Far Cry: A Talbott’s Cove Novel

by Canterbary, Kate

  "This entire town," I cried, a manic laugh winding through my words. "This small, insular, homogenous town where everyone is convinced the best days are behind them and the only solution is going backward. And these people who believe the old ways were best and refuse to acknowledge that progress might be a good thing." I stared at him in the darkness. "How do you do it? Because I can't deal."

  Jed reached for my hand, layered it between both of his as we walked. "You had a shitty conversation with Denise Primiani. Who hasn't?"

  "It's not one person with one shitty outlook," I replied. "It's the fact that many people share that outlook and feel comfortable announcing it."

  "I understand what you're saying, Bam, but that's not a Talbott's Cove problem. That's everywhere and you know it." He shifted my hand to his waist while he unlocked the front door. "What's the Cove ever done to you?"

  He pushed the door open and I stepped inside, kicked off my shoes. Butterscotch was quick to run up. ”Look around, Jed. The Cove doesn't resemble the rest of the world. It's about as diverse as pasta salad. Noodles and mayonnaise and, if you're lucky, a few bits of color and spice."

  "Pasta salad. Okay." His lips twitched as if he wanted to laugh, but he knew enough to hold back. "Owen Bartlett, the chair of the town council, is a gay man. That has to count for something."

  "Sure, it counts, but the fact we're handing out brownie points for accepting a native son's sexuality is kind of ridiculous," I replied, pacing the length of the living room. "Not to mention, being able to name one gay man in the whole of this town and trying to pass that off as proof of Talbott's Cove forward evolution is absurd."

  "Technically, we can name two because his boyfriend Cole lives with him now."

  I held my arms up in celebration. "There we go. Two gay men equals a diverse, inclusive town. Check. Done. Problem solved."

  "Perhaps I've mentioned once or twice how I'm working on bringing something new to this town." He perched his hands on his hips. "Jobs, tourists, money. Those things won't wave a magic wand over the town, but they'll get the tide turning."

  "And you know I think it's an incredible plan," I replied. "Perhaps I've mentioned how I have money to invest."

  "You know I can't do that, sweetheart. Keep your money."

  I stopped pacing, stared at him. "Let me see if I have this straight. I can't complain about people with shitty opinions because they're everywhere. I can't complain about the pasta salad because you're solving that. And I can't invest in the distillery because you need a separation between cocks and stocks. Does that sum it up?"

  Jed studied me for a moment, his gaze raking up from my bare feet, over my slim black pants and blousy top, stopping at my lips. He tilted his head to the side as if he'd settled a disagreement with himself and brought his hand to my back, resting between my shoulder blades. He nudged me forward, toward the hallway. Toward the bedroom. "You forgot to add in the piece about you rejecting all the local authority you possess by virtue of birthright."

  "That's where your calculations are incorrect." I reached for his belt. "Just because my father leaned into the whole Markhams of Maine thing doesn't mean I can or should."

  Growling, Jed yanked the shirt over my head. "You backed away from Denise's bullshit tonight. You didn't call her on any of it and you could have."

  I scowled up at him as I unbuttoned his shirt. "Because I didn't want to start a brawl."

  "A few well-chosen words and Denise would have a fresh perspective on so-called juvenile delinquents." He pushed my pants down to my knees and held my elbows as I wiggled out of them. "If we don't stick around and call out the bullshit when we hear it, this place will always be the same soggy pasta salad it's always been. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world for you to put some of your family's leverage to good use."

  "You're assigning me more power than I have on reserve, aside from the fact this isn't about me. This town hasn't seen a boom year in my lifetime but everyone is holding out hope we can find our way back to those good old days. If only we could slow down, back track over everything we've gained, and return to a time when the world was a simpler, more oppressive, more restrictive place, and then we'd be on the right track. You make it sound like I should—" I went flying through the air, landing on the bed with a shout. "What the hell was that for?"

  Jed climbed onto the bed and settled over me, his knees tucked under my arms and his cock hard between my breasts. "That was for the look you've been giving me for the past few hours." He brushed my hair from my face and cupped my jaw. "It's time for you to suck some dick, sweetheart."

  "What about snatching a soul?"

  He took my hand, curled it around his erection. "You already did."

  "I don't suck dicks," I replied as my hand shuttled over him.

  He growled, low and guttural, just the way I loved. "You do now."

  I shook my head, the movement causing me to brush my lips over his crown. "Probably not."

  "Bam, you can't convince me you don't want this." His hips jerked as I stroked him harder. "I've watched you all night. I saw it in your eyes. Saw how you want to be completely merciless."

  "You're selling this rather aggressively."

  I shot him an indignant glare as I considered all the creative ways I could explain I wasn't meeting his dick-sucking needs. Instead of offering any of them, I opened my mouth, rubbed him against my lips. He was hot and thick, and throbbing in my palm, on my tongue.

  His hand shot behind my head, urging me closer, rubbing my scalp. "Brooke. Fuck. Fuck."

  I wrapped my tongue around his head and tasted the bead of fluid waiting there. It wasn't as unpleasant as I'd remembered. The muscles in his legs flexed, tightening against my torso as his body tensed. He twisted my name into groans, growls, and curses while his body arched and shuddered.

  I wanted it this way. I wanted him begging and shaking, pulling my hair and trapping my body under his. I wanted him to want me even when I gagged, when my eyes watered, when I wasn't perfect.

  Even when I told myself I didn't, I wanted him.

  * * *

  JJ threw the car in reverse and hooked his arm over the back of my seat. I glanced down at my lap, a warm pulse moving through me as he backed out. It wasn't sexual. It wasn't about his body. It was care and competency and it turned me on, just the way it turned me on when I watched him tap a keg and mix a martini.

  I didn't understand how something as simple as know-how could start me up, but I couldn't help it. I felt this as profoundly as filthy words whispered into my ear.

  "What's wrong?" he asked, pausing at the end of the driveway.

  "Nothing."

  "Not nothing. Looks like you're annoyed." He considered me. "Or praying."

  "Praying and annoyance are interchangeable in your book?"

  "No, Bam. When it comes to you, everything comes with a side of annoyance."

  "Or prayer?" I countered. I glanced down at the skintight jeans I'd selected for tonight's double date. We were meeting Jackson and Annette for dinner in the big city—as big as it got in Maine—Portland. The guys didn't know it yet, but they were also taking us dancing. "These are not the jeans of a woman who spends much time on prayer."

  "Would you just tell me what your problem is? Goddammit, woman. Half the time you invent arguments just to give yourself something to do, I'm sure of it."

  "Right," I deadpanned. "Because I have nothing better to do. Makes complete sense."

  "You always have something better to do. That's not in question. It's whether you'd rather do that or start fires."

  "Now I'm a fire starter?"

  "As far as I can tell, that's how you spend the other half of your time."

  I could've said something. I could've told him he looked good tonight or that I appreciated him doing this for me. I could've formed those words and sat there, vulnerable as fuck for a minute.

  I didn't.

  "It's rather cavalier of you to claim I'm inventing problems or starting fire
s when you were begging me to suck your cock less than"—I shot a pointed glance at the dashboard clock—"eighteen hours ago."

  "Bam, sweetheart, if I were to apply that logic, you'd have to keep that pretty mouth of yours shut on a near permanent basis." He reached out, slipped his hand through my hair. "Since I know there's no way in hell to shut you up, why don't you tell me what's wrong."

  "Nothing," I insisted as his grip tightened. "It was nothing. I'm fine. Seriously."

  "I don't believe you." He loosened his hold on my hair only to gather up the strands again and twist them around his palm. "Would it kill you to be honest with me? Really, is it that hard for you?"

  There it was. The quiet genius of JJ Harniczek. I didn't have to say anything for him to know everything or damn close to it.

  I licked my lips, glanced away as much as I could given his grip on my hair. "Sometimes."

  "What can I do about that?"

  "It's not you."

  He tipped his head from side to side. "Sure, that's a handy answer. But, as you mentioned, you're the woman sucking my cock. I'd like to make it better for you if I can."

  "That starts with giving me plenty of warning. I'm not a swallower."

  He shut his eyes, drew in a breath. He studied me as he exhaled. "I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry. That one got away from me." He leaned closer, bringing our foreheads together. Then, "Tell me you're all right and make me believe it."

  "I'm honestly fine," I said, laughing. "I'm, um…I'm happy you're coming with us."

  "You're not convincing me of anything," he replied.

  "That's not my problem, Jed. Convince yourself."

  "Answer me one thing." I murmured in agreement. "Are you coming home with me at the end of the night?"

  "That depends," I replied. "Will you complain about me and Annette dragging you guys to some clubs after dinner? Are you going to give me shit about drinking tequila and dancing like it's my job?"

  "Not at all," he answered.

  "Will you complain if I dance with other guys?"

  His lips pulled up at the corners. "That depends on whether you're coming home with me, sweetheart."

  "And if I do?"

  "Then I have no reason not to trust you."

  Chapter Thirty

  JJ

  Yield: the return on investment.

  Brooke wore second-skin jeans and a satin bustier she'd hidden under a blazer during the drive and dinner. She made me watch from the sidelines while she and Annette knocked back shots and shook their asses all over the club's dance floor. That part was tough for Jackson. He couldn't handle the sight of men circling Annette and Brooke without snarling like a junkyard dog.

  I did some snarling of my own, but it had nothing to do with the men she cast off with little more than a shake of her head. No, those snarls came from the expanding pressure inside my chest. Brooke-Ashley Markham ruined my life, but she also patched it up and put it back together. Nothing was the same, nothing sat in the proper order, but none of that mattered because I loved her. It was a long time coming, but here, tonight, I saw it up close and I felt the blunt force of it as she moved with the music.

  "I'm going out there," rumbled Jackson.

  I slapped an arm across his chest to hold him back but never took my eyes off Brooke. "You're not," I replied. "They have this under control."

  He jutted a finger toward Annette and Brooke. "That's not under control."

  I watched while a random dude pushed himself between them and made an attempt at grabbing Brooke's ass. My hands curled into fists and the pressure in my chest expanded with sharp points, but I waved Jackson off.

  "Just wait," I murmured. "Give her a minute. Let her do this."

  Brooke looped her arm through Annette's elbow as she rounded on the man. Her hair floated down her back and over her bare shoulders in loose waves, but that didn't soften the stare she sent in his direction. I couldn't hear the words she spoke to him but as I'd expected, they worked. He lifted his hands in surrender as she ticked off a list on her fingers. She mimed him stepping back, staying out of their circle. She wagged a finger at him and I was certain I saw the word sorry form on his lips. Then, she flicked her wrist and he bolted from the dance floor.

  "Shit," Jackson muttered.

  That woman is a motherfucking force to be reckoned with and I love her.

  "I told you she'd handle it," I said, as smug as I fucking pleased.

  "As impressive as that was, can we get out of here now?" Jackson asked miserably. "At this rate, I'm going to start making arrests or grow an ulcer. Maybe both."

  "Soon," I replied. "Wait until they take their shoes off. That's when you know they're close."

  After several minutes of silence between us, Jackson said, "We should've started that book club."

  "The first rule of book club is you don't talk about the book club," I said, mostly to myself.

  "That's interesting because the second rule of book club is you don't talk about the book club," Jackson added. "But there's no book club, so the other rules are irrelevant."

  I shifted to face him, a laugh shaking my shoulders. "That wasn't bad, sheriff."

  "High praise coming from you, Harniczek."

  It wasn't long before Brooke and Annette left us in possession of their shoes, but they went a barefoot hour before calling it a night. They hugged for ten solid minutes before parting.

  I drove her home, carried her tipsy ass inside, and led her to the bed I'd stopped calling mine in favor of ours. We found each other with unhurried touches and kisses, nothing like the first nights we'd shared together, when everything was over before it started.

  "Thank you for coming along tonight," Brooke said.

  "There was nowhere else I wanted to be," I replied.

  "And thank you for keeping Jackson under control. He wanted to pull the sheriff routine all over the dance floor, I could tell."

  "You're right about that," I said, laughing.

  "I know group dates and dance clubs aren't your ideal evening out." She dipped her head, pressed a kiss to my neck. "Thank you for letting me and Annette have this."

  "And thank you for letting me watch," I replied. "Do you know how much I loved seeing you kick ass out there? Fuck, you were amazing. Do you know? How much I love seeing you kick ass all the time? How much I love—I love you?" I heard a sudden inhale of breath from her, but now that I'd started, I couldn't stop. "You might not want me saying that. You might have reasons and arguments, but—"

  "I love you too." She propped herself up on an elbow, lifted her hand to my cheek. Blinked down at me with those bright blue eyes and hair like heaven. "You're right. I didn't want those words because I don't know how. I don't know how, Jed, and I'm terrified I'll do it wrong."

  I rolled her onto her back, settled between her legs. "You can't do it wrong, Bam."

  "But you can," she argued, her hands warm on my chest. "You can. I've seen it, I've lived through it. My parents, they—"

  "They're not us," I interrupted gently. "And we won't be them."

  She reached up, loosened my hair from its tie. As strands fell to my shoulders, she raked her fingers over my scalp. "I don't know what I'm doing and it scares the hell out of me, but I know I love you."

  Raw, fragile honesty from this woman was like a shooting star. I kissed her then because come the fuck on, how could I not? "That's all you need to know, Bam."

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Brooke

  Discounting: calculating the present value of a future amount.

  "What is that?" I grumbled to Jed's chest.

  "What's what?"

  I pushed up on an elbow, glanced around his bedroom with bleary eyes. Gentle rays of morning sun streamed in through gaps between the curtains. I blinked at the clock in an attempt to clear the sleep and lingering alcohol. As I blinked, the muffled sound echoed through the room again.

  "That," I insisted. "Do you hear it?"

  "Go back to sleep, Bam." He tugged me down, fold
ed me into his arms so that I heard only his heartbeat.

  I dozed for a bit—a few minutes, maybe more. But then there was a heavy knock on the front door.

  Jed sat up, murmuring, "Who the hell is at my door first thing in the damn morning?" Not wasting time on boxers, he stepped into his jeans and zipped the fly. He left the top button and belt open. It read like a promise: he didn't intend to be clothed for long. I admired that promise. "I'll see what this is all about and be back. Stay here with the dog."

  He nodded at Butterscotch, who was curled up in her bed and hadn't heard anything. "Yeah, I'm counting on her for guidance."

  "It's too early for you to start with the comments, Bam." He snapped his fingers. "Come on, girl," he said to the dog. "You need to earn your keep."

  For her part, she jumped up from her bed, galloped toward me, and rubbed her head against my outstretched hand.

  "Good girl." With a smirk, he added. "Both of you." He disappeared into the hall only to return a moment later with my purse. "This is vibrating." When the pounding on the door continued, Jed called, "Calm the fuck down, we're coming." He tossed the bag onto the bed. "Turn off your alarm or whatever you have going. It sounds like a time bomb."

  I swiped my phone to life, finding seventeen missed calls from Annette, a long line of texts asking me to answer her calls, and five voicemails. There were other texts, other calls. The first ones came in two hours ago and they came from my father's house.

  I gazed down at the screen as a ridge of icicles formed along my shoulder blades. My head swam. Goose bumps rippled over my skin. I knew I was clutching the device, but I couldn't feel it. I wasn't certain I felt anything more than cold. "Jed. Jed, can you come here?"

  When the shape of him filled the doorway, I hadn't managed to glance away from the screen. He gathered a few things from the floor as he rounded the bed and settled on the edge. "Give me that," he murmured, snatching the device away and slipping it in his back pocket. "We need to put some clothes on you, okay? Jackson's here. He wants to talk to you for a minute."