by Linda Seed
“I like being married,” Will said. “I like being a father. It’s messy and loud and expensive, and the terrible twos are awful. And I can’t remember the last time I got a full night’s sleep, but …” He drifted off. “What was I saying?”
“I think Colin’s going to like being married, too,” Ryan said. “He’s suited to it.”
“You think Liam’s suited to it?” Drew asked. He hadn’t wanted to bring up the thing with Liam and Megan, but he couldn’t help himself. It had been on his mind.
“Ah, hell, who knows?” Ryan said. Drew got the impression he was avoiding the question.
“Why, is Liam thinking of getting married?” Will asked.
“Might be,” Ryan said mildly.
“He said he was. At golf yesterday. He said he was thinking about it.” Drew took a swig of his Coke.
“Dumb bastard,” Mike remarked, shaking his head in sympathy.
“He said that?” Will sat forward in his chair. “Really?”
“Yeah. Why?” Drew said.
Will’s eyebrows rose, and he pushed his glasses more firmly onto his nose. “No reason. It’s just …”
“It’s just what?” Ryan said.
“Nothing,” Will said. “Liam doesn’t seem the type, that’s all.”
At that moment, the doorbell rang.
“It’s the pizza. I’ll get it,” Will said, looking relieved.
Drew wondered what the man was trying not to say, and why he was trying not to say it.
They ate the pizza, and then watched an episode of The Walking Dead on Netflix. Drew waited for his opportunity and approached Will when Ryan sent him into the kitchen for another round of soft drinks.
“You want one of these?” Will asked, standing in the glow of the refrigerator light with a couple of cans of Dr Pepper in his hands.
“No, thanks.”
“They’ve got Diet 7-up. That must be Gen’s.”
“Sure, hand it over.” Drew didn’t want the drink, but he took it to give himself an excuse for why he’d come into the kitchen in the first place. He looked into the pantry, picked up a box of crackers, and then put it back.
“Hey, Will?”
“Yeah?” Will looked at him questioningly. With his tousled, sun-kissed hair, his lean build, and the glasses, the guy looked like a surfer who might be able to explain particle physics, should the need arise.
“Is there some reason Liam shouldn’t ask Megan to marry him? I’m just asking because it seemed like you—”
“What? No.” Will shook his head rapidly. “No, no.”
“Really? Because you looked like maybe you knew something about it.”
Will looked deeply dismayed, like a guy who just realized he’d done something that might cause his wife to withhold sex for a week or more. Which, it turned out, he was.
“If Rose finds out that I leaked it, she’s going to kill me.”
“Leaked what?”
Will peeked out the kitchen door and into the family room like a secret agent on a clandestine mission. “Don’t tell anybody I told you this.”
“Told me what?”
“Ah, jeez.”
“Will. What?” Drew fixed him with a stare that he’d seen TV detectives use to sweat suspects.
“Megan’s planning to break up with him.”
“She’s … Wait a minute. Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” He leaned back against the refrigerator miserably. “She told Rose, and Rose told me. She thinks it’s just not working, but she wants to wait until after the wedding, because she doesn’t want to cause wedding drama.”
“Oh. Shit.”
Drew felt such a range of feelings that he could hardly make sense of the contrasts. He was glad Megan wasn’t going to marry Liam, though he denied to himself that he was glad. He felt sorry for Liam, who was working his way up to a proposal. He felt apprehension about the train wreck that would ensue at his sister’s wedding if Liam did propose and Megan said no. And he felt confused, because just yesterday, Megan had defended Liam like a mother bear with her cub. Did a woman do that when she was planning to break up with someone? Had Will gotten the story wrong?
“Listen, if Rose finds out I told you …”
“No,” Drew said absently. “No, I won’t say anything.”
“Good. Because I like sex. And I like being allowed inside my own house.” Will grinned at him and went back into the family room to check on how the zombie apocalypse was coming along.
Drew stood alone in the kitchen, thinking about what to do and whether to get involved. After a few minutes staring vacantly at Ryan and Gen’s granite countertop, he decided that he shouldn’t do anything.
If Liam was about to get humiliated at the wedding when his proposal was rejected, well, the man was a dickhead anyway, and he had it coming.
Drew just had to hope that Liam and Megan had the sense to keep their feelings to themselves for the sake of Julia and Colin.
Of course, Liam had never kept his feelings to himself about anything, as far as Drew knew.
Shit.
He didn’t care about Liam’s feelings—much. But he did care about Julia’s. And a screaming fight at her wedding reception probably wasn’t what she had in mind for her big day.
He was still thinking about it later that night, after a few more snacks and a few more TV shows, when it was time to pick up the women from the bar.
Chapter Seven
Megan was drunk.
She didn’t really think she’d had that much—a couple of mojitos and a beer or two—but she didn’t usually drink, so her tolerance was low. She wasn’t very familiar with what it felt like to be drunk, having experienced it so few times in her life. But she was pretty sure she was there now, because of the way the room was spinning.
In terms of raucousness and bad behavior, the bachelorette party had been about a six on a scale of one to ten. There weren’t any strippers, so that helped keep the number at a reasonable level. Nobody had danced on a table. But Julia had sung a boozy rendition of “I Will Always Love You”; one of the guests—thankfully, one who was single—had made out in the corner with a guy from the caterer’s; and at least two of Julia’s friends had ended up hugging the toilet and moaning.
Megan had conducted herself well enough, though she probably wouldn’t have complained so loudly about Liam, who’d texted her throughout the evening, if she’d been sober.
“Damn it! There he is again!” she exclaimed to Breanna at about one a.m., looking at the display on her cell phone.
The dart tournament had just broken up after Ted, the eponymous owner of the bar, had taken away their darts for the sake of public safety, and people were starting to think about calling for their rides home.
“What’s he want this time?” Breanna’s speech was slightly slurred, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was Megan’s hearing. Was it possible for someone’s hearing to become slurred as a result of drinking too much? Was that a thing?
“He wants to know when we’ll be done, so he can pick me up. I don’t want him to pick me up!”
“Because?” Breanna prompted her.
“Because then we’ll have drunk sex! Or, drunk-sober sex, since I’ll be the only one who’s drunk. But I don’t want to have drunk-sober sex! Because I’m going to break up with him in a few days, and that would just be …” She searched for a word.
“Sleazy?” Breanna suggested.
“Yes!” Megan pointed a finger at her. “Yes! That’s it. Sleazy.”
She was so pleased at having selected just the right word that she forgot what she’d been saying.
“He probably wouldn’t mind,” Breanna said. “It could be goodbye sex.”
“I don’t want goodbye sex.” Megan leaned against the bar miserably. “I just want the goodbye.”
Breanna put a hand on Megan’s shoulder. “Maybe you should tell him sooner instead of later, then.”
“I can’t. Look at Julia.”
They both lo
oked at the bride-to-be, who was holding an open bottle of champagne in her hand and hugging everyone she could get her free arm around, her thick, auburn hair askew, a mock bridal veil made of paper napkins atop her head.
“Yeah. I kind of see your point,” Breanna said. “If Liam throws a table at the reception, it’s going to kind of burst her bubble.”
Megan thought about how to respond to Liam, then thought about it some more. It seemed that her mental processes were running at about half speed due to the alcohol. Her phone chimed, signaling another text from Liam.
I’m coming over there now. Just sit tight.
“What is wrong with him?” Megan moaned to Breanna. “He’s so needy. So … so clingy. He’s never been clingy before. Why is he clinging now? Right now, when I need space?” She threw her arms out to her sides to indicate the space that Liam wouldn’t give her. “I just need some damned space, Bree!”
“That’s why he’s clinging,” Breanna said wisely. “Because you’re trying to get space, and he’s scared that you’re about to do exactly what you’re about to do.”
Right about then, the door to Ted’s opened, and Drew McCray appeared in the doorway, looking all tall and ginger-haired and sober. She seemed to remember that he was one of their designated drivers for the evening. Even in her impaired state, she seized on him as an answer to the immediate Liam problem.
She got up off her barstool, crossed the room, and launched herself in Drew’s direction.
“I need a ride! Home! I need … You’re driving, right?”
It sounded to her as though she’d inadvertently asked the same question three or four times, but somehow, he hadn’t answered yet.
He looked at her with amusement.
“Hi, Megan. You have a good time?”
“I don’t have time for small talk! Liam’s on his way! We have to go!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door.
For some reason, he was resisting her efforts to drag him out of the bar. The amusement on his face changed to concern and not a little confusion.
“Hang on a minute. What’s going on?”
Well, this was an alarming development.
As soon as Drew walked into Ted’s, he was confronted by an obviously drunk Megan Scott, who was rambling on about something that had to do with Liam and needing to escape from him.
He knew the two of them were headed straight off a cliff, but what was this? Was she afraid of him?
“Can we please just go?” she asked again.
He doubted he would be able to get much of anything coherent out of her right now. All he’d been able to gather was that Liam was headed here, and she didn’t want to see him. The cause of keeping the two of them separate seemed like a good one, so he nodded.
“Sure. But I’ve got to take as many people as I can fit into my car. Let me just grab a few more drunk women, and I’ll be right with you.”
A few minutes later, after much boozy hugging and the gathering of purses, Drew pulled out of the parking lot at Ted’s with four women crammed into his car: Megan, his aunt Marcy, one of Colin’s law firm friends who was staying on Moonstone Beach, and Julia’s friend Gianna, who’d come out here from Montana.
Megan was sitting in the front passenger seat, and as Drew’s car moved from the parking lot into the street, a big pickup truck passed them going the opposite direction, toward Ted’s.
“It’s Liam!” Megan exclaimed, and then ducked under the dashboard as though trying to dodge gunfire.
If she was, in fact, scared of him, Drew wanted to find out why and do something about it. But it didn’t seem like the kind of thing he could ask about in a car crowded with people.
Once Liam had passed and they were out onto Main Street, he said, “I think you’re safe to sit up now.”
“Are you sure?” She said it in a stage whisper, as though Liam were there in the car with them.
“Pretty sure.”
She sat up and rearranged herself, as though she’d suddenly realized she might have damaged her dignity by diving for the floor.
If any of the women in the back seat had noticed Megan’s little drama, they didn’t mention it. They were heavily involved in a conversation about the karaoke experience they’d had that evening, and were debating the merits of Celine Dion vs. Mariah Carey in terms of their music’s singability. Celine Dion seemed to be winning, mainly because of Mariah Carey’s unreachable high notes.
“There something going on you want to tell me about?” Drew asked mildly.
“No.” Megan sounded both drunk and miserable. “Only that I don’t want to have drunk-sober sex, and if I tell Liam that, he’s going to ask why. And if I were sober, I could figure out how to get around telling him the reason, but I’m not sober, so I’ll probably just blurt it out that I’m waiting until after the wedding to break up with him. Oh, God. I was right. I did just blurt it out.”
Gianna leaned forward from where she was squeezed into the back seat between Marcy and the lawyer. “You’re going to break up with Liam Delaney? What for? He’s gorgeous.”
“He is,” the lawyer agreed. “He’s got that manly cowboy thing going on. Grrr.”
Drew wasn’t sure what the growling sound signified, but he was pretty sure it was at least R-rated.
“And the brooding, tortured-soul thing is kind of hot,” Marcy agreed.
Drew’s aunt was at least ten years older than Liam, and Drew had to cope with the startling new information that she was a cougar. That was news he just didn’t need.
Megan twisted around to look at the other women. “The tortured-soul thing only seems hot because you don’t have to deal with it day after day. At some point you have to stop being tortured, you know? Otherwise, it’s just poor-me this, poor-me that. I mean, I know he’s sad because his uncle died, but that was two years ago!” Then, she gasped and slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, crap. Drew. I forgot that Liam’s uncle was your father. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“But—”
“Really. Don’t worry about it.”
Six months or even a year ago, the remark might have wounded Drew. But by now, he was beginning to come to terms with the fact that he would never meet his biological father. It was a sore point, yes. But it wasn’t a raw, open wound anymore like it once was. There was hurt, but he could deal with the hurt.
“You mean Liam wasn’t a tortured soul, or whatever you called it, before Redmond died?” he asked.
“Who knows? I didn’t know him before Redmond died.” Megan turned around and faced forward again. “But I sort of doubt that he went around spreading sunshine and happy thoughts.”
Drew let out a guffaw. He doubted it, too.
The streets of Cambria were mostly empty at this time of night, with the bars and restaurants closed and the locals and tourists bedded down for the night. Drew drove through the quiet, dark streets to Moonstone Beach, where he dropped off the lawyer and then, a few hotels down the road, his aunt.
Then he got back onto Highway 1 and turned off on Main Street, where he deposited Gianna at the door of her B&B. It wasn’t the most direct route; he’d passed by Megan’s neighborhood on the way here, and logically, he should have taken her home after the Moonstone Beach run. But he wanted to be alone with her, and so now he had to double back to head toward Happy Hill.
If Megan noticed his awkward route, she didn’t comment on it.
He told himself that the reason he wanted to be alone with her was so he could talk to her privately and make sure she was okay. He didn’t like the way she’d ducked under the dashboard to avoid Liam. He wanted to make sure there wasn’t something going on there that required his intervention.
And that really was part of the reason. But the other part was something undefinable, something that defied logic.
He just wanted to be around her.
He hadn’t spent much time in Megan’s presence, and the time he had spent had mostly involved her telling h
im off. But something inside him grew all warm and soft when she was near, and he hadn’t felt that since back when he’d met Tessa.
Back when he’d been in love.
Not that he felt anything resembling love for Megan. How could he, when he didn’t even know her? He only knew that he wanted to have that warm, soft feeling some more, and she was the one who could make it happen.
When they were alone in the car and headed up Charing Lane and into her neighborhood, he stole a look at her. “Are you okay? I mean … the thing with Liam. You seemed afraid of him, and the way you were hiding …”
Her eyes widened, and she seemed genuinely surprised. “What do you mean?”
“Well, everybody knows he’s got a temper, and—”
“No! God, no.” She let out a humorless laugh and waved her hands in front of her to signal her dismissal of the idea. “Liam’s not abusive, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
That was a relief, because if that had been the case, Drew would have had to kick his ass. And as much as he wanted to do that, he didn’t know if he could manage it.
“Well, that’s good.”
“He seems like an ass. Right? I know that. I do know that.” Her voice was foggy from the alcohol. “But he’s not like that. He’s …” She seemed to be searching for a way to explain it. “Liam’s got a lot of feelings. And sometimes he doesn’t know what to do with them. But I’d rather be with someone who’s got a lot of feelings than with someone who doesn’t have any, you know?”
“I guess,” Drew said.
“It’s just …”
“What?” He turned onto her street and slowed the car, wanting to prolong the drive.
“He’s a good person,” she went on. “And when he loves somebody, he really loves them. With everything he’s got. And that’s great. That’s wonderful. A miracle, even. But ... he’s so wrapped up in being angry, in being wronged …” She shook her head and didn’t finish.
