Always My Hero

by Jennifer DeCuir

  Ryan had always enjoyed visiting Haley’s house. Her mom stayed home to take care of the kids. Her father was a mechanic for the school, making sure the buses were kept in perfect condition. When they’d been dating, he had told her he’d hoped to have a large family like hers someday. At the time she’d agreed. Looking back, he realized she probably would have said anything if she thought it was what he wanted to hear.

  Snatching up a plastic basket, Ryan headed for the cereal aisle. He’d left Haley alone at the hardware store for the first time and he didn’t want to be gone too long. His dad had a little fridge in his office, so he could pick up some milk while he was here, too. They were running a special on granola bars, so he threw some in the basket to pack in Wesley’s lunches for school.

  The store was largely empty on a Wednesday morning. Ryan passed a mother and toddler with a tiny “shopper in training” cart. He remembered Wesley at that age. Sighing, he wondered why he was in such a melancholy mood. He was worse than a woman, seeming to have babies on the brain now. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he headed for the beer aisle. He needed to pick up some manly refreshments.

  “Hey, Ry, what are you doing here?” His friend, Doyle, paused halfway down the aisle, like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

  “Um, shopping. Isn’t that what most people come to Dade’s for?” He shook his head and made a beeline for the middle cooler.

  Ryan’s stomach clenched as he recalled an unpleasant memory from childhood. They were maybe ten years old. Doyle and another kid, Kenny, had tried to talk him into stealing from Dade’s. They told him he could join their club if he’d shoplift. Could have been anything. They weren’t picky. But they could keep their stupid club. His dad and Mr. Dade were good friends and there was no way Ryan was stealing anything from anyone, especially a friend of the family. Fortunately, ring-leader Kenny moved away shortly thereafter and Doyle quit being such a dick.

  “You aren’t pissed about last night, are you? She said you’d understand.”

  Aha. Doyle was the reason Haley couldn’t decide between the red dress and the black one. Huh. She’d hooked up with one of his football buddies. He ought to feel bad for the guy. But it wasn’t like Haley was back in town to stay. Still, it didn’t explain why his friend was acting so odd.

  “It’s not your fault. But she was supposed to be spending time with Wes, you know? It’s been a long time and they have a long way to go in order to rebuild their relationship. I didn’t expect her to just up and leave.”

  “Hey, man, I’m sorry. She called and said she needed to get out. Asked if I’d swing by and pick her up.”

  “Well, I hope all the fuss she made over her appearance was worth it.” Ryan started to chuckle, then stopped when he saw the guilty look on Doyle’s face.

  “Come on, dude! It’s not like I care. We haven’t been married for years. I’ve moved on. I’m with Bree now. Relax, you’re welcome to Haley and all of the high maintenance that goes with her.”

  All right, so giving his friend permission to boink his ex-wife was a little on the bizarre side. And in the beer aisle at Dade’s Grocery, no less. Ryan looked around to make sure no one was a party to their conversation.

  “I never meant ... I thought ... Shit.” Doyle opened his mouth and closed it several times. He swiped a palm over his face that was ... sweating. What the hell?

  Ryan set his basket of groceries on the floor and clapped a hand on Doyle’s arm. This had officially gone well beyond weird. He shouldn’t feel the need to reassure the man, but Doyle looked so damned upset.

  “You understand she’s only staying with me to get back on her feet, right? It’s not like we’re getting back together. Is that what she’s telling you?” Ryan narrowed his eyes.

  “No! Actually I was talking about before. I meant to tell you. I’ve always meant to tell you.”

  A sick twisting in his gut told Ryan that now would be a good time to cover his ears and walk in the opposite direction. Whatever had Doyle looking so miserable could not be pleasant. And he’d be just fine with his old friend choosing to keep this little confession to himself.

  “I don’t know what you think you need to tell me, but I’m sure it can wait. We’ll have drinks sometime over at Smitty’s. I’ll kick your ass at darts.” He realized his poor choice of words when Doyle visibly winced. Jesus.

  “No, this is something I should have done a long time ago. It’s just that I thought, we all did, that you and Bree were in love with each other.”

  There it was again.

  “We figured it was only a matter of time before you hooked up. That you were finally going to break things off with Haley and be with the one you were meant to be with.”

  So the entire football team seemed to realize Bree was his destiny a good friggin’ thirteen years before he’d wised up and figured it out for himself. But if everyone had known, how had he managed to keep his true feelings from Haley? She should have gone ape shit on him.

  “Then that night of the bonfire at the pond? When you didn’t show up, we all figured you’d finally made your move.” And they’d nailed it. Dead on.

  “What’s your point, Doyle?” Neither confirm nor deny.

  “I figured if you hadn’t broken up with her yet, you would be by morning. You know? I assumed she was fair game.”

  “Wait. Haley?” Ryan whipped his head around, lowering his voice to a hiss before leaning toward the other man. “You slept with Haley the night of the bonfire?”

  Doyle’s nod was brief and barely discernible, but his hangdog expression told Ryan all he wanted—or didn’t want—to know.

  “I guess you made up or something. I never understood why you ended up staying with her, let alone marrying her. She never told you, did she?”

  “Were you hoping to marry her yourself?” The giant elephant sitting on his chest made it hard for him breathe, let alone get the words out.

  “God no! You’re right—too high maintenance for me. I mean, she’s a great time, but—” Doyle seemed to realize he was digging himself in deeper, the more he continued to talk. He snapped his lips shut.

  “She never said a word. I guess Haley had herself an agenda and I was just part of her big plans. Christ Almighty, I am such a schmuck!”

  “Or you could choose to look at it this way, that it might have taken a little longer than you’d planned, but you ended up with the right girl. Right?” Doyle’s eyes darted nervously, like he was plotting a quick exit.

  “Yeah, you’re right. Bree would never lie to me about anything so important.” If he’d only known about Haley and Doyle, his life would have been a lot different.

  “I should take off. I just thought you should finally know.” Doyle shrugged, snagging a twelve-pack of Bud out of the cooler and turning back to him, almost as an afterthought.

  “She told me something last night. Well, she asked me for a loan first. When I told her I couldn’t come up with the money she kinda freaked out. Said she owes some money to some guy back in LA and she’s running out of time before it’s due. You know anything about this?”

  What did you get yourself into now, Haley? Ryan spit out a handful of curses as he glared at the floor.

  “Nope. News to me. Which would be our normal pattern, I guess.”

  Doyle gave a half wave and hurried to the cash register to pay. Ryan grabbed his own twelve-pack, picked up his basket of groceries and headed in the opposite direction, intending to take his time while he waited for Doyle to check out and leave.

  He thought he was being so noble, doing the honorable thing and staying with a girlfriend he’d betrayed because he’d mistakenly figured she was in love with him. Joke was on him. Haley used him as her “get out of Scallop Shores” card.

  All those wasted years he could have been with Bree. The woman he’d never stopped loving. The woman who deserved better than the jerk who’d taken her virginity and left with no explanation.

  Chapter 15

  H
er first hint that something was wrong came when she knocked on Ryan’s door and he didn’t answer—but Haley did. The smug smile on the woman’s face was all Bree needed to be certain that she was missing some key information. Information she sure wasn’t going to get from Ryan’s ex-wife.

  “He’s not here. Ryan left to drop Wesley off at school. Something about needing to speak to his teacher.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?” Bree reached out a hand and tried to push the door open further. Wrong move.

  “Excuse me! What goes on in our son’s life is none of your business. Go back to stacking library books. I need to get ready to join Ryan at our store.” Haley looked down her surgically sculpted nose and wiggled her fingers to indicate Bree should back up so she could close the door.

  Fine. She’d worry about Wesley later. She turned around, skirted the icy spots on the porch and descended the stairs, heading for her car. If something were wrong, Ryan would tell her. Then again, if something were good, he’d tell her. Wouldn’t he?

  Buckling in and cranking the heater, Bree frowned as she poked at the radio presets. Every channel always seemed to play their block of commercials at the same time. She backed out of the driveway and headed to the warehouse on the waterfront where they’d met a few days before for the initial shoot.

  What concerned her most was that he’d forgotten he was supposed to join her for the rest of the calendar photo shoot. Damian didn’t need him for the whole thing, but Ryan had planned to be there just the same. So if this thing with Wesley was more urgent than she realized, that would definitely distract him. She was sure he’d be along as soon as he could.

  Three hours later, Bree had to admit Ryan wasn’t coming. Only a handful of the models were here today. Jamie needed her help wrangling escapee kittens who wouldn’t stay in their little orange basket. It was like herding … cats.

  Riley groused about posing next to a skyscraper of a Christmas tree when it was clear he wouldn’t have been the one to decorate the upper half. Taking a step back, Bree tapped her chin. He had a point. The entire juxtaposition of the shot was just too funky. Riley sat stiffly in his chair. His jaw was clenched and she knew he was seconds away from losing his temper.

  Rather than figure out a whole new December layout, they could switch Riley with Sam. Sam had finished his shoot the first day, but had come back with Riley today. She asked Damian if they could set up the backdrop for January again, this time with Riley lying on the rug. Everyone thought he would have looked more natural, sitting in his wheelchair beside the fake fireplace, but he’d insisted on lying down. It took the three of them to get the stubborn man out of his chair and positioned on the floor where he looked comfortable and “come hither,” not like he’d fallen out of his wheelchair and waited for someone to rescue him. But this really worked. Riley’s idea was a lot better than the layout that he’d originally been assigned.

  Sam stepped up, shrugging out of his sweatshirt and tossing it to Bree before heading for the holiday tree-decorating scene. Damian took a few shots of Sam placing the star on the top of the tree. He handed Sam a wrapped gift and told him to hold it in his lap, like he was hiding the real gift underneath. Good Lord! Bree knew her photographer was having just a little too much fun posing his models for this calendar.

  They took a break and she called Ryan again. Damian had complained about the football helmet causing a bit of glare in Ryan’s photos and wanted to take some more. His phone went straight to voicemail. Oh, come on! It was one thing to have to drop Wesley off at school and forget that they were driving in together this morning. It was something else entirely to blow off the whole shoot.

  Doyle had come in to retake his photos. Apparently he didn’t look sweaty enough for a summer day at the beach. If anyone were to ask her, she’d say a certain photographer liked the look of the many tattoos that covered Doyle’s arms and back. Bree hoped he’d decided to wear board shorts instead of his Speedos today. Nope. Oh, lucky her!

  A stinging awareness had her flexing her hand, where she noticed a long scratch across the top. She really hoped Damian was happy with the October shots today because she’d rather not see those kittens again. Rubbing in a little saliva to wash away the blood, she crossed over to where Doyle waited for the photographer.

  “Hey, you haven’t heard from Ryan today, have you? He was supposed to be here this morning and I think he forgot.” Her smile bright, she refused to look any lower than the man’s chin.

  “Ryan? Why would I have talked to him today?” Doyle’s eyes darted this way and that, refusing to connect with hers. Odd.

  “Bree darling, be a love and oil up our Mr. July, would you?”

  “I beg your pardon?” She swung around, hands on her hips and fixed Damian with an incredulous stare.

  “My assistant couldn’t make it in today. Some stomach bug going around. The baby oil is on that chair over there.”

  “I think Doyle can figure out how to slick himself up. And, really? Is that necessary?”

  “Doyle needs his hands dry in order to hold the beach ball. And it was my understanding that you hired me for my artistic vision. If you would like to hire someone else, I can take my things and go.”

  Wonderful. She’d pissed off the prima donna. Sucking in a deep breath, Bree plastered on a kiss-ass smile and swallowed all the things she wanted to say. The words swam in her stomach, causing a bellyache and making her wish this day was already done. Damian smirked and turned on his heel, heading back to take some more shots of Sam in front of the Christmas tree.

  “Just his upper torso is fine—front and back—if you please.” Damian threw the words over his shoulder as he left.

  “If you please,” she mimicked, glancing over at Doyle to see if she could coax a laugh out of him. He wasn’t paying any attention to her.

  “Don’t worry, I promise Ryan won’t get upset over our little intimate moment.” She giggled, trying to lighten the mood.

  Instead, Doyle groaned, looking even more miserable than he had before. What was his problem today?

  Bree grabbed the baby oil off the beach chair and dribbled some in her palm. Doyle turned his head to the side, refusing to look at her, so she started with his back. Nope, not awkward at all. She tried to concentrate on the designs sketched on his back. They were symbols that she didn’t recognize. Tracing one made Doyle flinch and she realized she was probably making things worse.

  “Everything okay today? Besides ... this?”

  “Whatever he said ... I feel awful, you know? I just hope you know I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I thought it was all cool.”

  She paused a moment to try to make sense of that, then shook her head, admitting defeat. Walking around until she was face to chest with one of the best fullbacks Scallop Shores had ever seen, Bree tried to hurry the process along. Doyle hissed when she slathered the oil across his lower stomach. Oh, god, was he ticklish? This was just getting worse and worse.

  “Bree, I’m so sorry. I was distracted with some things this morning and I completely forgot we were supposed to come here together. I got your messages. Somehow my phone got turned off—”

  Ryan had come into the warehouse at a run and spotted her right away. She glanced over her shoulder when his breathless excuse abruptly cut off. He was glaring daggers at Doyle, hands clenching into fists at his sides. Anxious to finish up so she could wash her hands and put some distance between her and this awkward altercation, Bree stepped up on tiptoes to apply oil to his inked shoulders.

  “So one of my women wasn’t enough? You needed to have the other one too?”

  “The other one?” Bree turned around, her shrill tone carrying throughout the warehouse. Heads started popping out of other sections. She didn’t care.

  “I’m one of two, now? Is that it? You have a pair of girlfriends? That’s a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

  “I meant Haley was mine. Now she’s not. You are. Or you were.” He spoke to her, but his eyes never left Doyle.

&
nbsp; Ryan’s nostrils flared and Bree got the feeling the only thing keeping him from throwing a punch was the fact that she stood in between the two men.

  “I had nothing to do with this. That creepy photographer told her to put this oily shit on me for the pictures.”

  “And you didn’t enjoy it one bit!” Ryan ground out.

  “Ryan, lay off him! Doyle has been miserable about something all day. I haven’t been able to get it out of him but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that you’re at the root of it.”

  “If you knew what he did, you wouldn’t be taking his side.”

  “Pretty little models, we’re getting along well, yes?” Damian swept in from the other side of the warehouse, hands on his hips.

  “I think they’d get along better if they each stayed in their own section.” Bree grabbed a towel and wiped her hands, staring at the man who was acting like a stranger today.

  “I should go. I can come back—”

  “We finish this calendar shoot today. No one leaves until their part is done. Get into your costume and find your backdrop.” Damian clapped his hands twice and left them just as quickly as he’d swooped in.

  “Ryan, we need to talk.” Bree reached for his hand to walk with him toward the September set.

  He shrugged her off, looking from her to Doyle and back again. His shoulders were hunched, but he no longer looked angry, just sad.

  “Not right now. I need to be by myself for a bit.” Starting to head for the other side of the warehouse, he spun and gave her a mournful stare. “I’m sorry I flaked on this morning.”

  Okay. That he was sorry about. How about being sorry for almost coming to blows with one of his oldest friends? Or being sorry for assuming that Doyle was making the moves on her? Or for not taking a quick minute or two to explain what the hell was going on? When would he be sorry for that?

  Ryan’s sneakers scuffed across the cement floor of the old warehouse. He didn’t say another word. Just kept walking.

  Damn it!

  • • •

  Ryan wasn’t hiding. He just happened to have a craving for his mother’s cooking. What was the point of finally living in the same town as his parents again if he couldn’t drop by for a home-cooked meal once in a while?