Never Too Hot (23 page)

He leaned her against the hood of a car, pressing himself hard against her, and she gladly went with him, wanting more of his heat, more of the sweet rush that only Andrew could bring her.

Sex with her husband had been good, but now that she was back in Andrew’s arms she had to wonder how she could have possibly settled for anything less than this all-consuming passion. How could she have accepted anything less than the need to take her lover’s next breath as her own?

Her hands were on him now, just as hungry, just as full of need. His arousal pressed into her and she couldn’t help but rub herself against him. She ached to give herself over completely to this moment, to let Andrew take her as far she could go.

He reached up under her shirt, his fingers skimming her rib cage before he pressed both of his palms over her breasts, her heart beating against his hands.

And then, through the thick haze of desire, she heard, “Mom?”

She was too far under to process the voice as her son’s until he said, “Fuck. That’s my mom. Making out on the car with some guy.”

Oh God. Josh.

Andrew moved first, pulled his hands out from under her shirt before her son could see. She moved as quickly as she could with limbs that felt like melted butter, tried to stand up to go after her son, but before she could he said, “You make me sick,” and was gone.

Andrew tried to put a hand on her back to comfort her and she flinched at his touch.

How could she have done that? How could she have kissed Andrew? And if her son hadn’t found them there, how much further would she have gone?

But she already knew the answer to that. Andrew had always been the one person who could make her lose control. And yet, even though he was the one who’d kissed her first, none of that was his fault. She’d wanted it just as much as he had. Had been more than willing to pull him down hard over her in the middle of a parking lot.

“He’ll get over it, you know. Seeing you kiss me.”

“I just don’t know what I’m doing anymore. He used to say I was the best mom in the whole wide world. We were friends. We had a good a time together.”

She wanted to cry. Scream. Sleep for a week.

Kiss Andrew again.

“But now it seems that I can’t say or do anything right. I feel like I’m losing him. And it’s killing me.”

“He’s trying to figure out how to be a man. I know from firsthand experience how hard that is.”

Andrew was the last person on earth she should be spilling her guts to, and yet it felt so natural. As if, despite everything that had come between them, he was still the person who understood her best.

“Did your sons go through this?”

Pain flashed across his face in the moonlight. “I don’t know,” he said, and she was stunned by the heavy emotion in his words. “I was always working, always on a business trip. One day I left and they were boys, came home and they were men. Men who wanted nothing to do with their father.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I am too. But you were right this morning. I can’t go back and change the past, but if I’m lucky, if I don’t wimp out, I might be able to work on the future. Here. Now. With Connor. I want them to know how much I care about them.” His eyes met hers, held them. “But I’ll also understand if they don’t see it. If they can’t see it. Because sometimes if you screw up bad enough, there isn’t any way to fix what you’ve done.”

It all came back around to them. Every single time.

“So that firsthand experience about boys trying so hard to become men that I was talking about is mine alone.” Her breath caught in her throat as he continued with, “I know you don’t want to hear me say this again, Isabel, but I was a stupid kid who didn’t know which way was up.”

She didn’t know what to say to him anymore. They were past yelling. Past her frantic attempts to hold him back with anger, with sarcasm. Past her up and walking away when she didn’t know what else to do.

But not past forgiveness.

Clearing his throat, he said, “I should go, shouldn’t I?”

She didn’t look at him, couldn’t look at him. “Yes, you should.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

Josh realized Hannah was practically running to keep up with him on the beach. He couldn’t believe what he’d just seen, couldn’t stop playing it over in his head, that guy practically humping his mom on the hood of a car.

He felt sick to his stomach.

“My mom shouldn’t be doing that. Out in public.” Or anywhere. Ever.

“I thought it was kind of romantic, actually. Your mom’s been single a long time, right? Don’t you think it’d be nice if she could find someone?”

“It wasn’t romantic. It was disgusting.”

Hannah stopped walking. “Why?”

Something was in her voice, a warning to watch how he answered her question, but he was too pissed off to care.

“She’s my mom. She shouldn’t need to do … that.”

“But you told me your dad dates all the time.”

“It’s okay for him.”

“How? Because he’s a guy? Whereas she’s just supposed to be happy and fulfilled being your mother for the rest of your life? You’re the one who keeps saying how you wish she’d get a life and leave you alone. And then when she does you act like a complete jerk.”

She turned and started walking away.

“Hannah, why are you mad at me?”

She barely stopped, only turned her face halfway to say, “Because you just treated your mom like garbage. And I don’t want to be with a spoiled brat.”

Isabel was waiting up for Josh when he got home.

“What you saw tonight. It’s not what you think.”

“Of course it is.” He scowled. “You were practically doing it on a car with some random guy.”

Bile rose in her throat at what her son had seen. At the same time, it didn’t feel right to apologize to him for being a normal human being with normal sexual needs.

Still, she wanted him to know she hadn’t picked some random guy to go to town with.

“I knew him. A long time ago. Andrew grew up next door. At Poplar Cove. We dated.” The words, “I was your age and I loved him,” fell out of her mouth before she could think better of who she was saying them to.

She watched in horror as Josh’s expression changed from angry and disgusted to just plain crushed.

“Dad was the only guy you’ve ever loved.”

Oh no. She hadn’t thought of how hard it would be for him to hear that she’d had a life before him, before his father.

“I did love your father. And even though we’re not together anymore I’ll always love him for giving me you.”

But Josh wasn’t listening. “I saw you tonight. I saw what you were letting that guy do to you. The only person you should be in love with is my dad, not some asshole who used to live next door. And now Hannah hates me because of you.”

She reeled from what her son had said, that she wouldn’t have been doing those things with Andrew if she didn’t still love him.

“I don’t love him,” she said almost to herself, even as the last part of his sentence finally registered. “Hannah? Your girlfriend, you mean? How come she hates you?”

But he was done with her. “Why don’t you just go back to lover boy and forget all about me. Since it’s obvious that he’s the only one you really give a shit about.”

The last thing she heard was his bedroom door slamming and the music kicking in.

It occurred to her, then, that everything she’d said to Andrew about Connor pushing him away right when he needed his father most was also true for her and Josh. The more he pulled away, the more he told her he hated her, the more he needed her to be there for him.

Yes, she understood his growing pains, remembered only too well how hard it was to be fifteen and feel like your whole world was turning inside out. But even though she knew she needed to pull back a bit to let him find his way, that didn’t mean she couldn’t be there for him if he fell along the way.

Which he would. Because they all did.

Every single one of them.

DURING EXTREME wildfires, Connor sometimes went up to seventy-two hours with little to no sleep. He’d keep running on nothing more than adrenaline and fistfuls of high-calorie food, with the knowledge that when it was all over he could crash, satisfied over a job well done.

This past week he’d had just as little sleep, but there was no satisfaction coming on the back end.

All day, every day, as he worked on refinishing the logs, Ginger wasn’t just a room away, she was there in his head with him every second, her words “I want a husband and a partner. I want a man … who loves me as much as I love him,” on constant repeat.

He never thought he’d be so glad to have his father around. The days were easier, with Andrew a silent buffer between them. But after his father left, as soon as the sun gave way to darkness, Connor’s resolve would slip into dangerous territory.

He hadn’t even tried to sleep in the cabin. Not when all it would take was one weak moment and he’d be upstairs, kicking open Ginger’s door to steal another few minutes with her, doing anything he could to convince her to be with him one more time, and then one more after that.

Each night he’d gone out to the workshop as soon as the sun had set. That first night he’d done push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups until he was dripping sweat all over the cold concrete floor. But it hadn’t done a damn thing to clear his head. So he’d gone for a run. The first mile, his body felt sluggish. Heavy. As if he’d tied lead weights onto his limbs. Which only made him more determined to push through the pain, to run faster. Mile after mile passed as he ran away from Poplar Cove, his pace picking up with each new stretch of ground that he covered.

But Ginger stayed with him every step of the way.

Her beautiful face. The way she looked in the morning, her curls fanned out on the cover around her, her mouth soft and lush and so kissable. The way she’d looked when she’d told him she loved him on the porch, the truth in her eyes telling him they weren’t just words said in the heat of passion.

He’d turned back around to the workshop, none of his usual tricks worth a damn. And that was when he’d found himself standing in front of his father’s sailboat. It was a beautiful piece of work, even unfinished.

The storm he’d gone out in had wrecked his grandparents’ old sailboat. The morning after Ginger had asked for everything he couldn’t give her, he’d taken the speedboat out to retrieve the small craft. It was lying limp against the far shore, nearly smashed in two from slamming again and again into the rocks.

He couldn’t put his grandparents’ boat back together, but he could finish building this one. After a thorough search, he found the plans for the boat, neatly folded up in the bottom of a drawer.

It became his goal, his focus during the difficult days in the cabin with Ginger. Working on the sailboat didn’t drive Ginger from his mind, but at least it was a way to pass the hours until the sun came up again and he could secretly watch her paint out on the porch, breathe her in as she walked by.

Every day, the agitation he’d carried around since his accident in Desolation—only when he was with Ginger had it eased—was multiplying exponentially. The couple of hours he slept on some thick canvas in the workshop were plagued with nightmares. His hands went from oversensitive to numb more and more and he had to be constantly on guard against dropping his hammer and caulk gun and sander.

He was bent down over the sailboat, putting in the finishing touches. The sun was almost rising and he was planning to drag it out on the water. He almost prayed for another storm, for the universe to force him and Ginger together again.

But since he knew that wouldn’t happen, he was tempted to take a hammer to it instead and start over. Because when he was done with the boat, what the hell was he going to have to focus on to keep himself away from her?

The day before, a neighbor down the lake who also had an old log cabin had been sent by a couple of guys at the hardware store to see Connor’s work. Clearly impressed, the man had mentioned that it was pretty much impossible to find anyone to work on a place like this, that modern day contractors all just wanted to tear the cabins down and start over with a Lincoln Log kit. He asked what Connor’s plans were going forward, if he might consider helping out some of the other log cabin owners on the lake with their homes.

Although Connor enjoyed the work, even though there was something immensely satisfying about running a paintbrush over a log in smooth strokes, coating it with a fine layer of varnish to both protect the log and bring out its natural golden sheen, despite the fact that seeing his great-grandparents’ cabin come back to life was a rush, he couldn’t stay here and work on fixing up old cabins full-time. Not because he didn’t like the thought of becoming a carpenter, not even because he didn’t think his hands could take the work, but because he couldn’t stay at Blue Mountain Lake if Ginger was here too.

Watching her marry another man, have his children, would be hell on earth.

He’d rather jump into a pit of flames than stick around to watch that.

*   *   *

Andrew lay on the bed in his room at the Inn for hours, staring up at the ceiling, Isabel there with him in his head, his body the entire time. He remembered her softness pressing into him, the salty-sweet taste of her tongue sliding against his, the way she’d pulled him down onto her, pulling him closer.

Come five a.m., his eyes having been open straight through, he hoped like hell a jump in the lake would snap him out of it. But although the water was cold, and he was physically tired, his insides still buzzed and snapped as if it had been thirty seconds since he saw Isabel instead of hours.

The sun was just starting to rise when he got back into his car and headed toward Poplar Cove. But when he pulled up to the cabin, he realized it was way too early to bother either Ginger or Connor. He couldn’t just sit out here in his car, so he got out and started walking the path he knew by heart to the one place he’d managed to avoid since coming back to Blue Mountain Lake.

His grandfather’s sanctuary, his most prized place in all of Poplar Cove: the workshop.

Standing outside the old red barn, which his grandfather had preserved on the original property when they bought it in 1910 and started building the cabin on the waterfront, Andrew could almost see his lost dreams worming their way up out of the dirt, the dry leaves on the ground shifting beneath him so fast he lost his balance.

His heart pounding, he put his hand on the wide doorknob and pushed it open. There it was, his wooden sloop at the far end of the barn, right where he’d left it a little more than thirty years ago. He couldn’t believe no one had taken it apart to use the wood for other projects, or at the very least, moved it out of the way. Why on earth was it still there?

And then he realized he wasn’t alone, that his son was squatting down beside the boat.

“Connor?” he said, coming closer. And that was when he realized that the boat was no longer half built. “Did you do this? Finish building my boat?”

“It was a waste of perfectly good wood the way it was.”

Despite Connor’s unemotional words, Andrew was incredibly moved as he kneeled beside the boat, running his fingers over the smooth, golden wood he’d so painstakingly planed and sanded as a teenage boy.

He hadn’t been much older than Isabel’s son when he’d started building the boat, but it had been his dream to make his living with sailing as far back as he could remember. His father had put him on a sailboat as soon as he could walk and they’d spent hours together out on the lake in the Sun Fish and then the Laser.

Andrew had always assumed he’d end up in a boat of his making on the lake with his own sons.

“You’re right,” he finally said. “I shouldn’t have left it unfinished all these years.”

“It’s just a boat,” Connor said and Andrew knew his son was trying to steer them back out of the gray area. But there was no point in trying to steer clear of stormy weather. Not when it would find you no matter how hard you tried to hide from it.

“No, it wasn’t just a boat. I loved to sail. It was what I was going to do, build boats and sail them. I was going to sail around the world.”

“Why the hell didn’t you come back then?”

“God, I wish I had come back, wish I could change everything, but I was just too much of a coward to face up to my mistakes.”

“I get it you had a thing with Isabel, but who cares. You could have come anyway with Mom. You could have spent time with me and Sam. You could have taught us to sail instead of Grandpa.”

“It wasn’t that simple.”

“I don’t see how it could have been any simpler. You had a wife and kids who needed you.”

“I was going to marry Isabel,” Andrew confessed before he could grab the words back. “As soon as she graduated from high school, while we were both in college, we were going to be together. Instead I got your mother pregnant. One stupid, drunken night. And just like that I screwed up everyone’s lives.”

Realization dawned in his son’s eyes, and then a rage Andrew’d yet to see, even those first days in the hospital bed when Connor’s frustration had been a palpable thing.

“Mom was pregnant with Sam? That’s why you married her?”

“I wouldn’t have married her if I didn’t have feelings for her.”

“But you never loved her like you loved Isabel, did you?”

Andrew knew he’d have to work like crazy to make his son understand. “I never wanted your mother to feel like she was second best. And when she got pregnant, neither of us could just go our separate ways and make the best of it. It wasn’t the way either of us had been raised. It wasn’t the right thing to do. We made the decision together to put a ring on each other’s fingers and we tried like hell to make it work. We didn’t want Sam—or you—to grow up in a broken home.”

“You made the wrong choice.”

“I know that now,” he tried to say, but Connor cut him off.

“You never gave a damn about any of us, did you?”

Something in Andrew snapped. He was done just sitting here and taking crap from his son.

“How dare you lecture me about love. Not when you’re too damn scared to let that beautiful girl of yours love you.”

There was murder in Connor’s eyes, but Andrew didn’t care. He wasn’t going to shut up until he was good and done.

“I did everything I could to be a good father when you and Sam were little, but the house was such a war zone, so much your mother’s territory, she practically forced me into hiding out at work. Any time I showed up to a baseball game, she’d give me grief about the other five times I didn’t go. There was no way to win.”

He held up a hand to stop Connor from interrupting again.

“A stronger man would have been a good father in spite of it. And I wasn’t. But I wouldn’t have traded you boys for anything in the world. And I’m hell-bent on being that better man now. Which is why I’m not going to let you get past me until you tell me what in God’s name has gone wrong between you and Ginger.”

Connor’s hands were hard fists and Andrew wondered if they were going to come to blows. He almost hoped they would, that he could let Connor work out his frustration, taking away some of Andrew’s guilt with him.

But instead of coming at him, Connor said, “She deserves more than I can give her.”

They were simple words, words that shouldn’t have meant much at all. But the pain behind them knocked the air out of Andrew’s lungs. Thirty years ago there’d been no way out for Andrew or Isabel or Elise.

But his son still had time to get it right.

“I’ve never known you to back down from a challenge. Have you even tried to give her what she wants?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Connor shouted. “I can’t fucking do it! I can’t live my life thinking about her every single second, wanting her so bad I can’t see straight, worrying that something will happen to her.”

“You love her.”

“Of course I love her,” Connor said, his voice raw, rough with emotion. “But I’ve hurt her again and again. I’ll just keep hurting her.”

Andrew wanted to reach out for his son, but he didn’t know how. “We all screw up at one time or another. We hurt each other. But the big mistake isn’t screwing up. The big mistake is wasting time being bitter. Being angry. Letting guilt eat you up inside. Letting one stupid moment change you into someone you never wanted to be.”

“Don’t you get it?” Connor growled. “I’ve got nothing to give her. She deserves a whole man who can give her everything she deserves right now. Not in five, ten years. She shouldn’t have to wait for me to figure out my future. To see if I even have one.”

“Those are all just excuses, Connor. You know that as well as I do. Of course you’re good enough for the woman you love. She wouldn’t love you if you weren’t.”

Connor didn’t respond and as a thick silence hung between them Andrew told himself he’d tried. That he’d done all he could do. He was about to walk away, give his son some space, when Isabel’s words came at him.

“Try again. And keep trying. Because that’s what parents do. Stop worrying about how you feel for once. And just do what you need to do for him.”

He’d come back to the lake to prove to everyone—especially himself—that he had it in him to be a better man. He’d been so sure that all he needed to do was decide to do the right thing and it would be so simple. He’d expected all of the relationships it had taken him thirty years to screw up to be tied up with little bows by now.