Far Cry: A Talbott’s Cove Novel

by Canterbary, Kate

  "I did, but he left before nine o'clock," I replied. "He had a couple of beers, bitched about the Red Sox, and took off before the fourth inning. If he was tanked enough to beat up some cans after midnight, he didn't get there on my watch."

  Jackson lifted his shoulders. "I didn't expect so, but I think it's time someone had a conversation with Lincoln about getting help. I'm going to gather some resources and see about sitting down with him and his wife, but I wanted to give you the heads-up."

  "What would it be like for you to leave an I undotted? Have you ever tried?"

  "Is it safe to come out now?" Nate asked as he swept in from the back room. Seeing the sheriff seated at the bar, he stopped, glanced around the tavern. "First the blonde, now the cop. This is a lot of excitement for one afternoon." He fluttered his hand over his chest, but I knew his sarcasm was too dry for the sheriff to translate. "It's a lot for me to process."

  Much too dry. "You're right about that, kid."

  "My apologies." Jackson pushed to his feet, nodded at Nate and me. "I'll keep you updated on these matters. I expect you'll do the same." He stopped several paces from the bar, turned back toward us with a grin. "Give my best to Brooke when you see her tonight."

  * * *

  When I made my way home that night, Brooke was awake and waiting in my bed as I'd requested. She was stripped down to her skin, her knees bent and her hand lazily moving between her legs. That picture was enough to incinerate me on the spot, but it was the screaming sadness in her eyes that slowed me to a stop.

  Her legs fell open. "Make me regret this." My jeans hit the floor. "Make me regret it all."

  There was no thought, no plan. Only Brooke and the absolute certainty I wouldn't allow her to regret anything, ever.

  I wrapped her legs around my waist and watched while she taught me how her clit preferred to be treated, glancing away only long enough to snag a condom from the drawer.

  "Keep doing that, Bam." With one hand on her waist and the other supporting her backside, I positioned myself at her entrance. "I want those fingers moving while I fuck you."

  I thrust into her and that immediate wave of heat rolled up my spine and stole everything from my mind but Brooke. Everything but this woman and the way she was destroying my world.

  "Maybe you should fuck me better," she said. "Then I wouldn't have to take matters into my own hands."

  My hips moved in slow rolls, giving her the kind of deep, dragging slides of my cock I knew she loved. "You want that? Earn it."

  Her eyes darkened at the challenge but it didn't stop her from trembling when I angled her hips to hit the soft spot that made her wild. "You're the worst," she said, her words dissolving into a beautiful moan. "The fucking worst, Jed."

  "That's right, baby. The worst," I agreed. I shifted my hold on her, pressing my index finger to her back entrance. "You hate it when I tell you what to do, when I throw you on the bed, when I make those French panties of yours all wet, when I tease your ass. You hate it so much, Bam. So much. But you come on my cock like you think you can break me."

  With her free hand, she parted her folds, exposing that perfect pink pearl and the place where her most intimate flesh stretched around me. Still rubbing her clit, she said, "Save the sermons. I'm the one doing all the work here."

  "You want me to take over?" I asked, my index finger sliding between her cheeks. She clenched and, yeah, this was the kind of pain I wanted in my life. "You want to stop arguing and let me do this?"

  She turned her face to the pillow, her eyes closed. "I want you to shut up and fuck me like I am the biggest mistake you've ever made."

  "That's what it is for you, Bam? That's what you need? You've been getting it since the start. Never once has this been anything but a mistake." Brooke ground into me, her hips snapping to meet my thrusts while the headboard pounded the wall. "And never once did I think I'd be able to stop. You bring me this cocktease body and I'm gonna want it every damn time. Doesn't matter whether it's any good for me—"

  "It's not," she whispered. "It's not, Jed."

  "Doesn't matter," I said, bowing my head to drag her nipple into my mouth. "Doesn't matter. I'm not stopping. You hear me, Bam? You can't make me stop. Don't you try."

  She blinked up at me, her sapphire eyes as clear as the dawn. "Don't stop. Please, don't."

  "Never." She nodded, her hands still working between her legs. My balls were full and aching, and I was long overdue to empty myself into her. I gradually pulled out and then drove into her, lingering on that sweet spot, the one that felt deep and tender and all fucking mine. I stayed there as the cords holding her together frayed and she broke apart, as gorgeous and strong and fucking furious as I'd ever seen her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Brooke

  Initial Public Offering: a company’s first sale of stock to the public.

  Annette: Jackson just told me the most fascinating story!

  Brooke: Let me guess. Someone was walking along Old County Road last week and they were struck in the leg with a golf ball. They contacted the sheriff directly because what else would you do about a non-event in the Cove? And the sheriff determined a few teenage boys were practicing their chip shots in their backyard. No charges were pressed.

  Annette: Nope, not that one.

  Brooke: Okay, let me think.

  Brooke: Was it the car stopped between Jeffries Point Road and Main Street a little before midnight last night? The one where the guy had a craving for meatballs but wasn't sure where to go at that hour so he stopped in the damn intersection?

  Annette: I hope you find this amusing, my dear.

  Brooke: It's not amusing. It's the official Talbott's Cove sheriff's log. It's printed in the Talbott's Cove Times.

  Annette: Wait, so…you read that? For funsies?

  Brooke: No, I sure don't but my father does. Since he only knows how to read on the best of his days, I get to read those entries to him every bloody morning.

  Annette: Wow. Okay. I hadn't heard about the guy with the meatballs.

  Brooke: I want to know if he got any. The sheriff's log really needs to provide more follow-up details. Can you ask Jackson about that?

  Annette: I'll see what I can do.

  Annette: The story he did tell me involved you and JJ. Believe me when I tell you he was completely scandalized by the conversation he observed.

  Brooke: Whatever he heard was out of context, I assure you.

  Annette: There was no ultimatum issued? Nothing about giving you something worth staying awake? And he didn't offer up a semi-threatening response about making you regret that ultimatum?

  Brooke: Pillow talk.

  Annette: …in the middle of a tavern?

  Brooke: Um, okay, Miss Judgypants.

  Annette: Stop it.

  Brooke: I didn't realize you'd apply your contempt and condemnation like strawberry jam all over my toasty sex life.

  Annette: No contempt, no condemnation. Just really amused to find your under-the-radar, no-strings, no-big-deal dick appointment is now an in-public, sexy-ultimatums-and-threats kind of relationship. If I had to guess, I'd say you'll be sharing a Netflix account within two months.

  Brooke: Is that what couples do now? They share streaming accounts? What is this world we live in?

  Annette: It's crazy, I know.

  Annette: In other news, I have some fabulous ideas for double dates!

  Brooke: I didn't understand a single word in that sentence.

  Annette: Just you wait. I'll extract my vengeance for your months of secret-keeping.

  Brooke: Fuck, you are evil. Diabolical. Why does anyone think you're the nice one?

  Annette: Because I let them believe it.

  Brooke: Wow. Just…wow.

  Brooke: The Good Witch wasn't good, was she? It was an act and she had the right look for it.

  Annette: And the Wicked Witch wasn't wicked, honey. She'd just taken too much of everyone's shit to play nice anymore.

  * * *
/>
  Brooke: My sister-wife heard about the conversation we had at the tavern yesterday afternoon, from Jackson.

  JJ: Please don't call her that. I'm sure it's some kind of appropriation and it also weirds me out.

  Brooke: You don't like bloodless sister either.

  JJ: What is wrong with her name? Why can't you simply say you talked to Annette?

  Brooke: Because I'm cheeky like that.

  JJ: All right. Fine. What are you trying to tell me?

  Brooke: Jackson was a little concerned about the things he heard and passed that info along to (let me see if I do this right) Annette.

  JJ: Yeah, I had a great chat with him after you left.

  Brooke: You didn't mention that last night.

  JJ: No, I was more interested in fucking you than recounting my conversation with the sheriff.

  Brooke: I won't disagree with that logic.

  JJ: Good girl.

  Brooke: Don't tell me I can't use sister-wife when you toss around good girl. That one is just as bad.

  JJ: Funny how you didn't object last night.

  Brooke: All I wanted to tell you is Jackson told Annette everything he heard and now Annette is cooking up some devious double dates for us.

  JJ: I'm not sure I want to ask but—what the actual fuck are you talking about?

  Brooke: Don't worry. It'll be fine. She won't act on those threats.

  JJ: Great. Have your ass in my bed before midnight.

  Brooke: Excuse you.

  JJ: Be a good girl and do as you're told.

  Brooke: Oh, so you want to play?

  JJ: Any day, Bam. Any day for you.

  * * *

  Annette: Hey, you two!

  Brooke: omfg. Annette. What is this? A group text? Are you serious?

  Annette: I'm inviting you both to a dinner party!

  Jackson: We'd be thrilled to have you over.

  Annette: Right! Yes! WE are inviting you two to a dinner party!

  Brooke: What do you mean by "dinner party"?

  Annette: Jackson and I want to have you over for dinner on Thursday and it's a party!

  Brooke: That's enough exclamation points, lady. You're killing me.

  JJ: What distinguishes dinner from a dinner party?

  Annette: We're expecting you two at 7 on Thursday!

  JJ: Will there be party hats at this dinner party? Is that what carries it over the line into party territory?

  Jackson: We'll skip the hats.

  Annette: Can't wait to spend time with both of you, together!

  JJ: Are gifts exchanged at a dinner party?

  Annette: And don't think you can get out of this!

  * * *

  Brooke: Any chance you have a food and beverage emergency you'll need to handle tomorrow evening?

  JJ: Are you trying to get rid of me?

  Brooke: I just don't want to do this.

  JJ: I'm the last one to willingly break bread with law enforcement considering Lau is a pain in my ass more often than not, but I don't mind your sidekick Annette.

  Brooke: I think I'm her sidekick, actually.

  JJ: Either way, I'm guaranteed a good meal from her. That's more than I can say for you.

  Brooke: Yeah, feeding people isn't one of my gifts or talents.

  JJ: Aside from me joining in, how is this different from any other evening you'd spend with them?

  Brooke: I'd rather not view it through that lens.

  JJ: The logic lens?

  Brooke: Call it what you want.

  JJ: Should we bring something?

  Brooke: How the hell should I know? See, this is how it's different. I've third-wheeled it with them plenty of times and never once worried about sacrificial offerings to the dinner party gods.

  JJ: I was thinking more along the lines of a bottle of wine or something, or some flowers. Not so much in the sacrifice lane.

  Brooke: Again, call it what you want.

  JJ: I can grab a bottle of wine, gin, vodka. Two, even. A combo pack if you want to go wild. I have plenty in the storeroom.

  Brooke: No, that's boring. Unimaginative.

  JJ: Your confidence in me is inspiring.

  Brooke: You don't need any additional confidence. You're doing fine.

  JJ: Okay. We won't bring wine.

  Brooke: I'll figure something out. Don't worry about it.

  JJ: I wasn't worried.

  Brooke: You're never worried.

  JJ: That is untrue.

  Brooke: You never worry about things that matter.

  JJ: Yeah. Imaginative dinner party gifts for your best friend are the things that really matter.

  * * *

  Brooke: Exactly what kind of Meet the Parents shit are you trying to pull?

  Annette: I haven't a clue what you mean.

  Brooke: You have many clues.

  Annette: Listen. There was a small bedroom accident this morning and I nailed my head on the footboard. I have a terrible headache and an obnoxious goose egg that customers won't stop asking about. I'm going to skip our slow-walk-to-the-conclusion routine and give you some real talk.

  Brooke: How…did you hit your head on the footboard?

  Annette: It was a reverse cowgirl accident.

  Brooke: Paint the picture, honey. Talk me through this.

  Annette: Okay, so I'm on his dick and things are fine until I reach down and start playing with his balls and…other points of interest in that vicinity. Things got a little rowdy and I lost my balance and flew head first at the footboard post.

  Brooke: The bronco bucked you off?

  Annette: Pretty much.

  Brooke: You know, I am not having that kind of sex. I think I'm okay with that.

  Annette: Since we've cleared that up, I'd like to remind you that you fight back against things, all the time. It's your way of insisting the people in your world prove how much we really love you. We have to get past many levels of you pushing us away in order to prove we actually want to be with you. Because you'd rather reject people than be rejected. So, yes, we're having this dinner party, and yes, you are attending. Because Jackson and I love you so much, we'll go find you and drag you to the event if you don't come willingly.

  Brooke: This makes me sound incredibly high-maintenance.

  Annette: Humans are high maintenance. Some are better at putting those requirements out there than others.

  Brooke: This is scary for me.

  Annette: I know. It will be all right. I would never put you in a situation where it wouldn't be all right.

  Brooke: I don't deserve you.

  Annette: You do. You deserve many good things.

  Brooke: At this dinner party…can I ask Jackson whether he's going to outfit you in pro football gear before taking you to bed again?

  Annette: He feels awful about this.

  Brooke: Great, I'll capitalize on that.

  * * *

  After spending the entire afternoon in small, cluttered boutiques all along the seacoast that offered everything from scented candles to quilted tote bags to wind chimes, I'd found a gift and completed the inevitable transition into my mother. There was no other way to explain the cellophane-wrapped basket that required both arms to carry.

  "Would you let me take that?" Jed asked for the fortieth time as we stepped up to Jackson and Annette's door.

  I nudged his hand away when he tried to free the basket from my grasp. The cellophane protested these movements with a crackle. "There's no need."

  "You can't see over it. You're going to wind up falling on your ass." He reached for the basket again and I batted him away, nearly losing my hold on it in the process. "What do you have in there? It's the size of a commercial food processor, Bam."

  "It's not a food processor. She already has one of those."

  "Great. So, what the hell is it?" he asked.

  Before I could respond, the door swept open and Annette cried, "Come in, come in, come in."

  Jed glanced between me and Annette s
everal times. "No one mentioned anything about a costume party."

  Annette touched her fingertips to the wide swath of Pucci-inspired fabric covering her forehead and woven through her dark, curly hair. "It was optional," she replied. "I'm not surprised Brooke kept that tidbit to herself. You know how she hates these sorts of silliness."

  "I do not hate silliness one bit. In fact, I love when sex accidents necessitate silliness," I argued, stepping inside the house. "Here." I pushed the gift toward her and nearly succeeded in knocking her down. "This is for you. And Jackson too, of course."

  "Of course," Annette said over the crinkle of cellophane. "But what the hell is this and why are you giving it to me?"

  At a volume not far from screeching, I replied, "It's a hostess gift. For hosting us."

  "Bam," Jed murmured as he skimmed his knuckles down my back. "Take a breath."

  Annette plopped down on the sofa, setting the basket beside her. "Let's see how to open this," she said, examining the basket for entry points. The cellophane squealed under her touch. It was taped and tied and ribboned to death. There was no entry. "Hmm. I wasn't prepared for a puzzle tonight."

  I pressed a hand to my mouth because oh my freaking god, why didn't I opt for a bottle of relatively silent wine with an obvious opening?

  "For fuck's sake," Jed breathed, reaching into his pocket as he crouched in front of the sofa. He took hold of the ribbon-tied top, flipped open a Swiss Army knife, and cut the wrappings off at the head. He drew the blade down the sides and front, peeling back the layers as he went. "There you go."

  Annette ran her hands over the carefully displayed items, prying each from the mess of paper grass filling the bottom of the basket. Still staring at the gifts, she said, "You must be deep in the feels." She hefted the serving platter up, studied it, turned it over. "Oh, my friend. You're deep in your feels, aren't you?"

  Folding up his knife, Jed asked, "Do I want to know what that means?"