My Hunger to Bear (The Everson Brothers Book 5)

by Olivia Arran

  “You’re evil,” Gina slurred from her spot on the floor.

  Amy, now back in jeans and a shirt, crawled over to inspect the attack at close range, her rapid fire blinking giving her an owlish expression. “I’ll hold her down.”

  Hoisting myself out of my chair, I made my way to the back of the room, smiling as shrieks and manic giggles filled the air. Fishing out my phone, I scrolled through the numbers, searching for the right one, then hit dial.

  “Hey, Connie girl! What’s up?”

  Cocking a hip against the kitchen counter, my smile widened at the sound of my friend’s voice. “Hey, Darrel. Not much, how are things with you?”

  “Same old. Busy,” he grumbled, but I knew he wouldn’t have it any other way. “We still miss you around here. Things aren’t the same without you.”

  “I would have thought you’d have forgotten me by now,” I teased, my fingers tightening around the plastic.

  “Forget you? Never!” His low chuckle echoed in my ear, along with the sound of shouting and crashes in the background. Regular kitchen noise.

  “Busy night?” It was past midnight, probably the only reason he’d answered his phone. An hour earlier and I’d have had no chance.

  I heard the rustle of clothes then the flick of a lighter. “Like I said, same old. What can I do for you?” He exhaled heavily with a satisfied sigh.

  “You still smoking?” I chided gently.

  “Girl, in this business I’ve got to have something to keep me sane. So quit lecturing me.”

  “It’s only because I care.” Darrel was around my father’s age, or would have been if my my old man were still alive. As my father’s sous-chef and friend, he’d understood more than anyone how hard everything had been.

  “I know.”

  “I need to ask you something.”

  “I figured. Not often you call me for a chat.” His voice wasn’t judgmental, but it was sad.

  I winced. “I’ll come up and see you soon, I promise.”

  “I’d like that. So, what can I do you for?”

  I took a deep breath. “Ralph Everson.”

  “What about him?” The warmth was gone, replaced with a wariness I recognized immediately.

  Was I really going to ask this, after all this time? “Did he really buy out the restaurant?”

  “You know he did.”

  “Yeah, but was it him.”

  “What do you mean?” Darrel’s voice was sharp.

  “It’s kind of hard to explain. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, about how things happened, and I remember hearing my father talking on the phone.” It was a memory buried under a mountain of grief, one I’d only recently unearthed. Something Ralph had said the other day had set the wheels turning… “My father mentioned Ralph’s name a few days before.”

  “Because the bastard had been pulling some strings, forcing your father into bankruptcy.”

  “No. That wasn’t it. He wasn’t angry on the phone, more…” I tried to put my finger on it, but the memory was blurry, “…relieved?”

  “Connie, you listen to me. All you need to know is that your father was a good man. A hard working, honest guy who only wanted to make a living and see his little girl grow up. Ralph Everson pushed him into a corner and made him sell for a pittance. He didn’t even come through with the money—no sight nor sound of it. When your father found out that he’d seduced you—” He broke off on a sigh. “It was the last straw.”

  Despair hit me harder that it should have, nausea churning in my stomach. “Did you know Ralph very well?”

  “No. But a man his age shouldn’t have been messing around with a girl young enough to be his daughter. That tells me exactly what kind of character he is.”

  “Wait. You never met him?”

  “Your father spoke highly of him, right up until Ralph screwed him over. But I never met the guy. I’d like to, though, so I could show him the right side of my fist.” Wheezing filled the speaker, coughing and spluttering.

  “Darrel!”

  “I’m okay, I’m okay. Why the questions all of a sudden? He’s not down there harassing you, is he?”

  “No! I’m fine,” I replied quickly. “Like I said, that old memory came up and I was just wondering.” It was a weak excuse, but he seemed to buy it, giving me what sounded like an affirmative grunt. “I’ll come see you soon, okay? You take care of yourself.”

  “You too, girl. Your father would have been proud of you.”

  A few more niceties and he hung up, leaving me staring at the wall. I didn’t know why I’d even bothered to investigate; it wasn’t like the past could have changed. But, for a moment—surrounded by my friends and swept away in the moment—I’d thought maybe, just maybe, I could have what they had. A man who loved me. A home. A family. A place in the world.

  But it was all a foolish daydream.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ralph

  The kitchen was a whirl of activity, every available surface littered with ingredients and dishes at various stages of production. Sugar and spices teased my nose, the air sparkling with flour and icing sugar as they wafted in never-ending clouds from the woman who stood at the center of the storm.

  Connie. Her hair scraped back, the cinnamon brown a patchwork of flour splodges and shiny strands, tiny curls clinging to her neck and bobbing with every thwack of her arms. The dough she was pummeling into oblivion must have surrendered, because she dropped it into a tin and set it in the warming oven for its last rise. Spinning, she attacked the next item in her eyesight.

  I pitied the poor strawberries.

  “Can you take out the quiches,” she ordered without breaking from her task. “Second oven, third rack. And move the next batch up a level.”

  I reached for the oven door.

  “No!” Her screech had me ducking for cover. “That’s the cake oven. Never open the cake oven!” She batted me away with her hands, pressing against the door as if to assure herself that her babies were safe from the bad, nasty man.

  “I thought this was the second oven,” I muttered, following her pointed finger to the oven next to this one. Grabbing the tray, I pulled it out, did a quick switcheroo with the remaining trays, and carried my bounty over to the table.

  She was staring at me in horror.

  “What?” I did a quick check. Yup. Covered in flour. Turned out baking was a hell of a lot messier than cooking.

  “Your hands,” she hissed.

  Ah, right. No oven gloves. “I’ve got tough fingers.” And a shifter metabolism, I added silently. But she already knew that. Not that she’d mentioned it again, not after our big showdown a few days ago. Nor had she mentioned The Kiss. Yup, in my head it was capitalized. Burned into my mind. But she’d refused to talk about it, citing stress and dedication to Amy’s wedding.

  Twenty-four hours to go. The clock was ticking and I was no closer to convincing her to forgive me, and I was running out of ideas. Her store was nowhere near ready to re-open and once the wedding was done and dusted, she’d have no reason to hang around.

  “Tell me again why you’re going back to the city?” I kept it light and vaguely interested, nabbing a strawberry and popping it in my mouth. Yanking my hand away from where she’d just slapped me, I eyed the quiches with a predatory air.

  “Do you want to lose your fingers?” she warned, but there wasn’t any heat.

  And that was the problem. Ever since she’d disappeared for a whole goddamned day—a bridal shower, I’d later learned—she’d been … distant. Before, we’d fought and argued and flirted, and there’d been heat. Even before the fire I’d known she cared, if only by the way she hid from me in the back of her bakery, or demanded that I leave. Even then, as she ordered me out of her store, her eyes had begged me to stay.

  Now. They were empty.

  “The city?” I prodded.

  “I’ve been offered a job and since there’s nothing here in Craggstone for me anymore, I accepted.”

 
Only with an iron grip hold on my temper did I manage to not react. “When are you leaving?”

  “The morning after the wedding.” She finished coring the strawberries and picked up the colander. “I’d go sooner, if I could.” In other words, back off, I’m leaving.

  Hearing you loud and clear, babe. Frustration pummeled me, the tension having built and built over the last couple of days and she’d just popped the gasket. “I’m going out.” Whether she heard me, or not, I didn’t know. I was out of there, before I said something I might later regret.

  Or worse—do something.

  Steering the car through the wrought iron gates, I followed the driveway up and around to the parking lot, dappled sunlight streaming through the old oak trees lining the road. Sliding the car into park, I told myself to move, but my hands stayed where they were, curled around the steering wheel as though they possessed a life of their own.

  “Fuck this shit.” My growl echoed around the car interior. I rammed the car into reverse, but my foot didn’t move from the brake.

  I wasn’t going anywhere. Something had possessed me to drive all the way out here, to ask questions I knew I wouldn’t get an answer to. So, I’d ask them, then leave. Simple.

  The gravestone had a furry moss coating, the edges weather worn and rough from the constant barrage of wind the hill took over the winter months. It was a beautiful spot; I could see why she’d chosen it, the highest point in the cemetery, looking down on all the others that had been laid to rest over the years. Brushing away a thin layer of dirt, I crouched down, my hand resting on top of the cold marble.

  “It’s been a while, Bob.” I could picture him in my minds eye, cropped curly hair the color of cinnamon buns, a wide smile, and a stomach that proclaimed a penchant for his wares. He’d been a good man. A friend. A confidant.

  Scraping my nails against the moss, I searched for the words. “Why?” It wasn’t like he was going to answer me, anyway. What had I hoped to accomplish? He was dead. Gone. He couldn’t absolve me from my promise, that was for me to decide.

  “I love her,” I muttered into the sky, just in case he could actually hear me. “You hear me? I love her, and you left me with all these lies, with no chance of a future with her. I could make her happy!”

  Tell her…

  I jerked, falling back onto my ass in the grass. I was pretty sure the whisper came from my bear. Mostly. Sure of it.

  I tugged at a clump of grass, pulling the blades between my fingers. “I want to, but you were her world. After her mother died, she worshiped you. How can I steal those memories away?” Every instinct inside of me demanded that I protect my mate. That her wellbeing and happiness were all that mattered. So much so, that it even overrode the instinct to claim her. I couldn’t willingly hurt her, let alone break her heart.

  You’ve hurt her already…

  “No. You hurt her. You were the one who lied about everything. You put me in this position,” my voice rose on a roar, hurtling through the air to punch at the inanimate marble. As though it would make a damn bit of difference. Slumping forward, I slammed my fist into the ground. “I protected her memories of you because I thought it was the right thing to do, but I don’t think I can anymore,” I whispered, conviction gripping me and twisting my insides. “She’s leaving me.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Connie

  The wedding had gone off without a hitch, the bride beautiful in a silvery blue dress, decorated with tiny jewels that cascaded down her many layers of skirts, and adorned her ears and throat. Luke, Amy’s son, had been a carbon copy of his step-daddy, decked out in a form fitting suit and tie, completed with the same beaming grin that Ryan had worn all day long. The service had been short and sweet, the happy couple staring into each other’s eyes as they vowed to love and cherish, and then it was over. Yeah, I’d cried—blubbered like a big baby, but I hadn’t been the only one. Eyes were suspiciously shiny all around, even those of the big burly men that had crowded the small chapel.

  That was an hour ago.

  Now, I was in hell.

  “The food looks fine,” said a voice right behind me, his breath tickling my ear.

  I dropped the fork I was using to nudge a party of shrimp into a uniform line with a clatter, steeling myself before turning. I could be pleasant; if only for Amy’s sake. “I’m glad you think so,” I murmured, edging away from the table and the man looming over me.

  Ralph met my shuffle with one of his own, his dark eyes dancing with amusement. “You did a good job.”

  I craned my neck to look up at him, a platitude on the tip of my tongue. “Thank— What the hell did you do?” I’d avoided looking too closely at him all day, which had thankfully been easy given my eyesight had been blurry from the second I’d laid eyes on the bride.

  “You look gorgeous, too, sweetheart,” he replied in that way that he did, a drawn out drawl designed to pluck at a woman’s every last nerve.

  I ignored his backhanded compliment. “Your hair!” I stuttered, my hand reaching up and hovering over where his hair had once kissed his forehead.

  “What? You don’t like it? You were the one always suggesting that I get it cut.”

  “Hmmm,” I hedged, twisting my lips in an approximation of a smile.

  “Hmmmm?” he echoed, his voice carrying a touch of panic. His hand reached up in a familiar gesture, catching air rather than hair.

  “You’ll be looking for another move.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t do the Fabio hair flick, now.” I couldn’t hold it in any longer, the giggle bursting out of my chest and bubbling up.

  He looked perplexed, and not a little bit anxious. It was a new look on him—both the hair and the vulnerability. “Fabio?”

  I waved him away. “Doesn’t matter.”

  We fell silent, each sneaking glances at one other while pretending to watch the celebrating crowd.

  “Beautiful service,” I eventually offered, snagging a misbehaving shrimp and popping it into my mouth.

  “Really, Connie?” I could hear the frown in his voice.

  “What?”

  “Inane social babble? That’s where we’re going with this?”

  The shrimp lodged in my throat. Swallowing hard, I gulped in air, blinking through watery eyelashes.

  “Hey, I was only messing with you.” His hand caught mine, tugging me around to look at him. Cupping my cheek, he chased a stray tear.

  “I’m not crying; it was the shrimp.” I was pouting, but if he actually thought I was upset about us, he was delusional. There was no us.

  “Okay.”

  A shiver snaked down my spine, his deep husky drawl creating mayhem. So, I did what any reasonable woman would do; I whacked him. “Quit doing that!”

  “Ow!” He clutched his chest, feigning hurt. “What did I do to deserve that?”

  “You know exactly what you did.” Okay, I was being unreasonable. I knew it, he knew it. So, why the hell was he still hanging around. Oh, yeah. The whole true mate thing. “I need to…” I gestured vaguely at the room, desperately trying to make eye contact with someone who might save me, but everyone was busy. Laughing, dancing, talking—it seemed like the whole of Craggstone had turned out for Amy and Ryan’s wedding, including a whole lot of people I’d never even seen before. Ralph’s Steakhouse was packed, even with the tables cleared to the sides of the room and the bar area opened up, I was pretty sure we were over maximum capacity. But, the Fire Chief and his crew—Max and Jeanie—didn’t seem to have a problem with it, and the Sheriff—Ryan—looked like he couldn’t care less, so why the hell was I even hurting my head about it?

  “Connie?”

  “What?” I didn’t mean to snap, but I was tired and grumpy. I hadn’t had a full night’s sleep in over a week, being woken by dreams I couldn’t remember night after night. Even though I couldn’t remember them, I had an inkling of an idea, if my mounting frustration was anything to go on. I was fast approaching my limits, my
body screaming for something it didn’t completely understand but knew about instinctively. Touch. Which meant I’d been having naughty dreams. So, thank God I couldn’t remember the details.

  “You’re blushing.”

  I refused to let him see me wince. I was pretty sure he’d played a star role. “So?”

  “Dance with me.”

  “Ralph—”

  “If you’re really leaving, then dance with me. One last time.” He sounded so … reasonable. Not at all angry or upset.

  An up-tempo pop song blasted out of the speakers, encouraging the crowd to jump and wiggle in time with the beat. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt… “Okay.” No sooner had the word left my mouth, he’d snagged my hand and hauled me onto the dance floor. My hips picked up the beat through some sort of osmosis, flicking from side to side as I waved my hands around in an attempt to not look like a complete fool. I loved dancing, but usually confined it to the privacy of my own home. Or the bakery; there was nothing more satisfying than shimming and bopping while pounding a lump of dough. But … I sucked. Bad.

  I snuck a look at Ralph and my mouth fell open.

  “What?” he growled.

  “Nothing.” Feeling less alone in my complete sucktitude, I let loose, giving my hips extra permission to wiggle.

  He matched me, performing something that looked suspiciously like the running man. He had to be messing with me, no way was he really that bad.

  “You’re showing your age,” I shouted over the music.

  “Some things never get old.” His eyebrows wiggled, clear to see on his newly cropped head.

  The beat faltered, a new song kicking in. I waited, my foot tapping, exhilaration flooding me with happy endorphins that had me flying as high as a kite.

  Strong arms snaked around me, pulling me against a rock hard body. The latest song crooned around us, slow and mellow. The crowd paired off, children running in and about in a wild game of tag complete with ear splitting screams. Across the way, Amy grinned at me, her cheek pressed tight against her man’s chest, her fingers snaking out and giving me the thumbs up.