The gears slipped into place. “You could’ve saved yourself a trip. Dad and Bitsy are old news.” I started to reach for my water, but my mom put her hand over mine. Hers was cold, her fingers like brittle twigs.
“Em, honey . . . don’t. Just let me . . .” She took another sip. “Let me explain.”
Whatever she needed to get off her chest was important, at least to her. “Okay. Go ahead.” I settled back into my chair to let her finish.
She inhaled sharply. “I know what you think, but it’s not that cut and dried.” She worked her jaw back and forth. “Your daddy and I, our marriage . . . we’ve had some rough patches. Being married to a ball player was . . . hard on us. On me. Your daddy traveled. A lot.”
I already knew all this. My mom had practically raised us kids on her own. I might’ve been little, but I remembered how she was always on the go. How she would get up early to pack lunches. How she’d load us all into the car every morning and drop the boys off at school. How she took us to appointments and attended school plays and conferences . . . all on her own. For half the year, she was a single parent.
Which meant for half the year, my dad didn’t have a family. But that wasn’t an excuse for him to cheat.
I planned to say as much if she tried to defend his actions now.
Tears pooled in her eyes. “I got lonely sometimes,” she said, her voice wobbling.
Back . . . the . . . fuck . . . up!
I was ramrod straight now, sitting like I was taking etiquette lessons. “What in the holy hell are you saying?” But in my gut I already knew.
“I’m saying I made a mistake, Em. A terrible, terrible mistake.” The tears broke free and spilled down her cheeks. She reached blindly for her wine and nearly toppled the glass. I would’ve helped her, but I was paralyzed. “I met a man . . . at the country club. I was such a cliché—he was my tennis pro. But he was so handsome, and he made me feel young again. When we were together, I didn’t think about all my responsibilities at home.”
“You mean, like the boys and me?” The accusation spilled from my mouth like acid. “And Daddy?”
“Especially your daddy,” she admitted. She drained the last of her glass and set it at the edge of the table. She’d definitely be getting another. “I think part of me did it to get back at him for leaving me alone so much of the time.”
The idea of my mother in the arms of another man . . . God, it was almost too much.
But I had to ask, “Does Daddy know? Or just Bitsy?” Of course Bitsy knew. This was obviously what she’d sent me here to discover. Why hadn’t she just told me? Surely the other woman in my dad’s life would’ve enjoyed telling me that the perfect wife wasn’t so perfect after all.
My mother’s eyes fixed on mine. “He does. He found out after about a year. Hired a private eye. Had pictures and everything. Confronted me and threatened to divorce me if I didn’t end it.” She swallowed. “I did, of course. And your daddy . . . well, I suspect he must’ve said or done somethin’ at the country club—to that tennis pro—because I never did see him around there again. “She stopped talking when the hostess led two women who were dressed in business attire past us. She seated them near the wall of windows several tables away. “Eventually, your daddy forgave me.” She said this warily. Wearily. “But it took a long time. A very long time. The whole mess was . . . ugly.”
Ugly. That was the word she’d chosen to describe an affair she’d kept secret for an entire year? I’d say it was more than just ugly.
Vile. Reprehensible. Repulsive.
All the things that came to mind whenever I conjured up images of my dad and Bitsy.
“My God, Mama. How long would you have kept it up, if Daddy hadn’t put an end to it?” Would their marriage have survived another year? Two? Or would I have had a tennis pro as a stepfather?
She shrugged, a non-answer.
“And what about Daddy and Bitsy? That night I walked in on them?”
“That was right after he found out . . . ,” she looked to the ceiling, as if there was help up there, “ . . . about me. He was hurtin’ something awful and he wanted to get back at me. Rightly so, I suppose. That night, he got good and drunk and he made a pass at Bitsy.” She sighed. “Bitsy shot him down, of course.”
Shot him down?
I dredged my memory, trying to remember every detail of that night. Had that really been all there was to it, a one-sided attempt by my dad to get even with my mom? Had I run off too soon to witness the truth? To see Bitsy turn down my dad’s advances?
And what about the night of my dad’s party, in The Shrine? Could that have been a misunderstanding too?
I remembered the way Bitsy had been with Will’s friend, Ryan, the surfer she’d been launching. How chummy she’d been with her new client.
Was that all I’d witnessed in The Shrine, just a couple of good friends getting drunk and reminiscing?
Seth’s words echoed in my head: Some things aren’t what they seem.
I watched the two women the hostess had seated, laughing as they perused the menu. Their conversation was a million miles from the one Mama and I were having. “You should’ve told me, when I accused Daddy of cheating.”
My mother’s lips pinched into a tight line. “Emerson Monroe McLean, your daddy’s the proudest man I’ve ever met. The last thing he wanted was for you kids to find out what I’d done. He’d rather have you thinking ill of him than of me. And Bitsy went along with his wishes.” She ran her finger along the tines of her fork. “Despite what you think, she’s always been a good friend. To all of us.”
She was right. Of course Daddy had covered for her, the same way he’d always protected the rest of us. The same way he’d gone in front of the school board to make sure his little girl got her chance to play peewee football with the boys.
He’d always been our champion—why would this be any different?
I’d spent all those years directing my anger at the wrong people. At my dad and Bitsy, instead of at the one person I should have been mad at.
The waiter was just setting down our plates when I scooted my chair back from the table.
“Emerson,” my mom said, even though the waiter was standing right there and could hear her. I guess she was past caring about discretion. I guess we both were. “Don’t go. I don’t want you to be cross.”
“This isn’t about being mad, Mama. But I need to be alone right now.”
EMERSON
There was only one week left to the gala, and so far, Aster and I had managed to check off every last detail on our list. We’d turned into quite the team, she and I. Lauren, who’d been lending us a hand in her spare time, had taken to calling us the Dynamic Duo.
It was weird, but I couldn’t say I hated working with Aster, which was a vast improvement from where we’d started. Wrong foot and all that.
It had taken all three of us, plus a few of the kids I’d wrangled from the rec center, most of an entire week to redeliver all five hundred invitations. We had to make sure the guests were up to speed with the details about our last-minute venue change.
Aster and I had gone together to personally hand-deliver Lady MacBitch’s invitation. She wasn’t thrilled to see me and Aster, and took the invitation from us as if we’d just handed her a dead fish covered in maggots rather than a tastefully designed ticket to an auction being held in her late son’s honor.
I remembered what Aster had said about Lucas not wanting to tell his mother about their broken engagement until after the gala since she’d already lost so much. I understood why he wouldn’t want to cause her any more grief, even if I didn’t necessarily think she’d do the same for him. She was his mother, after all.
I hoped she would at least appreciate the effort we’d put into the fundraiser. The groundwork Lucas had laid in his brother’s memory.
I also got to meet Raphael Donestro—in person—when I insisted on joining Aster to go over the changes and talk about the playlist.
I ex
pected to be more faint-y or oh my God, it’s you! about him, kind of the way people always were when they met my dad. But even though, sure, he was hot and all, the reality was he was also just a regular guy. A super sexy, regular guy.
I actually came away from the meeting feeling sort of bad for the guy. He seemed discouraged by my less-than-swoony reaction, especially when I didn’t rip off my panties and chuck them right in his face. He tried though, turned his charm-o-meter up and batted his thick black lashes at me. I could see why girls threw themselves at his feet. But all he really succeeded in doing was making me think of Lucas—the lashes, the smoldering looks, even his voice reminded me of his cousin.
So one week to go and there was just one last teeny, tiny detail to attend to . . .
One last invitation to be delivered.
LUCAS
It had been a shit day out on the waves so I’d called it early and spent the rest of the afternoon just sitting here, planted in the sand—just a boy, his surfboard, and a cooler full of warm beer. Would have been better if I’d remembered the ice, but fuck it, life was too short for regrets.
I cracked another and took several long slugs. It tasted like piss, but hell, a beer was a beer was a beer.
I dug out a spot for the can in the sand and leaned back. Judging by its position, the sun would be setting within the next hour or so, but I didn’t know when for sure. I’d left my phone back at home so real time meant fuck all. I liked it that way, no distractions. No interruptions.
But then I was sucker punched by the heavyweight of all distractions—Emerson, her voice coming out of nowhere. “You got another one’a those in there for me?” She sounded friendly enough, her words a white flag of sorts.
She was exactly the reason I wanted to be left alone. “It’s a free country.” I caught glimpses of her skirt being whipped by the wind as she opened the cooler at my side, and I knew if I let myself, I could examine her long legs beneath it. But none of that would help clear my head.
The top of the can popped and Em giggled as foam dribbled onto the sand. “You probably shook that one up before I got here.”
I refused to laugh. “What do you want, Em?”
She nestled down beside me, making a nest for herself in the sand. It was so much like the way we used to be, she and I. The way we’d pass our days out here on the beach, doing nothing and everything. Then we’d go back to my place or hers and do the same. Nothing . . . and everything.
It was easy. And . . . so damned comfortable.
God, I missed that.
But she hadn’t minced words when she told me those days were over. We were done.
I tried not to breathe now, in case I breathed in too much of her.
“I came to bring you something,” she said.
She was holding out an envelope in front of me. Brown paper, wrapped in a piece of twine. “What’s this?”
“Open it.” She was smiling. I didn’t even have to look at her to know she was smiling.
I undid the string, and found myself staring at an invitation—a ticket.
I read and reread it.
And then did it one more time.
Then I looked over to her, my throat becoming inflexible like steel pipe. God, she was beautiful. She’d always been beautiful, but fuck, right now, she was breathtaking. The wind whipped her blonde hair around her face and her blue eyes sparkled as she waited for my response.
“What . . . what is this?” I repeated.
“Aster and I did it. It’s the gala. We . . .” She closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply before those sapphire eyes melted into mine again. “We wanted to surprise you.”
Surprise? Blindsided was a better word. “And you did all this . . . without me?” I got up and dropped the invitation in the sand. “You didn’t think I’d want to know what was happening? Have any say in it?”
The wind battered me.
The smile disappeared from her face and her gaze landed on the discarded brown paper that was blowing across the top of the sand. “Lucas, we were doing it for you.”
“No, Em,” I bit out. “You were doing it for you.”
I gathered all my shit and threw it in the cooler, not bothering to dump what was left of my unfinished beer, just letting it slosh around in the bottom. I’d clean it up later. Just like everything else in my life.
“Lucas,” she shouted at my back when I was already walking away from her.
I stopped. Not because I wanted to hear what she had to say, but because even if I didn’t want the gala, she’d set her differences with Aster aside and together they’d planned it. She deserved for me to at least listen to her. But I couldn’t. I turned to look at her over my shoulder as I walked away. “What?”
“You’re an ass!”
Emerson was right: I was an ass. A selfish, inconsiderate, egotistical ass.
The gala was always supposed to be about raising money for cystic fibrosis research. About honoring my brother. And somehow I’d managed to turn even that into a pity party for one.
Smooth.
I needed Em to know I appreciated what she was doing. That all her time and hard work hadn’t been wasted. I’d gone over to her place to tell her, but there was no answer.
So this morning I was here, at the rec center, where according to word on the street, she was currently employed. Word on the street being her former roommate Lauren, who I’d run into at The Dunes after I’d stormed away from Emerson on the beach the night before.
I had a hard time picturing my Em working at a place like this.
But my sources’ information was confirmed when I checked in at the front desk and asked if Emerson McLean was in.
“Who wants to know?” asked the giant boy behind the counter. He didn’t look like he worked here, either. He looked like the kind of guy who lurked in back alleys and ate guys like me for breakfast.
I leaned on the counter, trying to be my usual charming self. “Lucas Harper.”
His eyes narrowed on me suspiciously as he got up from his swivel chair, pinning me in place with a surly “stay here.” It definitely wasn’t a request, and if that’s how he greeted everyone who came in, he wouldn’t be winning Employee of the Month anytime soon.
I looked around the place, trying to see its . . . charm.
Aside from the collection of mismatched couches and chairs, the sweaty gymnasium smell, the peeling blue carpet tiles, and the general juvenile detention center vibe the place gave off, I supposed it had potential. Why wouldn’t Emerson want to spend forty hours a week in a dive like this?
I was relieved when I saw the boy coming back around the corner. The sooner I could talk to Em, the better. But when I realized she wasn’t with him, and that he wasn’t alone—he’d brought an entire army of boys his size—I realized I might’ve miscalculated.
When they formed a wall in front of me, I lifted my hands in surrender. “So I’m guessing Emerson didn’t want to see me.”
The first boy, the one from behind the counter, answered. “She said to tell you to . . . ,” his face contorted as he tried to make sense of his message, “ . . . to fink off.”
As soon as he said it all the boys started laughing. Some punched each other and some just bent over, like they thought that was the funniest thing they’d ever heard.
“She told you,” one of ’em said.
Another added, “I guess she don’t wanna see you.”
I deserved that. Especially after the way I’d left things last night when she’d come to see me on the beach.
Not my finest moment.
“Fair enough,” I said. “You fellas take it easy.” I guess I should be glad Em had kids like these watching her back.
But still . . . I’d been hoping to see her today. To have a chance to explain, face-to-face. To tell her she was right, I was an ass.
I let myself out the front doors, trying to decide how to make it up to her. How to get her to give me another chance. I wouldn’t stop trying, just becau
se she’d sicced a bunch of oversized kids on me. I mean, I wasn’t stupid enough to go up against them or anything. But I was too thickheaded to just call it a day.
I didn’t have to think too long though. When I reached the parking lot, Emerson was there, leaning against the hood of my car. I’d never stop thinking she was stunning.
“Looking for this?” she asked, holding a brown envelope between her fingers. Like the one that had blown away yesterday, this one had the same string tied around it.
“I was looking for you, actually. I came to apologize.”
“For being an ass.” She propped one foot on the bumper as she leveled her gaze on me.
I’d almost forgotten how easily my body reacted to her. That simple gesture sent an electric pulse up my spine. In my head I was already parting her long legs like the deviant I was. “Among other things.”
“Well, right now, I’m not interested in other things.” She stepped off the car and nodded toward the invitation in my hands. “But I’d really like you to be at the party.”
I could do that. If that was the first step in repairing what was broken between us, I could accept that. It was a start at least.
This time when I opened it, I really looked at the invitation. The idea seemed out there. Like, really out there. “I don’t know, Em. You really think this’ll work?”
And when she answered, there was so much grit and determination in her voice, she made me a believer. “I know it will. Trust me. It will be perfect.”
LUCAS
I would recognize Raph’s beats from a mile away.
In fact, I probably was a mile away.
At least I had my cousin’s music to keep me company, as the line of cars crawled along, everyone waiting their turn to pull into the already crowded parking lot. The valet stand was hopping, and there were young men dressed in matching red vests who ran down the lines of cars, taking keys and pocketing tips.
When it was finally my turn, I started to open my door for the broadly smiling kid who approached. But when I saw his face—recognized him—I groaned out loud.
Unbound (The Men of West Beach Book 2) Page 21
