You don’t know the half of my issues.
Pete limped over to the closet on the other side of the room. His hip ached from his earlier skid when Cara pushed him. He opened the door and snatched the dustpan and broom. He started to sweep the mess littered across the kitchen floor into a neat pile. If only life were this easy to clean up. If only.
Chapter 7
With a twinge of envy centering in her chest, Cara watched Darlene march down the aisle. She tried to grin, but she soon discovered it was difficult to maintain a smile with a broken heart.
Sunlight peered in the stained glass windows on both sides of the chapel. The rays ignited the mahogany rows with a golden glow. Fragrant, cherry-colored carnations and baby’s breath hung from each pew, held together with silk ribbon and tulle. Darlene had twisted her now-pink hair up into a ballerina bun, a spray of tea roses worked into the thick knot. Her long train, decorated in sparkling lace, sequins, and rhinestones, glided over scarlet petals scattered along the white carpet, paving her way to the altar. Although a blunt contrast to her ivory gown, the boldness worked well with the two dozen red roses she held tight in her grasp.
Waiting at the end of the runner with the rest of the bridesmaids and outfitted in a gown tight enough to cut off circulation, Cara watched the groom pull at his bow tie. The nervous tug on Tom’s collar allowed the tip of his skull tattoo to play peek-a-boo with the crowd. He wore a white tuxedo with tails, gloves, and a red cummerbund. The fancy clothes reminded Cara of Prince Charming in Cinderella. On the other hand, his long wild curls screamed Beauty and the Beast. Either way, Cara knew all too well the falsehood of fairy tales.
Tom, the fidgeting groom, stared down the aisle at his beautiful bride. Darlene gave him a wink. His body suddenly relaxed as a grin lifted his lips. Anyone with eyes could recognize how much they loved one another. Jealousy crept along her emotions once again. God, she envied what they shared with one another.
Thoughts of Pete fitted in his dress uniform and waiting for her hand popped in her head. His muscles decorated in deep blue and medals pinned to his chest, a cap on his head, white gloves on his hands, and shiny black shoes on his feet. She’d wear a simple gown, no flashy sequins or overstated designer name.
Oh, maybe a plunging neckline that offered Pete a teasing display of cleavage, considering his gaze always managed to land there anyway. She smiled. A backyard ceremony sounds right. We’ll exchange vows beneath a canopy of wildflowers, surrounded by the warm caressing rays of sunshine. She closed her eyes.
She loved the way the sun reflected in his hazel eyes.
We’ll dance and kiss and…
She shook her head hard enough to erase the outrageous fantasy like an internal etch-a-sketch. Enough. Move on already. Didn’t you waste enough time living in la la land? You took enough of his attitude. For the way he treated you at John’s, you should be planning retribution, not picking china patterns. Grow a spine, Cara.
For shame, Cara…for shame.
Oh, shut up, she scolded herself.
Irritated, she turned away from the happy couple to find the bridesmaid besides her staring with concern, no doubt a witness to Cara’s internal battle. Great, now she looked crazy.
“You okay?” the bridesmaid mouthed.
Cara nodded and gave a thumbs-up. Enough self-abuse. She’d heard plenty of reprimands from Darlene and Stan over the past week. Why bury the knife any deeper? Darlene, with her harsh, uncensored opinion of Pete, handled the job like a professional. Even though Stan gave a candy-coated view of the situation, the gentle reaming drained her as well.
Neither of her friends understood how deep her feelings for Pete ran. Years of devotion to the man doused her. Like an addict, she needed to wean herself off or suffer withdrawal. Yes, she wanted to hate him. She wanted to push aside the years of friendship and memories, but she refused to desert someone when they needed her most. Her father raised her to fight, not cower. Sure, his cruel words hurt and his on-again and off-again indifference drove her crazy. She wasn’t immune. She felt anger, frustration, and pain, as anyone else would when faced with an infuriating, stubborn man like Pete. However, after a day or so, her anger settled as it always did and concern crept in.
They didn’t see the intense pain in his eyes, the way he clung to her as if she held the lifeline to his soul. Beneath the drunken haze and lust, she found fear and regret far outreaching a man of his age. All week long, the need to wrap her arms around him and protect him from his haunting darkness picked away at her hesitation. Yet she held her ground. She stayed away, refusing to seek him out. To a proud man like Pete, any attempts to help would push him further away. A solider through and through, he protected and fought, he didn’t bow down and allow others to take care of him, even if his actions claimed otherwise.
Yeah, Pete needed help, aid she admitted went well beyond her abilities, but she had to try. He held onto terrifying demons, more horrific than she thought possible. Not to mention the heavy drinking he engaged in. His bouts of drunkenness aggravated whatever nightmares ate away at him. Soon there would be nothing left of him to save.
To her surprise, John offered no help. He brushed off her concerns as he tossed out excuse after excuse for Pete’s behavior since he came back. According to John, Pete hadn’t changed a bit. His statement made Cara want to run into the streets screaming.
Hadn’t changed?
Any fool with eyes could see the transformation. Cara had never considered her brother an enabler. He pulled his fist back and knocked sense into people the quick way, not by justifying their dangerous behavior with ridiculous excuses.
Aware she must face this battle on her own, and since she had the library at her disposal, she researched. She spent hours scanning through articles about the effects of war. A few stories stood out on the different issues veterans faced. She scribbled down some agencies, places she thought might help. How to pass the information on to Pete, now there stood the biggest challenge.
She had no choice. He might hate her interference, but screw him. Sometimes blunt honesty outweighed the burden of a dressed-up lie and, as Pete knew all too well, Cara Sands never dressed anything up.
Cara turned to the many spectators filling the church and scanned each row, hoping for a glimpse of Pete’s hazel eyes and full lips. Most of the faces were unfamiliar. Her shoulders fell. Pete hadn’t come.
On the bride’s side of the church, three pews down, she found Stan. His gaze drifted up and down her body without shame. He smiled wide, and gave her a thumbs-up. She wanted to return his gesture with a double finger salute, but feared the shift in position might expose more than her middle fingers.
Being a bridesmaid, Cara had no choice but to fling herself under the bride’s mercy when it came to attire. Darlene, the equivalent to a dictator on steroids, scoffed at mercy. If anything, she chose this moment to torment Cara for her lack of style over the years. Full length, low-cut, and brighter than the sun on a cloudless day, the red silk glove encasing her body screamed come and get me…now. She felt like ten pounds of potatoes stuffed in a five-pound sack. One darn cocktail frank at the reception and she’d explode at the seams.
God, they should shoot whoever invented butt floss. She shifted position, regretting her decision to wear a thong. Darlene had insisted and after fifteen minutes of nagging, won her argument by using unfair tactics. According to Darlene, men loved the idea of women going commando under their sexy clothes and men as virile as Pete Cross, loved it.
“Thongs offer the perfect illusion of naughtiness. While keeping a certain level of decorum.”
Yeah, right.
After an eternity of self-written vows, the couple’s two enthusiastic I do’s echoed across the cathedral ceiling. Applause soon followed, accompanied by an uncensored lip lock, making the preacher turn a deep shade of scarlet.
Thank God.
Her feet ached from heel to toe due to the three-inch stilettos glued to her feet. She limped behind Darlene along
with the other bridesmaids, while guests pelted Darlene and Tom with birdseed. Stan shot Cara another thumbs-up as she passed. She rolled her eyes, but smiled, waving off his teasing.
Once outside, Darlene and her new husband ducked into the limo like Hollywood elite dodging the paparazzi. With a quick screech of tires, the stretched black Cadillac pulled away from the curb and headed up the tree-lined street. The photographer planned to take photos before the reception, considering how beautiful Mystic Lake looked in the midday sunlight.
Stan slid in beside her. “Your dress should be illegal.”
“You’re right, because it’s killing me.” She adjusted her breasts again. Without a proper bra they had a mind of their own, flipping and flopping wherever they pleased.
He laughed. “Oh no, sunshine, it’s killing me. I can barely breast—I mean boob…I mean breathe.” His eyelashes batted with innocence, his gaze locked to her chest.
Cara shook her head and chuckled. “Men, show them a little cleavage and they lose their minds. Are you ready? I’ve got to get these heels off.”
“Anything else you might want to take off?”
She burst out laughing. “You’re unbelievable. Come on.”
They jumped in the car and headed for the reception at an uptown country club along Mystic Lake. They didn’t hit much traffic and made it there in good time. A few others were hanging out in front when they pulled up. Among them John, Pete, and some people she recognized from her high school days. Including a certain drama queen named Rose Schmidt. Dressed in a short pencil skirt, low-cut blouse, and sporting a pair of heels many might consider deadly weapons, Rose appeared no different than she did six years ago. She still dressed like a tramp and had her hands all over Pete.
Rose played with Pete’s cropped hair, her gaze locked on his lips. “Any closer and she might as well crawl inside him,” Cara mumbled, tightening her fingers on her purse.
“Rose always did have a thing for Pete.” Stan stared over at the sickening display. “Shit if I know why, must be the whole bad boy thing.”
Cara laughed. “Bad boy? He’s not a bad boy.”
“No, who’s the one who got caught stealing from the principal? Sure as hell wasn’t me.”
Cara spun on Stan. “He did not steal from Mr. Cranky Pants. He was getting back my CDs that the principal took from me for no reason.”
Stan shook his head. “Shit, Pete was thirteen when he beat up three guys from the high school wrestling team. He put one of them in the hospital, for Christ’s sake. Rumor around the school was he didn’t like the way they looked at him so he decided to change it.”
She scowled. “They pushed me around after school. Knocked me into a puddle and hurt my leg. He carried me home ten blocks because I had trouble walking. He went to talk to them and tell them to stop picking on me, but one of them took a swing at him. He was defending himself.”
“So I guess I got it wrong. He’s the hero, your knight in shining armor, and you were the bad influence.”
Cara frowned, her gaze turning back to Pete. She breathed a heavy sigh. “To be honest, I don’t know who Pete Cross is at all anymore.”
Their last kiss, fresh in her mind, brought her body to instant life. She licked her lips and swore she tasted him.
“I’m sorry, Cara. God, I hate seeing you so upset. Listen, we can go around the other side. You don’t have to do this right now.” Stan knew what had happened with Pete last week. Not all of it, but enough.
“Yeah, I do. He made it clear where I stand. It’s about time I do the same.”
Stan shook his head. “Well, sunshine, you wore the perfect dress to make a stand. He’s gonna die when he sees you.”
“Thanks, Stan.” She caressed his cheek, grateful for a friend like him. “Come on. Let’s walk the walk.”
Cara opened the car door and climbed out. She adjusted herself and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear.
Stan strolled around the car to her side with a grin. He shook his head. “He’s out of his mind. You’re fucking stunning.” Stan kissed her cheek. Cara forced a smile, took his arm, and together they walked toward Pete and John.
*
Pete leaned against a light post and stretched his stiff neck. Exhaustion had set in days ago due to a lack of sleep. Now he coasted on fumes. Sweat trickled down his back, thanks to the humidity saturating the air and the persistent woman, Rose Schmidt, draped over him like a heated blanket. Darlene’s idea of mixing their high school reunion with her wedding was her freakiest idea yet. He offered Rose a sideways glance. She hadn’t changed a bit since high school. Still sporting a rock-hard body and still easier than a first grade spelling bee. She pressed closer to his side, unaware he’d lost interest about ten seconds after she opened her mouth. Her shift forced her full breasts to sandwich his biceps. God, did she bathe in refined sugar and rose petals? He cringed. A playful whisper sounded beside his ear. Who knows what she said. Her murmur was lost in the traffic of emotions jammed in his head from the last week.
The suffocating thoughts of Cara, those unforgettable kisses, and the need to soak his sorrows in a large bottle of Jack Daniels rode him hard. Too bad he’d promised John no heavy drinking tonight. Seems Darlene’s father was a friend of the police chief and with his boss attending the reception tonight, John didn’t want to take any chances messing up his promotion. Pete glared at his best friend as John popped open his fourth ice-cold beer, damn hypocrite.
Here I am, babying my first beer, which is piss warm, I might add, and this joker is tossing them back like a damn frat boy. What I wouldn’t give for a few shots and a bat.
Pete glanced at his watch. Shit, Cara would be here soon. No doubt as gorgeous as a beauty queen. The realization made him take a long pull at his bottle. He winced as the flat and tepid beer slid down his throat.
Did it matter if he had a couple shots? He stretched his neck again. Hell, no. He’d handle himself fine, whether he stumbled from a jolt of pain running up his leg or the comfortable numbness of a half a bottle of Jack. What he refused to deal with sober was the vision of Cara all dolled up and in the arms of Morrison.
Rose snuggled closer, his past brush-off already forgotten. She is persistent, I’ll give her that. Another set of jumbled words brushed past his ear. Pete flashed a forced grin and expelled a light chuckle. She tossed back her hair, giggled, and draped an arm over his chest. Pete glanced to the side with a groan. A combination of hot weather, desperate company, and utter exhaustion continued to shred his last ounce of patience. No longer caring if he offended the retro prom queen, he made a sharp twist toward the left and caught sight of Cara.
Was this woman real? He often considered Cara an illusion, because women as beautiful as her did not exist, their creation left for fairy tales and legends of sexy sirens luring men to their deaths.
Oh, but she is real. Cara is all too real. Don’t you remember the way she felt in your arms?
Shit, of course he remembered. The damn images carved deep holes in his brain and stuffed the caverns with memories of soft, warm skin, and willing woman. All week, these recollections replayed in his head, making him ache.
Pete pushed off the pole and gawked. Not a word left his mouth because his speech remained locked behind the boulder-sized lump lodged in his dry throat. Cara strolled up to the group, wearing a gown that clung to every luscious curve. Dropping his gaze, he discovered her hard nipples pressed against the thin, silky fabric, offering an undeniable enticement meant to torment him. It was bad enough he had sat up at night imagining where that sexy tattoo decorated her lovely skin. Now, he had the image of her in that damn dress to torture him. She turned her back to him and his gaze traveled lower, noticing the absence of a panty line. Holy Mary, either she left her perfect ass bare or she wore a fucking thong. Both observations made him fill out the front of his dress slacks.
“Perfect,” he whispered.
In each corner of the parking lot, males stopped and eyed her with lust, a fact
he found infuriating. She wore little makeup. She needed no false decoration. Nature blessed her with innate radiance. Her one blemish was the rat bastard clinging to her side.
Morrison kept her arm locked in his grip. His three-piece suit, Armani or some shit no doubt, cost more than Pete’s entire wardrobe. Not that money impressed Pete. It took a lot more than a wad of cash to earn his respect.
John elbowed him in the side, as if he hadn’t seen her. For Christ’s sake, the woman glowed like the desert sun off the Afghan mountains. She blinded him with radiance. John eyed Stan, giving him a stern once over. Like Pete, John would do anything to protect Cara, but where John’s protectiveness derived from brotherly love, Pete’s resulted from unadulterated lust and infatuation.
“You clean up real nice, sis. Don’t she look nice, Pete?”
Pete nodded and dropped his gaze. “She looks beautiful.”
“Thanks. It took a lot of effort getting this thing on.”
“I hope it will take as much effort getting it off.” John passed a sideways glare at Stan.
“Really, John?” she snapped.
“Just a joke, right, Pete?”
Pete didn’t laugh.
“Let me buy you a drink, Stanley. It’s about time we get to know one another. Since you and my sister are getting so close and all. Shit, you might be family one day.” John put his arm around Stan’s shoulder.
“Sure.” Stan grabbed Cara’s hand. “I think we all can use a drink.”
“You stay.” John glanced at Cara. “Something tells me by the look on your face you need a dose of fresh air.” He nodded at Pete. “Look after her for us, won’t you, Pete? Come on, guys, you too, Rita.”
“It’s Rose.”
“Whatever, let’s go.” When Rose didn’t move, John added, “Don’t make me go all cop on you, woman. I’ll arrest your ass for indecent exposure.”
Drama queen Rose pouted, but obeyed, shuffling behind the rest of the group. Before she passed through the doorway, she turned. “Pete, you promised me a dance. Don’t forget.” She grinned, a smear of lipstick on her front tooth. Pete caught Cara’s smirk and held back a sneer of his own.
Cross My Heart Page 10
