by Malone, Nana
“Becca, come on, there are two more minutes left to play.”
She blinked at him then handed him the remote. She knew better than to argue. He’d only be irritated and then unreceptive to changing the ring and their honeymoon location. Instead, she went back into her bedroom and started unpacking her gym back.
He shuffled into the room behind her a couple of minutes later, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her neck. “I’m sorry. My bad. I was a dick. I want to hear about what you want. I had a brutal day and wanted to unwind a little before we jumped right in.”
He might have realized he was a dick, but he’d kept watching the game, hadn’t he? She stifled her annoyance. “I only wanted to talk to you about the location.”
He turned her in his arms and kissed her properly. She responded like she always did, her body leaning into him, savoring the familiarity. But her blood didn’t run hot. Or warm. Hell, she would have settled for tepid. She drew back. “I’d really like to get married back home. That church I was telling you about is great. I can pull up some photos for you.”
He frowned. “I’m sure it’s nice, baby, but honestly, we’re not going to have time for extensive wedding planning. I think an all-inclusive place in Hawaii is better.”
“I appreciate you pulling together all those magazines, and I’m glad you’re really excited about the honeymoon, but, uhm, I never pictured myself having a destination wedding. A lot of my family is scattered around the US and Europe and can’t afford a trip to Hawaii. Especially not on short notice.” Her parents would be there, but she pictured herself with an empty bride’s side.
Your parents will be there if you tell them, dumbass. She cringed. She’d call them. This weekend. Definitely...Maybe.
“Come on, baby. Don’t be difficult about this. It’s so much easier. I mean, training for Kona will be pretty intense. We won’t have time for any of this stuff. I’d rather have someone handle it for us.”
She’d always wanted to plan her own wedding. If she was honest with herself, she’d had most of the details determined by the time she was ten. She loved weddings. Though, unlike most brides, it wasn’t all about the day. She was a hopeless romantic. The idea of marrying someone with all her family and friends watching, that’s what mattered. Her parents had the kind of idyllic marriage people only saw in movies—married for twenty-seven years. They weren’t perfect, but they fought hard and loved hard. When Becca had been little she’d poured over their wedding pictures every day. But it hadn’t been the funny clothes or her mother’s dress or the decorations that captured her attention. They’d looked so happy. And she wanted that.
Right now, she felt anything but happy.
“Holden, I want to plan our wedding. I don’t want someone doing it for me.”
“But you need to start training for the marathon portion of this, and we need to get you a bike so you can start logging miles. Honestly, you barely have time to get into shape, much less plan a wedding.”
The sting of his comment had her clamping her jaws together. “I thought you liked my body.”
His gaze inevitably dropped to her breasts, and she wanted to slap him. “I do love your body, but let’s face it—you’re not exactly a triathlete. You’re going to need to train hard. The Ironman swim alone is over two miles. Then the bike portion is over a hundred miles, topped off by the marathon. Use your head, baby. I found a spa that will host all the guests and handle the whole wedding.”
Handle. She did not like the sound of that. Still, a spa couldn’t be bad. “I’ll need to look it up.”
“You’ll love it. They have a personal chef who makes all their food, and they cater to the athletes, so it’s all super healthy. Instead of your standard cake, they make this awesome gluten-free version. And the whole wedding party gets up to do yoga. It’s awesome.”
Did he just say yoga? Her stomach rolled. She was not that stretchy. “But, Hold—”
He shushed her with a kiss. “Take a look at the stuff I brought over. Then we’ll decide together at the end of the week.”
But why did it sound like he’d already decided? “And if I don’t like it, you’ll consider my idea?”
He gave her an exasperated sigh. “Yeah, sure. But you have to be rational about this. Training comes first.” He pulled back from his hold and studied her closely. “Why is your hair wet?”
Oh God. Her brain searched for something plausible. There was no way she was telling him she was taking swim lessons. Then finally she settled on the truth. “I went for a swim.”
He grinned at her. “That’s my girl. Already getting a jumpstart on your training.”
Becca’s stomach rolled again. Not only was she not getting the wedding of her dreams, or the ring of her dreams, or the honeymoon of her dreams, but she also had to train to kill herself. Fantastic.
* * *
The house was dark.
Liam parked in the circular drive, checked the damage to his wheel—Miss Hit and Run had done a fine number, but at least he’d been able to ride it to his parents’ house. He quietly entered the mansion through the front door.
“Is that you, Liam?”
His mother was sitting in the front parlor, watching out the big bay window.
“Mom? What are you still doing up?”
“I couldn’t sleep. Your father isn’t home yet.”
Big surprise. “He’s probably working extra hours with Dawn and Jordan. The Southern Pacific Masters championship is in two weeks.” Liam pocketed his keys and sat next to her on the window seat. “You need your rest. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
She waved him off. “Don’t remind me. Every day I’m still breathing is a big day around here.”
Six months. That’s all he had. Maybe not even that. Fear of losing her slammed him in the gut. Liam dug a fingernail into the seat’s expensive cushion. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
She didn’t argue, but in the pale moonlight coming through the window, she flinched as she stood. “I’m all right,” she said, slapping his helping hand away. “How did your evening go?”
He told her about Henry, leaving off the part about Manny offering to train the kid. “And as usual, the adult swim crowd at the Club was interesting.”
Liam flicked on the overhead chandelier and they climbed the stairs slowly, his mother gripping the handrail but refusing his arm.
“Any pretty girls?”
Would she ever stop her hunt to land him a wife? He chuckled to himself. What would it hurt to play along? “There was one who rear-ended me in the parking lot, and then showed up for lessons. She’s cute…” And needy. “But not exactly my type.”
They hit the landing, and his mother stopped to draw a deep breath. “You sure about that?”
He grinned. “Yeah, why?”
“I’ve seen that look on your face before, Liam. She may not be your usual type, but maybe that’s good. You could use someone to knock you out of your comfort zone.”
He steered her toward the bedroom. “Cut me some slack, Mom. It’s not like I ever had a normal teenage life where I got to date all kinds of girls.”
She shook her head, allowed him to ease her down to her bed. “Your father saw talent in you. He did what he thought was best. Now, I’m dying, and I’d like to see my only son happy.”
He brought the covers up to her chin.
“And by happy,” she added, “I mean married.”
“You’re not dying, and therefore, there’s no hurry for me to walk down the aisle.”
Lies, but he couldn’t let her give up hope. She had to stay positive, no matter how bad she felt or long the treatments took.
Below in the foyer, the front door slammed. “Nita? I’m home.”
Dear old Dad.
“Well,” Liam said, kissing his mother’s forehead. “I better run. I’ll be here first thing tomorrow to take you to the doctor, okay?”
“You really don’t need to.” She closed her eyes. “Your father can take me.”
Fat chance. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mom. Sleep well.”
He was out the bedroom door and halfway down the stairs when his father came out of the kitchen, a sandwich in his hands. He’d turned on lights throughout the house. “Liam? What are you doing here?”
“I came to see Mom.” He jogged down the rest of the stairs, stopped at the front door. “Like I do every day.”
“Is she okay?”
She’s dying from lung cancer, how okay can she be? “Yeah, great. She was sitting up waiting for you when she should have been in bed.”
His father stiffened. “The championship meet is in three weeks—”
“Yeah, I know. The job comes first. Always has.” He threw open the door and started out.
His dad called to him. “That’s not true, and you know it.”
“She needs you, Dad.” He stopped beside his motorcycle and looked at his father. His hair had more gray in it, and the lines around his eyes had deepened in recent months. “Why don’t you go with us tomorrow to see Dr. Kunig?”
“I can’t. I have a meeting with a new potential recruit. He’s coming all the way from Ghana. The meeting has been set for weeks. I can’t reschedule.”
There was always another recruit. Always another swim meet. Always another goddamn excuse. “Never mind. I’ll take care of her.” Like I always do.
“When are you going to get a real job, Liam?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Don’t you think it’s about time you quit throwing your talent away and did something worthy of the Caldwell name?”
The Caldwell name. Liam’s shoulders tightened. “Give it up, Dad. You can’t shame me into working for you. Ever.”
“It would make your mother happy, you know. You might think about her for once.”
Low blow. The lowest, in fact.
Without responding, Liam got on his bike and fired it up. In all their fights, his father had never sunk that low. But then, Liam had lost his dad—the father figure as well as the coach—years ago, so why did this latest comment surprise him?
He needed to get away from his dad before he did something he’d regret. But once his mother was gone—the thought made his stomach cramp—he and Jonathan Caldwell were going to have it out.
He peeled rubber, leaving a nice skid mark on his father’s precious driveway. Twenty minutes later, he was at The Pig and Horse with a shot of tequila in his gut and another on its way. His friend, Alex, punched his arm and slid into the bar seat next to him.
“I’ll have two of what he’s having,” Alex said to the cute, buxom bartender. She gave Alex a once-over and followed it with a sly grin, apparently liking his short red hair and freckles. She set up two shot glasses.
“Your text didn’t mention getting drunk, but I take it that’s the plan.” Alex set his elbows on the scarred wooden bar. “Tequila means you had a fight with the big guy.”
“Don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fine. I’ll sit here and say nothing while you avoid your daddy issues.”
“He pulled the ultimate tonight.”
“Ultimate what?”
“He used my mother as a reason for me to go back to work for him. Said if I wanted to make her happy, that was the way to do it.”
Alex whistled softly, accepting his shots of tequila from the bartender. He slid one in front of Liam. “You know that’s a lie. She wants you to be happy—that’s what all mothers want. Working for your old man again would be hell, and she knows that.”
Liam drained the glass. “The only thing that would make my mother happy right now is if I had a serious relationship with a fine young woman.”
“The second thing every mother wants.” Alex watched the bartender’s backside as she served a customer at the other end of the bar. “Maybe you could land a fake girlfriend.”
Liam laughed. “Why? Because I’m too much of a loser to snag a real one?”
“Something like that.”
“I brought you here to cheer me up. You’re failing.”
“You brought me here to whine. Whining is for losers. If you want to make Mother Caldwell happy, find a girlfriend.”
The memory of Becca wrapped around him in the pool flashed through Liam’s mind. She was a pathetic mess in the water, but she was pretty, and soft spoken, and...so not his type. “My options right now are limited.”
The bartender hustled back over to them, a bottle of tequila in hand. “Another round, boys?”
“You married?” Alex asked her.
She arched a brow. “You proposing?”
“My friend here needs a girl to take home to mom.”
“No offense,” she said to Liam, then met Alex’s eyes. “I’d rather go home with you.”
“That could be arranged,” he muttered. “Got any single friends?”
“Enough,” Liam interrupted. “I’m not a loser who needs a fake girlfriend.”
Several heads rose from those gathered around the bar to eyeball him. Yep. It had been that kind of day.
As the group witnessing his pity party went back to their conversations and the bartender sauntered away, Liam laughed at himself. He liked his job at the Club for the most part, and he loved his volunteer work. Both allowed him to spend time with his mother and make sure at least one of the men in her life took care of her. He wasn’t going to second-guess his choices, including the one where he’d never in hell swim or coach for his father again.
He slid his untouched shot in front of Alex and slapped his friend on the back. “I’m going home.”
“I just got here, and we haven’t solved your problem yet.”
Inside his pocket, Liam’s phone vibrated. He pulled it out. A text.
Hi. Is it too late to call you?
He didn’t recognize the number. And who would text and ask if it was all right to call this time of night? He texted back, Who is this?
A moment later, he got his answer.
Becca. From swim class. You gave me your number.
Miss Hit and Run. His lower body tightened just thinking about her and her revealing swimsuit. Those corkscrew curls on her head that had tickled his nose.
“Who is it?” Alex asked, peering over Liam’s shoulder.
“No one. Just a student.”
“Becca, huh?” he read. “You gave her your private number? Atta boy. Is she hot?”
She was hot all right. “I can talk,” he texted back. Give me five minutes.
The return text was a smiley face.
“Awww.” Alex made kissy noises as he followed Liam out of the bar. “Isn’t that sweet? A smiley face. Please tell me Becca is legal.”
The cool night air hit Liam’s face, and he stopped for a moment to clear his head. “Of course she’s legal. I gotta go. I’ll catch you tomorrow.”
“Wait. Tell me about Becca. You’ve got that goofy look on your face.”
Liam climbed into his car—he’d dropped his motorcycle off at the shop—and when Alex approached, he flipped the locks. Then as Alex flipped him off and cursed him out, Liam dialed Becca’s number.
“Hello?” she said on the first ring.
“Hey. What’s up?”
She hesitated. “I, uh...I was wondering if the privates were still available?”
The what? “Excuse me?”
“The private lessons. You said you’d give me private lessons,” she rushed on. “Are they still available?”
Becca. In that suit. Wrapping her legs around him in the water. The lessons were on. Definitely on. “Yeah, of course. When can you start?” Tomorrow. Please, say tomorrow. He needed to see her again.
“Um, I could get away Wednesday evening. Would that work?”
Two days. “Sure. Around ten p.m. is best. The pool is closed to the public, but I can give you a half hour lesson before they clean it.”
“That late, huh? Well, okay. I can be there.”
Satisfaction warmed his stomach. “Great. See you then.”
“Liam?”
“Yeah?”
“How fast do you think you can have me swimming? I mean, like, really swimming.”
“Depends on several factors. Why?”
“I’m sort of on a deadline.”
A deadline? That was a new one. “What kind of deadline?”
“An important one. I was wondering how long it would take for me to swim, you know, like for real.”
“Let’s get through the first private lesson and see how you do, okay?”
“Um, okay.”
She sounded disappointed.
He hated letting anyone down, so he added, “Trust me, Becca. If anyone can teach you to swim, it’s me. I have a lot of experience.”
Her voice brightened, but it sounded fake. “Right, then! I’ll see you Wednesday.”
As they disconnected, Liam smiled into the night. Wednesday, and Becca in her swimsuit, couldn’t come fast enough.
Chapter Five
By Wednesday morning, Becca still didn’t have any more clarity—on her life or her job. She tried to find patience she didn’t feel while glaring at the branding manager assigned to her project. “Charity, I don’t understand. In order to pull something together for the website, I need to see the designs for Southland. Without it, nothing else can move forward.”
Charity Miller, one of the resident Tribots who hated Becca, scowled. “Like I said, the brand identity package is still in development. You’ll have to wing the website layout. Jennings wants to see a comp by Monday.”
Becca eyed the exercise bands on the back of one of the chairs and considered strangling the daft girl with them. “And like I said, everything design-wise hinges on the brand identity package. I suggest you get your butt in gear and finish it.”
Charity wrapped her index finger with several platinum blond locks. “Maybe you should run to Elite’s marketing manager and ask him to provide you with the designs.”
Becca pinched the bridge of her nose, the heavy diamond slanting to the side of her ring finger. Of course, Charity would throw her relationship with Holden into this. “I understand you’re upset that you weren’t put in charge of this project, but it is your job to provide the team with the finalized branding idea. You understand this, right? The rest of the team needs direction based on Southland’s brand identity.”
