Winter's Path: (A Seasmoke Friends Novel) (10 page)

In the short six days I’d known Cara, I’d had exactly one conversation with Joe. It had been little more than a couple sentences, and I suspected he hadn’t cared for me too much. Last time I’d seen him had been her funeral, where I’d stood at the far back of the crowd and left right after the service. I was certain he hadn’t seen me.

Scrubbing my hands over my face, I wondered what in the hell he wanted. The past two years had been a litany of actions trying to atone for and then forget what had happened. I was finally starting to get there.

And with one phone call, all the regret and shame and what-ifs slammed into me.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Matt

July—Two Years Ago

I
hadn’t planned on seeing Cara again. Despite having fun with her the past couple nights, she threw me and I didn’t know what to do with her. The sex had been fantastic, if not a little detached, and she had a way with witty conversation that often bordered on frustrating. But we had nothing in common and we lived hours apart. What had started as a one-time vacation thing had morphed into going on four nights. She hadn’t been to my place. I hadn’t gone to hers. We’d met at her club, Tedium, and from there had either gone upstairs to her office or had meandered to the pier. We hadn’t even exchanged numbers.

I sat in my car in the parking lot, staring at the club entrance, debating whether to go inside. It wasn’t just our differences that had doubt niggling inside my head. If that were the case, I could handle what she’d been so willing to give—a good time. I wasn’t made for or raised to approach fun only. I preferred a relationship, but going off the grid once in awhile never killed anyone.

No, my hesitation stemmed from the fact Cara had problems. The kind she injected and the kind she snorted. I’d never actually witnessed her doing drugs, but last night I’d spotted the white dust under her nose when she’d exited the bathroom before she’d wiped it away. Her tat sleeves would hide track marks, but I’d connected the dots in her office after finding syringes in the garbage. Diabetic she was not, thus I put two and two together.

My experience with drugs involved a couple friends from high school smoking up after a track meet and Jenny’s mother’s overdose. I hadn’t met Jenny until years after her mom died, and I’d not indulged in pot when others had in my presence. In honesty, I abhorred drugs. Wanted nothing to do with the scene.

But, as I stared at the club, part of me wanted to...I don’t know. Help Cara? Fix her? Give support to seek treatment? I barely knew the girl, but I couldn’t walk away either. I was in over my head and smart enough to recognize that, yet here I sat.

With a heavy sigh, I exited the car and walked into the club. The blonde bartender from the past few nights was absent, and in her place was a guy who looked like Cara. Same eyes, same dark hair, same suspicious glare. He was much taller than her very short stature and didn’t seem to have the too-thin affliction Cara did.

As I saddled a stool, he walked over, wiping a martini glass with a white towel. “You lost?”

Yeah, definitely some relation to Cara. I was about to open my mouth to ask for her when I spotted her coming around the corner.

The neon blue lights from overhead washed out her already pallid tone. She swiveled her hips as she walked to the irritating techno beat blasting through the speakers. She stopped to pat a few asses of those grinding on the dance floor before making her way over. Her bright red lips split into a grin as her gaze met mine. Her short black strands spiked straight off her scalp.

I glanced at the bartender again, whose stony expression could’ve derailed a freight train.

“Joe, meet Matt. Matt, this is my brother Joe.” Cara climbed on a stool next to me.

He dipped his chin in acknowledgement and slid his narrowed eyes back to Cara. “What in the hell are you doing?” The implied ending to that sentence being, with this guy.

She grabbed my hand and tugged me off the stool. “Whatever I want, so mind your own business.”

Joe’s jaw ground as Cara led me around the bar and to the back hallway where the office was located. She shut the door and leaned against it, blessedly muting some of the noise. I noticed the shadows under her eyes were darker and she swayed unsteadily as if already wasted.

Concern shifted inside my gut. “Why don’t we go outside and take a breather?” Get her some coffee perhaps.

She shoved off the door and sauntered closer. “Why would we need a breather, boy wonder? We haven’t started yet.”

I leaned against the desk in the small, cluttered room and wrapped my fingers around the edge. “Because you’re high as a kite.”

Undeterred, she opened the button on my fly and slid the zipper down. “Hasn’t bothered you before.”

Yeah, it had. I’d kept my mouth shut, though, not knowing how to bring it up. She freed my erection from my pants and wrapped her cool, deft fingers around my shaft. That was the other thing. No matter how much her use of drugs sickened me, my body reacted to her like it was starving for her touch. She hit her knees, and I hissed through my teeth.

“Cara, let’s talk.”

She swallowed half of me in one try and hummed before releasing me. “So talk, if that gets you off.”

“Cara—“ I choked on whatever I intended to say when her hot mouth wrapped around me once more. Tongue. Teeth. Suction.

She held a condom out for me between her fingers while her mouth worked me like a Hoover in heat. Where she’d pulled the protection from, I hadn’t a clue. I grabbed it from her, withdrew from her mouth with a pop on her lips, and tore into the package. I rolled the latex down my length, spun her around, shoved up her leather skirt, and planted her face down on the desk. No panties. Papers scattered to the floor in all directions. With her ass in the air, I kicked her legs wider and drove inside her like an animal.

Hell. She did this to me every time. Took me from wanting to talk and get to know her to a blind state of feral. Four days, forty positions, and the lust hadn’t abated. Something in the back of my conscience told me to take heed, but I was vibrating with need. Her tight walls a sheath.

She laughed and ground her ass against my hips. “Not such a boy scout now.”

My hands fell to her waist, where the hard ridge of her ribs pressed my fingertips. She was so damn thin I could almost wrap my hands around her and have my fingers touch. Then, what she’d said a moment ago settled into my head and took root.

Leaning over her, I brought my mouth to her ear. “Talking does get me off. And you’re not getting yours until you answer questions.” I thrust inside her, hard, and she cried out in pleasure. It was a shitty thing to do, but I’d hold an orgasm over her head if it meant finding answers. “How long have you been using?”

She whipped her head around to nail me with a glare over her shoulder.

I circled my hips. “How long?”

Chest heaving, she seemed to weigh my words. “Five years. Since my parents died. Now fuck me.”

Rewarding her, I withdrew and pumped. Sweat broke out on my brow. “What drugs do you take? And why?”

Whimpering, she dropped her forehead to the desk. “Coke and heroine. Because it makes me feel good instead of empty. Now, fuck me.”

That was enough for now and I was losing it anyway. I didn’t like games and I hated manipulation more. With hard, fast strokes and my thumb on her clit, I brought us both to a swift, brutal climax and then slumped to the floor. She righted her skirt and sat next to me, back against the wall.

Studying her profile, I caught a fragile glimpse of the woman underneath all the glamour. An innocence resonated in her eyes just long enough for me to realize she was hurting. After I caught my breath, I asked quietly, “How did they die, your parents?”

Gaze down, she shrugged. “Car accident. Joe and I were in the backseat. We lived.”

It was the most I’d gotten out of her and didn’t want her to retreat. “You’re better than that shit you put in your body. You know that, right?”

With lightning speed, she shot to her feet. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” I paused. “I’d like to, though.”

Her hard gaze raked over me. “I’m supposed to believe you care about me because you got in my pants?”

She was so damn frustrating. And I didn’t know if I cared about her specifically or that she was wasting her potential. She was too young to disappear down the rabbit hole of grief. We’d shared little more than bodily fluids, and though that had been stellar, my emotions hadn’t made a tangible connection yet.

I rose to my feet, tossed the condom away, and righted my pants. “I care that you’re killing yourself.”

She laughed without mirth. “Right. Because living is so much better.” She strode to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow. And leave your give a shit attitude in the car.”

Present

I
spent the week getting crap in order. Mundane, tedious, but necessary. DMV. Suits dry-cleaned. Bills transferred over. A monthly maid service set up for basics. Insurance papers. I’d even had lunch with Ian’s folks next door when they’d spotted me in the driveway to say hello. I’d tried to visit Jenny’s grandfather, but I wasn’t on the list. She’d texted to say she’d add me and was sorry the attempt had been a bust.

A call to my parents had settled plans for Thanksgiving here at Seasmoke, and I’d fiddled with invites and dates for a housewarming, but hadn’t cemented them yet. Figured I’d ask Jenny her thoughts later.

This morning, I’d stood staring at my reliable white sedan, and then thought of all the changes I’d made to my life. The car had to go. Out with the old, in with the new. Ergo, I researched cars and SUVs. A truck wasn’t for me, and I wasn’t looking for flashy. Just different. Maybe something not so...boring?

Anyway, I’d come home this afternoon with a Jeep Wrangler. I almost went with a Lexus, but refrained after conjuring Jenny’s voice in my ear. I think it took me longer to pick a damn color than it had to drive around dealerships. I almost went with white, but again, Jenny’s voice shut that down. Black it was. Not quite as predictable, but still me. I could live with it.

I’d texted Jenny a picture and she’d sent me a page-long squeal via response. Guess she approved.

And thank Christ it was Friday. Though my days had been busy, my nights had been lonely. I was trying to give her some space and not call, but the distance was wearing on me. Tonight I’d get to see her and the bar. In all the time I’d known her, I’d only viewed the outside of Winter’s Den. I was even looking forward to starting work on Monday. I didn’t do well with idle time.

After a workout and a quick dinner, I showered and got ready to leave. Not wanting to get there too early, I held out until seven and drove across town.

Cutting the engine, I stared at the tavern. Memories of sitting in my car staring at another bar assaulted me and I pulled in a deep breath. Jenny’s place wasn’t Cara’s, and I needed to move past the guilt. Kind of hard when Joe’s voicemail sat on my phone as a constant reminder. I hadn’t returned his call, nor was I sure I should.

I glanced through the windshield again. Jenny’s grandfather had bought the place from the previous owner roughly forty years ago and then remodeled. Jenny had mentioned she’d done a little work when it transferred to her about four years back. It sat in the middle of a chain of private businesses, on a discreet road, tucked on the opposite side of the ocean-facing properties. It was out of the tourist trap and surrounded by lawyer, real estate, and dentist offices. A salon, furniture store, coffee shop, and bakery also dotted her side of the street. The other single-story storefronts were closed up for the night, the bright white from the bar’s sign the only illumination aside from the orange-ish glow of streetlamps.

Her tavern was pretty large in comparison to the other buildings. The gray clapboard siding had no doubt been weathered by salt-infused sunshine and wind off the sea. It resembled a large crab shack with burgundy shutters framing the large lower and small upper window. The front door had a gold plaque indicating Locals Only, along with hours of operation and that they were closed on Sundays and Mondays. Above that was an enormous fishing hook mounted to the frame that could’ve taken down Moby Dick.