by Jill Shalvis
bullshit, Sam. Your entire present is lived the way it is because of your past. And you know what?” She got right up in his face. “That’s just as bad as me being unable to get past my own past. Which means we’re both screwed up!”
She began to fight the umbrella to get down, completely ignoring the six-foot-plus of testosterone and bad attitude still trapped inside the umbrella with her. And then all that testosterone and attitude spoke, and his words stopped her cold.
“I’m not good with trust.”
Like a knife to the heart, she thought, and dropped her head to the pole of the umbrella, squeezing her eyes shut at the pain in his voice. “I’ve never given you any reason to doubt me,” she said softly. “I was yours before you even knew what you had.” She looked at him. “I’d never have stepped out on you, Sam.”
“I don’t mean that,” he said, and drew in a deep breath. “I—”
“Hey,” Tanner said, his voice floating up to them from below. “Trust me, this conversation is fascinating, but you need to shelve it for later. We’ve got other problems.”
“Problems can wait,” Sam said, eyes still on Becca.
“Becca isn’t going to think so,” Tanner said.
Crap, what now? Becca ducked low, beneath the umbrella, hopping off the table to face Tanner. “What is it?” She was aware of Sam hopping down behind her and standing at her back, but she ignored him. She planned to ignore him until forever. Or until the time she got over him, whichever came last.
“That was fun,” Tanner said. “Four legs, two female, two male, poking out beneath the umbrella. Lots of yelling. I think Lucille got video of it if you want to revisit it later.”
Sam gave him a hard look.
“No? Okay.” Tanner shrugged. “The band Becca hired just canceled.”
Becca gasped. “What?”
“Yeah, apparently they went out last night and had all-you-can-eat sushi. They’re currently in the B and B puking their guts out.”
“Oh, my God,” she said.
Sam shook his head. “It’s going to be okay.”
She stared at him. “How?” she demanded. “How is not having music at the Summer Bash going to be okay?”
“We have games, food, and the ocean right here,” he said reasonably. “Trust me, Lucky Harbor knows how to have a good time. There’s no need to panic.”
“It’s a party, Sam.” She could feel her voice rising along with her anxiety. “A big one, the biggest of the year. I set this whole thing up, I strong-armed you guys into having this party in the first place, and I want it to be perfect. So of course I have to panic. Join me, won’t you?”
He had the nerve to smile at her, like her hissy fit was cute.
“We need music, Sam,” she said tightly. “Music makes the damn world go around.”
“I thought that was love.”
She narrowed her eyes. “So you can say the word.”
Tanner snorted, then turned it into a cough when Sam gave him another hard look. “Maybe I should give you two a moment,” he said, and flashed a grin at Becca. “Give him hell, sweetness.”
When he was gone, Sam put his hands on her and turned her to face him. “Babe, seriously, it’s going to be okay.”
Shaking her head, she looked away, to the sand. Her kids were out there—not the entire class yet, but many. Playing in the sand, chasing each other, having a ball. She felt a pang for the simplicity of youth.
“Becca.”
When she looked at him again, he was no longer smiling, but his eyes were gentle. Warm.
Fierce.
“I know how much this means to you,” he said. “And that you’ve had a lot of shit dumped on you—”
“I’m fine,” she said, not enjoying the reminder of her shitty week. “This is my problem. I’ll take care of it.” Somehow.
He slid his hands to her hips. “I want to ask something of you.”
“What?”
“I want you to trust me to help,” he said. “Trust me to fix the bash for you. And then after, I fix us,” he said, voice low. Determined.
Still fierce.
Her heart caught. “Sam—”
He slanted his head and gave her one quick, hot kiss, and then he was gone.
She stood there a moment, then realized the beach was filling quickly. The air was hot, salty, and ringing with the laughter and sounds of people fully enjoying themselves. It seemed that all of Lucky Harbor had come.
She let out a breath and went back to supervising the setup. An hour later, everything was going amazingly well. The food was plentiful; the drinks were flowing. The younger kids were playing games near the water, supervised by the teens from the rec center whom Becca had hired to do exactly that.
A little later, the pyrotechnic team arrived and set up for the night’s show. The crowd thickened some more. There was face painting and a hula-hoop contest. Older kids were bodyboarding, or flirting with each other. Adults were eating, drinking, relaxing in the late-afternoon sun.
There was music after all. It came from Sam’s quick-thinking setup with his iPod, a speaker, and a long extension cord from the hut. As night began to fall, Becca walked through the crowds for the umpteenth time. She was hot and tired and exhausted, but exhilarated as well.
She’d pulled it off.
Well, everything except the live music. That was still needling her. It was the only thing lacking. But then she saw movement in the area that she’d originally blocked off for the band. Sam was there, directing the high school boys she’d hired to help set up. They were dragging chairs onto the makeshift stage, and . . .
“Oh, my God,” she whispered to herself.
Instruments.
From her classroom.
The instruments Sam had bought. And more than that, there was her keyboard as well. She started walking over there, ended up running, and skidded to a halt behind him. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Not supposed to swear in front of the kids,” he said, waving them in.
“But—” She broke off as the kids sat with their instruments.
Sam smiled at them.
They beamed back.
“Sam,” Becca said, her heart rate accelerating to near-stroke levels. “What’s going on?”
Sam moved closer to her, pulling her into him.
“Don’t,” she said.
“Don’t what?”
She pushed free. “I can’t think when you touch me.”
He just looked at her, like she was still cute but also a colossal pain in his ass. “Or look at me,” she added.
So what did he do? He tightened his grip, stepped into her, and cupped her face up to his. “Couple of things we have to get straight,” he said.
“Now isn’t exactly the time—”
“You were right before,” he said over her. “I never intended to say the words to you.”
She went still, absorbed it, decided she hated it, and tried to back away.
He tightened his grip. “I never was going to say them,” he went on, “because they’d never meant anything to me, never gave me anything but a headache. They’ve always cost me one way or another. I thought this, with you, was different, that somehow my actions would be enough.”
At that, she stopped fighting him and stared up at him. “Oh, Sam.”
“I’ve had the words all my life and they meant nothing. I thought love was in the showing.” He let out a low laugh and shook his head. “But then you came out of nowhere. I didn’t expect you, Becca.”
“I know, I—”
He put a finger to her lips. “I’m still getting past the surprise that I was willing to go there with you at all.”
“There,” she said, needing a translation.
“Here. You’ve become a part of me,” he said. “As important and basic as breathing. I feel things for you that I can’t even name.” His lips twitched. “And a few that I can.”
She sucked in a breath and looked around to see if anyone was
listening. When the kids had gathered on stage, the crowds had shifted in and were settling around the stage. Her keyboard sat up there, mocking her, and a new pit of panic gripped her, but Sam took her hands in his.
“You can do this,” he said softly.
“Do what?”
But he let her go and moved to the edge of the stage, facing the crowd. “Welcome to the first annual Lucky Harbor Charters Summer Bash!” he called out.
The crowd cheered.
He grinned at them, and Becca could hear the collective hearts of every woman in the place sigh.
“Here at Lucky Harbor Charters,” he said, “we’ve appreciated your business all year. We appreciate your future business as well. And today is mine, Tanner’s, and Cole’s thanks to you. But first, I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask you to help me thank Becca Thorpe for. . .” He met her gaze. “Well, everything.”
Everyone whooped and hollered for her, and Becca found herself staring at them all, cheeks hot as she gave a little wave.
Sam nodded to the pyrotechnic guys waiting for their cue. “We hope you enjoy the show—”
“Sam!” Becca whispered.
Sam held up a finger to the crowd, grinned at them again, effectively paralyzed them with the gorgeousness of his good humor, and then stepped close to Becca, as if they were alone instead of with every single person in town.
“What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Getting ready to start the fireworks display.”
“Why are all my kids sitting in those chairs holding their instruments?” she asked, already knowing the answer as the blood began to roar in her ears.
“You can do this,” he said again, so damn sure. Of course he was sure; it wasn’t his ass on the line here.
“What do you mean? Why do you keep talking in some language that I don’t understand! I can’t—” She broke off and put a hand to her chest, which was pounding, pounding, pounding. “Oh, my God. I’m going to have a stroke; I’m not kidding. I can’t do this. Sam, you know that I can’t play in front of strangers.”
He ran his hands up and down her arms. “They’re not strangers, babe. They’re your friends.”
She looked out at the crowd. She saw Cole and Tanner. Mark. Jack, and Ben. Jax. Lucille. Amelia. Lance. Mark. Olivia . . .
Sam was right. These were her friends. They cared about her. And she cared about them. “But. . .” She swallowed. The lump in her throat—the one the size of a regulation football—didn’t go anywhere. “We haven’t practiced anything for this.”
“Yes we have, Ms. Teacher!” Pink called out, bouncing in her seat so hard her little-girl legs swung with each word. “We’ve been practicing for weeks, remember?”
“‘God Bless America,’” Becca whispered.
Sam nodded. “‘God Bless America.’” He nudged her to her keyboard.
“You sneaked into my apartment for the keyboard?” she asked.
“Nope,” he said. “I used a key.”
“You don’t have a key.”
He smiled.
He had a key. He had a key to everything, including her heart. Damn it. “Sam—”
“Just try it, Becca, I promise you’ll do great. And afterward, I’ve got ranch-flavored popcorn waiting.”
She paused. “You bought me more ranch-flavored popcorn?”
“A brand-new tin,” he promised, and then lowered his voice. “And more condoms. None of them blue.” He gave her another nudge, gestured to the pyrotechnic guys, and a hush came over the crowd. “We welcome our own Lucky Harbor band,” he called out. “Give them a hand as we start the show!”
The crowd hooted and hollered, and Becca gave one last panicked look in Sam’s direction.
Tanner was standing with him now, beaming. “I can’t believe you bribe your woman with popcorn,” he said to Sam.
“And sex,” Sam said, his voice low and serious. “Don’t forget the sex.”
Becca stifled a half-hysterical laugh and turned to her kids. They were all grinning widely, excited, and she could only hope to God they actually remembered the song this time. “One, two, three,” she prompted, and waited for them to jump in.
Silence. As if suddenly overcome by shyness as one, the kids had gone suddenly still as stone, staring out at the audience like a pack of deer caught in the headlights.
“One, two, three,” she repeated.
Nothing.
Oh, God.
The crowded shifted but remained quiet. These people were mothers, fathers, friends . . . they wanted these kids to achieve their dreams. Which meant that there was no sense of impatience or irritation that the ticket price was too high for the value of the show or that she was disappointing anyone. Lucky Harbor wanted this, them, her, to succeed. Becca drew a breath and spoke softly. “Hey,” she called to her precious class. “Guys, look at me.”
The anxious faces turned her way. God. God, she knew just how they felt. The panic was clawing its way up from her own gut to her throat, choking her until it was all but impossible to breathe. But they were looking at her, eyes wide. Counting on her. She walked to the keyboard.
You can do this, Sam had told her. And Sam was always right. She ran her gaze over the kids, taking in each and every one of them, and smiled. “Just me,” she said softly, for their ears only. “Just me and a few friends and family. That’s all. Everyone knows this song. If we start, they’ll join us, okay?”
Like bobbleheads, the kids nodded in unison.
And she smiled at them again, feeling her heart warm and fill with love and pride. “One, two, three,” she prompted, and this time she began to play first, an intro, not taking her gaze off the kids.
Just her and the kids . . .
As she played, she settled. Her heart still threatened to burst out of her chest, but the fear receded a little bit, replaced by a familiar tingle that was so old she hardly recognized it.
Excitement.
She ran the intro again and held her breath, but the kids joined in this time—though not exactly smoothly. Several of them were half a beat behind, and Pink and Kendra were at least half a beat ahead.
Just like in real life.
The fireworks began as they entered the chorus. The town indeed joined in, and by the end of “God Bless America,” everyone was in sync, and Becca could hardly keep in time herself because the lump in her throat was back.
I thought my actions would be enough.
The entire song, Sam’s words floated in her head, and in her heart. He’d never said he didn’t love her, only that he’d hoped his actions would be enough. And his actions did speak pretty loudly. He’d given her a job. He’d supported her, encouraged her to follow her heart, whether that be music or whatever floated her boat. He’d helped her get over the past. He’d backed her up with her family. He’d come running when she’d gotten scared. He’d been there for her, through whatever she needed, at the drop of a hat.
His actions had spoken for him—loud and clear. He’d shown her he loved her, with every look, every touch, every move he made.
The song ended, the fireworks ended, and everyone burst into a roar of applause. The kids bowed. Becca started to bow, too, but was pulled into a brick wall.
Sam’s chest. “So proud of you,” he murmured in her ear.
She was shaking. Adrenaline, she knew. But Sam had her, his arms locked tight around her. “Look at me,” he said, voice low and serious.
