by Addison Cole
Silence stretched uncomfortably between them.
“I just got a call from Brock. The girl who was fighting in the exhibition match today got food poisoning, and he needs me to fill in for my weight class, so…”
Hunter’s gut clenched.
“I know your competition is today, and I hate to miss it, but he’s really in a bind, and I kinda thought—”
He hadn’t made a big deal about the competition because they’d been dealing with Jana’s studio, but it was important to him. He debated asking her not to go to the fight, but that didn’t feel right, either. Especially after he’d given her a hard time about the way she’d danced last night. Everything he was saying lately came out wrong. Everything he did pushed her further away. Hunter never claimed to know how to handle women or relationships, but with Jana, together they’d somehow figured it out. He had faith that this, too, would somehow work out.
“Sure, good luck.”
“I guess we’ll catch up later?” she asked tentatively. “I’ll try to make it after the fight. I just never know how late they’ll run.”
“Yeah, whatever.” His biting tone surprised him, but he couldn’t have covered the sting of her missing his competition if his life depended on it.
He ended the call before his voice could shoot any more darts, then headed inside. How many times had he and his siblings walked into their father’s shop on their mother’s heels? Running up and down the aisles as his parents talked or kissed or whatever adults did when their kids were busy terrorizing a store.
He thought about his childhood. He’d had a good one, and as he’d grown into a man, no one had ever questioned his playing around with women. No one had ever held him accountable, either. Men were lucky like that. He thought of Jana and all that she’d been through, and an empathetic ache weighed heavily inside him.
She’d poured her heart out to him, and he’d made it even worse by judging one of the very things that drew him to her. Her dancing. His heart ached at how stupid he’d been. She’d become vital to him. Essential.
As he opened the door to his father’s shop, he realized that he’d always thought there were four essential elements to life: earth, wind, fire, and water. But he’d been so very wrong. There were five, at least for him, and he had a feeling Jana was the only element he needed.
His father looked up from behind the counter. A wide smile graced his handsome face as he came around the counter with open arms.
“Hunt. How’re you doing, son?”
Hunter welcomed his father’s warm embrace. Neil Lacroux had hair the color of sand after a harsh rain. When he’d been drinking, his belly had gone soft and his face had aged, but now that he’d been sober for a few years, he’d lost the weight. Losing his wife had stolen a piece of his spirit and left behind a shadow of emptiness that Hunter assumed would always be there. But he was glad his father had climbed out of the bottle and gotten back to the business of living his life.
“I’m okay, Pop. I thought I’d come down and walk the aisles for a bit.” He smiled, knowing his father would laugh at the reminder of what he’d said to his son so often in his youth when Hunter had had a bad day. Come on down to the shop with me. Walk the aisles. We’ll talk tools and you’ll feel better.
“Gotchya.” His father’s large hand landed on Hunter’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “What’s on your mind?” He picked up a can of paint from the counter and placed it on the shelves beside the others. “Is it the competition? I’ve got Mira, the young gal I hired last month, coming in later so I can be there.”
“Thanks, Pop.” Thinking of Jana and the sculpture he’d created in her image, he said, “It’s not that. I’m pretty sure we’ve got that nailed.”
“That’s what Grayson said, too. He said you’d finally found your muse.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” Was there such thing as a life muse? Because that’s what he felt like Jana had become. She inspired so much more than his creativity.
They walked up and down the aisles. His father pointed out a few new tools and a new brand of electric screwdriver he carried. Normally the distraction would be enough to ease Hunter’s mind no matter what he was dealing with, but today he couldn’t shake the churning in his gut.
His father looked at him with an assessing gaze and tilted his head toward his office. “Come see what I found last week.”
Hunter followed him into the small office just beyond the counter. Neil waved to a chair, and Hunter sat down, watching his father push aside stacks of papers. The wall in front of his desk was littered with pictures of Hunter and their family.
“I was digging around in your mother’s sewing room, looking for something I’d misplaced.” He opened his file drawer and withdrew a green hanging file folder. “And I found these.” He set the folder on his desk and opened it, revealing Hunter’s original drawings of his very first sculpture.
“She kept them?” The image of his parents standing across from Wellfleet Harbor came rushing back, the smell of the bay, the glimmer of love in his mother’s eyes. Man, he missed her. He reached for the drawings, poring over the notes he’d written in the margins. Remember her fingers. His arm.
“She kept everything,” his father said. “Those drawings were the catalyst for what you’ve become, Hunter. I saw it as kind of a sign, seeing as how your work is going to be judged in the very spot where you saw us standing.”
Hunter nodded, smiling to himself with the memory of that afternoon. “You know, Pop, there was a time when my work was everything. I lived for it. I craved the feel of the cold metal in my hands. Knowing that whatever I had inside me would come out in what I created.” He gazed into his father’s deep-set eyes. Eyes he’d looked into his whole life and seen endless support.
“And now?” his father asked.
“Now I still feel the same love of my work. I could never stand in front of a class and teach, like Matt, or tattoo people’s skin, like Sky. And the way you and Pete refinish boats is incredible, but it’s also too regimented for me. I need the freedom my work offers. I need to be able to visualize what I want and turn those visions into reality.” He inhaled and blew it out slowly. “But for the first time in my life, I found something else that fulfills me in ways I never imagined possible, someone else. She challenges me, Pop, and makes me want to be a better person. More caring. Stronger, but in a different sort of way.”
“Sounds like me when I met your mother.”
He smiled, thinking of his mother. “The funny thing is, with her it’s not about fulfilling my hopes and dreams. It’s about fulfilling hers.”
Hunter pushed to his feet, filled with purpose and determination. “Pop, I have an idea.”
“You usually do,” his father mumbled as he got to his feet. “You know, you don’t always have to act on your impulses, Hunter. You could contemplate, let things settle for a little while, and then make a decision with a level head.”
He smiled and draped an arm over his father’s shoulder. “Wasn’t it you who told me that levelheaded decisions have no place where women are concerned?”
His father laughed. “Probably so.”
“Well, then, you should say ‘I told you so.’ Because it’s definitely true where my woman is concerned.”
WHY DID EXHIBITION matches always run late? The match was supposed to begin at two o’clock, and by four o’clock they were just finishing the third weight class. Jana was up next, and she was a nervous wreck. She was running on no sleep, too much coffee, too little training, and a heart that felt like it had been filled up like a helium balloon that soared to cloud nine, only to find it had a pinhole leak and was making a slow descent back down to earth.
“Ready, sis?” Brock helped her put on her gloves while he spoke. “Whatever’s got you more jittery than a coke addict, kick it to the curb, because, baby, you’ve got this. You’re fierce, determined, and you’ve got a harder punch than any woman in your weight class. Focus, Jana.”
How could s
he focus when she felt like her world was careening out of control again? She should be at the competition with Hunter, not fighting in a match she didn’t really care about.
She held up her boxing gloves. “Can you just check my texts for me quickly? Hunter had his competition today for a sculpture he was making, and I was supposed to go. I just want to know if he won.”
“That’s what you’re stewing over? Jana, we could have forfeited this match.” Brock grabbed her cell phone and checked her text messages. “You’ve got, like, a zillion messages from Sky and one from Hunter. Which do you want first?”
“Sky.” Because Hunter’s might not be as nice.
Brock began reading Sky’s message. “‘OMG. Hunter is a finalist. SQUEE! He is one of three finalists, fingers crossed.’” He arched a brow. “Squee?”
Jana smiled, too happy to respond to his question. “He’s a finalist. That’s amazing.”
“There’s more. Do I really have to read them all? You go up in seven minutes—”
“Read them!” Her happiness was layered in guilt. Hunter had placed as a finalist, but she’d missed it. He never asked her for a thing, and here she was, fighting instead of going to the event he’d been working toward for weeks. She really did suck as a girlfriend. She made a decision right then and there that from now on she would focus on Hunter. No matter what else was going on in her life, she was going to make sure she was there for him. And if he needed her to modify her sexy dancing in order to feel more comfortable, then she’d do that, too. It was a small concession, wasn’t it? He’d done so much for her.
Brock sighed and continued reading Sky’s texts. “‘He looks so nervous. And OMG if you could see the guy he’s up against. He’s such a nerd LOL.’” He lifted his eyes. “Jana. I’m not doing this.”
“Fine, just skip to the last message from her and read that.” She waited, hoping Hunter had won the competition.
“‘They’re not doing the final judging until later. Maybe you can still make it.’”
“Good,” Jana said. “Everyone’s late today. Maybe I can make it.”
The announcer called for Jana and her competitor.
“You’re up, sis.” Brock set her phone in her bag and took her by the shoulders. “I want you to use that feel-good energy to win this fight, you got it?”
Jana nodded. “Just tell me what Hunter’s text says.”
“Come on, Jana. That’s not focusing.” He grabbed the phone with a huff, swiped the screen, and read, “‘We need to talk.’”
Chapter Thirty-One
THE CROWD CHEERED as the winner pranced around the ring with her hands in the air. Jana took her wounded ego and battered body back to the locker room, shrugging off Brock’s consoling words and trying to ignore the blood dripping down her cheek. She’d been so sidetracked about Hunter’s cursory text, and the guilt of missing his competition, that she’d completely lost focus.
She reached into her purse for her phone, and the key Hunter had made fell to the floor, landing with a hollow ping. She swiped at the sweat dripping from her brow, then scrubbed her hand over her face, wincing as her hand touched the welt below her right eye where she’d taken a nasty blow.
Wiping the blood from her hand on her shorts, she leaned down and picked up the simple reminder of their argument. Staring at it lying in her palm, she lowered herself to the bench. Hunter had taken the effort to make the key, when she’d been too busy to even notice that they were living together. His clothes were in her dresser, in her closet. He was there nearly every night. It wasn’t a matter of if she was ready for the opening act. They were the opening act, and had been for quite some time. They were the best opening act! She’d made such a big deal out of the key, and he hadn’t thrown it in her face, or given her an ultimatum. He’d wrapped it gently in her hand and kissed her knuckles.
He loved her. It was evident in everything he did, everything he said—and everything he didn’t say.
And I missed the first part of his competition for a stupid fight and dirty danced like he didn’t matter. What on earth is wrong with me?
She rose to her feet and stuffed her gear into her bag, gathered her purse in her arms, and breathing so hard she felt on the brink of tears, she burst through the locker room doors.
How could she have been so stupid?
“Jana!” Brock caught up to her. “Let me clean up your cut.”
“Can’t. I gotta go.” How could she have said those things to him? We’re not living together. Of course they were. Geez, he must think she was crazy.
“But we’re having a—”
Jana spun around and pressed one hand to her brother’s chest. “I hate to let you down, Brock, but I have a key to deliver.”
His confused gaze made her laugh. She kissed his cheek and ran out the front door.
Her phone vibrated as she tossed her things in the backseat.
She started the car, feeling like she’d won something much bigger than a stupid boxing match. Hunter was right. Everything she wanted was right there in front of her, and she was done being too stubborn to see it.
She drove too fast, making the long drive in record time.
Jana drove down to Wellfleet Harbor, searching for a parking place. Crowds of people spilled from the grass, where the competition was being held, into the street. There were lights shining on a makeshift stage, and after driving up to the parking lot at the pier and finding that lot full, too, she gave up and double-parked.
With Hunter’s key in her hand, she ran down the road, past the Pearl Restaurant, past the gallery and the Bookstore Restaurant, where she was swallowed into the crowd. Her heart was beating so hard, and people were looking at her funny, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was seeing Hunter. She hadn’t even seen his sculpture. Gosh, she really did suck, but she was done being sucky. She was there, with the key to her house, and she was ready to give him everything he wanted. Everything she wanted.
She pushed through the crowd, going up on her toes to look over people’s shoulders and squeezing between couples and children. Until finally. Finally. She could see the stage.
Hunter looked so handsome, in his dark slacks and white shirt, standing beside Grayson. There were six other men and women standing with them. Parker Collins looked as gorgeous as she did on the big screen, and for a millisecond, jealousy clawed at Jana. She shook it off, too focused on why she was there to let anything else rattle her. Parker stood with a man Jana didn’t recognize at the center of the stage, holding microphones.
Please let him win. Please let him win.
Her hands were shaking, and her heart was so full of hope. He’d given her everything. He deserved this more than any other person on earth.
Parker stepped forward and spoke into the microphone. “Thank you all for bearing with us while we took the extra time this afternoon to make our final decisions. Let’s give a hand to each of our talented participants.”
The crowd clapped, and Jana’s stomach sank. Had she missed the award?
When the crowd quieted, Parker turned to face Hunter and the others.
“The reason we took a little longer to make our decision was that we were not only blown away by each of the artists, but we’ve also decided to extend a bigger prize to the winner.”
Please, please say Hunter Lacroux.
“We have two winners of the competition, two very talented brothers, who have lived on the Cape their whole lives. Please give a hand to Hunter and Grayson Lacroux, of Grunter’s Ironworks.”
Tears sprang from Jana’s eyes as she applauded. You won. Thank goodness.
Parker shook Hunter’s and Grayson’s hands. “Your work is incredible, and we’re proud to offer you not only the two-year contract to work with the Collins Children’s Foundation, but we’d like to have you work on-site.”
Hunter and Grayson exchanged a glance, and Jana listened intently.
“You’ll be joining our team of artists not only to work in the LA office,” Par
ker said excitedly, “but traveling around the country for the next two years, working at our satellite offices, all expenses paid.”
The pit of Jana’s stomach knotted. She stumbled backward, tripping over a woman’s leg.
“Sorry,” she mumbled as she pushed her way back through the crowd toward her car. She felt her heart breaking with every unsteady step. LA. Two years of all-expenses-paid traveling. She couldn’t give Hunter the key now. Not when he had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity in the palm of his hands.
Chapter Thirty-Two
JANA DROVE AROUND town in a blur of tears and heartache, topped with a hefty helping of self-loathing. Half an hour after she’d left the competition she’d gotten another cursory text from Hunter. We need to talk. She’d sobbed so hard her chest ached. She’d driven to the beach where they’d watched the sunrise. How could she have been so blind to what was right in front of her? To the love that was growing inside her heart from the very moment she and Hunter had reconnected months ago, when she’d stopped even flirting with other guys? None of that mattered anymore, because she’d already been too selfish.
She drove up to Provincetown just to see the Governor Bradford, the bar where she and Hunter had hooked up a few times. But seeing it only stabbed the knife deeper into her chest. She got on the highway and drove all the way down to Yarmouth, where she pulled into an empty parking lot and sobbed some more. There was no way she was going to tell Hunter how she felt now and make him choose between her and his career. He deserved everything good that came to him.
He deserved a woman who didn’t panic at the thought of a key.
He deserved a woman who didn’t miss the first half of his competition.
Why did those thoughts hurt so much? She wanted to be that woman so badly she could taste it. She wanted to kick her insecurities in their wretched little butts. She wanted a do-over.
When she felt depleted of every ounce of energy, she finally gave up and drove toward home. She couldn’t escape her devastation. There was no escaping a broken heart. She’d been avoiding going home, because one night at home without Hunter had been enough to make her hate her sweet cottage just a little, and the thought of another night without him—forever without him—was too much to bear.
