He's So Fine

by Jill Shalvis

  “To Gil,” Tanner said.

  Then they each took a long pull, the first of many. Paused to swallow.

  And then repeat.

  And…repeat again.

  It was their second annual Get Shit-Faced in Gil’s Memory drunk fest.

  They didn’t speak at all through the next few shots, which left too much time to think. There was a dull ache in Cole’s chest. For Gil.

  For his dad.

  For Cara, who’d decided that her cheating husband needed to get the hell out instead of her leaving, and who’d needed Cole to help enforce her decision last night.

  Which meant he’d never gotten back to Olivia’s…

  He drank some more and enjoyed the burn down his esophagus. It matched the one in his gut.

  And heart. “Gil would’ve liked it here,” he said. “Lucky Harbor.”

  Sam blew out a breath. “He would’ve liked anywhere that wasn’t on a rig.”

  Tanner’s mouth quirked in a barely there smile. “He did hate the rigs.”

  And he’d never gotten to leave them…

  They all drank again. Pleasantly numb, Cole leaned back and studied the starry night. “Remember that time he set all the toilets to blow at two in the morning?”

  Both Sam and Tanner laughed. This was the tradition.

  Remembering.

  Never forgetting.

  “You went apeshit,” Tanner said to Sam.

  “Yeah, because two guys were on the pot at the time. Luckily no real injuries, but it took me days to sort that shit out. Literally.”

  “He always loved a good prank,” Tanner said fondly. “Remember when he put laxative in the meatloaf?” He pointed his bottle at Cole. “You’re the one who went apeshit.”

  “Because it was my guys who ate three servings and couldn’t work for two days. The shit really hit the fan then.”

  They all laughed and drank again.

  “How about when he left us fake messages from our girlfriends, moms, and sisters,” Sam said, “saying that they knew what we were up to in our free time.”

  “Now that was fun,” Tanner said. “Getting hounded by the moms.”

  “Yeah,” Cole said. “Mine said my mom had heard that I was getting serious with Susan, that she knew I’d been online ring shopping and wanted to give me diamond-buying advice.” He took another long swig. In hindsight, when the shit had once again hit the fan and he’d had time to think, it’d bothered the hell out of him.

  Because he had been getting serious about Susan. So serious that he’d asked her to marry him. After a lifetime of not particularly seeing himself with kids and a family, something deep inside had shifted, and he’d changed his mind. He’d wanted his own unit to belong to. To belong to him.

  But Susan had said no, that she wasn’t ready for that.

  What she hadn’t said was that she’d fallen in love with Gil. Nope, she’d saved that little tidbit until the day of Gil’s funeral.

  Cole didn’t register the long, heavy silence around him until Tanner sighed and set down his bottle. “He shouldn’t have pulled that prank on you,” he said to Cole. “He thought he was being funny, but he regretted it, big time.”

  Cole stared at Tanner, a sudden sinking in his gut. “Why would he regret it?”

  Tanner got a sort of oh-shit-I-fucked-up look on his face and said nothing, which did not help Cole’s gut.

  Or his brain, as the organ helpfully rushed to come up with a few explanations, not a single one of which he liked. Cole set down his bottle as well. “Susan and I had talked about marriage, so he was right there.” He stilled as his brain finally settled on what was bugging him. He hadn’t told anyone he’d asked Susan to marry him, but clearly she had. Shit. Fuck. “Goddamn. Susan told Gil.”

  Sam and Tanner exchanged a look that Cole had no problem interpreting. They knew something. And yeah, he was halfway crocked, maybe more than half, but he could still think.

  At least a little bit. “What?” he demanded.

  Tanner picked his bottle back up and tipped it to his lips.

  Sam did the same.

  “What?” Cole said again. Even though he knew. Yeah, he knew, and it wasn’t sitting well. In fact, he was thinking about throwing up.

  “Nothing, man,” Tanner said.

  “Let it go,” Sam said.

  Cole nodded. But then he shook his head because he wasn’t much good at letting anything go, and now didn’t seem like the time to start. Hell no. Plus the room was spinning just a little bit.

  Or a lot.

  As he looked around the interior of the boat he loved nearly as much as he did Sam and Tanner, the effects of the alcohol made it seem as if they were on the high seas. Except maybe it was him moving. “Susan told Gil, and he told you two.”

  Another look passed between his supposed best friends. He stood up and pointed at Sam and Tanner. “Someone better fucking start talking.”

  “Let it go,” Sam repeated, standing up too.

  Cole narrowed his eyes and got up in Sam’s space. “And what exactly am I letting go?”

  Sam’s jaw bunched. “You’re pissed. I get that. But you want to back the fuck up.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Tanner sighed and stood up, too, pushing his way between them. “We’re fucking up the celebration of Gil’s life.”

  Staring at the two guys he’d loved for so long he couldn’t remember being without them, Cole shook his head. “I can’t believe it. Susan told Gil she’d turned me down.” He shook his head again. “But I’m getting the feeling you both already knew that, too. Yeah?”

  Sam’s gaze never left Cole’s.

  “Yeah,” Cole said. “I’m right.” He stared at them both. “Jesus.” He shoved his fingers into his hair. “For two years I’ve sucked that bullshit down like a serving of cut glass. Thought that was the worst of it. Guess I was wrong there, huh? You two knowing all along and not telling me? That’s worse by far.”

  Tanner had the good grace to grimace.

  “How long have you known?” Sam asked Cole.

  “I found out at the funeral. When she fell to a thousand pieces in my arms over the real love of her life being dead,” Cole said. “I think the real question here is, how long have you known?”

  The looks on their faces had him closing his eyes and dropping his head into his hands. “Longer than me,” he muttered. “Doesn’t matter how or when, you’ve known longer than me.” He lifted his head again. “And you kept it from me. Jesus, was there some sort of memo on how to fuck me over?” He grabbed his bottle. “I need another drink. I need…” To throw up. “I need to get the fuck out of here.”

  Sam reached for him but he shoved free and also nearly planted his fist in Sam’s face. When both friends started to follow him, Cole pointed at them. “Don’t.”

  Sam opened his mouth.

  “Don’t talk, either. Don’t…“ He turned away. “Don’t anything.”

  “Come on, man,” Tanner said. “Don’t leave. Not like this. It’s not what you think—”

  “It’s exactly what I think,” he said, and left. He was only halfway up the dock when Tanner’s first text hit.

  Get your moody bitch-ass back here.

  Delete.

  He was at the warehouse when Sam’s text arrived.

  We thought you were over her. We didn’t want to stir it up. Come back.

  Cole stopped in the lot, momentarily stymied. Definitely too toasted to drive. He could hitch a ride home—if he’d remembered to grab his house keys from the boat.

  Since going back wasn’t an option, he hit the beach and started walking. His heart was pounding and so was his head.

  Old memories.

  Old hurts.

  We thought you were over her.

  He was. He’d also thought he was past the fact that his woman and his best friend had sneaked around behind his back.

  He’d really thought that. After all, Gil was dead, Susan had moved on. There was no reason t
o harbor the resentment and bad blood.

  So he hadn’t.

  He’d been a grown-up and done as Susan had. He’d moved on. And in the brilliance of twenty-twenty hindsight, he’d come to realize that he and Susan wouldn’t have made a good pair anyway.

  He hadn’t been the one for her.

  He’d taken that unforeseen blow to his heart and soul, to his ability to love and trust in a woman, blah blah. And he’d gone on, choosing to believe that there was someone else out there for him, someone better suited.

  Not that he’d gone looking. No, he hadn’t been all that eager to possibly get screwed up again. He’d figured if it was meant to be, it would happen. Someone would walk into his life, past his walls, and right into his heart.

  Olivia.

  Her face came into his head. Her dark, deep eyes always held just a little bit of pain, no matter whether she was laughing or working or just standing still.

  Always.

  A kindred spirit, she’d walked right past his barriers. Not willingly. No, she was just as reluctant as he was to let herself feel.

  And somehow that made her even more trustworthy.

  His phone buzzed again, a call this time. From Sam, one of the two people he’d trusted to have his back no matter what.

  And he, like Tanner, had known about Susan and Gil, and hadn’t told him.

  What if Cole had never found out? What if he and Susan had stayed together?

  Would Sam and Tanner have let Cole continue to love someone who didn’t, couldn’t, love him back? Ignore.

  Again his cell buzzed.

  Tanner this time.

  Cole resisted the urge to chuck his phone into the churning water and turned it off instead. He shoved his hands into his pockets. Hunching his shoulders against the chill, he kept walking.

  When he got to the end of the harbor, the rocky terrain cut him off. He could go for a hike straight up the rock bluffs, or he could go for a swim in the choppy water.

  Or he could head back.

  It took him a good long time to decide, but he was pissed off, not suicidal. So he headed back. All too quickly he was staring up at the dock. At their boat. At the two guys sitting at the top of the stairs from the beach to the dock waiting for him.

  Suddenly Cole was glad it was so damn cold. He hoped they’d frozen their balls off. Taking every other stair, he walked past them without a word.

  “Ah, come on,” Tanner said to his back. “You’re the level-headed one. You know why we didn’t tell you.”

  “Because you’re assholes?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “I know that’s how it looks, but— Christ, will you stop walking?”

  No. No, he wouldn’t. And when he heard their footsteps signaling they were following him, he spun around.

  And nearly fell over.

  Note to self: Getting too old for a bottle of Jameson.

  “We need to talk,” Sam said.

  “That time came and went.” Cole held their gazes hard, and he knew his message was received when they both took on a frustrated expression.

  And worried.

  And guilty.

  Not giving a shit, Cole turned—more carefully this time—and hightailed it out of there.

  He had no idea where he was going, of course. None. Used to be when he was a train wreck, he’d go to Sam and Tanner.

  Not tonight.

  The cold night coupled with the alcohol had his chest tightening painfully. Or maybe that was because the numbness had worn off. He wanted oblivion. He wanted warmth.

  He wanted…to be wanted.

  And suddenly he knew exactly where he was going.

  Chapter 24

  Olivia was locked in a dream, one she hadn’t had in a very long time. She was sitting on the set of Not Again, Hailey!, her hair being brushed by a grumpy hairdresser, listening to the director and producer argue over her clothing.

  “She’s getting fat,” the producer whispered, except that the people in China could’ve heard him. “Someone needs to cut her off from the craft services.”

  “Shh!” the director hissed. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that; we’ll get sued. Jesus. Just dress her in layers or something, and I’ll work the lighting and angles.”

  I’m not fat! Olivia tried to yell this, but her mouth wouldn’t open. She looked down at herself. She was what, turning sixteen? She’d just gotten boobs and okay, so her belly wasn’t concave any longer and she’d developed hips. It was hard for her to deal with it; she didn’t need it spelled out.

  It’d been bad enough when she’d gotten her period that last summer. Everyone on the entire set had been privy to the information, all of them panicked because now that she wasn’t a petite little girl anymore, the show would change.

  How was she to possibly have avoided puberty?

  The director knocked on the producer’s forehead. “Hello? You in there?”

  “Hey,” Olivia said, and…sat up.

  She’d been dreaming.

  She knew why, too. It was because she needed to face Cole and be honest. She looked at the clock on her nightstand. One a.m.

  The knock came again, and she realized that someone was really at her door. She slipped out of bed, bent low to grab the baseball bat she kept under her mattress, and padded to the door. One look out the peephole had her sucking in a breath and undoing the chain, dead bolt, and lock to pull open the door.

  Cole was arms up, hands flat on the doorjamb above him. He didn’t speak, didn’t move except to lift his head and look at her.

  His eyes were hollow, his mouth grim.

  “Are you…okay?” she asked.

  He gave one slow shake of his head, put a hand low on her belly, and nudged her backward so that he could take a step inside.

  Then he shut and relocked the door.

  Guess he was staying.

  He turned back to her and took in her appearance, the corners of his mouth tipping up very slightly. Maybe it was her hair, which probably resembled a squirrel’s tail. But it could’ve just as easily been the baseball bat or her Superman PJs—a blue tank top with a red-and-yellow S on the chest and red boxers. She’d seen them at Target and knew she had to have them.

  “Supergirl,” he said, but there was something off in his voice.

  She cupped his rough jaw, frowning at the expression on his face.