Fate Interrupted 2
by
Kaitlyn Cross
Fate Interrupted 2
Copyright © 2013 by Kaitlyn Cross
Cover design by AMDesign Studios
All rights reserved
Chapter One
Staying busy was the only way to keep the demons at bay. Sleeping was out of the question. Even her dreams were not safe. Evy frosted cupcake after cupcake, glancing all too often at the cell phone resting quietly on the island table. She willed it to wake up, envisioning Dean’s picture popping onto the screen. The one she had snapped of him laughing aboard a mammoth Ferris wheel high atop the Summerfest grounds where Bruno Mars played to a packed crowd below. The flashing lights, live music and smell of kettle corn in the air had turned it into a night she would never forget, a time when things had actually been normal. Happy. She checked the clock on the wall and did the math again in her head. Hawaii was four hours behind Milwaukee, so that would make it...
A loud timer went off with a beep and a flash, jerking her from her thoughts. She silenced the buzzer and turned her iPod up before slipping on a red mitt and carefully pulling a sheet of mint chocolate chip cookies from the oven. She set the hot tray on the table’s last available rectangle of space, softly singing along with the tune in her head. Sheets and sheets of brownies, cake pops, and cupcakes stared back at her, cooling under the kitchen’s fluorescent lights. She took a drink of her cabernet, letting her gaze sweep the room. Trays of freshly baked goods lined a counter running the length of a yellow wall, while plastic tubs of homemade frosting took up what little space she could clear on the dry goods rack. Evy slipped the mitt back on its hook and sang louder, happy to have Sugars all to herself, the smell of sweet treats heavy in the air.
Like her mom and sister, baking had always been a release. When Evy found out Zack and Kelly had broken up on Saved by the Bell she whipped up a dozen little cakes in her Easy-Bake Oven in one rainy afternoon. When she found out about Richie’s little stripper friend, she turned out two dozen blueberry donuts, four dozen chocolate chunk cookies, and a three tiered strawberry shortcake cake for Brooke’s surprise birthday party. All in one day. Evy stockpiled copious amounts of flour and sugar like her Aunt Vicky did vodka and whiskey.
She stared blankly at her output as the image of Dean getting married on the beach without her stormed down the tracks. By this time tomorrow night he would probably be married to another woman. It wasn’t right. This had gone too far. Somewhere there had to be something on Clay Crawford. Something dirty. Evy knocked back the last swallow in her glass, dulling the jagged edge of sobriety, unable to stop the image of Dean curled up next to another woman in bed from creeping into her mind like a thief in the night, stealing her joy. She forced back a tear and before the grief could build, pushed past it and turned up the iPod.
She loaded a long gun with their secret family frosting while singing at the top of her lungs, determined to stop thinking about it. A shadowy figure burst through the half swinging door in her peripheral vision, lunging with a shrill cry ricocheting off the walls. Evy jumped ten feet and screamed loud enough to wake the dead as the sound of heels clicked closer. She saw the flash of sharpened claws reaching for her neck and sidestepped the attack, using the intruder’s momentum to throw it against the dishwasher with a loud clang.
Brooke cried out in pain and caught herself against the sink, bangs hanging in her face. “Dammit, Evy, that hurt!”
“Brooke! What is wrong with you?” Evy cried, clutching her chest.
Brooke rolled with laughter, buttoning the top few buttons on her black blouse. “You should’ve seen the look on your face. That was classic!”
Ben staggered through the door, buckling his belt, his face twisting in the harsh light. “Were you singing Michael Bolton?”
Evy frowned. “No.”
“I think you were,” he said, hiking up his inky dark jeans and scanning the sheets of desserts. “Sounded a lot like How Am I Supposed to Live Without You.”
A low groan rumbled past Evy’s lips. “You scared the shit out of me!”
Brooke’s laughter tapered off as she smoothed her top. “That was the point.”
“What the hell are you two doing here at two in the morning?”
Brooke arched an eyebrow, eyeballing the muffins and cookies dotting the room. “I could ask you the same thing, Sandra Lee.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Evy tightened her ponytail, squinting at the smudged lipstick staining Ben’s mouth. “And why are you both buttoning up your clothes?”
Brooke shrugged indifferently, finger-combing her straight brown hair. “No reason.”
Ben cleared his throat, adjusting the short sleeve button-down strangling his tattooed biceps. “I got hot,” he said, weaving a crooked path into the office.
“You baked all of this tonight?”
Evy followed Brooke’s bloodshot gaze around the kitchen and responded with a faint nod.
“Well damn, girl, if our customers ever come back, we’ll have to break your heart more often.”
“They’ll be back,” Evy said, carefully prying red velvet cupcakes from a well used pan.
“I hope you’re right.”
“They will.”
Brooke stretched a smile as far as it would go. “I know, sweetie. I know.”
“Hey, what’re these?” Ben asked, stuffing a pack of smokes into his shirt pocket and studying a baking tray of chocolate squares.
“Those are Brakes,” Evy replied, glancing at her phone.
His forehead creased. “Brakes? What the hell are those?”
“A cross between brownies and cake. I found the recipe on Pinterest.”
Brooke came closer. “Diet Coke and cake mix, right?”
“Yep, but I used Greek yogurt instead of Diet Coke.”
“No eggs or oil?” Ben asked, picking one up for a closer inspection.
“Nope.”
Without hesitation, he bit into it, pinching his eyes together as he chewed. Evy and Brooke watched him closely, quietly awaiting his verdict. Ben swallowed and nodded. “Wow, those are really good.” He stuffed the rest of the square into his mouth. “And so moist!”
Brooke tried one and her eyes widened with surprise. “Oh yeah, we can sell these,” she said, high-fiving Evy and yanking her hand back at the last second. She giggled with her mouth full and plopped heavily onto a stool.
“God, how much have you had to drink tonight?”
Ben licked his fingers. “Not enough.” He wiped his hands on his jeans and stumbled through the swinging door separating the kitchen from up front.
Evy turned to her sister and lowered her voice. “You two were going to do it in here, weren’t you?”
Brooke stopped chewing, looking overly offended. “No, we were not,” she replied curtly.
Evy stared at her with a blank expression.
“Okay, we were,” she whispered. “We like to watch it back on the security footage.”
Evy’s eyebrows drew together. “That is so gross.”
Air ruffled Brooke’s chocolate lips as she fanned a hand through the air. “Don’t worry, we erase it after we’re done.”
“No, I mean having sex in here is gross! This is a kitchen, Brooke. Haven’t you ever heard of OSHA regulations?”
“Please! We disinfect everything, girl.” Brooke twisted on her stool and nearly lost her balance. “Evy, trust me, this place is cleaner than a pig in a July drought.”
Evy’s face soured. “What does that even mean?”
Brooke pulled her shoulders to her ears. “Coulda told ya three margaritas ago.”
Evy turned her attention back to the cell phone, afraid to miss his call, seeing his picture pop up,
willing it to happen.
“Still no word?”
She pulled a stool out and took a seat, her eyes blurring the cell phone into a fuzzy rectangle. “Not yet.”
“Did you try calling him?”
“No.”
“Good. Don’t be that girl. I’m sure he’ll call you as soon as he gets the chance.”
A wistful sigh caused Evy’s posture to shrink. “I should’ve gone.”
“Where? To Hawaii?”
Evy fought back tears she didn’t know existed, certain that well had run dry this morning when she had found his note.
“You don’t even know where he’s staying.”
“When he called me from the airport I heard someone say something about Maui over the PA system. I’ll have him text me the details.”
“Evy,” Brooke said calmly, taking her hand. “You can’t risk it. We just got our liquor license back. If Clay were to find out you went to Hawaii we’d be screwed.”
“I could disguise myself. No one would know.”
“No.”
“Well, I can’t just sit here, Brooke.” She swung a hand out over the baked goods. “I’m going to gain thirty pounds!”
Brooke exhaled a tired breath that smelled like tequila. “There’s nothing you can do there but make things worse.”
A short laugh burst from Evy’s mouth, echoing off the cold yellow walls. “I don’t think things can get much worse.”
“We have to wait for Dean to get back. He knows more about what’s going on than any of us. Go home and get some sleep.”
“I’m not tired,” she said dully, her puffy eyes betraying her.
Brooke leaned in closer. “Promise me you won’t go to Hawaii.”
“Hawaii?” Ben gasped, carefully coming through the swinging door with a circular tray of drinks. “Not with that bald prick on the loose!”
Brooke shot him a cold glare that chilled him to the bone.
“What bald prick?” Evy asked, her eyes darting back and forth between them.
Brooke picked up a tray of maple bacon cupcakes so Ben could set the drinks down.
“I said ‘bald tick’,” he quickly corrected. “It’s an invasive species currently devouring Hawaii and will give you a good case of the shits for a month of Sundays if the little bugger latches onto ya. Not a good time to run off to paradise.”
Brooke discreetly rolled her eyes while Evy studied his scruffy face.
After a few awkward seconds, she shook her head. “No, you said bald prick.”
Ben tipped back a bottle of Shaun’s latest batch of Indian Pale Ale, meditating on it for just a moment longer. “No, I didn’t.”
She turned to Brooke, her heart hammering in her chest. “What is he talking about?”
“I have no idea what he is…”
“Brooke!”
The outburst made Brooke startle, sending her words cart wheeling to the shiny floor. She stared at Evy and exhaled a defeated breath, trading an uneasy glance with her husband. Brooke took a quick drink of a raspberry cosmo to wet her whistle, and looked up to meet Evy’s worried eyes. “They call him Mr. Ryder.”
Chapter Two
The minister’s black robe flapped in the ocean breeze, blue waves crashing onto the white sand behind him. The sun beat down from above, producing a slick layer of sweat across Dean’s forehead. His white shirt clung to his back and he wanted to wipe the smile off the minister’s face. The minister adjusted his colorful lei and kept reading. Dean glanced at his watch and took another swig from the bottle of whiskey hanging loosely in his hand. He had to be the most miserable person on the entire breathtaking island of Maui, taking the word ironic to a new level. Dean checked his watch again and sighed. The thick framed minister paused to look up from the open bible in his brown skinned hands. He arched a troubled eyebrow at Dean.
Dean shifted in his stance, digging his toes into the hot sand, trying to find a cooler spot to stand. “Are we keeping you from something?”
“Dean!” Megan whispered, squeezing his hand.
The minister glanced at the half empty whiskey bottle in Dean’s hand and resumed his speech. Dean stared out across the ocean, one word blending into the next like a foreign language spoken entirely too fast, his thumb spinning a gold band around his ring finger. Megan turned to him with a sweet smile, her white sundress happily dancing with the wind. Dean almost felt sorry for her. She was glowing like an angel and this should have been the happiest moment of her life, but he was determined to put it behind them as quickly as possible.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the minister finally said in a thick Polynesian accent. He smiled warmly, the wind tugging at his black hair. “You may kiss the bride.”
Megan turned to face Dean, peering up at him with elated eyes that matched the sparkling waters stretching before them. She leaned up on her tippy toes and kissed him on the mouth. Dean reciprocated with something reminiscent of a dead fish, tasting the virgin pina colada still on her lips from breakfast. A tall thin man off to the side snapped a couple of quick pictures and then traded out the digital camera for a worn ukulele. He strummed a happy tune while a pretty woman slowly swayed with the music, her arms and long dark hair floating in the air. A light blue sundress set off the flower in her hair as she and the thin man serenaded Megan and Dean with wide smiles plastered across their faces. Dean watched a cruise ship off in the distance, wishing he was anywhere but here, and raised the bottle to his lips for another pull.
The minister lifted a string of brightly colored flowers over Megan’s head. She happily bowed before him and he kissed her on the cheek. He stepped in front of Dean, trying to hold onto his phony smile, and held up another lei. Dean refused to bow, forcing the island man to stretch his arms high into the air to lace Dean’s neck with the sweet smelling garland. Dean swung his gaze to the thin man playing the ukulele. The man’s steadfast smile made him sick to his stomach.
Seagulls rode the rolling waves of blue sky above, crying out as if celebrating the union as well. The black haired lady danced circles around them, doing her best to coax Megan and Dean into joining her. She took their hands and pulled them closer, her hips swaying back and forth with a natural rhythm passed down from generations before. The three islanders smiled like it was their first time hosting such a beautiful ceremony. The beach spun around Dean. He squinted in the bright sunshine. Megan laughed out loud, trying to mimic the luau dancer. Dean wiped sweat from his brow with his shoulder, dampening the breezy fabric. The island woman pulled him closer. He staggered in the stand and she steadied him without missing a beat.
Dean shook his head and yanked his hand back, her smile as insistent as her dance. She took his hand again, drawing him and Megan to her, determined they enjoy this lasting memory together. He blinked blankly, the color draining from his face as the two females bobbed around him. The island woman said something he didn’t understand, her goddamned smile as relentless as the thunderous waves hammering at the base of his skull. His stomach tightened. The thin man strummed faster, tapping his foot in rhythm to the native song.
Dean’s mouth watered. The crashing waves sprayed the air with sea foam that smelled of salt and dead fish. He leaned in closer to Megan. She smiled her approval, towing him across the hot sand and shaking her hips from side to side. Beads of sweat raced down his face in streams, soaking his collar. His stomach rumbled.
Megan’s smile stretched from ear to ear. “I can’t believe I’m Megan Jacobs now!”
He smiled and threw up, spraying her dress with this morning’s Denver omelet. Megan screeched and jumped backwards in the sand.
She looked up in horror and clapped a hand over her mouth, reminding him of Evy. “Dean!”
He wretched again, splashing her bare feet this time. The minister yelled something in his native tongue and the ukulele finally stopped its stringy song. Dean bent over and rested his hands on his knees like a gassed basketball player, watching the sand soak up his breakfast. He dry h
eaved a few times until his eyes watered with tears. Megan patted him on the back and spoke consoling words that made him want to vomit again. Nothing he did seemed to phase her enchanted spell and it annoyed the hell out of him. The wind whipped at his hair, sweeping his bangs into his eyes.
He slowly stood back up, his bloodshot eyes traveling across the sober faces staring back at him. The woman had stopped dancing and the minster stared at Dean like he had just killed a kitten. The looks of disdain breaking their automatic professionalism made Dean grin. He ran a wet hand through his hair and inhaled a deep breath of salty air. “Are we done here?”
The minster stood with his mouth collecting the sea breeze and responded with a shallow nod. Dean took another chug from the bottle and wiped his mouth on his shoulder, turning it brown. He turned for the fancy hotel behind him with Megan hot on his heels and the thin man grumbling something about howlies.
Megan held her dress out, trying to keep up. “Are you okay, honey?”
He couldn’t help but quicken his pace. It was reflexive, kicking up sand as he went, wondering how he could possibly survive another five days of this charade. Two young boys zipped in front of him, chasing each other through the sand, their high-pitched squeals piercing his swollen brain with dull ice picks.
Megan made a grab for the bottle in his hand and he yanked it away. “Dean, I think you’ve had enough.”
He stopped and tipped the bottle back, taking a long swig of the amber colored liquid inside. “We’ve only been married for two minutes and you’re already telling me what to do?” He turned for the resort, not bothering to wait for an answer.
She frowned and took a couple of hurried steps, squinting at him in the bright sunshine. “I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be!” he snapped, his face a twisted scowl, the alcohol bringing out the beast.
He followed somebody else’s footprints, wishing he was them. Anyone else’s life would be better than living this one. Megan’s silence eventually drew his eyes. Her watery gaze pointed to the sand, navigating her steps. He exhaled a tired breath and lowered his voice. “I’m sorry,” he said over the hammering waves. “I think I’ve just had too much sun.”
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