Ryliee had picked up her hand, laced their fingers and declared, “We’re best friends now, forever and evers.”
And they had been.
Today, they weren’t in identical anything. Skylar had light blue capris that were cute on her—so she thought—and a pale pink shirt. On her feet were slip-on canvas shoes. Ryliee, on the other hand killed with her vibrant coral skirt that showed off her assets, coupled with the collared white button-down with the top few open. Skylar didn’t have to look to know her white stilettos bore a red sole.
“I needed to see you after you called.” Ryliee hugged her once more. “I’m worried about you. Who do I need to beat?”
Arm in arm, they walked to their outside table. They put in drink orders, and she sighed heavily. “I’m okay.”
“Bullshit.” Ryliee’s gaze snapped with fire. “You struggled last time. I don’t want a shit answer. I want the truth. If that means we leave, fine, we do, but you are not okay.”
Skylar gave the server a smile as their drinks were delivered.
“Bring another round,” Ryliee instructed. “That way we have them.”
“Right away.”
Skylar struggled to wrangle her tears under control, because Ryliee was 100 percent correct. She wasn’t okay. Not even remotely close
Ryliee lifted her Alabama slammer and held it out. “To the best of friends. My girl.”
Lifting her Texas tea, Skylar extended it to tap her friend’s. “To us.”
There was a moment of shared silence as they both drank their respective beverages.
“Tell me about what’s going on in your life. I want the details of my globe-trotting bestie.”
She laughed, and Ryliee joined in. Before long she had her shoes off and her feet sunk in the silken sand. She scrunched her toes and groaned.
“Shoes off then?”
Skylar waggled a finger at her. “Don’t go acting like you still all in your Louboutins.” She took another drink. “We both know your French-manicured toes are in this sand like mine.”
“Fuck that, they were off before the first round appeared. Only reason I had them in the first place is because I had a meeting right before coming here and I didn’t want to take the time to stop and change. You know I’d be in a white top, plaid skirt, and my unicorn socks and shoes.”
The wind picked up, and Skylar reached up to brush some of the curls away from her face.
Parker used to tell me all the time how he loved my curls, how he couldn’t touch them enough.
Ryliee indulged her with stories of her travels while they gorged themselves on a large platter of appetizers ranging from calamari to egg rolls, potato skins, jalapeño poppers, and beer-battered mushrooms.
Her sides hurt from laughing so hard, yet the cloud of her own misery never completely left her alone.
The sun had set, and the string lights offered illumination combined with the flameless candle in the center of the table. The moment of truth arrived when Ryliee arched an eyebrow at her as their server set down their coffees and desserts. Key lime pie for Ryliee and a strawberry pretzel tart square for her.
Eighties music played off in the background, and there were snippets of muted conversation along with the waves on the shore.
Ryliee stirred sugar into her coffee. “Start at the beginning.”
She rolled her lower lip in on her teeth as she tried to figure out exactly where “the beginning” was. Suddenly, cold in the warm balmy weather, she wrapped her hands around the black porcelain mug, needing the heat radiating from it.
“You know about my posing as his fiancée while his son and the baby momma lived in his place.”
“I do. What I haven’t been sure about is why you agreed to the entire facade.”
She sipped her coffee. “I don’t know.” A head shake. “No, I do. He made me feel. Sure, a lot of the time it was irritation, but there was lust and a whole lot of other things.”
Ryliee ate some of her pie, not speaking but not looking away from Skylar’s face as she spoke.
“Christ, I’m such a fucking idiot,” she bemoaned.
“No, what you are is human. I’m so proud of you for this and I know, I know what this cost you to let them in. Especially Cullen.”
Tears burned her eyes, and she stabbed her dessert. Ryliee did know. Her bestie hadn’t let her succumb to the misery owning her entire body. She owed Ryliee more than she could ever repay, because without her, Skylar knew she would have died in that house alone with her pain.
“I love him. Holding him. Every single time Cullen calls me ‘Mama.’ The way he shadows me in the garage as I work. All of it. It hurts. Right here, and I just want to curl up in a ball and cry.” Her hands shook. “It’s going to kill me to not have him in my life.”
“Him who? Or do you mean both of them?”
“Both. But I was actually referring to Parker. Because as much as that little boy means to me, Parker means so much more, even when he’s an asshole. He was so different, once I got to know him. What the world sees and who he is are two very different people.”
“At least you’re admitting it.” She waved a hand. “Keep on.”
Skylar wiped at her eyes, grateful no one paid them any attention.
“I honestly don’t know if I can get over him. It’s like losing them all over again.” Her gut churned.
“Skylar?” A deep male voice broke in. She couldn’t contain her shock at seeing Gibson, Ioan, and a few others she’d met. But no Parker.
Thank God, because I couldn’t have handled that right now.
Seeing him for all of three minutes when he’d come with Ioan had been hard enough. All she’d wanted to do was climb into his arms and let him hold her, make her feel protected like he always had.
“Give us a minute, guys.” Gibson waved them on.
Soon, it was Ioan and Gibson, along with Ryliee and her.
After introductions to her friend, Gibson drew her in for a hug and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She squeezed him back. More tears threatened. “How are you?” Gibson’s light blue gaze was unwavering and direct.
“Fine, thank you.”
He stepped back with a disbelieving grunt and Ioan took his place, providing another warm body to be against. Ioan also inquired as to her well-being. She gave the same answer. After a few minutes of conversation, they left.
They were always her guardian angels, if Parker wasn’t there.
“He’s hot.”
“Which one?”
Ryliee shrugged. “Take your pick. I’d do either of them. Are they single?”
She ate a bit of dessert with an indulgent smile. “Ioan is rarely seen without two women on his arm. Gibson just went through, or is going through, a divorce.”
“Blond Ponytail would work. Looks like he can lay it down.” Ryliee ordered more drinks.
Her thoughts streamed to Parker and the nights she’d spent with him.
“Oh, you’re thinking about him. I know that expression.”
“I’m always thinking of him.” Her admission was low, and she shoved another bite into her mouth. Half expecting Ryliee to chuckle or laugh, she glanced up at the silence.
“Good. But I’m assuming nothing has changed.”
“I need to start over. I know I’m not strong enough.”
“Finished? Now it’s my turn. Consider this your come-to-Jesus moment. I love you, but I can’t believe you are just going to pack up—literally—and move your life because of this.”
Pain pierced her. She is supposed to be on my side. “I can’t watch them with her—”
Ryliee coolly lifted an eyebrow as she put her black currant vodka to her perfectly made up lips and drank. After she swallowed, she placed it down with the same slow, dangerous action.
“I believe this is my time to talk.”
Skylar drank a large swallow. Great, now I have more reason to cry.
“Better.” Ryliee leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “When you first called me and told me he had gotten you to give this insane idea of his a chance and pose as fiancée and let this hot-ass marine, who you’ve had naughty sexy dreams about, into your life, I was on the fence. Cheering like hell because you were coming back to me. Back to life. But still, on the fence. I even reached out to Lesli, and we both agreed it was wonderful you were coming back to us.”
She leaned forward and captured Skylar’s hand with both of hers.
“Then you mentioned Cullen and I was freaking out. Honestly, I was thinking I needed to come back to the States. The ages, so close to who you’d lost. I heard it in your voice. You fell for him. And every second you spent with them it grew deeper. Also a wonderful thing to hear.”
Ryliee squeezed her hand. “You grew and were back. I had my girl back. Then something changed. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t worried as fuck.”
Skylar looked away and pushed her toes deeper into the sand.
“You love this man.”
Instinctively, she started to deny it.
“Don’t.” Ryliee was sharp. “Do us both a favor and don’t lie about it. You do not need to be or feel guilty about this. I need you to listen. Really listen to me.” Another squeeze. “Are you listening? Now is the time for you to talk.”
“Yes.”
“Good. You’ve paid your penance, Skylar. You are allowed to move on from the pain of your past. Happiness found you. This man and his son make you whole. Yet you’re running from it. You’re using whatever fucking excuse you want because of your survivor’s guilt.”
“He’s fucking her,” she bit out, trying to pull her hands from Ryliee’s grasp. Lesli had spoken some similar words to her a while back, but it was different coming from Ryliee. Always had been.
She held tighter, eyes hard and uncompromising. “Do you know this for fact? Did you walk in on them fucking? Did you see his cock going in her? Or is this because your husband cheated on you, and you’re lumping them all together because they have dicks?”
More pain shoved into her. “No, I haven’t seen that. But she answered the door in his shirt.”
Ryliee gasped, dropping her hands and clasping hers over her chest, eyes wide. “Oh no,” she drawled with a deep, syrupy tone. “You mean the conniving bitch who didn’t tell him about having a son for three years and lies to his face answered the door in his shirt? Thank God we can trust her not to try to ruin whatever is between the two of you. Oh wait, she has been trying to weasel back into his life. Thankfully, you’re letting her win and get what she wants.”
She flattened her lips. “No need to be so fucking sarcastic.”
“Really? I see a huge, gigantic fucking need to be. I’m not your best friend because I’ll lie and sugarcoat shit for you. This is the time for you to grow up. Tell me, are you ready to give up on the man and his son because some bitch is trying to start some shit? What happened to the woman who stood beside me and punched a boy in the face because he made another girl cry? Or the one who beat the snot out of a playground bully because she’d pushed a little boy off a swing? Where is that Skylar, the one who stands up for herself and isn’t afraid to fight for what she wants?”
“Ryliee—”
“No, I’m not finished yet. Because if you’ll pull your head out of your ass and be honest about it, you’ll see you love him and he’s the one. Your one. Is he worth it? Or was it just sex you can get from a battery-operated toy or another man? If he is, which I think he is—but this is about you, not me—get off your fucking ass and goddammit, go fight for him.”
…
Parker swore and kicked at the chair beside him. Skylar wasn’t answering her phone and hadn’t been home in two weeks and one day. He was at the end of his rope. Where was she staying now that her house was up for sale? How the fuck was he supposed to make this right if he couldn’t find her?
“Parker!”
He shoved a hand through his hair, and he got to his feet. “Backyard, Sonar.”
Moments later, Gibson stood there, a case of beer in each hand. He placed the cases on the table. “Cullen here?”
“No.” Dammit, he missed his son as well. “He’s having a weekend with the grandparents.”
“Good.” That single word oozed menace.
That was his only warning. Seconds later, he was skidding across the lawn on his back, his chin burning from the punch delivered by Gibson.
His rage, which had come to fester at the top, rose a bit more, only to surge over the side of the container holding it. Much like the countdown on an explosive device, Parker Jax had just hit zero.
A loud roar tore from his chest as he scrambled to his feet, rushing his teammate. Gibson didn’t back off but met him head-on. They clashed with a brutal meeting of hard fighting male. Flesh pounding flesh echoed among the grunts as they rolled around the yard, exchanging blows and more.
Gibson countered a swing, latching onto his arm, then tossed him ass over head to smash into one of his chairs. It shattered beneath the force. Blood trickled down his face, and he flicked it away. Twice more, he rushed Sonar, and twice more the man encouraged an expedient meeting with the ground, knocking the air from his lungs.
Lying there, chest heaving as he struggled to fill his lungs with oxygen, he waited as Gibson, not unscathed himself, neared. He waited two heartbeats longer than he normally would have and kicked out with his legs, bringing his teammate down. Then he was on him, grappling for the upper hand, delivering out hard hits from his fists.
Parker succeeded for all of a minute. Gibson had always been better at hand-to-hand—the man had grown up on the streets, and it had been a matter of survival for him.
Clocking him with his elbow in the eye, Parker swore as a low rumble escaped from Gibson. In that second, he realized his friend wasn’t playing. A realization solidified when he was suddenly in a choke hold he couldn’t get out of, no matter how he tried.
With his arm wrenched in one direction, he knew it wouldn’t take much for Gibson to break it or dislocate it, whichever he wanted to do. More worrisome was the strong forearm along his jugular, slowing the air he struggled to acquire.
Gibson never said anything, and as black spots danced before his eyes, Parker swiftly came to the understanding that he wouldn’t let go unless he tapped out or passed out.
Parker didn’t want to tap, dammit. Head swimming, he did three sharp raps on Gibson’s arm. The man flexed his muscle, effectively cutting off even more air before releasing him, telling him he really didn’t want to let him up.
Gibson shoved him away and got to his feet. Still on the ground, Parker watched him rip open a case and pull out two beers, down one in seconds. Then he popped the top on the second.
On his feet the moment he was 75 to 80 percent confident he could stay upright of his own volition, Parker walked to where his friend sat on the table, the only piece of unbroken furniture left back there. All his chairs were smashed and lying in pieces around them.
He sat beside him and drank a beer he drew from the case. Parker lifted his shoulder and used his shirt to wipe off the blood moving down his face. He didn’t speak until his beer was empty and he had a nail below the tab of the second.
“Gonna tell me what all this was about?”
“Because you’re a motherfucking idiot. And you pissed me off.”
More beer went down. Shit, he couldn’t win for losing. “What the fuck did I do to piss you off?”
Gibson crushed his second can and reached for his third. “You hurt her.” He exploded up from the table. “So fucking stupid. That woman is the best thing that ever happened to you. She got you, she understood you, and more than that she supported you. I can only wish a woman like that would come into my l
ife.”
Skylar.
Even thinking about her pushed him further into the churlish, fucked-up mess he’d become.
“Who the fuck are you talking about?” he snapped.
Sonar faced him and raked his gaze disgustedly over Parker. “Who the fuck do you think I’m talking about? Not your precious whore of a baby momma.”
He couldn’t even get mad about that. “What difference does it make about Skylar? She made her choice.”
“You’ve had plenty of time to make it right with her. And you didn’t, sitting here wallowing in your fucking self-pity, blaming her instead of going to get your woman.”
Well, when it was put like that, it was exactly what he was doing. He’d planned on talking to her. And he would. But right now, he’d been making sure there were no holes in his paperwork petitioning for sole custody of Cullen. Once all that was solidly in motion, he had every fucking intention of turning all his Recon focus on getting Skylar back in his life where she belonged. There wasn’t another woman in this world for him, and he’d do whatever it took to prove this to her.
Whatever it took.
He slammed his beer and reached for another one. “Why are you bringing her up now?”
“I saw her.”
His heart clenched painfully. Lucky fucking bastard. The pain intermingled with the anger toward his friend for being able to put eyes on Skylar.
“How was she? Where did you see her? Was she with someone?”
Gibson walked up to him and punched him right in the face again. Parker fell back, his nose starting to bleed once more. “She was miserable. Still crying, you motherfucking asshole. And you did it to her.”
After ripping off his shirt, he held it to his nose. Staring at his beer that drained down from the table, he shook his head, slowly, and grabbed another beer. “Would you fucking stop hitting me?”
“I should take you to task for making her cry.”
“I asked her to be my fiancée. She’s the one who’s not here.” Using his hand with the balled-up shirt, he jabbed in the direction of her house. “Do you see her there? Because I sure as fuck don’t. I also don’t see her in my house and my bed, where she fucking belongs. I’m not in hers, either. You know, the house next door to me that is now up for sale!”
Her Marine Next Door Page 20
