Fate Interrupted 2

by Kaitlyn Cross

  She laughed sharply, glancing at her ruined dress. “Is that what you call it?” She took a few quick steps and cut in front of him, forcing him to a stop. Megan peered up into his puffy eyes and tried to smile. “Dean, I know this is a big change but if it’s not what you wanted, then why did you ask me to marry you?”

  Waves crashed in his ears while the wind tugged at his hair. He laughed out loud in response.

  Her gaze thinned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  His lips pressed together until turning white, Clay and Mr. Ryder flashing through his mind. He couldn’t tell if his face was red from the sun or the rage burning inside, her cluelessness a constant source of irritation. He ran a hand through his hair, carefully choosing his next words. Drunk or not, he had gone this far and there was no point in screwing it up now. That wouldn’t help anyone, namely Evy and Shaun.

  Evy’s naked body skipped through his mind like a rock across a glassy pond. What he wouldn’t give to curl up next to her on the couch just one more time. His cell phone felt heavy in his khakis. It beckoned him, begging him to call her. He suddenly regretted telling her everything in the note and wouldn’t blame her one bit if she was having second thoughts. Or even third thoughts. It was a lot to digest and no one deserved this horror story. But for whatever reason, fate had brought them together like two ships in the night and he would be damned if anything would get between them, even this iceberg of a marriage. Dean winced with the embarrassment shooting through him. Evy’s family must think very little of him right about now, weakening his resolve. He shook his head and spit into the sand, no one to blame but himself.

  “Hello? Dean?”

  His eyes snapped back to Megan, her words rudely stirring him from his thoughts like they had done the entire plane ride here the day before. She craned her neck, trying to see through his eyes, into his soul.

  “You’re right,” he said, turning the bottle upside down.

  She watched the pungent smelling liquid turn the sand a dark shade of brown around their bare feet. “Thank you.”

  He smirked at her and threw the bottle behind him without looking. Her smile slid down her face like a wet sheet. “Dean!” she gasped, holding her dress out and racing across the hot sand to retrieve the discarded litter.

  He took advantage of the diversion and continued for the brightly colored resort where he could find an ice-cold bottle of beer and two minutes to think. His wobbly legs ascended some tiled steps, glad to be back on solid ground where a party of half naked women lounged on white chases alongside an infinity pool, sipping on fruity drinks while gazing out over the ocean. One of them nudged another when Dean went by. The group’s chatter faded altogether when Megan sauntered into view, her soiled dress a source for their stares.

  Dean stumbled into the open air lounge like a man who had been trudging the dunes of a hostile desert for days on end. Outside of an older couple sitting at a table for two, and someone reading the paper at the bar, the place was as deserted as his will to keep going. With a relieved sigh, Dean dropped heavily into a tall chair at the bar, the shade from the canopy already making his thick head feel better.

  The bartender smiled, revealing a sizable gap between his two front teeth. “Aloha!” he said, trying to sound native even though he looked like a wiry farm boy from Ohio. He tossed a coaster in front of Dean and leaned on the edge of the bar. “And how are you today?”

  “A bottle of Corona,” Dean panted, the man’s upbeat tone rubbing him the wrong way.

  The bartender pushed off the bar. “You got it.” He turned for a tall cooler and did a double take as Megan caught up, his short brown hair unaffected by the breeze his jaw was dangling in.

  “He’ll take a bottle of water,” Megan sternly instructed, depositing the empty whiskey bottle into a brightly painted garbage can.

  “And the beer,” Dean added, staring blankly at a flat screen airing a rerun of Hawaii Five-O behind the bar.

  The bartender slowly nodded, seeming unsure where to begin first, his gaze snagging again on Megan’s dress.

  “Maybe you should come up to the room and get out of the sun for awhile, take a nap.”

  “Maybe later,” Dean replied gruffly, refusing to meet her eyes.

  She stared at his profile for a moment before looking back to her dress. A flustered sigh slithered from her lips. “I’m going to go up and take a shower, okay?”

  He nodded, clicking his wedding ring against the shiny bar top, aggravating his headache on purpose. It was the least he could do. He had it coming.

  “Don’t be too long.”

  He kept his eyes fixed on the TV.

  She exhaled a weary breath and slowly turned away, the pep in her step nothing more than a memory.

  He turned to watch her go. “Megan,” he said, catching her blue eyes when she spun around. “I’m sorry for…” He nodded to the dress.

  She smiled weakly and turned for the elevator in the lobby, finally leaving him alone with his intrusive thoughts.

  The barkeep set the Corona and bottle of water down and slid them forward. “Congratulations.”

  Dean looked up, his eyes feeling big as tennis balls and just as furry.

  “These are on the house,” he said, pushing the drinks closer.

  “Thanks.”

  “So how’s it feel to be a married man now?”

  Dean snorted. “Numbing.”

  He chuckled and wiped circles of condensation off the bar, glancing at Dean’s sweat soaked shirt. “First time in Hawaii?”

  Dean shoved the lime wedge into the Corona bottle and took a long drink, the cold liquid sweeping the cotton mouth down his throat. He swallowed with a sigh. “It is.”

  The bartender made a click with his tongue. “That sun will get ya if you’re not careful. I’ve seen it a thousand times.”

  Dean looked out over the sparkling pool that appeared to empty into the ocean, sweat running down his back. He grunted, wondering how such an amazing view could seem so dismal at the same time. Without Evy by his side, everything looked different. The colors were faded, the people wore scowls, and the perfect weather was a pain in the ass.

  “My name is Cliff,” the barkeep said, lifting a trap door in the bar and coming out to Dean’s side. “Just holler if you need anything.” He glanced at the line of girls sunning themselves by the pool, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “This could take awhile.”

  Dean rested his elbows on the bar and dropped his face into his hands, trying to massage away the pain, wondering how he could possibly endure another day of this, let alone five. He knew Megan would be after him to make the marriage official in their room’s king-sized bed tonight - if not this afternoon, but Plan Whiskey Dick was in full swing. Maybe tomorrow morning he could blame his impending hangover on some tropical bug, eat spicy food and make himself throw up in their bathroom.

  He took his face from his hands and pulled out his cell phone. His thumb swiped at the screen until Evy’s name rolled up. A deep breath filled his lungs. He glanced behind him to the lobby, his thumb hovering over the call button. He turned around and stared at Evy’s name, wondering what she was doing right now. He flicked his wrist out to check his watch, still set to Milwaukee time, and grimaced when he pictured her telling Brooke and Ben that her boyfriend had just married another woman. Humiliation squeezed his insides, making it difficult to breathe. How could he ever face any of them again? In the blink of an eye, he had become that guy. The guy everyone lobbied against behind his back. With a long groan, he slipped the cell back into his pocket, too ashamed to call the one person he wanted to talk to the most.

  “Congratulations.”

  Dean hesitated before looking down the bar. The man at the end lowered the newspaper he was reading and grinned. Dean’s heart skipped a beat.

  “Beautiful day for a wedding,” Mr. Ryder smiled, cheering him with a glass of what looked like a Shirley Temple, a cherry floating on top.

  Dean cocked his
head to one side, glaring at the old man through slits while nonchalantly sliding a hand into his pocket beneath the bar. “What the hell are you doing here?” he sneered. “Wait, let me guess – the national bingo tournament is in town.”

  Ryder cheered him again. “Just spending some vacation time,” he said, smiling widely. “Use it or lose it.”

  Dean pursed his lips, his liquid courage helping him push any fear off to the side. “Good for you. And nice suit and tie by the way, it’s like ninety degrees out. Shouldn’t you be trying to blend in, Kojak?”

  Ryder’s smile slid down his pale face, staring hard at Dean through dead eyes. “Maybe I want to paint a certain picture in your head before switching into my new Hawaiian shirt.”

  Dean might have laughed if he wasn’t so sick, literally and figuratively.

  Mr. Ryder folded the newspaper under one arm, slid his chair back and grabbed his drink. Dean glanced around as the old timer took a seat next to him. Cliff was busy chatting it up with a pretty brunette who was way out of his league. Other than the older couple a few tables away, they were completely alone.

  “Just for the record, Dean, you’re doing the right thing here. I want you to know that.”

  Dean jerked his gaze back to Ryder, the cold liquid clearing the humidity from his airways. “What do you know?”

  Ryder shrugged. “I know that you owe me a new tire.”

  Dean sharpened his gaze. “Who the hell are you anyway?”

  “I’m just a guy who cares and that’s all you need to know.”

  “Are you in the mafia?”

  Ryder leaned back and bellowed with laughter, amused with absurdity. “You’re such a romantic, Dean!”

  “And you’re an asshole!”

  A grave look gripped Ryder’s features, doubling the wrinkles in his face. He dipped his chin and looked at Dean over the top of his glasses. “The only thing I can tell you is that if you live up to your responsibilities, you will be well taken care of from here on out. And that’s a fact.”

  A short laugh burst from Dean’s lips. He took a long drink of the Corona, eyeballing Ryder as the lime wedge somersaulted inside the clear glass bottle. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand, his new wedding ring making him wince.

  A group of guys in their early twenties spilled into the bar from the hotel lobby, wearing long shorts and wide smiles, cracked beers already in hand. A guy with a shaved head and no shirt leaned against the bar next to Dean, black tribal tattoos spiraling across his massive shoulders and biceps. He yelled out to Cliff that they needed shots as his buddies wandered over to the pool, drawn to the bikini-clad girls like weeds to the sun.

  Dean leaned in closer to Ryder and lowered his voice. “Did Sugars get their liquor license back yet?”

  “How’s it goin, guys?” the beefcake with no shirt asked, cheering them with the beer in his hand.

  Dean stared at Ryder and didn’t respond as Mr. Ryder calmly stirred his drink, rattling the ice cubes against each other. “Did they get their license back?” he slowly repeated.

  Muscles elbowed Dean in the arm. “You just get married or somethin, buddy?”

  Dean gritted his teeth, keeping his eyes directed at Ryder while waves of annoyance rushed over him.

  The guy laughed. “Hello?”

  Dean slowly twisted around in his seat, the big guy’s cocky smile making his blood boil. “Somethin like that,” Dean replied dully, turning back to Ryder, a million questions on his mind.

  “Awe come on, she can’t be that bad, dude!” muscles laughed out loud, slapping a meaty hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezing overly hard. “Good lookin guy like you probably reeled in a real hottie.” He looked all around. “Where’s she at? I want a dollar dance with the bride.”

  Dean watched Ryder’s eyes follow the cherry in his drink.

  “Yo, pretty boy, I’m talkin to you!”

  Dean cringed with the guy’s rise in volume and, grudgingly, turned to face him.

  The man took in Dean’s hardened face, his forehead wrinkling. “Seriously, where’s the bride at, man?”

  Dean set his jaw. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself, meat.”

  The man’s face tensed. He thinned his gaze and stepped closer. “Listen here, you pretty little bitch,” he hissed, spraying Dean’s face with spittle that smelled like stale beer. “You better show some respect or I will put you through a wall, homeboy.”

  Dean balled his hands into fists and slowly got to his feet, towering over the guy by two or three good inches.

  The man’s gaze rose with him. “Big guy, huh? Well, you know what they say? Bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

  Dean’s rage built. “I bet you hit like a pussy.”

  The man’s face tightened, turning an angry shade of red. A seagull squawked above them in the silence that followed. A loud burst of laughter came from the pool. The muscle head casually set his beer on the bar and turned back to Dean, puffing his chest out and squeezing his hands into fists. There was a loud crack when Ryder slammed his head onto the bar. Dean jumped and fell back into his seat, watching the guy slide to the floor into a crumpled puddle of loose muscle. Dean looked up to Ryder, his mouth agape, astonished by the man’s stealth. He hadn’t even heard him get up from the chair, let alone seen him.

  Mr. Ryder straightened his black necktie and turned to Dean with a pleasant smile. “You should take Megan parasailing tomorrow. I hear it’s something you’ll never forget.” He tucked the complimentary newspaper beneath his arm. “Enjoy your wedding night,” he said, shooting Dean a wink before turning for the hotel lobby.

  Dean inhaled heavy breaths of warm air, pulse racing. “Who are you?” he yelled loud enough to turn some heads.

  Ryder stopped in his wingtips without turning around, a breeze tickling the thin leaves of a palm tree to his right. He nodded at a pretty, elderly lady walking past and kept moving, disappearing into the shadows.

  Dean stared into the hotel, damaging thoughts attacking his every turn. “What the fuck, man?” he whispered, wiping his brow.

  “Holy shit, what happened?” Cliff cried, staring at the man lying unconscious on the custom tile work.

  Dean pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “He just passed out. Hit his head on the bar on the way down.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Cliff grumbled, kneeling next to him and checking his pulse. “Rookies,” he muttered. “I’m tellin ya, sun and alcohol do not mix.”

  Dean was too busy playing back the recording of Mr. Ryder on his cell phone to bother with a response. A slow grin traveled from one ear to the other. He slipped the cell back into his pocket as Cliff went behind the bar to call for help.

  ***

  Dean burst through the door and entered the suite, his chest rising and falling. Megan screamed and covered herself with a towel, the smell of cherry body lotion permeating the spacious room.

  A relieved sigh shot from her as he slammed the door shut and locked it. “You scared the crap out of me,” she said, dropping the towel to the bed and exposing her freshly washed body. “Are you feeling any better?” She reached up and adjusted the towel wrapped around her blond hair like a turban, a coy grin playing at her lips. “Because anytime you’re ready to consummate this thing I am.”

  “We have to talk,” he said, struggling for breath.

  She stepped closer, chewing on her bottom lip. “Talk is the last thing I want to do,” she whispered, grabbing his crotch.

  He jumped back, holding her at arm’s length. “This is serious.”

  Her devilish grin morphed into a disappointed frown. “Let’s talk later.”

  Dean turned from her plump breasts and plunked down into a leather chair at a mahogany desk.

  Her eyes fell to the cell phone in his hand.

  “There’s something you have to hear,” he said, bringing up the video.

  She came closer, studying the darkened screen through curious eyes.

  “This man works for your father and i
s following our every move. I just ran into him at the bar.”

  A short laugh squeaked out. “What?”

  “Just listen,” he snapped, pressing play.

  The video played back with the dark confines of Dean’s pocket taking up the entire screen. Megan sat down on the edge of the bed as Ryder’s muffled words wiggled from the speaker. She took the towel from her head and shook her hair out as the recording continued.

  Dean’s blood pounded thickly in his ears, knowing this might drive Megan to her senses. The possibility she might actually do the right thing and call this whole thing off - including her dickhead father - made his pulse quicken. The video stopped. Dean inhaled deeply and looked up with anxious eyes. “Do you see what is going on here?”

  Megan arched an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, you’re drunk and need to take a nap.”

  His brow folded. “Didn’t you hear what that guy said? He works for your father, who has hired him to keep tabs on us. To make sure we get married or else Clay will shut Sugars down for good.”

  “Somebody needs to lay off the Hawaii Five-O,” she snickered, finger-combing her wet hair.

  “This isn’t a joke, Megan! This shit is really happening!”

  “All right, you don’t have to yell!” She paused to lower her voice, glancing at the cell in his hand. “Dean, I could barely hear a word on there, whoever that was.” She patted the bed, dismissing it all with one simple gesture. “Take your clothes off and come lie down.”

  Dean sprang to his feet and kicked the chair backwards, sending it rolling across the room and crashing into a leather couch with straight edges. “I’ll give you the cliff notes version: your father hired this man because I don’t love you. I love Evy!”

  Her gaze turned as cold as a gravestone, the color fleeing her cheeks.

  “Got your attention now?”

  She stared blankly at him, her posture as strict as the look on her face.

  “Your dad just wants the all-American family standing behind him while he’s running for office. I’ve never heard of somebody so desperate to become a mayor before!” he laughed wildly with contempt. “I mean, is that such a great position? I’d hate to think what he did do to become class president!”