Relapse in Paradise

by Roxanne Smith

  “Have I missed something?”

  Emily’s head jerked toward where Boston stood near the bathroom door.

  He wore nothing but a towel wrapped around his torso low on his hips.

  She licked her lips.

  Jordan gave Emily one last smirk, hidden from Boston’s view, and slinked into the bathroom.

  Emily had no clue what was going on behind Boston’s pretty eyes, but something like a grin lurked at the corners of his mouth. “Something funny?”

  “A little.” His smile grew. “You’re kind of staring at my chest.”

  “Am not.”

  “You were.” He stepped closer and lowered his eyes. “I’m glad you stopped by. I wanted to apologize for yesterday. The bottle thing. Sometimes you just need to break something, right?” The small grin fell away at her lack of response. “Jordan admitted to stashing it to mess with us. I guess it worked.”

  Emily nodded and bit her lip. Quinn had it right, after all. Emily should’ve trusted her instincts. “You went surfing this morning, huh? How was it?”

  “Good.” He paused and glanced at his hands, as if he couldn’t say what he needed to and meet her eyes at the same time. It didn’t bode well for the conversation she hoped to have. “I know it’s weird and maybe dangerous, but I think I can help Jordan. She’s for real about getting sober.” He peeked at Emily long enough for her to note the vague apology in the drawn line of his mouth. “Her antics are crap. You didn’t deserve to put up with it for trying to have my back. But what can I say? She’s motivated.”

  Hmm. Trying to have his back and failing because here Jordan was despite it. “Surfing helps?”

  “Being active helped me get through some of my tougher times, yeah. It’s a start, anyway.” Another pause, this time to examine the wall behind Emily and rub his freshly shaved cheek. “I have a plan, Emily. Don’t think I’m diving into this without a care for what happens next. This… Jordan… It’s not a thing like you might imagine—”

  Jordan popped into the room. This time, she wore only a towel wrapped tight around her body and held in place by a knot in the middle of her breasts. She stepped between them while wringing out the long strands of her wet hair. “Know what? No. I’ve had enough of you two.” She waggled her fingers between them and regarded Emily with a stone-cold glare. “I won’t make it without him. Can you say the same?”

  Over her head, Boston’s blue gaze burned into Emily as though he’d asked the question. When she said nothing, he groaned and turned on Jordan. “Why are you so damn dramatic? I’ll help you, but on my terms.”

  Jordan pointed a finger at his bare chest. “You love me, Boston Rondibett. Say whatever the hell you want to your little girlfriend, but you and I—”

  He leaned into Jordan’s face with a menacing stare. Emily was glad not to be on the receiving end of it. “I mean every word I’ve said to you, Jordan. Every. Damn. Word.”

  Jordan’s face contorted with rage, and her arm flew up.

  Boston caught her arm in its downward arc inches from his shoulder, snatching it mid-strike with a quickness that belied his lazy beach bum veneer. They glared at each other.

  In the bubble of silence, no noise existed to cover Emily’s gasp. “You.” She pointed to Jordan. “You’re the violent one. You lied.”

  Boston’s glare turned to disdain as he peeked at her from the corner of his eye. “Ya think?”

  Jordan cut in with a growl and glowered at Boston as she wrenched her arm free. “Don’t act like some kind of victim. You broke my mother’s picture frame, the nicest thing I ever owned.”

  His arms shot out in a defensive stance, and his voice came out a near-shout. “You mean the picture frame you broke throwing at me?”

  Emily took a step back. The entire scene disgusted her. This life, these people, resolving to destruction and pain when there were a million words to communicate feelings. She didn’t belong here, and maybe that was the lesson. In another life, if she and Boston had met under different circumstances, maybe they’d have a chance.

  She made for the exit.

  “Emily! Don’t do it. Don’t leave.”

  Boston’s desperate demand brought her up short. She faced him and swallowed her disappointment and hurt. She’d forget his face in time, but probably not his eyes. She’d remember the clear blue color until her last moments. “I only came to say good-bye.”

  His eyebrows drew into a sharp V. He approached Emily with his palms up as though she were the unpredictable one. A small breathy laugh escaped him, but his eyes weren’t laughing. “We aren’t done. It’s not time. Don’t go.”

  “Boston.” She sighed. “I know about the money.”

  He froze. She might’ve pressed the pause button on a recording.

  “The Hilton,” he mumbled.

  She nodded. “Hani told me. I’ve known for a while. Funny, though, how it didn’t make me angry. Not that you took the money, anyway.”

  He rubbed his forehead like he had a headache coming on. “Emily, I practically stole from you.”

  “No, you did steal. From Quinn, not me. She understands, too, by the way.”

  Boston’s face started to turn green.

  “It’s okay. Really. She gets it. We both do.”

  He licked his teeth and eyed her. “Then what are you angry about if not the money?”

  “I recall my first day here and can’t blame you a bit. I’m not mad, but it hurts a little. You tolerated my snobbery in the interest of helping someone else. It’s a lesson I won’t soon forget, but it’s one I needed to learn. I needed to see myself that way—the way you see me.”

  No words, only his arms coming around her like a cocoon.

  She closed her eyes and tried to memorize the moment. His soapy smell from the shower. The damp ends of his long hair caressing her shoulders. “You can’t possibly believe that. Emily, I—” He stepped away abruptly, and one arm dropped away so he could rub the nape of his neck. “Damn, girl. In another life, I’m good enough for you, you know that?”

  Her jaw fell open. “What?” Good enough for her? Since when had that been a concern?

  His blue eyes turned pleading. He gripped her hands and shuffled. “I mean, I’d try. I’m going to try. I told you, Em. I’m ticking off boxes, not swinging blind. Still, it’s hard to imagine how I could make someone like you happy.”

  Right. Because, as Jordan so kindly pointed out, her lofty expectations would be the end of them. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Boston, it’s not a matter of being good enough. It’s a matter of practicality.”

  His gaze went hard. It was like watching ice form. “Practicality? I shouldn’t be surprised it comes down to mechanics with you.”

  Every last item Jordan had pointed out ran through Emily’s mind with a sudden clarity. “This isn’t a fairy tale. A little feeling isn’t the answer to every small concern. Our differences are real. They matter. And Jordan’s right, I don’t have the empathy it takes to forgive the kind of mistakes you might make. And you helping her. It seems like a bad recipe. The kind that might get someone hurt.”

  Someone like me.

  The proverbial door slammed against her. His face shuttered, impossible to read. “So, it’s a trust thing?” Nonchalant as royalty, Boston backed away from her. “Eh, I don’t blame you. You’ve got reason enough.”

  Maybe he meant the money. Maybe he meant Jordan. Didn’t matter. The answer depended on the question, and the real question was how could it possibly end between them?

  Boston sulky and resentful in an Armani suit. Emily burning with mortification when asked what her significant other did for a living. One or both of them stranded in a place they didn’t want to be. Only desperation, Emily’s old and dear companion, could compel her into yet another relationship with no promise of a future. That, she kept to herself.

  Boston shook his head as she started for the door again. “Why is it so much easier for you to dou
bt me than to believe in me? I have a plan, Emily.”

  She almost stopped. Almost. “And I hope it works.” She walked out and blinked fiercely against the emotion building in her throat. Was this the needless torment Quinn had put herself through before realizing she and Jack were meant to be together?

  Because it sucked. And realization wasn’t dawning.

  Chapter 14

  Jordan trailed behind him like an abused puppy.

  Boston didn’t care. She could sulk until the damn moon fell into the ocean. He wouldn’t sleep with her. Sex wasn’t part of the healing process—and it definitely wouldn’t help him with his plans for the future. In fact, the very absence of sex, which was damn hard to come by as a homeless man, had helped him stay focused and on point during The Canopy’s rough birth.

  If he’d been out chasing women, how would anything have gotten accomplished? And if he were going to pursue it, a more worthy partner came to mind.

  He wouldn’t take Jordan out for breakfast, either, or lunch or dinner. No dates. They weren’t playing a social game. They were untangling life and reweaving it into something simple, firm, and reliable. She’d eat at The Canopy like the rest of them.

  I have a plan. I have a plan.

  It’d become his new mantra since Emily stormed out of his apartment two days ago. He hadn’t seen her since. Not at The Canopy, nor coming and going from her place over the jewelry shop. He had a plan, and if time were on his side, he’d carry it out in baby steps. The same way he’d saved money and bought The Canopy. Time didn’t allow for small, careful steps, though. He had to go all in, cash in every chip, and pray to God it worked.

  He needed it to work.

  They entered The Canopy. Akela, serenely scouring the dining hall for empty plates amid the morning’s guests, glanced up with a smile of greeting. It morphed into a scowl when she saw who sauntered in after him.

  He padded over to her and leaned in to speak quietly. “How’s Hani? Does he have time to talk?”

  “He’s in the back. Crying,” she added. “So, maybe knock about a bit and give him some notice.”

  Boston pursed his lips. “Is he devastated or piss drunk?”

  He expected a sharp retort or an angry question. Akela didn’t normally approve of drinking jokes. Instead, she gave him a sideways smile and went off after another plate. “He’s happy.”

  He thanked Akela and nodded for Jordan to stay put.

  She huffed but took a seat at one of the empty tables.

  He paused at the end of the narrow hallway and tapped on the wall. “Hani? You in there, brother? I need a word.”

  A sniffle sounded from the office. Hani pushed open the door and shuffled out. “Come on back.”

  “What’s going on, man?”

  “Mama came to see me this morning.”

  He didn’t need to say more. The implications rang loud and clear to anyone familiar with Hani’s history with his family. They’d disowned him when he took to the streets, and instead of being proud when he started working for The Canopy, they’d seen it in much the same light as Boston’s parents, which was to say not good. Hani made light of it as best he could with jokes about their royal blood, but Boston knew the cut went deep.

  Boston leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “Well? What’d she want?”

  Hani wiped his eyes with a beefy forearm and sniffed again, shaking his head until his braid swung over his shoulder. “You know how it is when you got twenty thousand cousins, man. Word got around I started looking for a job.”

  He’d actually done it. Boston shook his head but smiled. He hadn’t doubted Hani meant it.

  “She came in here with an offer. Guy who runs the buffet across from the Hilton is leaving.” He lifted his shoulders and his eyes went a little wider, like he could hardly believe it. “The job’s mine if I want it.”

  Part of Boston wanted to rejoice for Hani. Clap him on the back, shake his hand. Because, hell, wasn’t that the next step up? Was Hani supposed to work in a soup kitchen for nothing but a bed for the rest of his life? Another part of him felt like something important was being ripped away. He went with his first instinct and clapped Hani on his shoulder. “Damn, man. Congrats!”

  Hani took a deep, shuddering breath. “Boston, I—I don’t want to abandon this place. I love The Canopy. I love helping people. I love putting food in empty stomachs and offering a warm, dry place on miserable, rainy nights. But I also know I’ve been leaning on you. More than you ever did me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is, brother.” Most of the emotion had cleared from his throat, and he looked at Boston with eyes that were red but dry. “We’ve all counted on you, and it wasn’t right. Not with everything else you had weighing on you. I hide in my kitchen and make demands and expect you to pull magic out of your behind like a damn party trick.” He blinked, an apology in his wide, dark gaze. “I’m taking the job, Bos. I’m gonna… I’m gonna get a house. Pay my own bills. Put the pressure on myself, where it ought to be.”

  Boston ignored the tightness in his chest and hugged his best friend fiercely. Hani’s massive arms seemed to swallow his entire body. They stepped away from each other with a couple of small coughs.

  “Good for you, man.” Boston grinned, rocking back with his thumbs hooked into the belt loops of his red shorts. “I’m happy for you. And maybe it’s a good thing you’re moving on. I’ve got plans for this place, and I’ve been scared shitless of what you’d say. Now, Akela and Jordan are the only two people I have to convince.”

  * * * *

  Akela’s glower was a thing of beauty.

  Jordan’s disdainful sneer nearly matched it. “You’re saying I’m the new maid?”

  Akela snapped her head toward Jordan. “Is that what you think I do around here? You don’t know anything. See, Bos? I trust you, I do, but this idea of yours is nuts.”

  Boston sighed. He could be right back in a classroom dealing with children. Which, soon, he hoped he would be. “Akela, your heart’s in this place. No one is better suited to take over. Thompson has the kitchen on lock, right?”

  From the far end of the dining table, Thompson nodded vigorously.

  “See? Food is covered.” He pointed at Akela. “Management is covered.” He swung his no-nonsense gaze to Jordan. “You’re going to do the things Akela does around this place. She’s not the maid, either. She’s a crucial gear that’s kept this place functioning for years. Without her….” He shuddered to think. “Look, Jordan, you can’t ask me to put The Canopy in your hands. You have a hell of a road in front of you. You asked me how I did it. This is how. Akela’s earned it. She’ll teach you the way so long as you’re willing. Now or never. This is my program, and you’re in or you’re out.”

  She studied her thumbnail for a long minute. Moment of truth. How bad did she want it? “All right. Fine. I’m in.”

  “Great.” He nodded resolutely and switched his attention back to Akela. “I was just like Jordan when you met me. You remember? Angry, down, one foot ready to hit the pavement again. She needs a chance. You can give up on her anytime you like, but do me a favor and think of what might’ve happened had Hani given up on me. I’m not saying Jordan won’t give you a reason at some point.”

  “Or several.” Hani’s grunt sounded loud in the empty dining hall. It was the first time in recent history Boston could recall setting the Closed sign in the window.

  “In the morning, we’ll head to city hall and get the deed switched to your name. In time, when you’re ready to move on, you bequeath it to someone you trust to continue the legacy—a brand new legacy we’re starting today, right now.”

  Hani rubbed his temples. “Jus’ where the hell do you think you’re going, haole?”

  The other half of the plan. “Bottom line, guys, The Canopy doesn’t need me. And I don’t need it.” He looked at each of them in turn. “Not anymore.”

  “Ah,” Akela no
dded sagely.

  Jordan rolled her eyes.

  “Whoo,” Hani teased. “I see, I see. You found something else to save you from yourself, eh, brother? Does Emily know you’re putting that kinda weight on her shoulders?”

  Boston crossed his ankles and chewed the inside of his lip. Emily. Hell, he didn’t even know where she was. Maybe already back in L.A. by now. “Not her, actually.”

  A pregnant pause followed.

  Akela’s keen sense of the situation, which Boston had long ago recognized as one of her special powers, led her to stand abruptly. “Jordan, let me show you around upstairs. Thompson, can you get a start on prepping the papaya we got this morning for Hani, please?”

  Eagerly, Thompson popped up and made for the kitchen.

  Jordan sluggishly followed Akela as she started up the staircase on the far side of the room. Akela talked, mentioning the cleaning schedule she kept—the same one neither Hani nor Boston could every recall asking her to create or adhere to—and how often she dusted the handrail and redid the screws that kept it attached to the wall because they liked to come loose.

  A twang of anxiety whipped through Boston as he watched them. God, he’d miss this. With parents as old as his had been, The Canopy was the closest he’d ever come to having a normal, lively family.

  Hani’s stern expression brought him out of his nostalgia. He twirled his fingers in the air. “What’s this about, Bos?”

  Something was up, and his friend knew it. Boston shook his head. “Not Emily. I think that ship has sailed.”

  “You’re an idiot. I want it on record.”

  “Duly noted.”

  “No, I mean it, man.” Hani shifted to sit forward. “You’re dumping Jordan on my sister, and not even for Emily’s sake? What’s wrong with you?”