Wild Love

by Lauren Accardo

  As the Cruz family exited, the twins even more amped up than when they’d entered, Jorie waved and ran her hand across the front of her apron.

  “So,” Sam said. “A Valentine’s Day wedding, huh?”

  Jorie grinned. “Yeah. I know it’s cliché, but the timing works and the church was free. I just hope this little nugget stays hidden until then. I’ve always dreamed of wearing my mom’s dress, and an extra inch of belly makes it impossible.”

  Sam tossed the dripping ice bag into the trash and shoved the plain donut into his mouth, crumbs scattering down into his beard. He remembered Sydney’s fingers on his chin the night they’d first kissed. Tremors began in his belly and traveled upward.

  “Does she know yet?” His voice growled, giving him away.

  Jorie raised an eyebrow. “Not yet. I was going to call her tonight.”

  His heart thumped away in his chest. Anger mixed with sadness and tore up his insides. “You think she’ll come? To the wedding?”

  Jorie shrugged. “I hope so. She was pretty hurt when she left. But maybe a month is enough time to cool down and give you another shot. If that’s what you want.”

  He clamped his teeth down over his bottom lip, ignoring the pain of bone on flesh. “Maybe a month will be enough time for both of us.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The buzzer forced Sydney’s heart into her throat. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and all of Bee’s friends knew she was staying at her boyfriend’s for the next couple of months. Maybe a delivery guy with the wrong apartment number?

  She tossed the blanket off her lap and crept toward the door as if two dead bolts didn’t stand between her and a possible intruder. Only a few weeks back in New York City and already her defenses were sky-high.

  Let somebody try to break in. She dared them.

  “Who’s there?” she asked into the intercom.

  “Suds, it’s me.”

  Her nostrils flared, a soft spot opening up in her chest. Without another moment’s hesitation, she pressed the button to open the building’s front door and allowed her mother inside.

  Sydney glanced around her borrowed apartment and hurried to tidy the empty cracker sleeves, water glasses spotted with residue, and haphazardly discarded clothes. Her mother knew all about her emotional state, but the living situation was another story.

  “Hun?”

  The front door creaked open, and Sydney stood bolt upright with a sticky cereal bowl in hand. She swallowed down the wave of sadness and forced her tears back. Karen grinned, her lips pressing into her lined face, and shoved her hands into her coat pockets.

  “Hi, Sweets.”

  “Hi, Mom.”

  Sydney closed the space between them and wrapped trembling arms around her mother, sinking into the comforting scent of cold winter air and Pert Plus shampoo. Though she stood at least four inches taller than Karen, her mother cradled Sydney in her arms and patted her back.

  Sydney pulled away and blinked back the threatening tears. “Come on in.”

  “Not a bad place.” Karen moved through the apartment, nodding at Bee’s minimal studio. “Guess you were smart to keep at least one good friend in New York.”

  The corners of Sydney’s lips turned up. “Yeah, she’s the best.”

  “It’s close to work, you said?”

  “Just a couple blocks.”

  The day after the Utz’s debacle, Sydney accepted a sales position at the Prada flagship store in SoHo. Towering heels and a pencil skirt constituted her uniform, and although constricting, the outfit and the job kept her mind off Pine Ridge.

  Karen plopped down onto the stiff couch cushion and grimaced.

  “I know,” Sydney said. “It’s a terrible couch.”

  Karen raised her eyebrows. “So. You’re all right?”

  Sydney swallowed and begged the nerves fluttering in her stomach to quiet. All right? She lived, breathed, ate, slept. Sort of. Was that all right?

  “Sure. I’m all right.”

  Karen peeled off her functional army-green winter coat and glanced around again. “You’re lucky you had a friend to loan you a place.”

  Sydney raised her eyebrows and sucked on her lips. Bee had been Sydney’s most reliable friend since college and hadn’t hesitated when Sydney called in a panic on the train ride down from the mountains. She promised Sydney she spent most of her time at her boyfriend’s place anyway.

  Saved from homelessness twice in one year by women in serious relationships. The irony.

  Sydney perched next to her mother on the couch and watched as Karen’s veiny hand reached over to squeeze her knee. Karen tilted her head and grinned, her lips curling but her eyes remaining steady and questioning.

  “Guess I’m not doing a very good job of getting the truth out of you. Thought maybe showing up unannounced would scare ya into a confession.” She raised her bushy eyebrows. “How long is this vacation from reality going to last?”

  Sydney huffed out an indignant breath. “Vacation? New York is the vacation in this scenario?”

  “Drop the tough-girl act.” Karen winked, her voice smooth as honey. “You forgot how to do it, and it’s not very convincing anymore.”

  Sydney stood up and went into the kitchenette in search of water. She poured a glass, took a sip, and turned back toward her mother, slightly better prepared to face the lion.

  “I don’t belong in Pine Ridge.”

  Karen barked out a single bitter laugh. “Try again.”

  Sydney gritted her teeth and reached for the truth. The same truth she’d been trying to bury since she crossed the Adirondack Park line. “Fine. Pine Ridge is Sam. I can’t continue to be there if he’s there. Simple as that.”

  The grin of satisfaction stretched across Karen’s face. “That’s more like it.”

  “I’ll figure it out. I’ll stay in New York and I’ll get a better job. Or maybe I’ll stay in retail. I don’t know.” Saying the words out loud summoned the yawning chasm of sadness in her stomach.

  “Or you could try something really crazy and talk to Sam.”

  Sydney clutched her water glass tighter, staring into the tepid liquid. Talk to Sam. She wanted nothing more. Her pride wouldn’t let her.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Karen continued. “He was a jerk. You’re right.”

  “Mom, we’ve been through this. . . .”

  “I know, I know.” Karen held up her hands in defeat. “But you were so angry when you first left, and now the dust has settled. Three weeks later, and you should see the guy. He still mopes around town with a black cloud over his head. He’s always in the shop, fishing for information on you.”

  A flicker of hope sparked in Sydney’s chest. In her darkest fantasies, Sam had already moved on.

  “How could I be with someone who has that low of an opinion of me?” She joined her mother on the couch, her jaw and stomach clenched. “Like I’m some drunk. Like he didn’t know me better than that.”

  Karen patted Sydney’s hand, her face clear and hopeful. “He messed up. People do that sometimes. If anybody’s got an excuse to be rash and peg somebody as a drunk who might hurt him, it’s Sam Kirkland.”

  Visions of slurring, stringy-haired Liv floated into Sydney’s memory. What destruction she’d caused. “I shouldn’t have to pay for someone else’s mistakes.”

  Karen nodded. “No. You shouldn’t. I’m not saying forgive him all his sins and pretend like he didn’t hurt you. I’m saying don’t cut and run. He’s not perfect. But he deserves more than that.”

  Sydney exhaled, the unsteady breath floating past her lips. She hadn’t slept well lately, thrumming headaches plaguing her from morning to night. She remembered what he’d said.

  I get these tension headaches. . . . I went to the doctor once, and he said it’s just stress. That�
�s the only cause. Stress. And when I’m with you, they go away.

  She licked her lips, the ache that had replaced him pulsing at her temples.

  One more shot.

  Maybe.

  She met her mother’s wide-eyed stare. “How’s the shop?”

  chapter twenty-three

  Jorie gasped as the white curtain fell back into place behind her. Her Barbie-doll blue eyes, framed in frosty sapphire eyeshadow, widened as they fell on Sam. Who had done her makeup? She looked like a clown. But a woman’s wedding day was probably not the right time to criticize her eyeshadow.

  “What are we gasping about?” Sam asked.

  “She’s here.”

  Sam dragged both hands over his face as the skin on his arms and chest prickled. He didn’t think he was physically capable of experiencing even more anxiety, but anxiety laughed in the face of whatever tortured him now. This was being-hunted-in-the-woods pure terror.

  “I’m not gonna do it.” He peered past the gauzy white curtain into the church nave and found Sydney immediately. Her chestnut hair was pressed into waves, and every ten seconds she turned toward Karen with a pained expression on her face.

  She didn’t want to be here. It was obvious.

  “You’re freaking doing it.” Jorie sipped a bottle of ginger ale and wiped a finger around her lips. “I’m the bride, it’s my day, and I say you’re doing it.”

  “That’s just it,” Sam said. “It’s your day. Nobody wants to see the love-drunk asshole making a speech to the girl he lost during someone else’s wedding.”

  “Sure, in most places with most people this is frowned upon. In Pine Ridge? With you and Sydney? And with the bride and groom’s permission? People will be disappointed if you don’t do it.”

  The knotted tie at his throat cut off his air supply, and he tugged at it, the stiff fabric remaining taut. His new, custom-fit white shirt clung to his back with sweat. Why had he gone to the trouble of new clothes? It wasn’t his wedding.

  Maybe it would matter to Sydney. If it mattered to her, it mattered to him. A month apart had been just enough time for him to realize her place in his life and how if he didn’t try to get her back, he’d never forgive himself.

  “Okay, sugar! It’s time.” Mrs. McDonagh appeared, flanked by her husband and the pastor, and clapped her hands. “Sam, get the hell out of here. My daughter’s about to get married.”

  * * *

  • • •

  The champagne glittered in plastic flutes, tiny bubbles floating up in time to the disco beats pulsing from the DJ booth. Half of Pine Ridge crammed into the reception hall attached to the church, grooving to the music and taking full advantage of the free booze.

  Sam gulped at his water, the cool liquid doing nothing to soothe his parched throat. Sydney sat across the room at a round table next to her mother, the same pinched and pained expression on her face as earlier in the church.

  This was crazy. He couldn’t do it.

  Could he?

  A month ago, he’d done everything wrong; he’d doubted himself, doubted her feelings for him. He’d pushed her away because if the past had taught him anything, it was that people had the power to hurt you if you let them.

  He’d never counted on meeting someone like Sydney. But Jorie’s wedding gave him the opportunity to right the ship. All he had to do was face Sydney and the town and admit he’d been wrong.

  “Hey, man.” Matt clapped him on the shoulder, shaking him from his daydream. “You want a little liquid courage?”

  Matt held two shots in his meaty paw, but Sam balked at the booze. “No, thanks. I think this is something I’ve gotta do sober.”

  As Jorie and Matt took their places at the sweetheart table, the DJ announced the speeches, and Jorie’s dad took the mic first. Sam’s throat constricted. Could he do this? He couldn’t do this. He’d never been sweatier in his life. He’d hurt Sydney. How could she ever give him another shot?

  “Sam?” Mr. McDonagh held the microphone, shaking it above his head like a prize. That thing was no prize. It was the gateway to Sam’s public embarrassment.

  “Right.” He stood and approached the sweetheart table, taking the mic from Mr. McDonagh with a shaky hand. He cleared his throat, unfolded his sheet of notebook paper, cleared his throat again. Was it suddenly hotter in here? His face flushed.

  “Uh, I’ve known Matt and Jorie for as long as I can remember.” His gaze lifted, preparing to lock eyes with Sydney.

  Instead, an empty chair. Wait. Was that where she’d been sitting? Edith O’Hare, Karen, empty chair. That was it. She was gone.

  “Sam,” Jorie hissed, pointing toward the rear of the reception hall where the door swung closed behind a blue patterned dress. “Go!”

  His blood froze in his veins, turning him into a solid block of fear. Not fear of embarrassment but fear of losing. If she ran out on him now, he’d lost his shot.

  No fucking way.

  He tore through the reception hall, bumping elderly Pine Ridge residents who cheered him on with cries of “Go, Sam!” and “Get her!”

  Get her get her get her. The words rang out like a call to action, the only directive in the world worth listening to.

  “Sydney!” His voice rang out in the empty lobby, bouncing off faded blue walls and bulletin boards touting God’s love and potluck dinners. Among the layered papers on the cork board was a bright pink postcard for the Loving Book Club.

  A bitter laugh escaped Sam’s lips. Even the church wanted her back.

  “Hey.” Her voice slipped into his ear, down his jaw, and past his neck, raising goose bumps in its wake. She stood near the door, coat in hand, with wide eyes and her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

  “You’re leaving?”

  She shook her head, silky tendrils of hair sweeping against her jaw. “No. Just needed a little air.”

  He swallowed down his desire. Maybe she didn’t want him anymore. Maybe she was terrified, too. But through everything swirling around them—the hurt, the fear, the past—something else tethered them to each other. A crackling thing, like the first licks of a fire. He’d felt it the first time he’d laid eyes on her, and they’d tended that fire until it raged within him, untenable and wild.

  She had every right to turn him down now. But he’d be in love with her for the rest of his days anyway. What did he have to lose?

  “You ran out on my speech,” he said.

  Her lips parted, and her brow furrowed. “Sorry if I couldn’t sit there and listen to you talk about love and commitment and everlasting devotion. Maybe you’re over it all, but I’m not.”

  Over it all. Would he ever be over it all? Not if he could help it.

  “If you’d stayed, I think you would’ve enjoyed it.” On uneasy legs, he moved toward her, closing the space between them.

  She stiffened, her arms tightening around her heavy coat. A blush rose in her smooth cheeks, and a memory flashed in his mind of the first time they’d made love by the campfire, her face pink from both the cold and the heat.

  “Sam.” Her quiet voice held a warning. Just like the first time he’d kissed her.

  “Sydney.” Only a few inches separated them, and he clutched the now-damp paper in his still-trembling hand. He glanced down but knew he didn’t truly need the script. “I’ve known Matt and Jorie for as long as I can remember. And since the rest of you have known them most of your lives, I don’t have to tell you how perfect they are together. They’re so great, they both insisted I use this opportunity not to talk about their love and commitment to each other but instead about how I fumbled and lost somebody I could’ve shared a similar future with.”

  The tiniest whimper escaped Sydney’s lips, and he blinked up to catch her reaction. Same flushed cheeks. A new tear in the corner of her eye. Her brow still creased in the middle, urging him to continue.
>
  “I was a colossal idiot. I let myself believe all the things I wanted to believe, because when most of the people you’ve loved have let you down, you tend to believe everybody who comes after them will, too. Sydney didn’t deserve the blame for my father or for anyone else who’d hurt me.”

  A strong hand gripped his wrist, and he stopped short. That was it. She really was too hurt to forgive him. When he met her eyes, the pained expression on her face cut him deep.

  “I’ll stop.”

  “No.” Her voice was a whisper. “No, don’t stop. I just needed to touch you.”

  The pressure of her fingers on his wrist anchored him down, reminded him that the past was the past but he had control of the future.

  “You needed to touch me?”

  “I’ve missed you so much.”

  A deep breath escaped his lips. A release. “You have?”

  “Yes.” She lowered her chin, the crease between her eyebrows deepening.

  “Even though I was a complete asshole?”

  “You definitely pinned some stuff on me that wasn’t mine to take.” Her hand slipped from his wrist to his waist, and her fingers crept under the flap of his jacket to the thin shirt below. The heat from her hand penetrated the fabric and branded his skin.

  “That’s putting it lightly.” He took one step closer. “I am so sorry I hurt you.”

  “I’m sorry I ran.”

  “You were allowed to react however you wanted to react. But I’m not the only one here who misses you. I got a ration of shit for pushing you out of town.”

  A smile creeped onto her lips as she dropped her coat on the floor and their bodies finally met, hips pressed against thighs, breasts against ribs. The pressure of her exquisite frame against him was like slipping into a warm bath. Every inch of him eased.

  “I’ve been thinking maybe I’d come back.” The smile threatened to stretch, but she tamped it down. “Rowena Willow signed on as a silent partner, you know. Not sure if anybody told you.”