Winter's Path: (A Seasmoke Friends Novel) (16 page)

She shook her head. “Took the night off. Rock’s got it covered. If they bump this weather warning up to a tropical storm, I’ll be closed tomorrow.” Pivoting on her heel, she strode away.

I stared after her, feeling like I’d been hit with something akin to a nuclear warhead.

“Shall we?” Father Mike gestured toward the connecting hallway.

I followed him through to the school gym and glanced around. There was a small stage set up on one end with a karaoke machine. A large screen with seating in front of it was on the other.

“Entertainment portion is in here.” Father Mike scratched his jaw. “Jen-Jen sings a few classics from back in the day. Our choir does some hymns. The barbershop quartet donates their time, too. We show a couple flicks on the screen afterward.
Casablanca
and
My Fair Lady
are up this year.”

I nodded. “Great idea, gearing everything from the past, considering what the charity is for.”

“Our gal’s got great ideas. Jen-Jen raises quite a bit for Alzheimers research. We take general donations, as well.”

Jenny. Again with Jenny. “This was all her idea?”

He eyed me as if I’d crawled out from under a rock. Perhaps I had. “She set things in motion five years ago when she took over the support group. Everyone jumped onboard wanting to help. You’ve been friends a long time. Surely, this isn’t news.”

“She never mentioned it.” I shook my head, floored again. Had I truly known her at all? Sexy bartender. Moody musician. Sweet best friend with a heart of gold. Now, church-goer and charity activist. The contradictions were staggering. “She’s really something.”

“That she is, son. And she thinks the world of you.”

My gaze whipped to his. Sincerity looked back at me. “The feeling is mutual.”

I hung around, helping where I could. I got choked up listening to Jenny sing her rendition of Etta James’
At Last
, and grinned like a fool when she followed that up with Elvis’
Blue Suede Shoes
. The barbershop quartet was quite good, as well as the choir. While the movies were playing, I helped Amber sell baked goods and stuffed the donation box with a huge donation when Jenny wasn’t looking. By late afternoon, everything was cleaned up and the volunteers heading home.

As I drove through town, nerves pinged my gut about kissing Amber. I’m not sure if it was worry I’d like it or fear I wouldn’t, but I focused way harder on driving than typical. By the time I pulled up to her small cookie cutter in an affluent area, I was sweating. We climbed out and I followed her to the door.

Keys in hand, she turned to face me and smiled. “Thanks for coming today. It meant a lot. My mom’s gone and it’s too late to help Jen-Jen’s grandfather, but hopefully by the time our generation’s older, there will be better treatment.”

“Agreed.” I skimmed my fingers over her jaw, her eyes widening as I drew closer. She didn’t back away, giving me the go-ahead. Hands on her shoulders, I pressed my mouth to hers.

Gently, I kissed her, brushing with care until she moved against me and participated. Her lips parted and, granted entry, I slid my tongue inside for a taste. Fruity gum and...desperation. Our dance wasn’t very well choreographed and our noses thunked, but I increased the pressure in order to feel something. Anything. I tried harder, stepping into her. Not even so much as a blip in my heartbeat. She wasn’t exactly acting like she was melting where we stood.

Damn. Slowly, I pulled away and found her disappointed gaze on me. We stared at each other for a beat.

“I guess that answers that.” One corner of her mouth curved. “You weren’t feeling it either, were you?”

I breathed a laugh and took a step back. “Shame, though.”

Nodding, she fiddled with the keys. “Friends and colleagues?”

“Yes to both. I enjoy your company.” Which wasn’t a lie. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

CHAPTER TEN

Jenny

I
stared at the text Matt had sent last night, and then the one from an hour ago.

It didn’t work out with Amber.

Come over here and ride out the storm with me tonight.

Sighing, I dropped my head to the back of the couch in my apartment. I hadn’t answered either text yet, just like he hadn’t responded to mine about the song not being about Ian. I still didn’t know what to say.

They’d bumped the weather forecast up to a tropical storm, and though it wasn’t predicted to be serious, I’d called my employees to let them know we’d be closed. There was no sense in risking it with being this close to the beach. Storms could mutate pretty quickly. It was set to hit early this afternoon. I’d already pulled the storm shutters closed downstairs and up in my apartment. Living in Myrtle all my life had meant I was usually prepared for weather. I had two battery-powered lanterns, flashlights, candles, and bottled water. The bar had a backup generator.

I wondered if Matt’s place was ready. Up until recently, the house sat empty most of the year. Concerned, I eyed my cell. If I headed over there, I could bring some supplies, just in case. As he’d said, we could ride the storm out together.

But he seemed to be avoiding the obvious chemistry we had going on. More than anything, I wanted him in my life. Always. Was it bitchy of me to punish him for not wanting the same thing? And it wasn’t as if we’d had a sit down on the matter. We’d tiptoed and talked around the truth, but hadn’t confronted it.

Sighing, I sent a text.
I’ll be there by lunch. I expect to beat you at Scrabble if the power goes out.
Then, I rose to shower and pack an overnight bag.

By the time I got to his house, he, too, had closed the storm shutters. He waited for me on the front porch step and rose.

“Pull your car next to mine in the garage. I made room.”

Nodding, I did what he asked and popped the trunk. The sky was growing an ugly shade of greenish-gray and the wind had kicked up considerably. Palm trees crackled and sea grass bent in half. Damp humidity and the scent of salty ozone clung to the air. The cold temperature wasn’t adding to the unpleasantness.

I passed him a bag of ice and hefted two grocery totes along with my overnight bag. “Do you have a cooler, in case?”

“Yep. We have a backup generator for the kitchen, too.”

He closed the garage door and I followed him inside. He had candles and flashlights on the kitchen island, a cooler on the floor. Once I opened the pantry to put a few dry items away, I realized I hadn’t needed to worry. Two cases of bottled water were on the floor and he’d bought his own supply of canned goods. Should’ve figured. Matt was a planner.

I turned to exit the pantry and bumped solidly into his chest. The breath caught in my throat. He gripped my upper arms to stabilize me, and the heat from his touch sent an electrical charge stronger than any lightning from the impending storm. Thunder cracked as if to punctuate the point. His light aftershave swirled around me and my belly fluttered.

He froze, our chests crushed together. Tension knotted his expression before he sucked oxygen through his flared nostrils and slammed his eyes shut. “Okay,” he ground out. “We need to discuss this. Tonight.”

My heart couldn’t decide whether to relocate my ribs or stop altogether. “You think?”

As if forcing himself to act, his fingers released me, one by one, and he took a deliberate step away. “Go ahead and take your bag upstairs. I still have to bring in the patio furniture. We can watch a movie, then start dinner and talk.”

He strode to the sliding glass doors and outside before I’d even caught my breath.

A few hours later, with the storm raging, we sat at the table and ate spaghetti and meatballs with a side of salad. In silence. I moved food around my plate, listening to the quiet of his breathing and the wind lashing against the house. With all the shutters closed, it gave the impression we were the only people in existence.

Unable to take it anymore, I pressed my lips together. “It didn’t work out with Amber, you said.”

He eyed me over the rim of his glass as he drank. “No. I kissed her after the benefit yesterday and there was no spark. For either of us.” He set the wine down and stared at me. “You go to church?”

Surprised at the abrupt topic change, I blinked. “Yes. The first Sunday of the month. We have the support group meeting right after. Grampy’s Baptist. He took me all the time when I was young. I wouldn’t say I’m devout, but I think he’d be pleased I’m still attending. Father Mike’s a nice guy.”

Pondering, he stroked his lips, and I wanted to be those fingers so badly. “And you’re the support group’s team mentor. And you started the charity event.”

“Yes,” I said slowly, not that he posed either as a question. What the hell did this have to do with anything?

“You never mentioned anything about it to me.” Before I could respond, he proved he wasn’t finished. “And you own a bar that was handed down to you, where you sing like a broken angel, ensnaring your audience like a witch.”

An exhale petered through my lips. “Was that a compliment?” It sounded like one. In fact, something close to sentiment tightened my throat. Except his frustrated, slightly baffled expression belied the words.

“Damn right, it was. Don’t pretend you don’t know warriors fall at your feet with a single note.” His hands fisted. “What are you doing in a bar with a voice like that? Why aren’t you recording?”

Confused. I was so damn confused. His harsh voice and body language screamed pure pissed off, but the things he said were...hell. Nice. I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember when a kind word had floored me like this. Not that I received them all that often.

I took a healthy gulp of wine before answering. “Recording isn’t as easy as that, and I’m not interested anyway. My music is for me. I’ve no dreams of becoming famous or living by a studio’s version of what sells.”

“It just...” He shook his head.

“Just what?”

He flicked his plate aside and leaned his forearms on the table. “It seems like an awful waste of talent. And you do have talent, Jenny, in spades.”

There he went again. Nice words laced with a barbed tone. “It’s not a waste if my customers enjoy it, if I’m happy where I am.”

Abruptly, he rose and brought the plates to the sink. Back rigid, he rinsed the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher. Then, gripping the counter, he stared out the only window not covered, the small spherical one above the sink, watching the storm, his jaw ticking. Silence hung until, finally, he sighed.

“Twelve years we’ve been friends, and I suddenly feel like I don’t know you. I’ve learned more about you in the past month...” He hung his head. “I guess we never really know anyone, do we?”

Anger pounded my temples. If he’d slapped me, I would’ve been less surprised. “You know me better than anyone else. What the hell kind of thing is that to say? What different does it make what I do--?”

“Because those things matter to you or else you wouldn’t do them. And I had no clue.” He blew out a breath, heavy with irritation. “You strut around on top of a bar looking like a siren, then you organize church functions with a modest pink ensemble. You’re a walking contradiction and I’m...baffled.”

Tapping my fingers on the table, I absorbed his frustration and lashed out with my own. “Do you inform me of every little thing in your life? What you accomplish at work, what you do on the weekends? No.” I rubbed my forehead. “You wear suits to the office that cost more than a year’s worth of my rent. And right now, you’re standing there in jeans with a hole in the knee and a T-shirt that’s more than five years old.” One of his college tees from when he played baseball. And Holy Mary, he looked good. Both the crisp businessman and the laid back beach bum. “We all have different sides of our personalities, Matt. Doesn’t mean you don’t know me.”

“But that’s how I’ve felt,” he said, his voice distant and gaze back on the window. “Left out, I guess.” Lightning flashed, illuminating his tight features for a stranded moment. “Do you ever wonder why us? Why, of all the people we’ve come across, you and I stuck as friends? We couldn’t be any more different. Your take no crap attitude and flare for life. And me, playing it safe, abiding by the rules. You have so much courage, a gumption I’ll never possess.” He shook his head. “Christ, Jenny. You exude life like most people do carbon dioxide.”

Criminy, this man! “Opposites attract?” But no, that wasn’t it at all. “Know what? I don’t ever wonder about that. I know the answer and have from the first second we met.”

Turning, he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms as if he needed a shield from my honesty. He stared at his bare feet like meeting my gaze might level him.

I pulled an inhale for nerve. “Sixteen years old, and not once had anyone looked at me and seen a person. To my mother, I was baggage. My Grampy, though he loved me before his mind went, viewed me as an orphan, his blood, and I became an obligation. To the kids at school, I was the trash to be taken out. With the boys, a toy to play with and toss aside.”

He looked at me now, eyes shining with anger and emotion. And that right there said it all.

“You might think meeting me was a crazy happenstance. But for me, it meant fate finally quit laughing in my face.” I swallowed hard, gaze dropping to my fingers on the wine glass. “I don’t know why the hell you stuck with me, but I stayed because my life started at sixteen on a hot July day with a bottle of water and a certain boy’s aw shucks grin.”

After the longest pause in earth’s history, when he spoke, his voice was rougher than the storm-tossed sea. “I stayed because I looked into your wounded eyes and, for the first time in my pathetically safe life, I had a semblance of who I was as a person, of who I could be. To this day, it’s still the only time I do.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know when this chemistry between us flared, or maybe it was always there simmering. You make me fucking burn, Jenny. But even if our friendship wasn’t a factor, I can’t go there with you. The last time I felt something even close to this, my world shifted, and I’m still clawing out from under the guilt.”

He walked to the table, grabbed his glass of wine, and strode into the living room.

Once I got my breath back and could trust my legs, I followed, finding him squatting in front of the mantle building a fire. The solitary lamp he’d turned on cast him in shadow. His posture was so deflated, so defeated, it brought tears to my eyes. He stayed crouched as if collecting himself, then stood and pointed to the couch, asking me to sit. Tucking my legs under me, I complied.

Easing onto the opposite end of the sofa, he gave me a wide berth and sighed. “Two years ago, I was restless. I don’t know why. Boredom, perhaps. I extended my trip that year. Do you remember?”

I nodded. If he was in his right frame of mind, he’d know that, too. He’d recall the way he’d collapsed in my arms on the beach and the fragmented jerks of explanation he’d given. Other than him telling me a few days later that he was going celibate, he’d never offered the story of what had happened.

He stared at the fire, his profile sharp and strong. He recanted meeting a nightclub owner and the short physical relationship they’d had. His voice was oddly hollow, and my belly churned. Something told me he was disgusted with himself for the affair.

“What was the attraction for you?” Matt didn’t take relationships lightly, and a quick fling wasn’t his thing.

Shaking his head, he rubbed his lips with his fingertips. “Honestly? Not a clue. She stroked my ego, that’s for sure. That someone like her could be interested in me was probably a factor.” He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. “I tend to gravitate toward quiet blondes. Cara was just so...different. When I was with her, it was all about sex. I didn’t have to think or... No. I
couldn’t
think, is more like it.”

Definitely disgusted with himself. I wondered why. Most guys didn’t give a damn about one-night stands and it wasn’t like he was promiscuous. I’d bet my right arm he treated her with respect, despite it only being sexual.

“She was an addict, though I didn’t know at the beginning.” He swirled the wine in his glass. “That last night, I tried to get her to see reason.”

What he said afterward had the hairs standing up on my neck. My heart twisted and a vise clamped my throat. She’d done that shit right in front of him. Matt detested drug use. I’d seen firsthand what they could do to a person. I was only eleven when mother had overdosed, but I recalled everything. The sickly smell and how the bitter odor clung to her clothes. The pallid shade of her skin. The dark circles and absentness in her gaze. Sleeping all the time, only to wake shaking and itchy and needing a fix.