by Mari Carr
Waiting for Wednesday
Mari Carr
Wild Irish, Book Three
Tristan Collins knows Lane Bryce is strictly hands-off. She’s smart, funny, kind…and married. But he still looks forward to her once-a-week visits to the family pub where he tends bar. When she fails to arrive one Wednesday, Tris is concerned. When he learns she’s in the hospital, brutally beaten after attempting to leave her unhappy marriage, he’s enraged. Tris vows to protect her, but doesn’t get the chance—Lane checks out of the hospital and disappears without a trace.
A year later, newly divorced Lane is back, and enjoying her independence too much to embark on a relationship. Tris intends to prove she can have freedom and love, and he’s not above using seduction to do it. The more she resists, the more he sets her body ablaze with pleasure the likes of which she’s never known.
After a lifetime of disappointment, trust doesn’t come easily for Lane. But when her ex-husband reenters her life, threatening her independence, her happiness, she could discover too late that Tristan is the one man worthy of not only her trust, but also her love.
An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Waiting for Wednesday
ISBN 9781419925832
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Waiting for Wednesday Copyright © 2010 Mari Carr
Edited by Kelli Collins & Jillian Bell
Cover art by Syneca
Electronic book publication March 2010
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Waiting for Wednesday
Mari Carr
Dedication
This story is dedicated to Kelli and Jillian, the best tag-team editors in the USA, and to Raelene for making Ellora’s Cave such an awesome place to be!
Trademarks Acknowledgements
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Baltimore Orioles: Major League Baseball Properties, Inc.
Baltimore Ravens: Baltimore Ravens L.P.
Conan the Barbarian: Conan Properties International LLC
ESPN: ESPN, Inc.
Guinness: Diageo Ireland Private Unlimited Company
Jell-O: Kraft Foods
NASCAR: National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing, Inc.
New York Rangers: Madison Square Garden, L.P.
Phillips: Phillips Seafood Restaurants; S.B. Phillips, Llc, Phillips Crab House, Inc.
Stanley Cup: National Hockey League
Tarzan: Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc.
Monday’s Child
Monday’s child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go,
Friday’s child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s child works hard for a living,
But the child who is born on the Sabbath day,
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.
~Traditional nursery rhyme
Prologue
One year ago
“Lane?” Tristan looked down at the frail form of his best friend lying in the hospital bed and gently took her hand in his.
Her eyelids fluttered and one—the right one—opened slightly. Her left eye was bruised and swollen shut.
“Tris.” Her voice was hoarse, drawing his gaze to her throat where he could see the faint marks left by her abusive husband’s fingers.
“I’m right here, kitten. How are you?” He mentally chastised himself for the stupid question. She was a billboard for domestic violence, every inch of her pale, delicate flesh covered with bruises and cuts. In addition to her black eye, she had a split lip and several stitches above her brow. It hurt him just to look at her and he had to swallow back the murderous rage building in his chest.
“Oh, you know,” she said. “Pulled a double shift at work. Got a paper cut. Same old shit.”
He grimaced at her joke. It was so like her. Damn woman hated anything even resembling pity, but this time he couldn’t let her make light of her predicament.
“Dammit, Lane.” He dropped down into the chair by the side of her bed. “Don’t do that, babe. Don’t make a fucking joke of this.”
She winced at his words and he instantly regretted them when she closed her good eye against the tears gathering there. It took her several moments to compose herself enough to speak again. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Lane. Just tell me what happened.”
“I took your advice. Got up the nerve to leave. Apparently James wanted me around more than he let on.”
Tristan tightened his grip on her hand, trying to hide the fact his was trembling in the face of what she’d gone through. Her husband had always been distant, cruel in an emotionally abusive way, according to Lane. As she’d said once, she’d been miserable in her marriage since “about five minutes after the vows”. That’s when James had started criticizing every aspect of her personality, her looks, her housekeeping. She’d spent two years living in wedded hell with the man.
“I didn’t know he would…” he started, guilt crushing him. He’d been encouraging her to leave James for weeks. Trying to convince her she didn’t have to spend the rest of her life paying for one mistake. She’d simply fallen in love with the wrong man. With that love gone, he’d assured her there was no shame in admitting defeat and moving on.
“Oh no, Tris,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I’m not blaming you. Leaving was…” She paused for a moment. “Leaving is the right thing to do. I was a fool for not realizing how angry James would be, but I swear to you, he’s never lifted a finger to hurt me. Not once in these past two years.”
Tris nodded, wanting her to know he believed her. She may have stayed in an unhappy marriage because of her sense of responsibility, but she would never have remained in a dangerous home. “I know that.”
“I honestly, foolishly, thought he didn’t give a damn about me.”
Tris wanted to reassure her that thought was correct. No man would hurt his wife like this if he gave even the tiniest shit about her. Again, his temper spiked and he suspected if James wasn’t already in police custody, Tristan’s next trip would have ensured Lane’s husband would need similar medical care. Still, he worried about what her words meant.
“You can’t go back there, Lane. You can’t go back to that marriage.”
“I’m not,” she added quickly. “There’s no way in hell. I just wanted you to know that while I was unhappy the last couple of years, I wasn’t a battered wife or anything.�
�
He took a deep breath and fought the urge to disagree with her. James Bryce may not have hit his wife, but his words had beaten down and chiseled away her confidence for years. Saying so, however, would upset her, and he refused to add to the pain she was suffering.
“I know that.” If he’d ever once seen a bruise on her, he would have dragged her out of her home and away from the asshole she called a husband. “I was worried when you didn’t show up tonight,” he said.
Every Wednesday night after her nursing shift, Lane came into his family’s restaurant, Pat’s Irish Pub, where he was the bartender. She’d plop down at the end of the bar and they’d talk for hours while he served drinks and she sipped her white wine.
Originally, they’d talked about politics, sports, music, movies. For months they had chatted as acquaintances until at some point—Tris had no idea when, exactly—the relationship had evolved into a genuine friendship and the conversations had become much more personal. They’d talked about their childhoods and dreams for the future. He’d known from the first she was married and he’d respected that. Despite a reputation—according to his sisters—as a ladies’ man, he never hit on married women.
Lane was the only woman to ever test his resolve on that unwritten edict. He simply couldn’t resist the allure of standing—and yes, flirting—week after week across the counter of the bar from her. She was funny and sweet, smart and sexy. She drew him like a moth to a flame and somewhere along the line, she’d become his best friend.
“I thought Wednesday would be the best night to leave. It’s James’ late night at the store.”
He nodded. One of the reasons why Lane came to the pub Wednesdays was because her husband worked the late shift at a local business, not returning home until after midnight. He glanced at his watch. It was only a little past one in the morning. Too early for James to have wrought so much damage. “So what happened?”
“He came home early. Said he had a headache, but I think perhaps he suspected my plans. I don’t know.”
“You should have called me. I would have helped you pack up. Helped you leave.” Even as he spoke the words, he knew she would never have asked for help. She possessed more than her share of independence. Lane Bryce was determined to be a woman who took care of herself. Her childhood had molded that trait, set it in concrete, and he knew it was hard for her to depend on anyone.
She sighed heavily and he could see how much their conversation was zapping her remaining energy. “Are you in pain?” he asked. “I can call for the nurse.”
“She already gave me something. I think it’s kicking in.”
He’d called her cell phone several times when she’d failed to show up at the pub. A gut feeling he couldn’t explain had told him something was wrong. She’d never missed a Wednesday. Not once in almost a year and a half. She’d confessed once to waiting for Wednesday the way some kids waited for their birthday—with anticipation, excitement.
An hour earlier, she’d finally called and told him she was in the hospital. He’d told Ewan to take over the bar and he’d driven through the city, breaking every damn speed limit to reach her.
“I’m just so tired,” she said.
“I’m here now,” he said as she appeared to drift off to sleep.
“I knew you’d be worried,” she mumbled. “I don’t know what to do now.”
And it was that softly spoken admission that broke what small part of his heart hadn’t shattered upon first seeing her so battered in the bed.
“You don’t have to do anything, kitten. I’m here now. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll take care of you. I promise.”
He was confused when her gaze refocused on him and he sensed her quiet tension. Then she nodded and he breathed a sigh of relief. Accepting help didn’t come easily to her, but she had to know, had to realize there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.
“I’m going to go to sleep,” she said. “Why don’t you go on home for now?”
He shook his head, but she cut off his refusal.
“There’s no way you’ll fit on that tiny couch, Everest.” She’d jokingly begun referring to him by the pet name several months ago. He topped her by at least half a foot and a hundred pounds. “Go home and get some rest. James is in jail and I’ll still be here tomorrow.”
It was those words that reverberated in his mind when he looked at the empty hospital bed Thursday morning. She wasn’t there. She was gone.
Gone.
Chapter One
Present day
“I need two gin and tonics, Tris, and another Guinness.”
Tristan Collins nodded to acknowledge he’d heard the order and started making the drinks.
“My, my, my,” Keira said, leaning over the bar. “Aren’t you the stimulating conversationalist tonight?”
Tris gave her a dirty look and tried to ignore his older sister’s assessing gaze. The last thing he needed was to be analyzed and dissected by Keira. Lately, she’d been giving him hell about his lack of social life, trying to set him up with one friend after another. She simply wouldn’t listen when he said he wasn’t interested in dating. He figured her sudden obsession with his love life had something to do with her being madly in love. Her boyfriend, Will Wallace, had proposed over Christmas, which meant Tris had been subjected to hour after hour of wedding planning. He wished the day would come already, so they could get it over with and life could get back to normal. Unfortunately, June was still two very long months away.
He put the drinks on her tray and turned around to polish a glass that didn’t need polishing, hoping it would deter Keira from continuing. No such luck.
“Oh yeah, Tris. Turning your back will definitely make me stop talking. Not. You men are all the same. So who stuck the stick up your ass tonight?”
He sighed and shook his head, refusing to face her as he spoke. “No one, Keira. I’m just tired.”
“You’re always tired lately. What’s up, Tris?”
He knew what was up, but there was no way on earth he’d confess the truth to his sister. It had been a year since Lane Bryce had disappeared from Baltimore, from his life. For months he’d managed to hold that thought at bay, ignore the pain that accompanied the memory of her, but tonight he couldn’t seem to shake off the recollections that assaulted him. It was Wednesday night—their night. Yet for the first time in a year, he hadn’t looked at her usual stool and expected her to be there. It was as if the realization she was gone had finally sunk into his thick skull.
When he’d last seen her, he hadn’t realized she’d leave town without a word. And he definitely hadn’t known she’d be taking off with his heart. He closed his eyes. He’d been so stupid. She was married, unavailable, and he’d foolishly convinced himself she was off-limits. Christ, she was off-limits.
Then he’d seen her in that hospital bed, learned she was serious about her intention to leave her husband and in a few hours, everything had changed for him. He’d gone home that night feeling hopeful and happier than he’d ever been in his life. She was going to be free and he’d fully intended to grab her. To hold on to her with two hands before any other man realized what a gem she was and snatched her up. So much for that idea. She’d disappeared without a trace and weeks of searching hadn’t given him a clue to her whereabouts.
“Earth to Tris,” Keira said from behind him.
“Just deliver the drinks.” His reply was harsher than he’d intended and he heard his sister’s slight intake of breath, knew he’d hurt her feelings. Shit. He was a regular asshole these days. He turned to apologize but Keira had already stormed away from the bar.
“Damn, man.” Sean came behind the bar to drop off some clean glasses. “No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend. Must be all that charm you don’t have getting in the way.”
“Fuck,” Tris muttered. “I didn’t mean to snap at her.”
“You’ve been walking around here all night like a bear with a thorn in his paw. You wanna talk about it?”
He shook his head. “Not particularly.” He refused to tell any of his siblings what a fool he’d been. He’d fallen in love with a woman who didn’t love him back. It was as simple—and as complicated—as that. He was never going to make that mistake again. As far as he was concerned, his future relationships would never advance beyond casual, no-strings-attached sex. He was perfectly content running the bar, watching sports on television, hanging out with his guy friends on his days off and finding a woman when he had an itch to scratch.
“Okay. Well, it’s a standing offer,” Sean said. “Coming over Sunday afternoon to watch the Orioles?”
Tris nodded, pleased that at least his younger brother could appreciate he meant it when he said he didn’t want to talk. Sean didn’t even take offense. Just another reason why women were a pain in the ass. They always wanted to poke and prod at every sore spot they could find.
“Yeah. Wouldn’t miss it. I’ll bring the pizza.” He and Sean had a regular Sunday-afternoon routine that involved watching baseball, NASCAR or whatever other sport was in season while devouring two large pizzas and sucking down soda.
“Cool. Hey, I think I might knock off early tonight. Do you mind? I’ve got a date and I want to go home and change first.”
“No problem. It’s Wednesday and slow as shit. Keira and I can handle it.”
Sean grinned. “Try not to piss her off any more than you already have, okay? I’d hate to break up a fistfight between you and Will. He’s too damn protective of her and he’ll be ticked if you make her cry.”
Tris saluted. “I’ll try my best.”
He watched Sean leave then glanced at the clock. It was nearly eleven. Only one more hour to go before he could hit the sack. Sunday’s Side, the adjoining restaurant named after his mother, had just closed, and a couple meandered through the connecting door between the bar and dining room, clearly not ready to call it a night. There were less than a dozen people scattered around the pub and he wished they would all go home.
