“You sound happy,” I said. Easton turned around, his teeth flashing as the tune he’d been whistling abruptly ended. “And you look happy too.” I eyed him suspiciously. “What have you done now?”
He laughed. “Ah, big sis, you always think the worst of me.”
“Yes, and you generally give me a good reason to.” I crossed my arms as I leaned against the side of the structure that housed the club’s pool equipment.
Easton swung a float over his arm, spinning it onto his shoulder. “Okay, okay, I deserve that. Except you’re wrong this time.” A blade of sunlight split his face as he stepped toward me and squinted one eye, using his hand as a visor, looking every bit the naughty but lovable little boy he’d once been. Only then his naughtiness had generally resulted in cracked windows or broken furniture. His own bones on two occasions. He’d moved on since then to breaking bigger things, namely lives and relationships. Things not so easily replaced or put back together.
Like Travis’s relationship.
At the thought of the other person involved in Travis’s relationship, broken though it may be, my body had dual reactions. My ribs ached a little bit while something simultaneously eased inside of me. She was the reason he was unavailable for anything more than friendship . . . with benefits. Because he’d loved her. And he likely still did. Love didn’t just fade to nothing in the span of a month. And how could you trust someone who loved that . . . temporarily anyway?
He probably still thought about her a lot. Maybe even while he was kissing other people.
People such as myself.
Maybe even while his skilled fingers were between other people’s legs.
Again, people such as myself.
I waved my hand in front of my suddenly heated face in an attempt to stir up some breeze.
Maybe even—
“How are you wrong, Easton?” my brother mocked, raising the pitch of his voice as my mind had wandered to Travis and I’d zoned out of the conversation, staring unseeing at Easton as he’d waited for a response that didn’t come.
“Okay, first,” I said, taking a deep breath and attempting to shake myself into the here and now, “that was a terrible impression of me. My voice is throatier. Much sexier. Second, how am I wrong, Easton?”
He grinned again, and his green eyes glinted in the sun. His grin wasn’t slow like Travis’s. It flashed instantly, like an unexpected streak of lightning, the unfortunate smile that allowed him to wreak havoc wherever he went. The expression that had women bending over backward—sometimes literally from the stories I’d unfortunately heard—to assist him in his efforts at being a complete menace to society. Still . . . I was obviously biased because that grin affected me too as far as a softening of my heart and probably offering him too much allowance when it came to his bad deeds. It was just . . . I knew him, I’d known him since he was a baby, and he was not a bad person. He just made bad decisions. Frequently. And with great and focused application.
“I told you how I’ve been volunteering at the fire department, right?”
“Yes.”
He spun the float again. “Well, it’s going great. They say I’m a natural. There was a kitchen fire at one of the B&Bs in Pelion yesterday, and they let me put it out myself.”
I swallowed. “That’s great.” If anything positive could distract him from those bad decisions he so frequently made, I was all for it. Maybe we could get out of this particular town without any more scandals or weapons being brandished in our direction.
He nodded enthusiastically. “The senior fireman is retiring next month,” Easton said haltingly. “The guys who are there now are all moving up in rank. There’s going to be an extra entry-level spot. All you need is a high school diploma to get hired on. It’s just a test and—”
“But we’re going to be gone by then,” I said, understanding exactly where his thoughts were heading.
He held my gaze for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
“You want to be gone by then, right?” I asked. We’d agreed on that when we’d driven out of California, the visions of that night still fresh in our minds. Four months was our absolute max. We wouldn’t stay anywhere longer than four months. One season. We wouldn’t stay anywhere long enough to watch anything shrivel or die. No destination, no attachments. Just us and the open road. I’d made the initial suggestion—desperate to literally outrun the stench of smoke and burned flesh that’d seemed to hang over LA—and he’d agreed to the idea. Up until Pelion, there had been no talk of staying in one place. But now?
“Yeah. I want to be gone by then.” He smiled. “It’s been fun in the meantime though, you know, doing things right for a change.”
My heart dropped. “Easton, you—”
“There you are!” came a voice from behind my brother. He turned and a pretty brunette in a red swimsuit reached her arms out. He rolled the float off his shoulder and handed it to her.
“Sorry I got held up,” he said, and by the sudden widening of her eyes, I knew that he’d grinned that grin of his.
“I’ll see you later, Easton,” I said, and the girl who didn’t know I was his sister, the one I prayed was single, shot me a hostile glare.
“See ya, sis,” he called, to make it crystal clear.
I headed to the smoothie bar to get set up for the day, chopping fruit and re-filling ingredient containers that had been put away for the night.
I went about the prep errands, my mind wandering as I worked. I’d set up enough at this point that I could basically do it by heart. My thoughts insisted on returning to that lake at sunset, the way it’d felt to be held tight against Travis’s hard, wet body, the way he’d kissed me, the way he’d slipped his hands down my bikini bottoms and into my body, bringing me to orgasm as if he’d been made to do just that. A deep shiver snaked through me at the memory alone.
A carton of soy milk rolled over my heated skin helped cool the sudden flush.
It hadn’t been a good idea.
It was downright stupid and I was so rarely stupid.
I made good choices. Rational ones.
I always had.
Because if I didn’t, no one would.
So why had I allowed myself to lose control now? To let down my guard?
I couldn’t.
I wouldn’t.
Not again.
I practically threw the carton back in the mini fridge, losing my balance and going down on my knees, the container of blueberries falling out of my hands and spilling onto the floor.
Damn it!
My shoulders dropped and I took a deep breath. Get a hold of yourself, Haven.
Above me, the scrape of at least a couple bar stools being pulled out met my ears. Ugh. It wasn’t even time to open yet, and I needed a few more minutes of solitude before it was time to take orders. And to coax my hormones back into submission after pondering Travis’s wet skin and hard . . . everything.
“Who is he?” a female voice asked, the voice close yet distant as though the person was turned away from the bar.
“Travis Hale,” another female voice said. Travis was here? My ears perked and I went still, listening, as though two girls had somehow slipped into my brain and we were all having a conversation.
Which would make me insane and I didn’t think I’d quite crossed that particular road. Yet.
“Damn,” the first voice said appreciatively.
“He’s the Pelion chief of police like his father was many years before him.” She paused for long moments and I pictured them, backs to me, staring across the club to some place Travis Hale stood, perhaps chatting with another member. I envisioned that sure stance of his, the way he tilted his head just slightly when he was listening intently. The way he listened to me, as if every word I said was important to him.
“The chief of police? God, he needs his own calendar, every month dedicated just to him. Hale, you said? Don’t they own Pelion?”
“Yup. And even more interestingly, every Hale generation has some scandal or another. The previous one was always wild,” she mused. “Hot as sin, and guaranteed to burn you if you got too close. That’s what my mom said anyway. There are stories upon stories about them. Some people on this side of the lake called them trash, despite that their family owned Pelion, because they did whatever they wanted and didn’t seem to care what anyone thought. And then of course, all hell broke loose the minute Alyssa McCree showed up.”
I couldn’t move. I was rooted to the spot, trapped. If I stood now, I’d totally embarrass them in the midst of their gossiping.
At least that’s what I told myself.
It was definitely not because I was hungry to know more about Travis Hale and his family, not because through fate alone I was receiving answers to questions I’d never ask.
“Alyssa McCree?”
“Mm-hmm. She was Archer Hale’s mother. Archer owns the town now. And even though Archer and his wife Bree have gotta be rich, they still live in this tiny Lincoln log house, and Archer drives a rusted, old pickup truck that looks like it’s about a hundred years old. And despite his hot factor, Travis was humiliated in front of the entire town eight years ago when everyone found out Archer was the older Hale and Travis had to give up ownership of Pelion. He and his mother lost all their money and social standing.”
My stomach tightened. Travis hadn’t mentioned that part when he’d told me about his brother owning the town. But why would he? It sounded painful. And like none of my business. Obviously it was well-known town fodder though, and a sour taste filled my mouth at the cold-hearted way the girl speaking had just summed up the situation I was sure held far more nuance, not to mention real human emotions.
“So,” the girl went on, “Travis is definite calendar material, but blue-collar calendar material. His ex, Phoebe, had plans to get him to run for mayor or governor. She said they’d be political royalty by the time they were thirty-five and live in the Buchanans’ neighborhood. But now that they’ve broken up, I’m doubtful he has those same ambitions. Honestly? I’m surprised they still allow him access to this club. Everyone’s still kind of embarrassed for him. And it’s not like he’s one of us anymore, that’s for sure. Especially without Phoebe. God, where is that weird smoothie girl who looks like she stuck her finger in a socket?”
I dug in my pocket, moving as little as possible as I pulled my ear buds out and stuck them in my ears, dropping the end in my pocket again as if there might be a phone there. I rose quickly and both girls, now turned toward the counter, jumped. I widened my eyes, pulling the ear buds from my ears. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I was stocking and didn’t hear you.”
The girl who’d been talking, a pretty redhead, scowled slightly. “It’s fine. I’ll take a berry blast with a shot of wheatgrass.”
A couple sat down at my counter and I greeted them. I looked up and smiled as Travis waved at me from across the club, heading for the exit.
**********
I shouldn’t do this. There is no point in doing this.
I opened the browser, the cursor blinking in the empty search box. I let out a deep breath and typed in Hale Pelion, Maine. I can’t help it. My desire to know more was like a burning thirst.
And even more interestingly, every Hale generation has some scandal or another.
A long list of links came up and instead of talking myself out of it—which would have been the wiser move, not to mention one that respected the boundaries between friends . . . even friends who’d put their fingers . . . well . . .
I opened the first link and began reading. I learned about the town founding, about the Hale family through the generations—Lord, but there were a lot of boys. And finally, I read about the car accident that ended in a shootout between brothers on a highway in the middle of a springtime day.
A sharp pang pierced my heart for Archer Hale. I sat back in the chair at the desk in the small room designated as an office that guests were welcome to use at The Yellow Trellis Inn. I pictured what it might have been like that day, surely coming up far short of reality. Reality was never just the picture of events. It was the smells and the sounds and a hundred other small details that no one else would ever understand because they hadn’t been there, standing among the ashes as your world burned down.
My mind moved to the blueberry festival where I’d met Archer and his wife and kids. Travis had told me about his brother’s voice box being injured when he was a kid, and so I hadn’t been surprised by the scar on his throat. What I had noticed was the peace on his face, the joy in his eyes, the way his wife had gazed at him with such open love, the sweet exuberance of his twin boys and that beautiful baby girl I’d only glimpsed in the stroller.
However it had happened, and whatever strength he’d drawn from, Archer Hale had triumphed over that day.
And maybe I would someday triumph over my own.
I read about how the land had transferred to Archer and about the shooting that had occurred eight years ago, Chief Travis Hale showing up just in time to stop the threat before anyone else was hurt.
I swallowed down a lump in my throat, thinking about everything I knew about Travis.
One of the men who had died on the highway was his father as well. Where had Travis been that awful day? He’d been seven years old too. Who had explained things to him?
Who had helped him grieve?
And after that, he’d been set to inherit the town apparently. Another loss, rightful or not. Had he suffered over it? Did he still?
It was all too much. Too much trauma. Too much pain. Sometimes the world felt so damned sharp.
I clicked the browser off and put the computer to sleep, but it was several minutes before I pulled myself from the chair and returned to my room. Because at the end of the day, what did it matter? I was leaving. End of story.
So why did that feel like a lie?
