Jaded

by Tess Thompson

  She watched his house too. Maybe she loved him? He looked away, gathering his thoughts. “Last night a car drove into your driveway and waited there a few minutes.”

  “In my driveway?”

  “Yes. He parked for a few minutes and then drove off. I figured it was someone lost and had stopped to read directions on his phone. Except after what you told me, I’m not so sure. And, at the beach, I saw this weird guy watching you.”

  “What did the guy on the beach look like?”

  “Skinny. Around our age, I think. He had a slight limp.”

  “Gorham was heavyset. Barrel-chested. No limp. He’s in his sixties by now. It’s not him. There’s no way he knows where I live. The car in my driveway was probably just what you thought. Someone lost.”

  “Then why don’t you seem convinced?” he asked.

  “It’s not that. There’s more.” She looked away. Her bottom lip trembled.

  “Whatever it is, I can deal with it,” he said.

  Honor took in a deep breath. “Before I came here, I was sick. I had ovarian cancer when I was eighteen. I’m a year older than I tell people. I don’t want anyone to know, so I pretend I came here at eighteen, but it was really nineteen.”

  He stared at her. Cancer? Impossible. Not Honor. She was the epitome of health.

  “I went through chemo and I had everything removed.”

  “Everything removed?”

  “A full hysterectomy. I can’t have children.”

  “Oh.” His breath caught as if someone punched him in the stomach. His poor girl. Cancer. “But you’re all right now?”

  “I’m cancer free, yes. But I’m not all right. I’m not a whole woman. I can’t ever give you what you want. Children. A white picket fence and me standing at the gate.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me.”

  “You’re a liar,” she said.

  “I’m not lying. I never think about that kind of thing. Jackson and Brody, but not me.” But he was a liar. It did matter to him, but not in the way she assumed. Cancer. The idea of it wedged into his heart. Honor Sullivan was more alive than anyone he’d ever met. But cancer could snuff out her light, take her from him. He wanted this woman in his life. Alive and well. What if she were to get sick again? What if she left him that way instead of by simply choosing to leave on her own accord like his mother and Natalie? What if he had to watch her get sick and die? He couldn’t bear it. Not like that. Not with his dad slipping away day after day.

  “I think you should go,” she said.

  “What? No.” What could he say or do? In the seconds between her confession and now, she had seen through him. He was frightened and that wasn’t what she needed. Not after what she’d been through. But he needed time to think, to process.

  “Please. I’m tired,” she said.

  Tired of my stupidity. Join the club.

  “Okay.” He stood, too quickly, and knocked his leg against the coffee table. Her empty wine glass fell over and shattered. “I’m sorry.” He bent over to pick up the sharp pieces near her bare feet with her pink toenails. One could get lodged in her foot. “I’ll clean it up for you.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Her tone was flat and unemotional. Already he’d managed to snuff some of the life out of her. Maybe this is what he did? Hurt the women he loved until they left.

  “I can replace it no problem.” She pushed his arm away from the mess. “I’d rather do it. Just go.” She crossed the room toward the kitchen.

  “I’ll let myself out,” he said.

  But she was already gone, the kitchen door swinging behind her.

  Wide awake, he tossed the covers from the bed and walked barefoot across the floor to his closet. The clock told him it was just after midnight. He went out to the living room and opened the window to let in the cool air. This time of night, without the sounds of the street, he could hear the crash of waves, which usually soothed him. Not tonight. The only thing he wanted right now was Honor. No. It was not to be. He was a lone wolf. That’s what he was fated to be for the rest of his life. Falling in love was fraught with danger and he didn’t have it in him. He could not risk being left. Not again.

  He poured a glass of scotch. Neat and strong. Anything to numb the anxiety. The telescope beckoned to him. Was Honor awake? Had he made her angry enough with his stupid reaction to her confession that she paced the floor too?

  Maggie called something like this a trigger point. Knowing that Honor had cancer when she was young had triggered his abandonment issues. Thanks, Mom, wherever you are. He gestured toward the window, like she was out there. She was out there somewhere. It was a lie to say he didn’t wonder about her. What kind of woman had she become? Had she ever regretted her decision? He’d never let himself search for her. Even after it had been so easy to find Sophie, he’d resisted.

  The sound of a key in the front door drew his attention from the window. Sophie appeared, still wearing her apron. A flash of guilt struck him when he imagined the night she must have had. Summer nights were busy. No one had a moment to catch their breath or even have a bite to eat. This business could suck the life out of anyone, even a young, healthy woman. Sophie, however, glowed. She smiled and clapped her hands when she saw him.

  “You’re home and up?”

  He gestured with his glass. “Drinking away my troubles.”

  “A drink sounds great. We killed it tonight. The cooks said we had a new record for batches of french fries.” She headed toward the cabinet and grabbed a bottle of mineral water. “But I did well, I think. The staff’s starting to accept me, finally. I know they talk about how young I am behind my back and say that I didn’t earn the right to be there.”

  “Screw them. You’re my family and they can just deal with it,” he said.

  She plopped into the arm chair. “Why’re you still up? Did it not go well with Honor? Honestly, I thought you wouldn’t be home tonight at all.”

  “I’m not sure how to describe my evening. Other than it was a disaster on all fronts.” He described the investor meeting and subsequent events. “Basically, I’m kind of screwed.”

  “Let’s talk through the business stuff first,” Sophie said. “I agree with Honor that you should talk to Kyle and Brody. Your pride’s getting in the way of an opportunity. My dad always told me to never let pride lead my decisions because that’s a sure way to miss out on something great.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Also, these guys might be pissed if you didn’t ask. I mean, they’re your best friends and they love this town.”

  “That’s what Honor said.”

  “There you go.” Sophie took a swig from her water. “You know how Maggie felt kind of weird about my dad offering her the recording contract?”

  “She did?”

  “Sure. I mean, she didn’t say so, but I could tell. Anyway, it’s kind of like that. Was it some great luck? Maybe. But I prefer to think of luck and opportunity all wrapped up in fate. You have a dream that your friends could help you realize. Why wouldn’t you seize that opportunity? It doesn’t make sense unless there’s a whole bunch of neurosis wrapped up in there.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Sounds like college psychology babble.”

  “You think you have to do everything alone or it doesn’t count. I get that our dad taught you to be this way, and that’s cool. But let’s go back to me as an example. Without you, I wouldn’t be running a bar and grill this young. Right?”

  “True.”

  “So, I’m basically using my connections to get what I want. And that’s what you should do.”

  “I’m afraid to take money from friends,” he said. “They mean more than money.”

  “Do you have every intention of making it a success?”

  “Yes.

  “Do you hold all the cards? As in, you’re the one who has the connection to buy the property. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Brody and Kyle couldn’t do it without you because they’re outsiders.
Thus, you’re actually doing them a favor by allowing them partial ownership in prime real estate.”

  He stared at his little sister. “How did you get so smart?”

  She grinned. “Just born this way, I guess.”

  “It does makes sense when you put it this way,” he said. “It is an amazing opportunity.”

  “You’ll call and talk to Brody and Kyle tomorrow, then?”

  “Yes. I guess I will.”

  Sophie swung her feet onto the ottoman and let out a happy sounding sigh. “And, think of it this way. With you focused on a new business, it gives me the chance to really learn the business without relying on you. Win for me. Win for you.”

  “You’re way too logical for your own good,” he said.

  “Now, let’s talk about Honor for a minute.”

  “Do we have to?”

  “Yes. We do. Let me make sure I have this straight. She basically told you something she’s never told anyone, and instead of being supportive, you acted like an idiot.”

  He winced. This sister of his didn’t mince words. “That sums it up pretty well, yes.”

  “The question is why. What triggered that response?”

  “You and Maggie and your trigger stuff. Not everything’s a trigger.”

  “True. But this was. Why? I mean, yes, her infertility is a big deal as far as the future of your family, but hello, look at me. I was adopted and look how great it was for me.”

  “I know. If finding you taught me anything it’s how awesome adoption can be. It’s not that.”

  “What is it, then?” she asked.

  “Sometimes you really remind me of Maggie,” Zane said.

  “Don’t deflect.”

  “It’s the cancer part. I’m afraid she’ll die on me.” There, he said it. God, he sounded like a whiny little kid.

  Sophie sat up a little straighter and tilted her head to the right as she stared at him. “Makes perfect sense. You’re afraid to be abandoned. I mean, duh. I can’t believe I didn’t see that.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yes, smarty. I’m afraid to be left. Again.”

  “Classic abandonment issues.”

  “I thought your degree was in hospitality and restaurant management, not psychology.”

  “I took a lot of psych classes. Loved every one of them too,” she said.

  “So, armchair shrink, what should I do now?” He headed once more to the liquor cabinet. “Besides have another drink?”

  “Set that bottle down, Zane Shaw. I know exactly what you should do.”

  “What’s that?” He poured another scotch anyway.

  “You should find your mother and ask her why she left. You need answers. And closure. After that, you need to do the same thing with Natalie.”

  “Are you out of your mind? I’m not contacting either one of them. I’d rather jump out this window.”

  “It’s not that far, really, if you did jump,” she said.

  “Not the point.”

  “I know. Have you ever asked Natalie what it was that drove her to call off the wedding?”

  “I didn’t have to ask. It was Manbun Guy,” he said. “She fell in love with someone else.”

  “Are they still together?”

  He gulped from his glass before answering. “How should I know?”

  “You do know. They’re not, are they?”

  “Fine. I looked her up on Facebook a while back. Her status said single, and there’s no longer a photo of her and Manbun Guy. It’s her and a cat now.”

  Sophie laughed. “From manbun to a cat. Wow, that’s harsh.”

  “It did make me kind of happy,” he said.

  “Who do you want to start with? Your mother or Natalie?”

  “We’re not going to find my mother. I know nothing about her,” he said.

  “You know her name and date of birth, right?”

  “Sure. Yeah. And she was born in San Diego. But that’s it.”

  “Do you have a photograph of her anywhere?”

  He had found one of her when he was cleaning out his dad’s things. She had long, almost white blond hair and wore black glasses. Small, pinched mouth. Right before she left them for good. He reached into the drawer of the coffee table and pulled out the notebook where he’d stuffed the photograph. “Here. She’s nineteen or twenty in this photo. It’s all I’ve got.”

  Sophie looked at it for a second before she sprang from the chair and ran into her bedroom, returning with her laptop. “Let’s do a little cyber stalking, shall we?”

  Chapter Eight

  Honor

  * * *

  HONOR’S EYES were nearly swollen shut from crying over stupid Zane Shaw. Crying like a girl. She lay on her side staring at the wall of her bedroom. The shades were drawn, letting only a gray light in at the edges.

  Why had she allowed herself to hope that Zane might wake up next to her this morning? Why, why, why? This is what happens when you let yourself be vulnerable and open—when you tell people the truth of your own body’s betrayal. They leave.

  Screw him.

  Who needed Zane Shaw anyway? It’s not like she wanted a boyfriend. She wasn’t like other women. She would have a better life without children to tie her down or make her old. And really, unless you wanted children, who needed a permanent man? Go find some little housewife. Some woman you can control and give you lots of fat babies with those beautiful blue eyes. That’s what she should have told him.

  Tears leaked from her eyes again—the hot, awful kind like scalding water that burned her cheeks. Screw you, cancer. Screw you, Zane Shaw.

  No use feeling sorry for herself all day. Get it together, Sullivan. She threw off the covers and headed for the bathroom. Cold water did little to soothe her swollen eyes but managed to startle her awake. A walk on the beach was in order. But first, breakfast and coffee. She’d make coffee and toast. She loved toast. Toast cheered a person up, especially with lots of butter and the local strawberry jam. Coffee. Zane’s coffee. Why could she do nothing but think of him? If only she hadn’t slept with him. That was the fatal error. Letting herself trust him with her body, giving into the feeling that she was safe in his arms. She hated him. Truly. He was too good looking, too manly and successful. Too alpha for her. She was the master of her own destiny, not some inane man.

  His handsome, rugged face as they’d driven through the twilight the night before danced before her eyes. He had an almost dimple on the left of his mouth when he laughed that made her want to press her lips against his. Kissing him. She would do it all day if she could, savoring his scent and the hard pressure of his mouth.

  God, she was pathetic. Honor Sullivan did not pine away for men. She made them pine for her. This was the end of it. She would simply dismiss him from her mind.

  Like that would work. She only saw him every other minute in this ludicrously small town.

  She dressed in workout clothes and went into the kitchen in her stockinged feet. Tennis shoes were kept in the hall closet, not upstairs with her heels and sandals. Sand stayed in the front closet. See, right there? She did as she pleased in her home. No man told her what to do. She was the one who had the good life, not those women burdened with laundry and unappreciative husbands and whiny children.

  The teakettle whistled. She poured the hot water into the french press and tried with all her might to find pleasure in the scent.

  There was no bread. No toast. The dirty wine glass from last night mocked her with its tablespoon of cabernet. One last swallow untaken. Like her. Not a full glass, but the discarded remnants at the bottom of a glass. A few drops of nothing.

  I’ll break it to match its broken mate.

  She slammed the glass into her white sink. It was satisfying to hear the sound of glass shattering. She would break everything in the kitchen if she could. Just hurl all the dishes she’d so greedily bought when she’d first started making money. Like things could replace the emptiness. Damn if she wasn’t trying though. Look at her shades of w
hite kitchen with its carefully chosen art and ceramics and silverware with the wide, flat handles.

  Shards of glass mingled with the drops of red wine in the sink. It reminded her of the time she’d cut herself in cooking class her last semester of high school. She’d been sick but didn’t know it yet. Low white blood cell counts still bled red even as the cancer ate away her insides, taking away yet another chance to be a family with someone, anyone.

  She poured a cup of coffee and added cream. Fog kept out the sun this morning, but she sat at the table anyway.

  For all that is holy. That awful crow perched on her tree. His beady eye focused on her movements like he expected her to fix him some breakfast. Maybe she should name the damn thing. He seemed to be the closest thing to a companion she could attract.

  The phone buzzed. Crap. It was the D.A. again.

  “Honor, I don’t mean to alarm you, but Gorham didn’t check in with his parole officer like he was supposed to this morning. They can’t find him.”

  “Oh.”

  “Be extra careful. I’ll call you the minute they locate him.”

  “He can’t find me, though, right?” Her fears spilled out of her mouth.

  A few seconds on the clock above the kitchen door clicked by before the D.A. answered. “His cellmate, when questioned this morning, said he knew where you lived because of your connection to Brody Mullen. No one is hidden these days unless they put a concerted effort into it.”

  “But all my accounts are private. None of them have my address,” Honor said.

  “Apparently, there were clues in your Instagram feed.”

  Damn social media. Why had she been so stupid?”

  “I don’t want to scare you, but his cellmate thinks it’s likely he will come after you. Revenge.”

  “How could they let him out?” Honor’s voice had risen an octave. Panic boiled in her gut.

  A sigh filled the silence on the other end of the phone. “I’m not sure why. Prisons are crowded. Good behavior goes a long way.”

  “So, what am I supposed to do? Just wait for him?” she asked.