Exception (Haven Point Book 2)

by Mariah Dietz

  Does that make me crazy?

  “Kennedy!” Mom cries. She grabs the dishtowel hanging over the oven and quickly wraps it around my hand. “I knew I shouldn’t have left that knife in there. I’m sorry!” she says, applying pressure to my finger. Her grip is firm and far more comforting than the cut had been.

  “It’s okay, Mom. It’s my fault. You should be able to leave knives in the sink and not worry about it,” I tell her. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “You’re such a klutz.” Grace snickers, coming up to my other side to inspect the damage. “Only you could manage to do something like that.”

  I think of the times my sister inflicted pain upon herself in an attempt to remind herself that things were in fact real, and a lump forms in my throat.

  By trying to prove to myself I’m not crazy, I’ve just proven I am.

  “Do you need me to get a Band-Aid or something?” Vi asks from where she’s placing the napkins I set down at each place setting.

  “It’s fine,” I assure them. “I’m sure it’s already done.” I pull free from my mom and feel Grace’s stare as I reach for a paper towel to wrap around the small wound.

  “How was your day around town?” Grace asks, maintaining her heavy stare.

  I nod. “Good. We managed to get into the ice cream shop before they were out of the chocolate hazelnut or mint-chocolate chip.”

  “I can’t believe you mix those flavors.” Grace groans.

  Violet laughs. “That’s exactly what I said.”

  “She’s always mixed the worst flavors. When we were kids, she’d get strawberry and bubblegum.” Grace shivers. “It was so gross.”

  “Just because your flavor palette is limited doesn’t mean mine is bad.”

  Grace looks at me and smirks. “She used to make really strange flavors when she baked, too. She still will get a random desire to make something completely out there.”

  “Sometimes they turn out pretty good, though,” Vi says. “She made a strawberry-and-basil cake that had me a little afraid, but it was amazing!”

  “She does like to experiment.” Mom laughs. “When she was little, she tried adding different things to the eggs. Each time she made them she added a new spice so she could see what each one tasted like.”

  Grace’s face puckers. “Those were all awful.”

  “You liked some of them!” I cry.

  Grace’s blue eyes flare with memories and humor. “After you made it through the baking spices and realized cinnamon doesn’t belong in eggs, they got a little better.”

  Dad chuckles. “Those were bad.”

  “It’s how you learned what different spices tasted like.” Mom is matter-of-fact about the situation. She has always encouraged my love of baking and cooking and prompted me to try new and different things.

  “Well,” Vi begins. “I can’t say I regret not sampling some of your earlier creations, but I’m glad you did it if that’s how you learned to bake.”

  “Now we just need to find a way for her to use those degrees she has,” Dad says, washing his hands.

  Violet makes eye contact with me, her mouth open, ready to defend me. I shake my head to silence her. Although the bakery idea is alive and thriving in our imaginations, Dad isn’t ready to hear it yet—and likely won’t ever be—and the last thing I want her to endure is Dad and his many theories on how it will fail.

  After dinner, Grace helps Mom with the dishes, and Vi reaches in an exaggerated stretch before making the excuse that we should go to bed early because we’ve had such a long day.

  I eye her, trying to gauge her mood.

  Is she going to reprimand me for not sticking up to my dad?

  Does she want to further discuss this sprouting idea of me opening a bakery?

  Is she really tired?

  I follow her to my bedroom, where she closes the door and swivels around. “I expect details in the morning!”

  I shake my head. “Details about what?”

  Brown eyes roll as she sighs and shakes her head. “Joey!” She draws out the two syllables but says his name quietly, once again making me feel like a teenager.

  “I can’t believe we’re back here whispering about boys.”

  “We’re not,” she says. “We’re back here whispering about a man. A man who you need to go see before it gets dark. I know you claim it’s okay to go traipsing through the woods at night, but I would bet there are some wild animals out there, and I’d feel much better if you went now while it’s still light so I don’t have to—”

  I raise my hands to stop her. “It’s your last night. You just got here. I’m not going to spend the night with him.”

  She cocks her head to the side, her eyes intense and challenging. “Yes. You are.”

  “Vi, you’re leaving in the morning.”

  “After I hear all the details.”

  “You’re going to be hours away again.”

  “I’m always going to be your best friend. Time, men, distance, none of that will ever change our relationship. But he makes you happy, and this is the beginning of your relationship with him. It’s fragile and fun, and you need to be getting it on.”

  I laugh as I flop on my bed. “Everything about this relationship is so unorthodox.”

  She tilts her head, a smirk teasing her lips.

  “Don’t laugh at me! I’m serious!”

  “I know, which is why I’m laughing!”

  I pick up a pillow and heave it at her.

  “Come on!” She walks to my window and opens the bottom half.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I want to meet him. You know how good I am at reading people. In twenty seconds flat I’ll be able to tell you if he’s a creep, a loser, or deeply in love with you.”

  “He could be a loser and still think I’m awesome.”

  Vi laughs and places both palms on the screen, pressing the fabric taut.

  “You have no idea how to get that out, do you?” I ask.

  She presses harder. “My mom always told me not to lean on screens ’cause I’d fall out the window, but this thing is tighter than a chastity belt! What the hell?”

  I laugh. “Why are we going out the window?”

  “So. We. Can. Meet. Joey.” She punctuates each word.

  “Let’s just go out the front door.”

  “But this seemed like such a great idea in my head.”

  “At one time adding cinnamon to scrambled eggs seemed brilliant to me,” I tell her.

  Violet scrunches her nose with disgust. “Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

  I fight myself to make up an excuse to my family for us leaving, and simply call out, “We’re going out for a while!”

  “Have fun!” Mom calls.

  Vi doesn’t question my intention until I climb into my car.

  “I thought we were going to cut through the woods,” she says.

  “We’re going to the bar until you either realize this is a dumb idea or I am convinced it’s a good one.”

  “We created a pro-and-con list!” she wails. “The pros far outweighed the cons, remember?”

  “I remember this is your last night, and I’ve only been in a local bar here once. You said you want to experience Haven Point, right?”

  She shakes her head, but I see the objections being outweighed by her own curiosity. “But then you’re going to see him!” she demands.

  “I’m worried that I’m feeling too much for this guy,” I confess. “It’s terrifying to realize that I’ve given someone the power to potentially hurt me, especially when I never intended to.”

  She squeals.

  “That wasn’t the reaction I was looking for.”

  “You’re going over there tonight, and tomorrow you’re going to tell me every juicy detail!”

  I make no promises as we make the short drive over to Callahan’s, a small Irish pub that’s been in Haven Point since the town was established. The walls by the front entrance are lined with framed pictures of
Haven Point with dirt roads and horses and buggies. There are pictures of the post office and the original school with all twelve of its students. I pass by them, realizing how much Haven Point has likely changed for my parents and the older residents in town.

  “Pool tables!” Vi cries, tugging me forward by the hand.

  I stop two feet in, knocking Violet off balance in the process. She swings around and looks at me accusingly as my heart thrums in my chest. I try to not look past her and keep my gaze steady and remain calm. “Why don’t we get a drink first?”

  Violet’s eyes grow wide. “Is he here?”

  Chapter 19

  Joey

  “You all right, man?”

  I shake my head and look to Jake, a Haven Point deputy. He’s a friend I’ve maintained over the years since my brief stint here.

  Coen takes a seat, draining the rest of his beer as he looks at me with expectation lighting his eyes. I thought getting out and playing a few rounds of pool and drinking beer with my brother and Jake would help distract me from Kennedy—and now she’s here.

  “Yeah,” I tell him, stealing another glance at where she stands at the bar with a brunette at her side and a dozen people vying for her attention.

  “What are you lookin’ at?” Jake cranes his neck around. “Or is it a who?”

  Coen chuckles, and I consider lying or denying; then I wonder why. After all, from what I’ve heard, this town is going to figure it out sooner than later. “You know Kennedy?”

  Jake’s forehead creases as his eyes round, and he looks from me to across the room, where Kennedy is standing next to who I’m assuming is Violet, scanning the bar. “Kennedy Wallace?” His attention moves back to me, and I nod. “We’re all kind of surprised to see her back here, to tell you the truth.”

  “Why?” Coen asks.

  “She’s smart,” Jake says simply. “She was always really motivated. I thought after she left for college, she’d find a fancy job in the city and never return.” He shrugs. “I mean, she was always happy growing up, so I can’t say it’s completely unusual to have her back, but it surprised me.” Jake looks from Coen to me. “She’s good people, though.”

  I take a long pull from my beer. “You think Grace being back has anything to do with it?”

  Coen gives me a sideways glance, warning me to shut up.

  Jake seems to consider my question for a moment, his eyebrows pulled high on his forehead. “They’ve always been close, so I wouldn’t doubt it. You know who knows the family well if you’re lookin’ for an in is Ethan. He dated Grace for . . . well . . . forever, it seemed.”

  “Is there bad blood?”

  He quickly shakes his head, rolling his pool cue between his palms. “He had joined the army and got shipped out.”

  I think of what would have happened if he had stayed or she had gone. What if Grace had waited for him here in Haven Point and not moved in an attempt to outrun a broken heart? Then I selfishly wonder what would have happened to Kennedy? Where would she be? What would she be doing?

  “You might have to stake your claim, though. I’ve heard Billy Porter has some interest in her.” Jake tries to hide a smirk.

  “Who in the hell’s Billy Porter? And what do you mean, ‘stake my claim’? Have you met Kennedy? I’m pretty sure if I rolled up and tried to ‘claim her,’”—I use my fingers to create quotations—“she’d knee me in the nuts.”

  Coen laughs and Jake chuckles. “Well, she doesn’t need to know that’s what you’re doing. Just he does.”

  “I feel like you’re setting me up for a practical joke.”

  Jake hides his smile with a drink of beer. “Well, that’s your decision. But that”—he points to the bar—“is Billy.”

  I follow his finger and see a man with a few-days-old dark and scraggly beard and dark unruly hair sticking out from a baseball hat standing close to Kennedy, nearly blocking my view of her.

  “Easy,” Coen warns, grabbing for my pool cue as I take a stride toward them.

  I release the stick. My intentions aren’t to thwack him with it . . . well, not entirely. I take a deep breath and shove my temper back into place, allowing reason to direct me closer, with Jake and Coen on my six.

  “He’s mouthy and vulgar,” Jake warns. “And he’s likely been drinkin’.”

  “Well, he should probably catch a cab.”

  Jake laughs. “When’s the last time you saw a cab rolling through Haven Point?”

  “He can take a horse for all I care.”

  We’re within a couple of feet of the bar when Kennedy’s friend makes eye contact with me, her face lighting up with recognition. It fuels my ego and reasoning for coming over here; it tells me Kennedy’s told her about me. As I get closer, her smile grows, and she takes a purposeful step back, creating a window of space beside Kennedy.

  I nod my appreciation and place a hand on the bar, brushing my hip against Kennedy’s as I sidle up beside her. She looks at me, lowering her shoulders in relief before concern registers, and her emerald eyes round. I grin.

  “Hey.” My grin grows into a smile as her face flushes, and she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. I feel a twist of guilt for finding her discomfort so attractive, but there’s something about her genuineness and sweetness, which she sometimes tries to hide, that reveals Kennedy has no idea how beautiful or liked she is—even here, where the entire town adores her.

  Billy turns, and I feel his stare as I keep my gaze on Kennedy.

  “I didn’t know you were coming here tonight. You and Violet want to play some pool? Jake, Coen, and I have the next five games reserved.” I nod toward the pool tables, where we have several stacks of quarters lining the green-felted edge.

  Kennedy stares at me. I’m sure my brother is, too—waiting to see if my hot button gets pushed and I revert to acting like a caveman.

  “Sorry, you are?” Billy’s dark brow is furrowed below his camo-printed hat.

  I take a moment to look over his bruised knuckles, mud-caked boots, and the silhouette of a naked woman on his T-shirt before staring him in the eye and pushing my shoulders back. “I’m Joey.” I try not to tag on a label at the end, like my temper is encouraging:

  . . . a detective with the DC Police Department.

  . . . Kennedy’s friend.

  . . . Kennedy’s boyfriend.

  . . . the guy who’s going to kick your ass if you don’t move away from her.

  “You new to town? I don’t recognize you.” Billy shifts his weight, and again, I’m watching every detail.

  “I’m here helping my brother, Coen.”

  Billy snaps. “Coen DeLuca.” He nods as I confirm with a single nod of my own. “The new captain of the fire department.” His voice is taunting, and for a second I picture the pool cue Coen took from me splintering as it connects with his gut.

  I take a deep breath through my nose. “That’s him.” I point to Coen, who tips his chin and raises his bottle of beer in way of greeting.

  “So you moved to town with him?” He’s trying to see if I’m a threat.

  Damn right, you need to be worried.

  “I spent a lot of time here a couple of years back. I had partnered with the local sheriff’s office.”

  His eyebrows go up. “Oh yeah?”

  I nod and clench my fists as he steps forward, standing so close to Kennedy his chest grazes her shoulder. She straightens and shuffles closer to me.

  Billy watches her, just like I do, recognizing her attempt to flee. “You guys friends?” he asks.

  “We are. But based on how uncomfortable she’s looked since you tried to corner her at the bar, I’m guessing you’re not.”

  He pulls his head back, surprise evident with each of his rapid blinks before he masks his shock with a scowl. “I’ve known her my entire life, pal. You’ve been in town for what? A day?”

  Arianna likes to point out how my nostrils flare when I get frustrated and how my chin rises as though I’m using all six feet and tw
o inches of my height to my full advantage, so I seem even taller. I don’t doubt I’m doing it now, because everything about Billy annoys me. He’s not a predator by definition, but he’s a sleazeball through and through. For a while my older sister, Mia, was attracted to men like him who liked to muscle their way into people’s lives and refused to leave. She quickly learned she was above that and deserved to choose whom she wanted to be with rather than allowing them to choose her.

  “Let me give this to you straight.” I step out from the bar so that I’m toe-to-toe with him and ensuring Kennedy won’t be in the middle. “When you approach a woman and they back up, it means you’re too close.” I pause, letting that sink in before continuing. “When you talk to a woman, and they won’t look at you, they aren’t interested.” Billy’s shoulders go back farther, matching my posture. “And if you’re laughing at something you’ve told a woman, and it takes them more than three seconds to laugh or smile, they’re laughing at you.”

  “Let me get this straight.” Billy cocks his head to the side, confidence oozing from him. He has the upper hand, as much as I don’t want to admit it. He knows this town far better than I do and might even know Kennedy better—or at least believes he does. “You know what women want and what they’re thinking?”

  I chuckle. “If I did, I’d be a millionaire. Hell, I’d probably be a billionaire. You want to know why? My own sister changes her mind and confuses herself every other day trying to consider what she wants.”

  Billy laughs—it’s loud and buoyant.

  “But considering my job consists of arresting assholes who ignore those hints and others, I’m going to say yes.” I nod. “I understand the social norms and expectations women portray that tell others when they’re interested or when to fuck off, and since you walked over here, these two women have been silently screaming at you to fuck off, and you just keep ignoring them. They’re not going to change their minds if you get closer or offer to buy them a drink or keep running your mouth about stories they don’t care about.”

  Embarrassment has him crossing his arms over his chest, his cheeks paling. “Well, clearly you don’t know her as well as you think you do, because we’re friends.” His head bobs, agreeing with his own assessment.