by Meg Collett
Stevie knew about Cade’s childhood, about the bullying. Kyra had told her about an incident in the bathtub. Cade had been underwater when Hale found him, his lips blue and eyes clenched shut. They’d had to pull him out of school after that. Even now, people shot jabs at Cade. Hale had gone to jail for throwing punches and trying to kill anyone who spoke against his brother.
Stevie got it. She was the threat, and Hale was doing his job by protecting his brother.
From her.
“I agree,” she said. “It’s just a stupid thing I’m feeling. I’ll get it under control.”
“You don’t think working with him every day will affect that?”
Stevie snorted softly. “Can you imagine anyone falling for me if they had to be around me all day long in the summer heat while renovating a house for reality television? Who would be that stupid?”
Hale didn’t laugh or smile. He just shook his head. “Someday, someone will. He’ll love every inch of your crazy. People like us, Stevie,” he murmured, glancing back at Kyra, “we get our happily ever after too. They’re just a little more hard-won than others.”
Stevie’s throat thickened, and she jerked her chin in what she hoped passed for a nod.
Hale cuffed her on the shoulder like she was one of the guys and went to Kyra. Muscles flexing, he scooped her up without even breaking the rhythm of her snoring.
Outside, Stevie held the back gate open for him, watching as he made his way across the strip of beach separating her house from Kyra’s. When they were safely inside and the lights went off one by one, leaving just the string of lights on Stevie’s porch to illuminate the beach, she started heading inside.
But her feet faltered.
She sank to the ground outside her garden and folded her knees up beneath her chin. The moon was too small to cast much light, and everything was so silent that it felt like the only sound in the world was the waves breaking across the sand. She would’ve given anything for a sip of something stronger than she was at the moment. A nip of whiskey to lift her chin. A gulp of wine to straighten her spine. A shot to warm her stomach.
But Hale was right. Cade was off limits.
He was one of the few good ones, and he really did deserve someone who would never hurt him.
So no Cade for her. Stevie took a deep breath.
That’s fine, she told herself, even as images of his unbuttoned shirt, his tufts of hair, and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled really big flashed through her mind.
This time, when she stood, her legs felt like anchors pulling her out to sea. She went straight to her phone. She’d left it on the counter all night. She scrolled through the numbers until she found the one she wanted.
Her stomach felt achy and hollow as the line rang. More than anything, she didn’t want to be alone tonight.
Troy, the bartender from Spanky Frank’s, a cool bar she used to frequent in town, answered on the fourth ring. From the other end came the sounds of a loud party, with music playing and someone cheering.
“Hello?” he shouted into the phone.
“Hey, Troy,” Stevie said, still thinking of Cade’s skin. “What are you doing tonight?”
* * *
There was a feeling that accompanied waking in the morning. It was quiet, a whisper hidden behind the grogginess, the coffee cravings, and the bad breath, but it was there, the promise of a new beginning, even if it was a small one.
Stevie hadn’t had many of those mornings.
When the night before was a series of mistakes that had paraded in one after the other, instead of the morning being a chance to start anew, it was the first opportunity to remember all the bad things. Instead of a whisper of promise, the feeling was a screeching wail that competed against the headache, the soreness, and the flashes of disasters playing out behind bruised eyelids. It was self-loathing set to maximum power.
Stevie’s life had been a montage of those mornings strung together.
The very worst of them had been the morning after her accident, when she woke up in the hospital and realized what she’d done. She recalled the people on the road she’d put in danger and the calamity she’d narrowly escaped. Losing her own life wouldn’t have mattered nearly as much as taking the life of someone who didn’t deserve to be affected by her demons. That had been the worst morning. She couldn’t remember ever hating herself more.
But this morning was a very close second.
She hadn’t had anything to drink, but Troy had brought over some weed. The smell of it was on her skin and hair and on her sheets. Her head was a haze of pulsing pain, and her face felt swollen. But just hitting the joint and not the drink had been a victory last night. Troy had even high-fived her on her sobriety. She’d allowed the lie. It wasn’t sobriety if she was high.
She pushed herself up in bed, shirt twisted around her stomach and shorts hitched up her thighs like she’d fought a monster in her sleep, and stumbled into the bathroom. She pulled her hair into a messy bun, hoping to lessen the smell of pot coating her curls, and brushed her teeth. No matter how hard she scrubbed, the taste remained. It would be there for weeks to remind her of last night.
To remind her she’d failed.
She went downstairs. Troy snored on the couch, where she’d left him high and pissed because he wasn’t getting laid. She’d gone upstairs to sleep—alone. At least that was something. Anything more would have felt like betraying Cade, even though that was ridiculous. But she couldn’t help the fact he was the one she wanted.
She desperately needed to make some coffee and open some windows. If she just centered herself in something normal, she could push the regret out of her mind. She crept past Troy through the living room and saw pillows on the floor, as well as packets of empty cookies and tubs of open cake frosting. Picture frames were broken and askew on the walls, and a barrage of throwing darts stuck out of a wall. The kitchen hadn’t endured a better fate. They’d raided her cupboards, which were all open, with their contents pulled out onto the floor. A bag of flour was spilled across the island countertop. From the open window over the sink, a breeze blew in, puffing the flour into the air.
Stevie took it all in and just wanted to collapse on the ground and ride out the feelings. They washed over her, drowning her, pulling her down onto the floor. She couldn’t stand beneath it all.
She’d fucked up. Again. Hale didn’t know how right he was in keeping her from his brother. If she couldn’t even stay sober, how would she ever be good enough for Cade?
Knees trembling, she reached for the wall to steady herself on her way down. Her throat tightened with tears and her eyes itched with them. But she didn’t deserve to cry and let out the pain. She wanted to hold it in and let it set her straight. If she let it slice her insides into ribbons, she would remember this pain and never resort to last night again.
A knock rapped against her front door.
From the politeness of it, she knew who it was. Only one man could make a knock sound graceful. She wrapped her arms around her knees and waited for Cade to go away. Each second he stayed out there, waiting for her, was torture.
Finally, his footsteps fell across her porch and back down the stairs. She waited for the roar of his truck, but it never came. Only then did she remember Troy’s car was in the driveway, between her house and Kyra’s.
She counted off a few seconds in her head, tracking Cade as he walked through her front garden. He would be passing the edge of her fence about . . . now, then looking down the alley, where he’d spot Troy’s white Corolla. Canaan was a small town, and Cade had seen that car next to her house a few times before. He would know it was Troy’s.
And he would think the worst—that she and Troy had hooked up last night.
She wondered how long he would stand there sorting it out. She wanted to see the look on his face to punish herself more. Maybe he was hurt, or maybe he knew her well enough not to feel bothered. Maybe, worst of all, he’d expected it all along.
He migh
t have kept walking right by that white Corolla.
When Kyra showed Stevie her scars from cutting, Stevie had struggled to understand why someone would use pain to deal with their emotions and manage what they felt on the inside. But Stevie understood it now. The truth was a flashing neon sign behind her eyelids. But Kyra hadn’t used cutting as a form of punishment, at least not normally. Stevie would accept anything right now. She deserved it.
A few minutes later, she stood and went back into the living room. Troy was still a life-size mistake beneath the sheet she’d tossed over him when he insisted on getting naked last night, as if it might tempt her. She kicked the cushions until he grunted and turned over.
“Get up,” she said, her voice scratchy from smoking.
He said something garbled against the armrest, which he’d drooled all over.
“Come on, Troy. Time to go.”
When that didn’t work, she crossed to the room’s curtains. She’d closed them tight over the large windows last night to keep Kyra and Hale from seeing her lights on late into the night and worrying about her. Sunlight sliced into the room like knives as she flung the curtains back, and Troy hissed like a vampire.
“What the hell?”
“You need to leave.” Stevie crossed her arms over her chest and stood in front of the windows.
Troy squinted at her, hand shielding his eyes. He looked the way she felt. “What’s your problem, huh?”
He yanked the cover up over his head.
Stevie went to the end of the couch and wrenched the blanket off him. Looking at him now, at his nakedness on her white couch, at his long, scraggly hair, at his bad-boy charm, she was disgusted with herself. This was her type? This guy who’d not-so-subtly hinted she should have sex with him last night to pay for the pot? What was his appeal? Did she like the way his muscles bulged, or the swelling curve of his ass, or the tapered V shape of muscles over his hips?
He grumbled and sat up on the couch. “Why are you being such an asshole?”
“Leave,” she said, her voice quiet. She hated herself.
“You’ve got fucking problems, you know that?” He swung his feet onto the floor and gathered up his clothes when he realized she was serious. “You used to be cool, but this sobriety thing’s turned you into a real bitch. I mean it.” He tugged on his briefs. “You called me.” He stabbed a finger into his chest then jerked his shirt over his head. “Do you think because you didn’t put out last night you’re any less of a skank?”
“Strike two. Call me a name again and I’ll rip your head off.”
He buttoned his jeans and looked up at her, sneer in place on his handsome face. She’d sworn seven ways to Sunday that Troy was her type. She ran after every single bad boy she could find, and she ran hard. And for what? For this? For being called a bitch and a skank in her own home?
“What are you going to do about it?” He stalked across the room and bumped her chest with his, face looming over hers.
Her vision blurred with sheer rage, and her knee shot straight up. His squishy bits smooshed against her kneecap. For a brief second, his eyes crossed, and then he fell in a heap on her floor, gasping and clutching himself as if his insides were falling out. Stevie almost felt bad until he howled in pain, creating a ruckus that would wake the dead or, at least, her elderly neighbors.
At the look on his face as he tried to stand, she backed up a few steps into the hall between the living room and kitchen.
“Stevie?” Kyra called as she opened the back door and stuck her head inside. She must have heard Troy’s shouts on her way to her morning surfing session.
Troy got to his feet, still cradling his balls, and hissed, “This bitch kicked me!”
Kyra’s eyes turned to slits and she fully entered Stevie’s house. “Excuse me? What did you just call her?”
“Screw you, blondie.” Troy was panting, his face pale with pain.
“Get out!” Stevie shouted, having had enough. She started toward him again, and this time, he was the one who backed up.
Kyra, God bless her, stepped into the hall and picked up a lamp from a side table next to the open door. She yanked the cord from the electrical socket and tested the weight of the lamp in her hand. “You heard her. Get out.”
He sidestepped Kyra on his way to the door and turned back to Stevie. “Next time you need to get high, don’t call me. You won’t get nothing for free from me ever again.”
Kyra launched the lamp at the wall, where it blasted apart inches from Troy’s shoulder. He yelped and darted outside like a cat on fire.
“That was your last warning,” she called after him.
Someone pounded on the front door.
“Stevie?” Cade shouted from the other side and jiggled the doorknob. Like Kyra, he must have heard the shouting from outside. “What’s going on?”
“We’re fine!” Stevie shouted over her shoulder.
“You’re both freaking crazy!” Troy scrambled for the steps. He looked torn between running for his life and firing off more insults.
“Hale will kick your ugly ass!” Kyra fired back. Stevie put an arm around her friend’s waist; she looked ready to tear Troy apart.
Troy froze. His eyes flashed wide as they all heard the front door rattling. Wood splintered. Cade was kicking it down.
“Stevie!” he kept shouting from the other side.
“You better run, asshole,” she warned Troy.
“Let Hale have him!”
Stevie tightened her grip on Kyra. “Are you this stupid?” she asked Troy when he still hadn’t moved. The wood on her door gave another ripping crack as Cade’s shoulder or boot connected solidly.
Snapping out of his terror, Troy leaped over her garden fence right as Cade crashed through the front.
“Cade, wait!” Stevie yelled as Cade shot past, glancing at them to confirm they weren’t bleeding. His face was set, jaw clenched. Her stomach dipped at the look in his eye.
Cade hit the back doorframe, readjusted his trajectory, and took off through the garden after Troy like a mad man. He wasn’t a bad boy. He was a pissed-off man. And holy shit, it was kind of hot.
Stevie let go of Kyra and ran to the door, calling Cade’s name and shouting for him to let Troy go. Outside, Troy raced down the beach as Cade jumped down the last few steps. Across the way, Hale was jogging across the sand, but when he spotted Cade and the girls by the back door, his nostrils flared. His face darkened with a growl and he took off, sand flying under his feet.
From the street, sirens sounded, whirring closer.
The guys were down the beach, with Troy still in the lead, sheer fright lending his feet wings. At the sound of sirens, the Cooper brothers pulled up short. Cade’s arm flew out to keep Hale back as they watched Troy disappear between some houses.
The sirens stopped in front of Stevie’s house. She took a deep breath and went outside to deal with them.
On the street, her neighbors had come out of their houses. The shouting and breaking down of her front door must have alerted them. Stevie ignored them as she went down the stairs to the patrol car.
“Hey, Pete,” she said, leaning down to peer inside the car. She braced an arm against the door. “You got here fast.”
“Morning, Stevie.” Pete glanced at her house, his piercing blue eyes gleaming against his mocha-colored skin. “I was in the area when I got the call. Everything okay in there?”
“Just a misunderstanding,” she said, stepping sideways to block his view of the house and Hale, just in case. Hale didn’t have the best reputation in town and it often landed him in jail when he was connected to a scuffle.
“Been a while since I’ve been out here,” Pete said, nodding at her. “You doing okay? Still hanging in there?”
Stevie couldn’t even count how many times Pete had come to her house for this same exact reason, and every time, she’d been drunk. He hadn’t been called over since she’d gotten sober, and she saw genuine concern in his eyes. She smiled at him,
her heart warming. “I’m good. I promise. This won’t happen again.”
Pete took in her rumpled clothes and puffy face. Slowly, he dipped his chin and then cast his attention toward her neighbors. “Okay. Consider this a warning. I’ll take care of the neighbors.”
“Thanks, Pete. I appreciate it.” She patted the top of his cruiser and started to head back into the house.
“Sure thing. And Stevie?”
Stevie paused and turned back to the patrol car. “Yeah?”
“We’re rooting for you. You’re not alone, okay?”
She grinned. “You guys are just tired of the disturbance calls.”
“That too.” Pete winked. “Catch yah later. Hopefully not too soon though.”
Pete drove forward to Mrs. Walker’s house. Stevie didn’t wait around to marinate in the seething glances she was getting from the street’s old biddies, or the Petunia Patrol, as Hale called them. But as she went up the front steps, she felt the itch up her spine of someone watching her. Holding back a shiver, she glanced down the street.
She spotted him instantly, because no one in Canaan wore black in August, yet he still managed to look crisp and sinister, like the sun was shining around him, not on him. Shepherd stood propped against a black Mercedes, his shades pulled low on his nose. He cocked his head toward her, and even though she stood a few houses down from him, Stevie could still make out the way his face creased into a slow-spreading smile. He’d been enjoying the show for a while.
Knowing he wouldn’t just leave, Stevie swallowed heavily and held up a finger, asking for a minute. She didn’t want him near her friends. He nodded, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Back inside, Hale and Cade were just coming back from the beach, both breathing heavily. Cade’s attention locked on her and he came straight for her. “You okay? What happened?”
She stopped in front of him. “I’m fine.”
Cade took her face in his hands, his touch a cool breeze across her feverish body, and checked for any bruises or scratches. “Did he touch you?”
