Never Been Good

by Christi Barth

  Mollie reached across the table to rest her hand on Sierra’s. “Are you in trouble?”

  Sierra almost gurgled out a laugh. Yes. Definitely. She just refused to let that be the defining element of her life anymore. “Trying to get away from it, is more like it.”

  Karen’s hand landed on Sierra’s other arm. The tinkle of her dozen gold bangles soothed Sierra. Like they were personal wind chimes. “Do you need help?”

  Her heart swelled. Tears pricked against her lids. “I need a job. A better job than waitressing.”

  Elena snorted. “Since when is teaching a better job than one where you get an extra ten percent in tips from Joe Fujisawa every time you hike up your hemline?”

  The pragmatism of the questions settled Sierra. For an orphan who’d teetered on the edge of poverty her whole life? Living comfortably was an almost unreachable goal. One that definitely landed below being happy and fulfilled on her life priority list. “I adore children. Art is my passion. The logical way to combine those two things is to teach. I think, I know I’d be good at it.”

  Pursing her lips, Lily said, “The kids all raved about you after the day they spent working on the float design with you and Flynn.”

  Sierra grabbed on to that mention. The vote of confidence was enough to give her the strength to keep going, on to the part that might make her friends regret being so supportive. Not wanting to wait and see if they pulled back, if the reassuring touches disappeared, Sierra slid her chair back to fold her arms in front of her plate.

  “I realize that my lack of transcripts could be a sticking point. I can’t provide them. It’s too dangerous to try.” Getting new ones was out of the question, too. She didn’t have the portfolio required to get another full ride scholarship. Sierra simply couldn’t afford the time or the money to go back and spend another four years getting a degree under her new name.

  The sound of the jazz playlist Lily had dialed up filled the room because nobody was making so much as a peep. Was it that the word danger—one she’d chosen oh, so carefully, to give them as close to as much honesty as they deserved—had indeed scared them silent?

  Finally, Elena asked, “Have you met Mateo yet? Not very tall, but very handsome in a swarthy, muscled way?”

  “Um, I’m not sure?” A lot of people came into the Gorse. And Sierra didn’t really notice the handsome men, because she only had eyes for Flynn. Just thinking about him almost, almost made it difficult to focus on her friend’s reaction to her big revelation.

  Karen rolled her eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake, Elena. Not everyone can be described like a dating profile.”

  “But I did date him. Well, more of a fling. I think.” She tapped a bright red nail against her cheek. “How many orgasms does it take before you cross the line from fling to dating?”

  That question—one that Sierra rather wanted to know the answer to herself—netted another eye roll from Karen. She did that a lot to Elena. “Mateo’s the sheriff. Aside from Elena’s rating, he’s also nice and very trustworthy. If you need help? Don’t hesitate to talk to him. I mean, you can always talk to us. We can offer hugs and wine and emotional support. But Mateo might be able to truly help you.”

  “Thanks. I don’t think he can, but I’ll keep it in mind.” And by that, Sierra meant avoiding the sheriff at all cost. The last thing she wanted was Mateo nosing into her past. Figuring out that she was on the run, an accessory—no matter how innocent—to an attempted murder. Attempted involuntary manslaughter? Sierra had been, and remained, too terrified to look up the difference.

  “This is crazy. And I’m guessing we don’t even know the half of it?” Lily waited until Sierra slowly nodded to continue. “Now I’m worried about you. What can we do?”

  “Help me figure out how to do this. How I can work with kids with no degree. I was hoping that if you vouched for me, that would be enough, but . . .” Her voice trailed off as Lily frowned.

  “Especially with funding cuts, things like the arts get short shrift in schools. What if we thought outside the box? You could do an after-school class. Or maybe a weekend thing at a church? Something that wouldn’t require accreditation.”

  Sierra couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of that. Of course, she’d been so mired in what wasn’t possible any longer that she hadn’t spent any time contemplating what was.

  Karen waved a slice of bread. “That’s a good idea. It needs execution by someone who knows all the players in town. Lily, you should look into that.” Clearly her accountant’s brain liked to line up life to fit into tidy spreadsheets of to-dos. And her matter-of-fact approach signaled everyone to tuck back into their food.

  “I think I’ve got an idea,” Mollie offered, a few bites later. “One you could do to augment teaching. You should paint for the tourists on the pier.”

  “I don’t paint for other people for money.” Her words slashed across the room, sharper and faster than an arrow. “Not anymore. Only for myself.” Sierra couldn’t explain the why to them. Not ever. Hopefully her tone alone got the point across.

  “If you did it to make money, the end result would be for you.”

  Karen rubbed her thumb and fingers together. “Do you even realize how much you could make? Tourists love any sort of beach-centric crap. You could take appointments to do family portraits, or just churn out fast seascapes while they wait. It could be a gold mine.”

  “It sounds idyllic. Doing what you love, in a beautiful setting.” Lily chimed in, her whole face bright with enthusiasm. “I’ll bet some of the restaurants along the boardwalk would hang your paintings and let you sell them, too.”

  Elena sipped her wine. Slid her a sideways glance that Sierra knew meant she was coming in for the kill. “Or do you want to keep schlepping beers and burgers past midnight every night? Sore feet, sore arms, sticky shoes—is there really a choice to be made?”

  Logically? No.

  But emotions, guilt . . . they weren’t logical. Nor was the frustration burning through Sierra. She couldn’t screen tourists. Nobody from Milwaukee, please. I don’t want you taking home something that might be recognized. Even though the chances of that were slim. One in a gajillion.

  Was it worth the risk?

  Her life hadn’t been full of luck up to this point. On the other hand, things seemed to have turned around spectacularly since moving to Bandon.

  What if she gave it a try?

  Or what if all the stars aligned in a very, very bad way and that led to Rick finding her? Or the police . . . if they were even looking for her?

  Sierra shoveled in an enormous forkful of pasta.

  Maybe she’d ask Flynn for his opinion. Flynn, who only wanted what was best for her and made her happy.

  Flynn, who didn’t deserve to carry the weight of making that decision for her. Flynn, who didn’t even deserve to have to carry around what she’d already dumped on him.

  Crap. It was her life. Her mess of a life. Whether she flipped a coin, used a Ouija board or asked Flynn for his take on the whole thing, the ultimate decision rested with Sierra.

  Adulting was hard. Even with the best wine she’d ever had. Why hadn’t that been on any of her grad school syllabuses?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Flynn checked the clock on the dashboard, then stepped on the gas. Sierra had texted that the party was breaking up so that Lily could watch whatever vampire or time travel show was popular. He didn’t watch and he didn’t care. He only cared that Sierra wouldn’t bike home, in the dark, with Patrick O’Connor and who freaking knew else running around Bandon.

  “If you get a speeding ticket, Delaney will be all over your ass,” Rafe said from the passenger seat of his beloved Camaro.

  “So what?”

  “I’m just saying, the woman’s scary when she’s pissed off. I don’t know what Kellan sees in her.”

  Flynn rested his elbow on the open window. He had to admit that summer nights on the Oregon coast beat the sticky, sweltering goop that filled the air in
Chicago all to hell. It felt good to have the cool wind ruffling his hair from the T-tops. Okay, it actually felt like he was in a movie of somebody else’s life, but it was still nice.

  “Yeah, you do. Delaney’s hotter than a firework and just as dangerous. It’s an irresistible combination to a guy who’s stuck to the straight and narrow his whole life.”

  Rafe switched the radio station. Even though they’d always had a rule about the driver picking the music. Guess he wasn’t thrilled with riding shotgun in his own car. “The opposites attract thing?”

  “You ended up with a whip-smart doctor who happens to be kind and funny and beautiful. Can’t think of anything more opposite from you, bro.” Flynn bit back a grin.

  A punch—with a fucking lot of heat behind it—landed just below his shoulder. “Seriously? You think just because you’re driving I won’t take you down?”

  “Yep.” Flynn didn’t even flinch. He knew better. “You wouldn’t do anything to endanger this car.”

  “You’re lucky that’s true.”

  “Thanks again for letting me borrow it.”

  “I’m more than cool being forced to spend the night with Mollie. Easy enough to walk to her house from here. And Kellan—” Rafe drummed his fingers on the center console. “Where the hell is Kellan?”

  “Dunno.” Flynn sucked in the pine-scented air. He’d worried, their first day here, that the whole place would smell like the air fresheners that car washes hung from mirrors. But it took less than a day to enjoy it. To stop comparing it to the thousand different smells of Chicago and just enjoy the simplicity and pureness of one. Okay, two if you got close to the ocean. “We never bothered to get that chip implanted that’d tell us where he is. Because Kellan’s not a fucking labradoodle.”

  “He’s been gone more than he’s been home lately.”

  “How would you know? You’re at the hospital with Mollie more than you’re home.”

  “What can I say? The hospital’s got all those beds, sitting empty most of the time. I’m just being a good citizen, making sure they get used.”

  “For sex.”

  “Used is used. Don’t nitpick like Kellan.”

  Flynn racked his brain. Tried to think of the last time they’d stared at each other, bleary-eyed, over cereal.

  But he’d been grabbing breakfast with Sierra for at least the past two weeks. It was his way of making sure she ate. She wouldn’t let him help any other way. Definitely not with money to get her out of that matchbox of a house. Sharing his place with his brothers didn’t exactly make it believable that he had extra cash to throw her direction.

  They’d turned into a neighborhood that would be perfect for Sierra. Mostly condos. That translated to lots of neighbors. Well lit. Safe. Too bad she was too stubborn to be coerced into moving. Not to mention too broke. How was he supposed to fix that without revealing their steady WITSEC paycheck? Not to mention their hidden stash of millions, back in Chicago?

  Thoughts of Chicago brought Flynn right back around to his brother. His mostly MIA brother. “I think you’re right. Something’s going on with Kellan.”

  Rafe startled, bouncing against the leather seat a little. “I didn’t say anything was going on. Just that he’s more or less disappeared.”

  “Man, you’ve really let your mob-honed instincts go. You and I are the only two people Kellan can confide in, and we don’t know what he’s up to. That means something’s going on.”

  “We need to find him. We haven’t even told him about O’Connor being in town,” Rafe said in a much lower, more serious voice.

  “You said O’Connor went on that overnight deep-sea fishing trip up the coast.”

  “Yeah. Bragged about it so much I think people up in Portland got the news flash. You need to be at the dock in the morning to pick up the tail.”

  Flynn nodded as he parked in front of a building identical to those around it. He noted a couple of trees, but no clumps of bushes where somebody could hide between him and the front door. “No problem. I’ll talk to Kellan, too. About our problematic visitor and our plan to involve Delaney once we know more.”

  “Christ, save that for last. One mention of the marshal and he’ll be trying to tail O’Connor himself just so he can report to her sooner.” Rafe worked his phone into the pocket of his jeans as he got out of the car.

  Flynn hurried around the trunk to ask quietly, “Are you packing any heat?”

  O’Connor showing up in town changed everything. They’d agreed to check in with each other every time they changed locations. And for once, a condom wasn’t the only protection Rafe had with him at all times.

  Rafe stuck out his foot and wiggled it. “I’ve got a knife. Strapped to my calf. Why do you think I’m wearing long pants at the end of June? What about you?”

  “No weapon.” Flynn wasn’t ignoring the potential danger. Or being cocky. His MMA skills, along with Krav Maga and other martial arts techniques, were enough. “Just my fists. And my feet. That makes me more lethal than your knife by a long shot.”

  “You’re probably right. Remember, the number one thing is to protect yourself. If anything feels off, do what you gotta do. We’ll work out the rest later.”

  “Number one is to protect Sierra.”

  “Fair enough.” Rafe started to walk up the flower-lined path to the front door, but paused after just a step. “She’s good for you. You were a pain in the ass when we moved here. Now you’re getting back to being the brother I knew. The brother I’ve missed.”

  “She’s amazing. But—” Flynn broke off, trying to figure out what to say without breaking Sierra’s trust. Although, in a perfect world, he’d convince her to let him dial Rafe in to her trouble. No doubt Chicago’s most notorious fixer would be an asset in figuring out how to clean up her situation. God knew Flynn didn’t intend to let the status quo remain. Sierra couldn’t live with that dark shadow over her life. “—it’s complicated.”

  Laughter rolled out of Rafe. So much that he bent over and braced himself on his thighs. When the hilarity finally ran its course he looked up at Flynn, gasping a little. “You thought falling in love would be easy?”

  “Shut up.” He hated it when Rafe pulled the wise older brother routine. Especially when Kellan wasn’t around to bounce it down onto.

  “You’re a moron, Flynn. Seriously. Love’s complicated. Like . . . a hundred times more complicated than reconfiguring your fantasy football team when your star QB gets injured game one.”

  Flynn knew that. Just like he’d known that leaving everything behind in Chicago would be hard. Shitty. But knowing something didn’t come anywhere close to experiencing it. Kind of like having sex. The description fell about eight miles short of the reality.

  Rafe clapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s go get our women.”

  Sierra put her hand on top of Flynn’s where it rested on the gear shift. Such a normal, coupley gesture, but one that absolutely thrilled her. “It was very sweet of you to pick me up. Totally unnecessary, but sweet.”

  “Wrong. Making sure you don’t bike across town in the dark is very necessary. Girlfriend Safety 101.”

  Geez. This wasn’t Manhattan. Or even Milwaukee. There weren’t roving gangs outside. Unless you counted gangs of crickets. Cicadas? Whatever nighttime, noise-making bug called Oregon home. Flynn was being massively overprotective.

  And wasn’t that just adorable?

  “I feel like I’m in a poodle skirt being escorted home after milkshakes at the diner.”

  Flynn snorted. “If by milkshakes you mean several vats of Chianti, then yeah, it’s just like that.”

  “Don’t judge.” How many bottles were in a vat? Was it possible he wasn’t judging but actually knew in some weird numbers way? Like how some people actually knew the metric system?

  Or was it possible she’d had a teensy bit too much wine and shouldn’t be paying any attention to the babble in her brain?

  “If you hadn’t carried out the trash for Lily, you’d h
ave no idea how many bottles of wine we went through. We’re all still vertical, and putting consonants in all the right places in mostly the right words.”

  Flynn gave her a fast glance before turning his attention back to the utterly dark road. No streetlights along this stretch. “You’re not vertical. You’re sitting down.”

  “But I’m sitting vertically. Straight up. Like your penis.”

  Yep. That was a check mark in the column of too much wine.

  “Let’s not talk about my penis.” Flipping his hand over, Flynn lifted hers to his mouth and dropped a soft, wet, kiss right in the center of her palm. It sent tingles . . . everywhere. “Since I have to go right back to work after dropping you at home, it’s pointless to get yourself all worked up and needy for it.”

  “Somebody’s got a big head. Oh, wait. That was my original point.” Then Sierra dissolved into giggles.

  He put his elbow on the window frame and curled his hand onto the roof. Boy, that was sexy. James Dean plus Channing Tatum sexy. A bare forearm was apparently all she needed to see of Flynn Maguire to get all lusty. Hot. Squirmy.

  Okay, maybe thinking about his penis contributed to her squirminess, too.

  “I’m starting to wonder if I should turn this car around and have you spend the night with Lily. Are you okay to be on your own?”

  “Always.” His question sobered her up faster than an entire vat—however big that actually was—of espresso. “I’ve always been on my own. Alone. I might not have finished my MFA, but I’ve earned a PhD in life skills at being alone.”

  “Sierra. Stop.” Flynn’s tone was as harsh as the bed of broken shells just beyond the shoreline. “You’re not alone. Not anymore. Not ever again.”

  There he went again, being so sweet that her heart melted faster than a mouthful of cotton candy. And like that cotton candy, his words disappeared just as quickly. They vanished into the air, blown away by the wind streaming in through the open T-tops. Which was a good reminder that it wouldn’t last.