by Zoe York
It was their last official training night as trainees, and then they would shift gears and start prepping to take their basic searcher qualification test.
He shook his head. “I won’t be there tonight. I have…” He gestured down the hall. “Back to school, you know? Meetings. That sort of thing.”
“Oh, okay.” She nodded, then waved at January. “Good luck with all of that.”
As he left the library, she tried to ignore the pulse of disappointment beating deep inside her. She hadn’t been looking forward to seeing him tonight. That would be ridiculous. She saw him all the time. She was looking at him right now as he stalked away. They’d just had a conversation.
A short one. A sad one.
Whew, crushes—and feelings—were rotten.
Will’s last meeting of the day was a tour of the junior hallway with an incoming grade-three student who had autism and his mom. They were new to the community, and getting to know the classroom on the first day of school, with all of his classmates making noise, might be too overwhelming.
On the way to his new classroom, Max caught sight of a box of trains outside the kindergarten class. Will scooped them up and brought them along so the eight-year-old would have something he really liked as the grown-ups talked about communication and the school’s safety plan.
“When will I get to meet his EA?” Max’s mom asked.
“At drop off on Tuesday. We’ll both meet you out front, and then she’ll walk him around to find his class and teacher and they’ll line up together.”
She had other questions, too, and then Max wanted to know where the bathroom was, and the gym, and the climbers.
By the time they wrapped up, it was too late to catch the end of the SAR training, and well past dinner, too. He locked up the school and headed to Mac’s to pick up something for dinner.
When he walked into the diner, a familiar blonde head was in front of him, waiting for a seat at the counter. The place was packed, so it would probably be awhile before he could get a takeout order.
He had two choices. Turn around and leave, or step forward and make conversation.
“For two, was it?” the waitress asked as she flew past Catie.
Stepping forward, it was. He cleared his throat, and Catie jumped. Second time today he’d scared her.
“We aren’t together,” she blurted.
“I’m just here for some takeout,” he added.
“It’ll be about thirty minutes,” Frank shouted from the kitchen. “Might as well sit with her. A booth just opened up.”
Catie groaned under her breath. Maybe Will was the only one close enough to hear it. He was definitely the only one close enough to hear her whispered apology.
Him refusing to sit with her would probably cause a few tongues to wag. One part of why she didn’t want to date him was the gossip factor—refusing to sit together would trigger the same issue for his prickly friend who didn’t trust easily.
“I don’t mind if you don’t mind,” he murmured. “I brought work with me.”
That made her smile. “Do you ever stop working?”
“I could say the same thing to you. We can talk about business club stuff if you want. How’d your meeting with January go?”
“Great.” She gave him a quick rundown of their first semester plans. “We’re going to do a series of pumpkin sales to work on their understanding of cash flow, then use that as the basis for individual projects in the second half of the year.”
He wasn’t surprised that she had a neat, comprehensive plan that hit all the beats and then some. She always did.
The waitress pointed to the cleaned booth for them, and they sat down.
Catie sat down with a heavy sigh. “Whew, I’m beat. Roll me into a burger, then send me home to bed.”
He’d love to do both of those things. Especially the bed part. His bed, preferably.
Bad Will.
Yep. Very bad. The absolute worst.
He changed the subject to her last night of training, and what came next. “Have you thought about what SAR skill you want to work on next?”
“I’m definitely joining Sharon’s open water swim club next year. But between now and then? Probably first aid. Level up there.”
“That’s smart. Less flashy than some of the other courses offered over the winter, but more useful.”
“It’s a building block, right? I’m not in a rush to learn how to jump out of a helicopter or anything.”
“You heard Jeong asking about that last weekend?” As soon as it was out of his mouth, he regretted it. He didn’t want to think about last weekend. He thought about it enough—constantly, actually—when he was alone. Thinking about it in front of her was worse.
A flash of something passed over her face, then was gone. She laughed. “Yeah.”
He dragged in a quick breath. “Helos are a lot of fun, though.”
“I bet. Do you get to use them often?” She laughed again, sounding nervous now. “Use them? Fly in them. I really am tired, sorry.”
He waved his hand. “I knew what you meant. A few times a year. Usually if we need something that requires a helicopter rescue, a dedicated crew from the city will do it. But I stay current on my cert just in case I—”
“Ms. Berton, may I have a word?” Frances Schmidt appeared beside their table, cutting Will off.
Catie’s shoulders snapped back. “I haven’t watered my lawn all week, Frances.”
“This is about your hijacking of the Haunted Hayrides.”
“My what now?” Three sharp syllables and a pointed look at Will.
He wasn’t going to say anything. He didn’t know what was going on, anyway.
“I was at the library this evening for a book club, and as I was departing, I overheard a discussion between…” Frances pivoted in his direction. “Your brothers, in fact.”
Oh, shit. He racked his brain and came up with nothing.
Frances continued anyway. “They were talking about the permit changes for the Haunted Hayrides, and how it will be a fundraising event now—”
“It has always been a fundraising event,” Catie pointed out evenly. “You don’t need to say that word like it’s pornographic.”
“An interesting word choice, young lady.”
For a second, Catie looked downright murderous. “What’s your point?”
“You’re just like your mother. A meddlesome little bitch who can’t keep her legs together.”
“Whoa there,” Will said, not able to keep quiet about that off-side attack. “Frances, that’s not okay. Apologize to Catie right now.”
“You say that now because you’re enthralled by her. You’ll—”
Catie pushed herself out of the booth and headed to the kitchen.
“Wait—” Will was halfway out of the booth before he caught himself. She wouldn’t want him to make a scene. People were already looking. He took a deep breath and stood more slowly. “Don’t you ever speak to her like that again,” he ordered under his breath. “Catie and I are colleagues. We were talking about work and community service when you interrupted us. I don’t know what has gotten into you, or why you would think that was ever appropriate to say to anyone, but if you don’t want me to publicly call you worse than you just said, you will keep your mouth shut. Not just to Catie. But to everyone. Do not speak to her like that, and do not speak about her like that. Ever. Do I make myself clear?”
Frances gasped. “Excuse me? How dare you speak to me in that tone? I don’t deserve such disrespect.”
Through the pass-through window, he caught Frank’s eye, and the cook shook his head in dismay.
That was two of them who thought he’d fucked up, but he wasn’t sure how.
“Respect is a two-way street, Mrs. Schmidt. You haven’t earned it.” He glanced sideways at the surrounding people. “Nothing to see here, folks.”
Then he stalked back to the kitchen. Frank stopped him as soon as he was through the door.
“Where is she?”
The cook shook his head. “Give her a minute. She hates the attention.”
The need to go and comfort her was overwhelming. Will rubbed his hand over his face. “What just happened?”
“Frances Schmidt just happened.”
“I’m missing something. I’ve known that woman my whole life. I’ve never seen her speak to anyone the way she just spit at Catie.”
“She’s usually better at hiding her claws around certain people. People like you.”
“What does that mean?”
Frank shrugged. “There are three kinds of people in this town. Those who were born here. The locals, you could say. Those who have enough money that it doesn’t matter if they’re local or not. And then there are those who not from around here. Never to be trusted, especially when they’re young, and beautiful, and catch the eye of local men.”
“You’re kidding me with this. Catie grew up here.”
“I’m not talking about Catie, although she knows this better than anyone. I’m talking about her mother. That’s who Frances hates. Catie is caught in the line of fire. And now she is the only target.”
A horrible black hole opened up inside Will as he tried to process what Frank was telling him. As he started to comprehend just how little he understood about Catie’s life. “What are you saying? That Catie’s mom…”
“Suzanne died six months before Catie moved back. That’s how she afforded to buy the house she grew up in. Suzanne had life insurance.”
Will felt like a Grade A asshole for not knowing that Catie’s mom was gone. For not asking about her once. “Shit, I didn’t know.”
“She didn’t want anyone to know. She always had a funny relationship with this town, and how this town treated her mom. Suzanne was Catie’s best friend growing up. More like an older sister than a mother half the time, but they liked it like that.”
“I think she left town right around the time I came back from teacher’s college? I guess I didn’t think about her again, where she went from there.”
“She followed Catie to the city. She gave her some space, but after two years apart, they wanted to be closer.”
“How did she… Was she sick?”
Frank shook his head. “Car accident. She was hit by a drunk driver.”
“I didn’t know,” he repeated, then cut himself off. There was no explanation necessary. Hurt was hurt. “I guess we have that in common now. We’re both orphans.”
But Frank winced, like there maybe was something else, and it might make the hurt even more compounded.
Fuck.
Will shook his head. “Tell me. What did I do?”
“Son, you didn’t do anything. But when your parents died, the town came together. Not a person who lived here, including Suzanne Berton, missed their funerals. Everyone made sure your brother had casseroles in the freezer to feed Josh and Adam for months. When Suzanne died? Catie ran an obituary in the paper. I was the only person from these parts who went to pay my respects.”
“And then Catie moved back here anyway.” Will’s mouth was bone dry. The thought of never reconnecting with Catie tore something open in his chest. The thought of her grieving her mom’s loss all alone ripped that jagged something clear out of his body.
“Pine Harbour was the home her mother tried to make for her. Now that Suzanne is gone, it’s all Catie has left. This place where she never felt quite welcome.”
“She’s loved by many.”
“I know that. You know that. But I promise you, the little girl who heard endless whispers about her mother does not know that.” Frank jerked his head toward the office. “Now you can go to her. But you better not hurt her, or whatever you said to Frances out there will pale in comparison to how I’ll come after you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Catie was shaking. It had been years since she’d heard Frances say something like that. She had almost convinced herself those opinions were in the past, and her dislike of her neighbour was only an echo of that long-ago trauma.
And then, because of an overheard conversation that truly had nothing to do with Catie, the older woman had gone off on her. Not because she thought fundraising was inherently a bad idea, but because it was Catie’s idea. That everything she touched was tainted because of who her mother was—and the happy, satisfied life her mother got to live.
What. Fucking. Bullshit.
Mac’s wasn’t the place, and when she was on the defensive wasn’t the time, but there would soon be a time and a place for Catie to deal with Frances once and for all. Right now, she just needed to calm down.
The door to Frank’s office creaked open, and she whirled around.
Will stood in the doorway.
Oh, she hated the look on his face. “I don’t need your sympathy,” she bit out.
He shook his head and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “I get that. How about some empathy?”
She shook her head. “I don’t…I can’t…”
“She’s a fucking bitch, Catie. With a clear need to hurt someone for her own twisted reasons that have nothing to do with you. Nothing.”
Hot, frustrated tears spilled down her cheeks, like a dam burst. “Don’t go there. You don’t know what my childhood was like.”
“But I want to.”
She hated how gentle his voice was. “It was nothing like yours.”
“We’re all different. No question there.”
“You wouldn’t understand. The things people said…” She trailed off.
He didn’t reply right away. He just stood there, handsome and popular, representing everything she resented about this town, and at the same time, also kind and caring and resilient, reminding her of everything she had come to admire about him individually.
Finally, he reached for the chair at the desk. “Can I sit?”
She nodded reluctantly. It wasn’t like she wanted him to leave, and maybe it would be easier to talk if he wasn’t quite so…big.
He sat down carefully, then leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “Maybe my childhood wasn’t like yours, but the years after my parents died were rough. We faced a good dose of judgement for Owen wanting custody of our brothers. We—no, he, because I fucked back off to school—struggled to take care of them, and that was pretty well known. Talked about. And the judgement I faced for not coming home? How much that hit me square in my own guilt? My life hasn’t been the walk in the park you seem to think it was. And I’m not saying all of that to compare anything here. Just...there are always things we don’t know about each other.”
There was a weight to the last sentence, and that was reinforced when he lifted his head, his gaze searching her face.
“What?” She swiped her face. “I’m sorry about all of that. That’s awful. What are you looking at me like that for?”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone that your mom died?”
Fuck. “Frank told you.”
“He loves you.” Will’s voice cracked there. “He read me the riot act for not knowing. Rightfully so. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be—”
“Hey. I’m your friend. And I missed something big and awful that happened to you.”
“That was before we were friends.”
“Well, I’m sorry anyway. You once told me I could apologize to you any time.”
That made her laugh a little tiny bit. “I did not.”
“You did, in fact. After you called me on my shit, right out there, and then we stood in the parking lot outside. Full disclosure, I was thinking desperately about how much I wanted to kiss you, and then you said you wanted to thank me for letting you talk it out. I said, any time, and thanks for letting me apologize. And you said—”
“Any time,” she breathed.
“Did you mean it?”
“Of course I didn’t! It was a turn of phrase. I had gotten into the habit of snarkily repeating back to you what you had already said.”
“But that wasn’t snarky.”
“No, I suppose it wasn’t.”
“I want to apologize, Catie.”
“I don’t need that now.” She shook her head. “God, I didn’t see this coming.”
“What do you need, then? Just tell me, and I’ll move heaven and earth to make it happen.”
What she wanted was a big ask, given everything that had happened. She blew out her cheeks and shook her head.
“Anything.”
Now it was her voice cracking. “Honestly? I need a hug.”
He held his arms out to the side, and she laughed. But he didn’t move, because he was serious. “As a friend. Orphaned kid to orphaned kid.”
“I was a grownup when she…” Her eyes welled up, and she swore.
He reached for her, and this time, she folded in against his chest. He was warm and solid, and his arms felt safe.
Will exhaled in relief as Catie burrowed in against him. She felt smaller than usual in his arms. Little and mighty at the same time.
“I was basically grown, too.” His throat was tight. “It doesn’t make it easier. Just different.”
“I remember when your mom died,” she said softly. “You were barely an adult.”
Will thought back to that funeral, the second in a row for him and his brothers. “Your mom made a blueberry cobbler.”
She gasped. “How do you remember that?”
“Most people made savoury dishes. They were convinced we weren’t going to be able to feed Josh and Adam. Casseroles for days. I answered the door when your mom came by. She said the usual things, then gave me the dish, and told me my mom gave her the recipe, so she thought there was a good chance it might be something we liked.” Fuck, his eyes were leaking.
She sniffled against his shirt. Good. It was good to not be alone in the memory.
“Your mom was one of the most thoughtful people in this town, to me, at the worst moment of my life. I don’t know if that helps to hear tonight, but—”
“It helps.” She hiccuped. “Thank you.”
He smoothed his hand over her hair. She was so fiercely independent, and wary, and he just wanted to be protective of her, but he didn’t really know where to start. Now wasn’t the time to pick even further at all the secret vulnerabilities she was covering up. They weren’t even any of his business, strictly speaking.
