  “Oh.” Lilly nods, as if this makes sense, but after a beat, she frowns. “But what does that have to do with where Aunt Teagan slept last night?”

  Jake coughs, and my mother’s glare sweeps across the table like wildfire, wiping the amusement off the faces of all her children.

  “I tried, Mom,” Levi mutters, ducking his head.

  “I’m waiting,” Lilly says.

  “It’s adult stuff,” Nic tells her softly.

  “Like what you and Daddy do when you send me to Aunt Shay’s?”

  Nic and Ethan simultaneously shoot Shay a glare.

  She holds up her hands. “I didn’t tell her that.”

  Lauren fusses in Ava’s lap, and Jake sweeps the baby into his arms. “Well, baby needs a diaper change, so I’ll see you all later.”

  Teagan

  When my phone rings, I know it’s my mother before I even look at the screen. Anyone else’s mom might have missed the news, but my mom has been reading the Jackson Harbor Gazette online every morning for the last month—as if obsessively watching the news and weather here might allow her to actually control it during my sister’s wedding next weekend.

  She learned about Carter fever from the local paper and has asked me about him before.

  How well do I know him? A whole lot better after last night.

  Did he really save that puppy? Yes. But please don’t bring it up if you ever meet him.

  Is it true that it was all a publicity stunt because he wants his own reality TV show? Absolutely not.

  I’m not surprised when I see her name on the screen, but I’m also not ready for this call. While I don’t want to lie to my mother, explaining to her that Carter and I worked together to deceive a roomful of people sounds even less appealing. Something else you should have considered when he called you up on that stage.

  I plaster a smile on my face—because she’s got some weird mom voodoo that I swear allows her to determine my facial expression over the phone—and swipe my screen to accept the call. “Hi, Mom!”

  “I cannot believe you didn’t tell me you were dating Carter Jackson.”

  I cringe. I guess we’re starting with guilt today. Okay then.

  “All the times we’ve talked about him, you never thought to mention you two are involved and getting serious?”

  “It’s . . . complicated.” I flinch and silently reprimand myself for the evasion. If I was planning to be honest with her, this isn’t the best way to start. But the half lie is already out there, and . . . I’m a coward. What am I supposed to say? Mom, we’re not dating, but we are considering elevating our friendship from casually flirtatious to fuck buddies? My conservative mother would love that. She would cry, fret, and pray for me. My father would offer to cut off Carter’s balls. “I didn’t want you to get your hopes up in case nothing came of it.”

  “Consider my feelings, will you? My daughter is in love, and she didn’t even tell me. Never mind the logistical nightmare of you keeping this secret.”

  “No one said I was in love.” I pause a beat as the rest of her objection registers. “What logistical nightmare?”

  “Well, whether or not you’re using the L-word yet, I assume he’s coming to the wedding. We can’t have additional guests showing up unannounced.”

  The wedding. Shit. “Oh, no. He’s not—”

  “Don’t even worry! It’s already taken care of. I’ve talked to Saanvi. We’re making adjustments. We want him there.”

  “Carter has to work.” I hope.

  Mom makes a sound I recogniz
e as disapproval. The grunt-sniff combo was practically the soundtrack of my teenage years. “Your sister will only get married once. If this boy is serious about you, he will be there.”

  “It’s not his fault. He was scheduled to work before he and I got serious.” Another lie. I shrink into my chair and rub my forehead. If I were a smarter person, I’d have let her call go to voicemail and gotten my story straight before calling her back.

  “Well, at least he’s a good man. Have you talked to Rich about this?”

  My body locks up at the mention of his name. Rich Nasser was once the love of my life. Then, four years ago, he became someone I needed to escape and the reason I moved away from my hometown. “Why would I talk to Rich?”

  “Teagan, you know he still loves you. He asks after you all the time, and . . . I always thought you two would eventually find your way back to each other. He deserves to hear this news from you, not through the grapevine.”

  I clench my teeth so hard my jaw clicks. “It’s been years, Mom.”

  “Even so.”

  Sighing, I try to redirect the conversation. “How are the plans coming? I’m excited to see everyone for the wedding.”

  It works, and Mom launches into a ten-minute monologue detailing the latest plans, excitement, and hiccups for my little sister’s destination wedding—the destination being Jackson Harbor, of all places.

  I like hearing about Saanvi’s wedding and the buzz of excitement in Mom’s voice when she talks about the plans for the extended celebration. In three days, my family will descend on Jackson Harbor and spend a long weekend celebrating together and enjoying the excuse to have a bit of a family reunion. I smile as Mom talks about menus, decorations, and minor family dramas that have sprouted up and thrown a wrench into the details of her plans.

  “Oh, and have you driven by the Hayhurst mansion?” she asks. “They’ve been sending me pictures of how the gardens look with the leaves turned, and it’s going to be perfect.”

  The Hayhurst mansion was turned into a bed and breakfast thirty years ago, but Mom rented out the entire place for the wedding so everyone would have a place to stay and could be together. Even though I live less than ten minutes away, I’m expected to take a room at the mansion too, but I don’t mind. I want to be close to Saanvi during her special weekend.

  The longer Mom talks, the more my anxiety over my lie lessens. When she arrives for the wedding, I’ll tell her Carter and I broke up. My lie won’t matter, because it’ll be like nothing ever happened.

  Then Mom drops the bomb. “Of course, I’ll have to reconsider sleeping arrangements now that Carter will be there.”

  “Carter doesn’t need to stay with us.”

  “Don’t be silly. He’s family now. But the only available bed is in the room with Rich, so—”

  “Rich is coming?” I practically shout into the phone.

  “Of course he is. He’s family too, regardless of whether or not you two get back together.”

  I haven’t seen Rich since he showed up at Jackson Brews a year ago. That night, the sight of him freaked me out so much that I made Carter act like he was my boyfriend—the favor I was returning when he called me up on stage last night. Why didn’t anyone tell me he was coming to the wedding?

  “I’m afraid asking Rich to share a room with Carter will make them both uncomfortable,” Mom says.

  I shake my head, still trying to wrap my mind around the news that Rich will be under the same roof as me and my whole family. I open my mouth to repeat that Carter won’t be staying at the mansion, then close it. Suddenly, I want him there. How much would it hurt to extend our deceit for one more week?

  Carter

  Unknown Number: Guess what? I’m going to be in town again soon. I went shopping yesterday and was hoping you could check out my purchases. I can’t decide if I like the black lace or the red satin more. ;)

  I frown at the text as I finish wiping down the dining room table. I’m not sure who it’s from. The number isn’t saved in my phone, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a misdial either.

  Even if I’ve changed my standards, I’m not completely indiscriminate with my bedroom partners. With rare exception, I keep my activities limited to a few local friends I can trust to be discreet and who know our nights together are casual fun and nothing more. Friends who know not to talk to me about that hero shit. But I talk to those women regularly, and they’re saved in my phone. This must be one of the exceptions.

  I scrub a hand over my face. When did I become an ass who categorizes his bedroom partners into regulars and exceptions? And what would Teagan think of me getting a text like this from a number I don’t recognize?

  Before I can figure out how to reply to the mystery number, another text comes through. This one’s from Bethany, a former firefighter I worked with for five years before she started a new career as a nurse.

  Bethany: I saw the paper. I didn’t know you were seeing Teagan. Please tell me she knows about me. I don’t have the energy for drama in my life, but especially not at work.

  At least I can be honest with Beth. The only reason we started hanging out again was because I needed to talk to someone who could understand what I was going through after Max died. But it turned out I didn’t actually want to talk, and neither did she. We’re both busy, but we get together a few times a month to . . . not talk.

  “Everything okay?” Shay asks.

  I shove my phone into my pocket and shrug. “Sure. Why?”

  “You’ve been scrubbing the same spot on the table for two minutes now.”

  I shake my head and turn to the laundry room. “I’m just distracted,” I say over my shoulder, but she follows me.

  “About Teagan? Was that text from her?”

  “No, it was from . . .” I wave it away and plop the dishrag into the washing machine. I’m one thousand percent sure I don’t want to discuss my sex life with my little sister. “Did you know there’s an article in the paper about me and Teagan?”

  She chuckles. “One of your side pieces unhappy about your little performance?”

  I step around her. “Forget I asked.”

  Shay laughs. Nothing amuses her as much as watching her brothers have love-life angst.

  “Carter, Shay,” Brayden calls from the top of the basement stairs. “We’re going to watch the game. Join us?”

  “I’ll be down in a few,” I reply.

  Shay follows him, and I slip out back to get some fresh air. The neighbor is burning leaves and yard waste in his firepit, and the smell reminds me of my childhood somehow—weekends with my family at the cabin, and fires by the lake.

  It’s sunny and cool, with a crisp breeze that rustles through the dry leaves on the trees. I sit in one of Brayden’s cushioned patio chairs and unlock my phone.

  I’ve missed a text from Teagan.

  Teagan: Can you meet me at Jackson Brews tonight?

  I grin. I don’t want to wait until tonight. And I don’t want to meet her in a public place.

  Me: You sure this isn’t a conversation we should have at your place? Or mine?

  Teagan: The bar, Carter. Meet me at the bar at seven.

  Carter: As you wish.

  For the best, I remind myself. Teagan deserves better than a guy carrying around a freight-ton of baggage.

  So why did I go straight to flirtation mode the second I walked in her door this morning? Why I am ignoring the texts from Bethany—not to mention some unknown number—and praying Teagan will want to “talk” in private?

  Guilt nags at me, so I reply to Bethany.

  Me: You don’t need to worry about any drama. I’ll be at the hospital tomorrow. Maybe we can talk then. I’ll catch you up.

  I reread the mystery text and decide not to reply—for all I know, it’s a wrong number. Instead, I tuck my phone back into my pocket and tilt my face toward the sky, closing my eyes. I need a few minutes alone before I can face my family again.

  One of the worst things about being s
o fucked up is the guilt. The guilt of wanting to crawl out of my skin when I spend time with the people I love. The guilt of so desperately wanting to be free of their questions and concerned glances, and wishing I could be anywhere else. Before this summer, I’d never missed Jackson Sunday brunch without a damn good reason, but since the warehouse fire, I’ve come up with more excuses to skip than I want to admit. I used to relish our jibing and poking at each other. After Max died, it became something I had to endure. Even small talk was painful. Somedays it still is.

  The back door clicks, and I know my moment of solitude has come to an end. Pushing away the instinct to bolt, I make myself stay still.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  My eyes fly open, and I see Jake standing in front of me, hands tucked into his pockets, his head cocked to the side like I’m some puzzle he’s trying to figure out. For a moment, I can’t breathe. They all know. They can see right through me into the mess I’ve become.

  My palms are sweaty against my thighs, and I have to look away from my brother’s too-perceptive gaze because, no, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t even want to admit there’s an it to talk about.

  “You know we don’t mean to upset you,” Jake says. “It’s just fun to tease you about Teagan.”

  Oh, hell. My breath whooshes out in a rush. He’s not talking about the warehouse. He’s not talking about Max or my nightmares, or me avoiding my family. He’s talking about Teagan. About last night.

  My relief is like the cool breeze that brushes the leaves off the trees and lets them start over. I’d love that—to have everything wiped away so I could start fresh, so I could feel like the person I was before I lost my best friend.

  “What happened between you two last night?” Jake asks.

  I shrug. “It really wasn’t anything.”

  “You like her,” he says. “You’ve always liked her.”

  Yeah. And if I’d heard her moans in my ear and had my hand between her legs before my life burned to ash in the warehouse fire, I’d have fought like hell to turn the chemistry between us into something more than I’m equipped to offer now. I shake my head. “We’re friends. I’m happy with that.”