by Jill Shalvis
wanted me to try to play again. He thought that would help.”
“And you couldn’t,” Sam guessed.
“Neither one,” she said. “I tried to explain this to Nathan at the party, but he was drunk.”
Sam went very still. “So you kneed him in the nuts and left him singing soprano on the floor, right?”
She shook her head. “I’d like to say yes, but no, that’s not what happened.”
“What did happen?”
Her breath hitched, but she kept it together. “He didn’t get that we weren’t going to be a thing again. He wasn’t listening, all he was seeing was me standing between him and the success he wanted—” She closed her eyes at the harsh memory, but that was unwise because then she saw it happening again, so she opened her eyes and kept them on Sam. “He said I owed him. He said that if nothing else, I needed to pretend to be together with him in front of Jase so Jase would feel we were all just one big, happy family again. He said he was going to kiss me and I was going to kiss him back.”
“Becca,” he murmured, with far too much understanding.
Again she pressed her face into his neck, and realizing she hadn’t said any of this out loud to anyone except her family. “I said I’d do it, I’d kiss him in front of Jase. I couldn’t do anything else, Sam. I was worried sick about my brother, and feeling all this pressure from my family. I—”
“Babe,” he said, moving his hands up and down her back. “Not your fault.” Calm hands, calm voice, royally pissed-off eyes. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked very softly.
Could she? She had no idea, but she gulped in some air and tried. “Jase saw us kissing and toasted us, and then went inside. So I thought it was over. But Nathan pushed me into the pool house, which was really just a storage room for the pool equipment. And he— We—” She broke off and shook her head. Nope. As it turned out, she couldn’t tell him.
Sam’s fingers tightened on her for a beat. Then he let out a long breath and loosened his fingers with what felt like great effort. “He raped you.”
She lifted her face, her mouth open to say it wasn’t rape because she’d known Nathan. Hell, she’d slept with him many times before, but she’d been to counseling and knew the truth. It had been rape.
Sam had kept his hands lightly on her back, stroking up and down. “I don’t hate men,” she said inanely.
Sam’s arms tightened on her in a bear hug as he brushed his mouth to her temple. “For which I’m eternally grateful,” he murmured, voice a little gruff, like he was still fighting his own emotions. “Though I get where your distaste for closed, tight spaces comes from. Where’s Nathan now?”
“I was stupid,” she said into his chest.
“Where is he now?”
She shook her head. She wasn’t sure he understood. “I tried to tell my parents what had happened, but they didn’t really get it. They knew I’d been intimate with him before, so—”
“Are you telling me that they didn’t want you to press charges?” he asked incredulously.
“He was the son of a family friend. His parents—”
“Fuck that,” Sam said harshly.
“I underplayed it, Sam. I did. Jase was so fragile then. If I’d pressed charges and put Nathan in jail, I’d have taken away even more from Jase. I didn’t want to make things worse, and I just kept thinking it was true, I had willingly slept with Nathan before, so I could handle this. I’d just stay away.” She closed her eyes, because she knew that she’d been weak and cowardly to go that route and didn’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes. “I just wanted it to go away, Sam. I wanted that so much.”
“Becca, where is that asshole now?”
“He’s dead. Nathan’s dead.”
“You killed him,” he said, his voice and eyes reflecting no judgment at all as he ran his hands up and down her arms.
“No,” she said with a horrified laugh. “I didn’t kill him. A Mack truck did.” She gulped in more air and tried to breathe calmly. Sam’s hands on her helped. “He was out on the freeway on his motorcycle, and he got hit. He died instantly.”
“That’s too bad.” Sam said this almost wistfully, like he’d really have liked the opportunity to kill Nathan himself.
Becca choked out a laugh but it backed up in her throat when Sam slid his fingers into her hair, lifted her face to his, and stared into her eyes. “You’re pretty damn incredible,” he said fiercely.
“Not really,” she said, trying to joke. “Just your average screwup.”
He didn’t smile. He didn’t look away; he just stared into her eyes. “Incredible,” he repeated, softly but with a fierce intensity that made the knot in her chest loosen for the first time in . . . as long as she could remember.
He took her home, and to bed, where he made slow, sweet love to her. And then not so slow, or sweet. But after, as she drifted off to sleep, she was absolutely sure of two things. One, Sam might indeed think she was incredible, but she thought the same thing about him.
And two, she wasn’t just falling for him. She had fallen. She’d fallen deep.
The next morning Becca woke up alone. This wasn’t unusual after a night in Sam’s arms. Despite him not being a particularly great morning person, he liked to get up before dawn and run with Ben, or surf.
She showered, her mind whirling with images from the night before. Sam in her bed, his erotic whispers in her ear, the small of his back slick with sweat as he took her right out of herself, over and over again . . .
All really great memories, but she had to shove them from her mind because she had a lot to do at work today, much of it Summer Bash–related. She crossed the alley and headed to the hut.
Normally at this time of morning, the only sounds were the waves hitting the shore with a rhythmic, soothing regularity that had become as familiar to her as breathing. The seagulls usually had something to say as well, and once in a while the guys were out there on the dock or boat, their low, masculine voices carrying over the water.
But this morning she heard a familiar woman’s and man’s voice, and Becca rounded the corner to stare in shock at Sam talking to . . . her parents.
Chapter 25
Becca took in the sight of Sam and her parents, clearly in the middle of a very intense conversation, and went still with shock. “Mom? Dad?”
Evelyn and Philip Thorpe whirled around and stared at her.
“What’s going on?” Becca asked. “What are you all doing here?”
“We got your address from Jase,” her mom said, taking in Sam’s move and the way he brushed a kiss to her temple. “But we got lost trying to find your apartment.” She moved forward, arms reaching out, and Becca stepped into her for a hug. Her father pulled her in next, but it felt awkward and stilted. What didn’t feel awkward or stilted was the way Sam slid an arm around her waist afterward, holding her against him.
Surprised at the public display, she looked up into his face. He’d either just gone swimming or surfing or was fresh from a shower because his hair was wet, curling along his neck. His T-shirt stretched taut across his shoulders. He looked alert and tough as hell, his arm around her saying he was in protective mode.
There was a definite tension in the air, making her wonder what the hell had been said just before she’d arrived.
“Jase had really hoped you’d come to the concert last night,” her mom said.
Becca met her mom’s gaze. “I. . .couldn’t.”
“I know.” Evelyn glanced at Sam. “Or I know better now.”
Sam remained silent, keeping his own counsel as usual. Becca narrowed her eyes at him, but he didn’t respond to that, either, just held her gaze, his own steady and calm. Damn it, he was good. She’d never once been able to beat him in an eye contact contest.
“We rented a car from Seattle,” her mom said. “We wanted to see you before our flight out.” She glanced at Sam again. “Sam was just . . . chatting with us,” she said carefully. “You didn’t tell us you
had a boyfriend.” Her smile faltered, and her eyes got misty. “I wish you could’ve told us, Becca. I’ve been so worried about you being out here alone, with you saying you didn’t want anyone to visit you, that you needed time. If I’d known you had a boyfriend, I’d have felt so much less worried about you.”
“Mom.” If she said the word boyfriend one more time, Becca was going to have a stroke. “Sam’s my boss.”
“And your boyfriend,” Evelyn said, turning to Sam for confirmation. “Right?”
Sam gave a single nod, and when Becca stared at him, his eyes smiled. Not his mouth, just his eyes.
She didn’t know exactly what to make of that, but, definitely feeling a warm fuzzy, she turned to her mom. “I’m sorry you’ve been worried, but I’m fine. And a boyfriend—or not—doesn’t change that.” As she said this, Becca realized that for the first time in a very long time, the automatic I’m fine statement was actually true. She was fine. In fact, she’d truly never been better. She smiled and caught Sam’s gaze, which touched over her features possessively, and then warmed.
So did her heart.
“Sam said maybe we could get some breakfast at the diner,” her mom said.
“Oh,” Becca said, not sure she wanted to commit to an hour of being grilled about Jase.
“Honey.” Her dad took her hands and squeezed gently. “Please? We have some things to say to you, your mom and I, things we hope you’ll hear.”
Becca stared into his eyes, saw pain and regret, and steeled herself against the wave of guilt. “Okay,” she said. “Breakfast.”
So they went to the diner, an unlikely foursome.
It was early, but the locals were a hardworking bunch, and some were breakfast regulars. Becca found herself being waved at by a few.
“People know you,” her mother said, sounding surprised.
Becca understood the sentiment. Her mother had never lived in a small town, either, and had a healthy respect for privacy. But there was no privacy in Lucky Harbor. As Jax had told her one night, you could leave a pot of gold in your backseat and it wouldn’t get stolen, but you couldn’t keep a secret. “I like it here,” she said, and caught Sam’s eye.
He smiled at her.
She smiled back, knowing that this was going to be okay. Somehow.
“Jase had a fantastic show last night,” her mom said. “He went out with the promoters afterward and stayed up late. He has a second show tonight, or he’d have been here.”
There’d always been excuses for Jase, and Becca had long ago accepted that. But she couldn’t do it anymore. “Mom, Jase has a problem. He needs rehab.” She’d said this in the past, and it had gotten her nothing but more excuses and arguments. But this time her mom didn’t rush in to dispute the fact that Jase did indeed need rehab. This time her eyes filled with tears, and she put a shaky hand to her mouth.
Her father hugged her. Evelyn gave him a watery smile but shook her head and reached for Becca’s hand across the table. “I know,” she said simply.
“You . . . do?” Becca asked in surprise.
“Yes.” Her mom swiped at a tear that slipped and looked around the café self-consciously. She didn’t like to show a lot of emotion unless she was on stage. “I’ve known for a while,” she went on softly. “I just didn’t want to accept it. After you left. . .” She stopped to blow her nose. “It became more clear.”
“You protected him, Becca,” her dad said. “We didn’t realize how much because you were also protecting us, when we should have been protecting you.”
Becca gave up staring into her water like it held the secrets of life and looked at Sam. “What did you say to them?”
“Don’t be upset with him,” Evelyn said. “Everything he said was true. Painful to hear, but true. And last week, the Seagals came to us.”
Nathan’s parents.
“They confessed their knowledge of how . . . terribly he’d treated you in the end—” She broke off, her eyes filling. She reached for a napkin from the table’s dispenser, but she couldn’t get one out. “Damn it.”
Sam opened the dispenser and handed her a huge stack.
“I’m . . . devastated,” Evelyn said, dabbing at her eyes. “I didn’t understand—” She shook her head. “Honey, I need to know something.”
Becca had to swallow the lump in her throat to speak. “What?”
“That you’ll . . . you’ll forgive us. Can you? Forgive us?”
“No,” her father said to Evelyn firmly. “We don’t get to ask that. Remember, actions, not words. We just want her to be okay.”
And from the way he looked at Sam as he said it, Becca knew exactly where those words had come from. She hesitated and felt his hand gently squeeze her thigh, infusing her with strength. Not his, which he had in spades, but her own, and it welled up from within her. “Mom,” she said softly. “I’m okay.” She marveled that it was the utter truth, thanks in no small part to Lucky Harbor. To her friends here. To the peace and joy she’d found here.
To Sam himself . . .
“I know it’s late for this,” her mom said, “but I promise you I won’t offer any more excuses for Jase. Ever. We did you wrong, Becca. We let you suffer rather than rock our boat. I can’t ask you forgiveness for that, but. . .” She sucked in a breath along with a short sob. “But we are sorry, baby. So very sorry.”
Becca felt her throat tighten, her eyes burn. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Her father cleared his throat, his own eyes suspiciously red. “In realizing our mistakes,” he said, “we realized something else—we’ve done Jase wrong, too. We’ve enabled him. That will stop. We came out here to talk to him, to see if he’d go to rehab.”
“How did that go?” Becca asked.
Pain crossed her dad’s features. “He’s not ready. And we don’t know if he will be. All we can do now is stand back and let him come to the realization himself.”
“We’ve lost you both,” Evelyn whispered. “Our own fault. Love you, baby. So much.”
Beside her, she felt Sam stiffen. She didn’t know what that was about, but she took her mom’s hand. “You haven’t lost me. I’m still yours, Mom. Always.”
Sam tried to watch over Becca as much as he could, but he must not have been too subtle about it because by noon she’d told him that if he was going to hover around like a protective mama bear, she was going to call in Lucille and the rest of the geriatric gang for snorkel lessons and book him as the instructor.
That’s when he figured Becca wasn’t in danger of having a meltdown. That she was dealing in the only way she knew how—by burying her shit deep and moving forward. And he left her to it.
So he was relieved when, at the end of the day, she poked her head into his warehouse, looking good. “I’m off to the rec center,” she said, and was immediately on the move.
He barely caught her, snagging her wrist and pulling her back inside. Gently he pushed her up against the wall and cupped her face, tilting it up to his.
She met his gaze, hers clear and remarkably calm. He slid the pad of his thumb across her full lower lip, and it tipped into a smile.
“I’m really okay,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she said, and pulled him down for a quick but very hot kiss before shoving at him. “Gotta go.”
Not budging, he pulled out his phone and looked at the time. “You’ve got half an hour.”
“Ten minutes of that is drive time.”
“Twenty minutes then,” he said. “You’ve got twenty minutes.”
Her eyes softened. “For?”
“For whatever comes to mind,” he said, and kissed her neck “What comes to mind, Becca?”
When his mouth got to the sweet spot beneath her ear, she moaned. “Everything that comes to mind takes more than twenty minutes,” she whispered.
“Let me prove you wrong,” he whispered back, and ran his hand from her hip to the underside of her breast, his thumb gliding over her already hardened nip
ple.
Eyes closed on another moan, her head thunked back against the wall as she arched her back, pressing herself into his palm. “Here? Against the wall?” she asked hopefully.
“No,” he said with a laugh, mouth open on her throat. “Last time I nearly killed you when my legs gave out.”
She pointed to his worktable across the vast expanse of the room. Then she began to pull him toward it. Halfway there she apparently gave up on trying to walk and kiss at the same time because she threw herself at him. He carried her to the worktable,
