Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection (Eight Fun, Romantic Novels by Eight Bestselling Authors)

by Violet Duke

  Fuck.

  The pain smashes through me, and I stumble back, bent double. I try to recover to meet the blows I know are coming, but before the guy can follow up, Jace is on him, yanking him back from me in an iron-grip headlock.

  “Enough!” Jace orders.

  “Are you kidding? He started it! He’s fucking crazy!” The guy yells, still swinging. Jace doesn’t budge.

  “And you’re an asshole, but here we are.” Jace looks over at the guy I left on the ground, now groaning on his hands and knees. “You OK?” Jace calls out.

  “I’m going to fuck you up!” The guy splutters, then spits out a mouthful of blood.

  “Sure you could.” Jace rolls his eyes, before continuing in an even voice. “But then I’d have to pile in, it would get out of hand, someone would call the cops. We don’t want that. How about I get you guys some beers, and we call it quits? Hunter will behave, won’t you bro?”

  I growl, fists still clenched at my sides.

  Jace gives me a warning look. If Douche and Douchier’s buddies pile on, we’ll be way outnumbered. “Fine.” I answer through gritted teeth. “I’m done.”

  “See? Go walk it off.” Jace orders me, helping the other guy from the ground. “Try that way,” he adds meaningfully, jerking his head towards the shore.

  That’s when I realize, Brit is nowhere to be seen. While we were fighting over here, punches flying, she just walked away.

  I don’t give the guys another look. I take off in the direction Jace is pointing, down along the shoreline until the party is way behind us and I can see the dark shadow ahead of me.

  “Brit!” I call. “Brit, wait up.”

  She turns.

  I catch up, my stomach still bruised and screaming from that guy’s punch. “You weren’t even going to stick around and see if I was OK?” I ask.

  Brit glares. “I didn’t ask you to come flying in and rescue me.” Her tone is bitter. “I had it handled.”

  “Didn’t look like it from where I was standing.” I bridle.

  “Yeah, well maybe you shouldn’t have been looking in the first place.” Brit’s expression is angry, but there’s something else there too, a haunting sadness in her eyes.

  I exhale. “Hey. I’m sorry, that came out wrong,” I tell her softly. “I just couldn’t stand to see them treat you like that.”

  “Maybe I liked it,” Brit shoots back, sarcastic. “Maybe you just screwed up the wild night I had planned with the both of them.”

  “Hey, what did I ever do to you?” I demand, finally pissed. “I was trying to do a nice thing back there, and you’re trying to rip my head off.”

  There’s a beat, and then Brit drops her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She says quietly. “You’re right, you didn’t deserve that. Thanks.” She turns and walks away.

  I catch up, falling into step beside her. “Where are you heading?” I ask. “You shouldn’t be wandering alone after dark like this.”

  A tiny smile tugs at the edge of Brit’s mouth. “It’s Beachwood Bay,” she point out in an amused voice. “What’s someone going to do, smother me to death in coastal charm?”

  I don’t point out that there are worse things lurking in the dark—especially with guys like those locals drunk and on edge. “Where are you heading?” I ask instead. “I’ll walk you.”

  “Nowhere, it’s fine.” Brit folds her arms, and I notice that she’s shivering from the breeze.

  I tug off my hoodie and drape it over her shoulders. “What a coincidence,” I say, “I’m heading nowhere too.”

  “You?” Brit smirks. “You’re heading straight to Yale. And then the White House, if what they say is true.”

  My heart plummets. I figured she must have heard of me; after all, Beachwood is such a small town. Still, hearing my résumé reeled off like that makes me feel the same way I do whenever my parents push me forward to introduce me, like my background and achievements are the only thing anyone needs to know about me.

  I wanted to be more than just a Covington with her. And if the look in her eyes is anything to go by, maybe Brit wants to be more than just her reputation too.

  I get a flash of inspiration. “I don’t think we’ve met,” I say, offering my hand with an exaggerated gesture. “I’m Bob. Bob Smith.”

  A giggle slips from Brit’s perfect lips. “Bob?” she repeats.

  “Sure,” I agree, keeping my hand out. “And you are…?”

  Brit looks at me cautiously for a moment, as if she’s deciding something. Then, finally, her face relaxes in playful smile that knocks the breath from my lungs harder than that townie’s punch.

  “I’m Susie,” she says.

  Fuck. I scramble for words. “A pleasure to meet you, Susie.”

  Brit tilts her head at me, inviting. Dangerous. “You busy, Bob?”

  I shake my head. Hell, I’d break my plans with the Devil himself, if it meant spending another minute with her.

  “Come on,” Brit hold out her hand. “There’s someplace I want to show you.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  BRIT

  I SLEEP BETTER than I have in weeks, lost in a blissful haze of memories from the night we first met. Sweet. Innocent. Safe. But when I wake up the next morning, the fresh images come slamming back into my brain: Hunter, the stables, what he said to me on the porch…

  I force them aside and go downstairs to make coffee. It’s early, and I’ve got a whole day to kill before my shift at the bar. Part of me just wants to go back up to bed and replay my night with Hunter in glorious, Technicolor detail, but the other half of me knows that would only lead me further down a dangerous path.

  Don’t get your hopes up, Brit. Haven’t you learned by now?

  I reach to pour my coffee, then stop. My wrists are red: a delicate web of bruises cutting across the skin where, last night, the leather bridle bound me tight.

  I flush, a surge of heat spiraling down my body.

  No. I force myself to look away, chasing the hot, dirty images from my mind. I can’t get caught up in desire, not with my heart on the line here: a ticking time-bomb, just waiting to destroy everything I’ve worked so hard to keep safe.

  I take my coffee into the living room, and settle in with my sketches, but after sitting for twenty minutes staring at a blank page, I let out a groan of frustration. The dress is the furthest thing from my mind, and every time I pick up my pencils and try to conjure up a vision of the cut and folds, it’s Hunter’s face I see instead. The chiseled line of his jaw, the vivid blue in his eyes.

  The ripples of power in his muscles, looming over you. Dominating you…

  My phone rings, breaking through my fantasy. I snatch it up, eager for the distraction.

  “Hey Brit-Brit,” The voice on the other end of the line is a welcome relief.

  “Hey Jules.” I let out a sigh of thanks, sitting back in the chair. “What’s up?”

  “Your brother’s driving me crazy, that’s what’s up.” Juliet laughs, and a moment later, I hear Emerson’s voice in the background. “Hey, hands off!” Juliet tells him, muffled. “This is girl talk, get out of here.”

  There’s laughter, and then a moment later, Juliet’s voice is back. “Sorry about that. Em says ‘hi’, he can’t talk right now, he’s doing dishes. Or at least, he is if he knows what’s good for him!” That last part is louder, clearly directed at him.

  I smile, comforted by the sound of their happiness. I can just picture them, bickering in their new apartment in the city. “Is he good?” I ask.

  “He’s great,” Juliet replies, her voice
full of affection. “We found a space that might work for a restaurant. It’s right downtown, in kind of bad shape, but Em thinks we can fix it up, no problem.”

  “That’s awesome,” I exclaim.

  “We’ll see,” Juliet hedges, her cautious nature coming out. “But what about you? How have you been?”

  “Fine,” I answer cautiously. Juliet and I are friends now, but for years, I thought of her as the enemy: the girl who broke my big brother’s heart into a thousand pieces. It’s still hard for me to get used to having her around, a new big sister figure in my life.

  “Really? So what’s going on with this guy?” she adds.

  My mouth drops open. “How the hell do you know about that?” I demand. Beachwood gossip is one thing, but they’re hours away. “You’re not even in town!”

  “A little bird told Emerson,” Juliet laughs.

  “Garrett.” I sigh. “That guy doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”

  “He’s just looking out for you,” Juliet replies. “But seriously, how’s it going?”

  “It’s… I don’t know.” I stop. What can I even say to her? Nothing about last night, that’s for sure.

  “Garrett says it might be serious.” Juliet prompts.

  “No!” I yelp. “Well, yes. No. I don’t know,” I finish, miserable.

  “Does the mystery man have a name?”

  “Hunter.” I say it, and even just speaking the name aloud brings a smile to my lips. “Hunter Covington.”

  “Ooh, I think I remember him.” Juliet’s voice rises, “Blonde guy, right, with a hot brother? They summered in Beachwood some of the years I was around.”

  “That’s him.”

  “He was cute.” Juliet draws out the word, teasing.

  “Yeah, well he grew up into a god. A rich, perfect, faultless god.” I can’t keep the edge from my voice: a note of bitterness and regret, and the reminder of everything Hunter is that I will never come close to.

  “I like the sound of this.” Juliet can’t have heard my tone. “What does he do with all that rich perfection?”

  “He trains horses.”

  “OK, now you’re just messing with me.”

  “I’m not!” I protest. “He’s taken over his grandfather’s ranch.”

  “A sexy, gorgeous horse trainer. I love it!” Juliet giggles. “I mean it, Brit,” she adds, her voice becoming serious. “I’m glad you’ve found someone. We both are.”

  “I haven’t…” I try to object. “I mean, we’re not… This can’t be anything,” I finally manage, my voice leaden. “It won’t last.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  I sigh. “I just know. I’m not like you, or Emerson. Things, they just don’t work out like that for me.”

  There’s silence for a moment on the line as Juliet pauses. When she speaks again, her voice is gentle and hesitant. “I know it can be hard to let go of the past. Going back to Beachwood, trusting Emerson again, it wasn’t easy for me. But sometimes, you have to decide to be happy, to give someone a chance.”

  I feel a lump in my throat, but I swallow it back. “It’s not the same, Jules. Trust me.”

  “OK,” she sighs. “You know you’re always welcome here, right? For a stay, or longer, whatever you need. This is your home too.”

  “I know.” This isn’t helping my emotions, so I clear my throat, and put on a bright voice. “Listen, I better get going. But say hey to Emerson for me.”

  “I will,” Juliet replies. “You look after yourself. And come visit soon, it’s been too long.”

  “OK.” I hang up quickly, cradling the phone to my chest.

  The house is silent and empty.

  I let out a breath. Emerson has said a dozen times that I can come live with them, Juliet too, but something in me always holds me back. They’re building their own life together, and as much as I know they want me around, I can’t help feeling like I’m intruding every time I drop by for a visit or pick up the phone. They’re still caught up in the thrill of being with each other, after spending so long apart. Even though I miss him, miss both of them, I know it would be worse if I was there: spending every day faced with the kind of world I’ll never know, on the edge of somebody else’s great love story.

  So I stay here in Beachwood, spinning my wheels, waiting for something to happen. Something to change.

  What if it already has…?

  THE REST OF THE day is a total wash. I’m too nervous and edgy to pay attention to anything, so I clean the house instead: scrubbing the kitchen floors and sweeping off the porch as if I can sweep Hunter’s face from my mind. His words mix with Juliet’s advice, and my own whispering insecurities, so by the time I head out for my shift at Jimmy’s, I’ve talked myself into and out of dating him so many times I don’t even know where I landed in the end.

  “You look nice,” Garrett’s voice greets me as I step into the building.

  “Don’t mess with me tonight,” I retort, joining him behind the bar and tying on my apron. “You’re still on probation for that fair stunt. And telling Emerson,” I add.

  He grimaces. “He mentioned that? Anyway, I wasn’t kidding. You look nice.”

  I glance down, selfconscious. “Oh, thanks.”

  “Plans later with loverboy?” he asks, teasing.

  I throw a dishcloth at him. “No! Shut up!”

  Garrett gives me a look, like he doesn’t believe me, but the truth is, I have no clue. Hunter said he’d come by at the end of my shift, but I learned a long time ago not to believe anything a guy says. Still, that didn’t stop me fixing my hair, and picking out a cute sundress instead of my usual slobby tank. Just in case, I told myself. But now, in the dim, down-home surroundings of the bar, it’s like my outfit is a blazing neon sign confessing my secret hopes to the whole world: Brit’s waiting on a guy! Brit thinks she stands a chance!

  “Hell, throw on a smile too, and you might actually make us some tips,” Garrett adds, pulling me back to reality.

  “Charming.” I throw back at him. “You get to slouch around here all scowling whenever you like, and it’s mysterious and brooding, but when I do it, I’m a moody bitch.”

  “Who said I was mysterious?” Garrett perks up. “Was it a girl? Was she hot?”

  I shake my head. “You’re impossible.”

  “And that’s why you love me.” He winks.

  MY SHIFT GOES slower than molasses, time dragging past at a painfully slow pace. I told myself I wasn’t going to get my hopes up, but every hour that passes, my nerves twist tighter, until I can’t help jerking my head around to check the door every time it opens.

  “You’re gonna get whiplash, if you keep that up,” Garrett jokes, watching me.

  I laugh it off, but I still turn to check the next time the door ringer goes.

  Still no Hunter.

  Disappointment slices, sharp in my chest. I hate myself for feeling this way, like a fresh cut every time someone who isn’t him strolls into the bar. I can’t help it. I wanted to believe him when he said he wouldn’t quit on me. I wanted it to be true, that a guy like that could want a girl like me.

  I should have known better.

  The wounds keep coming as the minutes tick by, a dozen tiny paper-cuts across my heart. I tell myself at eleven to just quit hoping, but by the time the clock hits midnight, I feel numb, used up.

  It’s over.

  He didn’t come.

  The last of the regulars trail
s out, and Garrett bolts the door behind them. He flips the lights back on, bathing the room in a bright, neon glow. It always seemed sad to me, how the dim, smoky atmosphere could be banished with the flip of a switch: fun and revelry and seduction all wiped away in an instant, leaving nothing but empty tables and a lone beer bottle spinning across the floor. Now it feels like my hopes are lying there with it, crushed and broken.

  “Hey, can you grab the crates from the roof?” Garrett asks, as we’re stacking chairs. “The winds are picking up, and I don’t want stuff smashing all over the lot.”

  “Sure,” I mumble. “I can lock up, if you want. You don’t have to stick around.”

  “You sure?” Garrett checks.

  “You’ve got someplace to be, right?” I’m guessing there’s a girl waiting on him, and by the sheepish grin, I’m right. “Leave it to me. One of us should get a decent night.”

  “The night’s not over yet,” Garrett points out, but I don’t stick around to listen to his pity. I let him out, and then slowly climb the stairs. Hunter. His word echoes with every step. After everything he said to me, the determined way he chased me down, I let myself believe his promises. That maybe, this time… But I was wrong. He might tell me I’m perfect, and that last night meant something to him too, but actions speak louder than words, and right now—

  I open the door to the roof and stop dead.

  “You took your time.” Hunter is standing there in dressy pants and crisp, white shirt, his golden hair glowing in the candlelight. “Don’t tell me Garrett actually made you clean up?” he asks, his expression excited and nervous all at the same time. “Bastard. He said he’d send you right up.”

  I take a tentative step out, still not believing my eyes.

  The rooftop has been transformed. Tiny Christmas lights are strung up around the railing and old chimney stack, twinkling and bright. In the middle of the space is a table set for two, laid with a white linen tablecloth and set with real china and silverware. He’s fixed up his iPod to play softly through some portable speakers, and there are candles everywhere, and roses in glass jars, not cheap red bouquets, but wild white and yellow and blush pink, wafting a delicate scent on the night air.