Out of Bounds (22 page)

The doctor shooed them out of the examining room while the nurse called for help with Angel.

Posy burst into tears and flung herself at Wes.

“I wasn’t going to give her away. I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “I know.”

“I’m not giving you up, either.” She held him tight. “If you have to live here, I’ll figure it out. I promise. I’ll learn how to live here. It’s not too late, right? Wes?”

He was shaking his head.

He couldn’t be shaking his head. Not now, not when she’d finally realized that she couldn’t let him go.

“Don’t shake your head, Wes. We can figure this out. You don’t take no for an answer, don’t say it to me.”

“I’m saying no to Kirkland, Posy. You’d be miserable here and so would I.”

He pushed on her shoulder and the two of them shuffled a few steps to the right where they could look through a glass panel into the room where Angel was being worked on.

“We don’t belong in Kirkland, Posy. Not you. Not me. Not Angel.”

“But your brother...”

Wes took a deep breath. “I owe him, but I guess I’ve always been afraid he was finally going to wise up and not want me around.” He tightened his hand on her shoulder. “You taught me that you can’t keep people tied to you with a debt like that. Deacon’s fine and I will be, too. I will be, if we’re together, that is.”

She kissed him. Or maybe he kissed her. It didn’t matter who started it, she knew for sure that neither of them ended it for a good long time. Neither of them wanted to let go. That was just the way they were made.

* * *

H
E
KEPT
HIS
ARM
around her shoulders while they sat in the waiting-room chairs. The doctor wanted to keep Angel for a few hours for observation, but he was confident she was as good as new.

“Maybe the accident knocked some manners into her,” Posy said, but she didn’t sound as if she had much hope. Especially since the nurse had walked past with a thick, white bandage on her thumb.

He called his brother.

“Deacon?” Posy’s hand covered his on her shoulder. “It’s Wes. I have to talk to you about that job.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Deacon said. “You’d think after ten years I’d learn. But I don’t. I’m an idiot.”

Wes was confused. “D.?”

“You’re turning it down, right?”

“Right, but—”

“Julia bet me you were going to say no. And now I have to take her to see Barry Manilow, who is still touring for some reason I can’t understand.” Wes heard a muffled thump. He thought his brother might have kicked something. “You owe me. I was getting a weekend in Vegas if I won.”

“You’re not angry?”

“Angry? I’m screwed. I have to sit through a
Barry Manilow
concert.”

“But about the job. You’re not angry that I said no?”

“No.” Deacon paused. “Should I be?”

“No,” Wes said.

And that was what it felt like to be free.

“Wait, maybe
you
should take Julia to the Barry
Manilow concert. It’s your fault I lost the bet.”

“I know better than to bet against Julia.”

“You probably like Barry Manilow, though.”

Posy was looking at him and he smiled. She smiled back and he thought he’d never seen anything as pretty. Her face was streaked with tears. There was dirt on her shirt where she’d wiped her hands after kneeling in the road. She was perfect.

“Let me ask Posy and I’ll get back to you.”

* * *

P
OSY
VETOED
Barry Manilow, but she convinced Julia that the four of them should go to Vegas. The Hotel Marie had a beautiful property there and she got them a gorgeous suite. None of them told Deacon that it was International Karaoke Week until the plane touched down. And by that time, it was too late for him to make his escape.

Late on their third night, Wes and Posy, wearing the third-place duet medals they’d won in a competition that night, found themselves outside the Little Wedding Chapel.

Wes put his arm around Posy’s shoulders. “What do you think?” he asked.

Her pulse jumped. She couldn’t help it. She was outside a Vegas wedding chapel with Wes. But he wasn’t proposing. He wouldn’t. Not when they’d barely finished moving Wes into his own pet-friendly apartment around the corner from her condo in Rochester. He and Deacon were finalizing plans for Wes to take a fundraising position with the Fallon Foundation. Posy was continuing in her work with the Hotel Marie, but she’d begun sketching out a career plan that would allow her to cut back on her travel in a year or two and move into management.

“What do I think about what?”

“Couple years, you and me, right back here.”

She put her hand across his chest and smiled up at him. “Here cleaning up at International Karaoke Week or here...”

“Here at the chapel. Fallon and Jones, together forever.”

She squeezed him and smiled again. “My mom would kill me if I didn’t let her plan my wedding.” He tipped his head down toward her and she kissed him. “But the Fallon and Jones part sounds exactly right.”

In a few years, he did ask her to marry him, and she did say yes. They had the wedding in Milton on the grounds of the very first Fallon Community Center. Trish planned the entire thing (although Posy chose her own dress), and every detail was perfect, right down to the theme...Christmas in July.

* * * * *

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Unraveling the Past
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CHAPTER ONE

W
HEN
J
ESSICA
T
AYLOR
lost her virginity three months and six guys ago—after fiercely guarding it for fifteen years—she’d been stone-cold sober.

She hadn’t made that mistake again.

Her stomach rolled. From the Jack Daniel’s, she assured herself. She should’ve stuck with beer. It always gave her a nice, mellow buzz without making her want to puke. Mostly because she knew her limit. Whiskey was a new beast, one she hadn’t figured out her tolerance to yet.

But Nate had been so sweet when she’d arrived at the party a few hours ago, teasing her into trying J.D. and Diet Coke, making sure her glass was always full, adding more soda when she choked, her eyes watering at the first taste.

Yeah, he was a real prince.

A cold sweat broke out along her hairline. Her stomach churned again. Because of the alcohol. It had nothing to do with her being on her back in the middle of the freaking woods.

She stared up at the moon peeking through the branches of the trees and pretended she was somewhere else, anywhere else, doing anything except what she was doing. That she wasn’t wasted—yet again. And that Nate Berry, with his floppy, pop-star hair and tight circle of friends, really liked her. Cared about her. That he wasn’t using her.

That she wasn’t letting him use her.

Her skin grew clammy. Prickled with the cold. Nate’s fingers clenched her hips, his face pressed against her neck. He was just another boy. And this was just another meaningless, drunken hookup in what was quickly becoming a long line of meaningless, drunken hookups.

Tears stung the backs of her eyelids and she squeezed her eyes shut. No. No feeling sorry for herself. She had every right to have sex with whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted. It was her body after all. Her choice to give it to some guy or not.

She was in control.

Her back and butt scraped against the rough earth. Her neck was stretched back, her hair caught between the crown of her head and the ground, pulling painfully each time he moved. She just wanted it to be over. Wanted to pretend it had never happened in the first place. Just like all the other times.

Clutching his arms, she lifted her hips to keep from getting the mother of all brush burns, to stop the contents of her stomach from sloshing. She inhaled deeply, breathed in the scent of Nate’s cologne and the pungent smell from the bonfire in the clearing outside the trees. His grip tightened, his nails digging into her skin as he groaned hoarsely and shuddered then finally—finally—stilled.

Thank God.

He collapsed on top of her, surprisingly heavy for a guy who looked as if he’d never heard of carbs, let alone ate any. His heart beat frantically against her chest, his breath hot and ragged against her shoulder. They had connected in the most elemental way. And still she felt alone. Always alone.

Her throat closed. Without a word, without a kiss or a murmured endearment or even an outright lie about how fantastic it’d been, how fantastic she was, Nate climbed to his feet. He turned his back and adjusted his clothes.

The cool night air washed over her bare skin. She shivered but couldn’t find the energy or the care to cover herself. After she’d lost her virginity to a smooth-talking college freshman, she’d stopped believing guys’ lines. Had quickly learned they’d do and say anything to get into a girl’s pants.

Yeah, she’d learned. But she hadn’t stopped hoping, couldn’t stop wishing that each time would be different. That, when it was all over, the guy she’d been with would think she was…special. Instead, once she gave them what they wanted, they all thought she was trash.

She was starting to wonder if they were right.

As she yanked up her jeans, shouts of excitement from the party still going strong reached them. The bonfire illuminated the colorful graffiti on the huge rocks that formed a barrier between the woods and what passed for civilization around here. Flames shot high into the air—probably from someone tossing gasoline onto the fire.

What a bunch of idiots.

“Come on,” Nate said, facing her as he stuffed his hands into his jean pockets. “Let’s go. Sounds like the party’s getting wicked wild.”

Jess snorted. “Yeah.” She lurched to her feet and swayed. He held out a hand to steady her but she slapped him away. She didn’t want him touching her again. “I’m sure it’s a crazy wild time,” she continued, her words slurring. “At least by this town’s standards.”

“Mystic Point not good enough for you?”

Okay, so she’d pissed him off, either with her comment or her slap. Good.

She rolled her eyes—and immediately wished she hadn’t when she almost tipped over. “Relax. God, why is everyone so defensive about this place?”

“Maybe we don’t like outsiders slamming our town.”

Outsider.
That was her. And she was glad. She didn’t want to belong here. She just wanted to go home.

“There’s a whole big world out there,” she said, waving her arms. “Places where parties are held in actual houses instead of in the middle of nowhere surrounded by some stupid rocks.”

She’d much preferred last week’s party at the secluded part of the beach. The one and only thing she liked about Mystic Point was its proximity to the water. She loved the sound of the waves crashing on shore, the smell of salt water, the power of the ocean. But word had spread that the local cops had gotten wind of the underage drinking going on there and were going to increase their patrols of that area.

Which is how she ended up at some old quarry at the edge of town.

“If you hate it here so much, why don’t you go back to Boston?” Nate’s tone was snide, superior, as if he knew damn well why she was stuck here.

He thought he was better than her because he had a normal family, a mom who didn’t spend all her time so strung out she barely remembered she even had a kid. A dad who not only acknowledged him, but spent time with him.

Jess’s mom couldn’t even say for sure which of her lowlife boyfriends had knocked her up.

Her hands curled. He was right. She did hate it here. And she hated Nate, too. Him and all his friends with their small-town attitudes and stupid cliques. They’d all heard about her past—nothing was sacred in a small town, after all. They’d discussed her. Judged her. And found her lacking. Even if she’d wanted to fit in, she’d never had the chance.

Several car headlights flashed twice then remained on, the brightness cutting through the trees. Jess squinted against the glare.

“What’s the matter, Nate?” a male voice called. “Having problems…performing?”

“Dude, I bet she knows all sorts of tricks to help with that,” another guy yelled.

“She should,” a girl added gleefully, “she’s had enough practice. She spends more time on her back than her feet.”

Laughter erupted and a moment later, the lights shut off. But not before she saw the grin on Nate’s face. Saw how little he really thought of her.

Bastard.

With a low growl that, if she wasn’t careful, could easily turn into a sob, Jess picked up his sweatshirt and threw it at his face.

He caught it before it could make contact. “What’s your problem?” he asked. “They’re just joking around.”

“I don’t have a problem.” But everyone else did. They were too small-town boring and uptight. She started walking deeper into the woods.

He grabbed her arm, stopping her so fast, the entire world tilted. She clamped down on the urge to vomit.

“The party’s this way,” he said.

Once the trees stopped spinning, she jerked away. “Get off me.” No one touched her unless she wanted them to, and he’d lost that right. “I’m leaving.”

Her voice broke and she prayed he didn’t notice.

“All right,” he said slowly, as if trying to calm her down, “if that’s what you want.” This time, he reached for her hand. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

She crossed her arms. “Why?”

He sighed heavily and glanced back at the party. “Because you’re drunk and shouldn’t be wandering around the woods at night.”

“What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll die of exposure or get attacked by a wild animal and you’ll be blamed?” Though she gave him plenty of time to deny it, he didn’t. All he cared about was getting into trouble if something happened to her. “Go back to the party. I’m sure you’re dying to tell everyone what a stud you are.” She raised her voice. “But you might want to leave out the part about how it lasted a whole five minutes.”

“Everyone was right about you,” he said. “You really are a bitch.”

Bitch. Slut. Loser.
All names she’d been called before. Whoever said words couldn’t cause pain had obviously never gone to high school.

“And don’t you forget it,” she said with her patented sneer. And she walked away.

This time, he let her go.

Good. She didn’t want him chasing after her pretending he cared about whether she made it home safely or not. Oh, sure, he’d been all charm when he’d called and invited her to the party, had layered it on even more when she got there, flirting and joking around, but it’d all been an act. She wasn’t sure who she was angrier with: him for not being different, for not living up to her hopeful standards.

Or herself for sleeping with him anyway.

She squinted at the narrow path cutting through the woods. If she kept walking, she’d end up in the clearing near the quarry’s entrance.

She hoped.

Too bad the farther she got from the clearing and the fire, the darker it got, the trees seeming to have multiplied to cut off any and all light from the moon. But it still beat going back the way she and Nate had come. She knew what would happen if she rejoined the party. The girls would freeze her out with their bitchy comments and accusing glares, blaming her for giving the boys what they were too frigid to. The guys would exchange smirks and elbow nudges and Nate would end up avoiding her the rest of the night.

And she was too wasted, too emotionally messed up at the moment to pretend it didn’t bother her.

She took out her phone and pressed the speed dial for Marissa, her best friend back in Boston. Holding it to her ear, she began making her way through the woods again, her steps unsteady, her head spinning.

“Come on,” she muttered when Marissa didn’t pick up. “Where are you?”

Despite her best efforts, tears streamed down her face. She angrily wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. Her toe caught on a tree root and she pitched forward. Her phone flew from her grip and she landed hard on the ground on her hands and knees.

Tears and snot dripped from her face as she fought to catch her breath. To not puke. Her palms stung, her head swam. She straightened her leg, felt material rubbing against her knee and realized she’d ripped a hole in her favorite jeans.

God, but this place sucked. She hated it here.

Patting the ground around her for her phone, she crawled forward. Something rustled behind her. She froze, holding her breath as she listened. When only silence surrounded her, she continued her search, inching forward along the forest floor, the sharp twigs scratching her.

“Shit,” she whispered.

“You can say that again.”

Her head jerked up and she fell onto her rear, squinted against the harsh glare of a flashlight. But she didn’t need to see who had spoken, didn’t need a light to know a cop stood before her. No, not just a cop, but Mystic Point’s new chief of police.

“Hi, Uncle Ross,” Jess said. Then she reared forward and threw up at his feet.

* * *

P
OLICE
C
HIEF
R
OSS
T
AYLOR
couldn’t breathe. Didn’t dare move. If he so much as blinked, he might lose all control. And that wouldn’t be good. Not when his instincts screamed at him to wrap his hands around the puny neck of the kid he and Assistant Chief Sullivan had dragged into the woods to help search for Jessica.

The kid who’d admitted he’d let her go stumbling off by herself in the dark. The kid who hadn’t had to admit what he and Jess had been doing while the rest of their delinquent friends drank and whooped it up in the clearing. The empty cups and the used condom Ross had walked past had made it all too clear they hadn’t been stargazing.

He exhaled heavily.
Son of a bitch.

Ross knelt next to his niece. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, well aware Layne Sullivan and the kid made a rapt audience to this little family drama.

Jessica stared up at him, her face illuminated by the flashlight Sullivan shined in their direction. Jess’s eyes—light blue like her mother’s—were huge. And unfocused, the pupils dilated. “No.”

Then she threw up again.

Behind him, the kid gagged. Ross pointed his flashlight on him and, sure enough, the boy’s face was pale. “Don’t even think about it,” Ross said harshly.

The kid swallowed hard. “Yes…yes, sir.”

Satisfied, Ross turned back to Jess. She sat back and wiped her hand across her mouth.

“Finished?” he asked.

“I hope so.” Her voice shook.

He helped her to her feet, keeping a firm hold of her upper arm so she didn’t fall. And so she couldn’t take off should the idea enter her head. Her pale, shoulder-length hair was matted and tangled, her clothes wrinkled and stained with puke and dirt. Tears leaked unchecked from her eyes, leaving trails of mascara down her cheeks.

She looked like every other underage drunk girl he’d ever arrested. He had to remind himself that she was just a kid. A rebellious, self-destructive kid. She was also his responsibility.

One he wasn’t sure he wanted. Wasn’t sure he could handle.

“What in the hell are you doing out here?” he asked.

What was she doing getting drunk, rolling around with some pimply faced kid, when she was supposed to be safely tucked away in her bedroom? Damn, he really wasn’t cut out for this guardian stuff.

She wiped the moisture from her cheeks. “You’re the one who told me I needed to give Mystic Point a chance. That I should put myself out there and make friends. Nate and I got very friendly. Didn’t we, Nate?”

Her tone was spiteful, almost…gleeful. But her eyes… When he searched her eyes he saw the truth. Anger. Regret. And such pain, he wasn’t sure he could fix it. Could fix her.