Chapter Twenty-eight
A teenager would do this. A bad, out-of-control, irresponsible, consequences-be-damned teenager like Lacey hoped her daughter never would be. But Lacey was doing it anyway.
Tiptoeing out of the house at one-thirty in the morning, her sandals in hand to be sure she could escape in silence, Lacey turned the knob on the back door slowly to avoid the click. She kept one ear cocked in case Ashley or David sprang from the darkness and caught her sneaking out in the middle of the night to go have sex on the beach.
Outside, the still, silent night air, redolent with the hint of salt that permeated the whole island, sent a chill of anticipation over her skin. She pulled out her phone and texted Clay.
Made it—meet you in 5 min!
Okay, maybe the exclamation point was taking the teenager thing too far. But Lacey couldn’t help it. She was happy.
He’d finally texted. After almost two days—two long, lonely, empty days—Clay had texted. Okay, it had been after midnight and probably a total booty call, but Lacey didn’t care. She needed to see him. She needed to tell him how she felt and, damn it, she was going to do that before the presentation. No excuses.
Holding the straps of her sandals in one hand, she ran fast enough that the air lifted her hair and the breeze tickled right through the thin cotton sundress she wore with absolutely nothing underneath. Every cell in her body tingled in anticipation.
“Strawberry, you have it bad,” she whispered to herself, holding the nickname close to her heart. She’d never taste a strawberry again in her life without thinking of him. She could certainly tell him that tonight, if not some of her more intense thoughts about him.
The thought sent a shiver through her, this time right down to her bare toes as she scampered over the sandy sidewalk. His truck was already parked in a shadowy section of the lot, the lights off. Even in the waning moonlight, she could see his profile as he leaned against the headrest, eyes closed. She slipped up to the passenger’s side and lifted the handle.
“You asleep at the wheel, Clay?”
He looked at her, his eyes clear, his smile a little distant.
“Hey,” he said simply, finally dropping his gaze to the open top buttons of her thin cotton dress, the angle, she was certain, making it clear she had no bra on. He lingered there for a minute, then reached to bring her all the way into the truck.
“You look…” He hesitated, and her heart hit triple time as she waited for what he would say. “Just like I imagined you.”
“When were you imagining me?”
“Pretty much every minute I’m not with you.” Still holding her hand, he pulled her closer and she fell right into him, leaning over the console, anxious to meet his mouth.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispered.
“Yeah, me, too.” He kissed her gently at first, but instantly reacted to her heat, opening his mouth, holding her head in just the right place, soft lips torturing and tempting and taking ownership of hers.
Already breathless, she broke the kiss. “How’s the work going?”
“Done.” He ran his thumb over her lip, studying it as though the shape of it fascinated him. “We can rehearse the presentation tomorrow and present the next day.”
“Do you love it?” she asked.
“I love…”
Lacey held her breath, one word pounding in her head like a bass drum. You. You. You.
“I love a lot of things about it,” he finished, sending a physical jolt of disappointment through her.
“But not everything?” she prodded.
“There are a few things I’d like to change. I’m nervous that we don’t have those properties in hand but we’re presenting as though we do.”
“You thought that was the best way to go.”
He nodded. “I still do. I’m just worried about a curveball being thrown at us.”
“We’ll handle it,” she said, leaning in for another kiss. “Are we going to the beach?” she whispered, meaning, of course, the complete privacy of their beach on Barefoot Bay. That was where she wanted to tell him how she felt.
He shook his head. “Let’s stay here.”
More disappointment. But she covered it with a soft laugh. “Could get, um, steamy in this truck.”
“Could.” He fluttered some of her curls in his fingers, then dragged his hand down to the opening of her dress, his jaw slack as he slipped into the bodice and easily palmed her breast.
They both closed their eyes at the impact.
“I never stop wanting that,” she murmured, arching her back so he knew how much she loved his hand on her.
He leaned over and kissed her again, taking his hand out and slipping it under the hem of her dress, up her bare thighs.
“Now I really feel like a teenager instead of the mother of one.”
He didn’t answer, but inched his hand back down, his eyes flickering with an expression she couldn’t read. “Ever think about another one?”
The question threw her so completely she wasn’t entirely sure she understood. “Another baby?”
“Yeah, do you ever think about having another one?”
Where had that come from? A low, slow warmth wound through her, completely different from the heat his hands and mouth had been causing. “Why?”
He shrugged, the gesture more casual than the look in his eye let on. “Just wondering. I mean, you’re…”
“Getting older,” she supplied with a quick laugh. “But not too old.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I was thinking.…”
Hope, unexpected and raw and real, clutched her chest. Did he want a baby? Had being with her, and being with Ashley, made him realize how wonderful family could be?
She simply couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at her mouth. “If you want to know the truth, yes. I could see myself doing it all again. Maybe better next time.”
“You’re a great mother, Lacey.”
“Better than my own, that much is true, but I could stand for some improvement. And maybe a little help from”—the right man—“a good father.”
“David wants another, doesn’t he?”
“He said so, but we don’t really have any reason to discuss it. Who told you that?”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “I’m just observant.”
He hadn’t been around David that much, had he? “So what brought that question on?” Did she sound needy? Too bad. Maybe this was the opening she needed to tell him exactly how she felt.
I’m falling in love with you, Clay. Maybe he would say it first. Right now.
“I’ve been thinking about some things,” he said, looking away toward the beach.
Her heart did a quick double-beat. “What kind of things?”
“Just things.” He still wouldn’t look at her, and she fought the urge to reach out for his chin and turn him, just to say Look at me, damn it.
But his attention was on the black horizon of the water. And he was silent just a second or two too long, and all that happiness and hope started slowly seeping away like her heart was a balloon and his silence the pin that pricked it.
“I think you’ll like the final outcome of the plans,” he finally said.
“The building plans.” Because she had a feeling they were talking about two very different kinds of plans.
“Of course, the Casa Blanca plans.”
She slowly dropped back to her seat as the rest of her air, and hope, slipped away. “I can’t wait to see them. To present them.”
“And after that…” He finally looked at her.
“After that we’re building a resort,” she said, a little too sharply. “A resort that you designed. With villas and a house.” Right? Right?
Silence. Oh, God.
“Aren’t we, Clay?” A bad, bad feeling slivered through her.
“Lacey, I think maybe you should take the project to another builder.”
She just stared at him, any chance of taking a breath or firing back a response gone.
“I mean, you’ll have what you need to get started and I’ll have enough to sit for the exams. And I can consult from North Carolina if you—”
“Consult?” She practically choked the word. “You want to be a consultant?”
While she was sitting here rehearsing the first I love you? She grabbed the door, fighting the urge to flip the handle, shove it open, and run.
Instead she squeezed the metal and clenched her teeth. “If that’s what you want to do, then fine.”
“Lacey.”
“What?” She turned on him. “What do you want me to say? Great idea, Clay! Be a consultant from a thousand miles away.”
“I want you to have what you want.”
“I want you.” So much for subtle, perfectly timed, romantic admissions.
He took a slow breath. “I can’t give you want you want.”
“Meaning, what? You can’t give me…” Say it, say it, say it. “Love.”
The word hung like a cloying scent in the car. He swallowed and closed his eyes.
Shit. “I’m taking a walk,” she said.
Without waiting for his response she slid onto the running board, then hit the asphalt, congratulating herself on not bolting away like a kid having a temper tantrum.
Instead she took long strides to the boardwalk, then down to the beach, making it about fifty feet before he reached her side and took her arm.
“Lacey, please. This is better for both of us.”
“Is it? Well, sorry, I’ll be the judge of what’s better for me and I can tell you that your going back to North Carolina is not better for me. And David Fox is not better for me. No one is better for me than you.”
“Are you sure?” He took her wrist to pull her closer, but she yanked herself out of his grip.
“What do I need to say to convince you? I’m not in love with him. I’m… I’m not interested in having another child with him, no matter what he says or anyone else says.”
“I want you to be certain of that, because I can’t give you that.”
“I never said I wanted a child.”
“I can’t give you all the things you want. I can’t give you the kind of love you deserve. I’m not—I don’t have that in me. I have…”
“I know what you have,” she said. “Issues. Pain. A hurtful breakup. Problems. It’s called life, Clay. And you’re using them as…” She laughed softly, the irony of it all hitting her so hard it might be funny if it weren’t her heart that was breaking. “Excuses. You’re just using your dad and your hurt as excuses not to fall in love, not to have a family, not to have a life.”
He turned toward the water, away from her. “Maybe I am.”
“Well, I’m not,” she said, grabbing his arms to make him face her, the power of what she wanted to say and why she wanted to say it nearly rocking her backward. “I’m not afraid anymore. I’m not hiding behind excuses or old hurts.” She took a slow, deep breath and squeezed his arms. “I’m falling in love with you.”
“Lacey…” But his voice trailed off into silence.
“I’m waiting.” She smiled. “And not for you to say the same thing. I’m waiting for some kind of pain to consume me because I know you’re not going to say it.”
Searching her face, he stayed silent. Miserably, woefully silent.
“But that’s okay,” she said, a weird brightness almost choking her. “That’s okay because I feel the pain and the love and the need.” She hammered her chest. “I feel it right here.”
“Then you’re really lucky.” He took her fist and placed it on his chest. “You know what I feel there, Lacey?”
She shook her head.
“Numb.”
Numb. Not the four-letter word she was hoping to hear. “Maybe you’re just asleep,” she said. “Maybe someone or something needs to shake your heart awake.”
Without waiting for him to answer she walked away, the sand cold on her feet, vaguely aware of a buzzing in her head. No, that was his phone.
“Is someone texting you?” she asked. Now? At two in the morning?
He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, his eyes widening so slightly that someone who didn’t know his every expression might not notice. But she noticed. He didn’t read the text, just stuffed the phone back into his pocket.
When he looked up his entire expression had changed. His eyes were distant, and his brain somewhere else. Who had texted him? That wisp of jealousy she’d felt the other day wrapped around her chest. And squeezed.
Whoever it was had just taken him far, far away from a very important conversation. One she suddenly didn’t want to have anymore.
She climbed into the truck, slipped on her shoes, and swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. She would not let him see her cry. When he didn’t open the driver’s door, she checked the side-view mirror to see what he was doing.
Reading the text. Standing frozen in the moonlight, reading the words someone had sent him, running a hand through his hair, looking up at the sky and closing his eyes like someone had just stabbed him. The way he’d looked when he’d gotten off the phone with Darcie the other day. When he’d teared up and wouldn’t tell her why.
He stayed behind the truck for a good two minutes, long enough for her to start to question everything she knew about him.
Who was texting? Why wouldn’t he tell her? Was this text from…
Jayna. The name banged around her brain. Could he be talking to his ex? Still in love with her? Was that why he was numb? Unable to take the next step because maybe he thought there was still a chance with her?
Had he lied about talking to his sister that afternoon? Had he been talking to his ex?
He got in, his expression more frozen than before. They drove the two blocks to her parents’ house in a thick silence, the echo of her ugly thoughts all she could hear in her head.
“Look, Clay,” she said as he pulled the truck up to the curb. “The zoning presentation is in two days. Let’s stay focused on that and when it’s over we’ll figure out where we go from here, whether it’s to North Carolina or…”
“I’m going home.” He muttered the words. “I have to.”
She had no answer to that, and, honestly, it was obvious he didn’t want an argument. He was going home after this presentation.
“I’ll walk you to the door.” He flipped his phone onto the console and got out.
Her gaze cut to the phone. Her finger itched. Her brain hummed. Her heart rolled around.
With a lightning-quick move she touched the screen, making it light up. Then she touched it again to read the list of texts, the top name the most recent.
Jayna Walker
Oh, God.
He opened her door and she turned guiltily from the phone, inching forward so he wouldn’t see the light of the screen in the car. She took a minute to gather her bag, and her wits, and slowly stepped down, certain she hadn’t been caught.
Then she saw the moisture in his eyes. Apparently, there was a woman in this world who could make him cry. And it wasn’t Lacey Armstrong.
“I want to do the presentation alone,” she said.
“What?”
“Just let me make the presentation to the zoning committee on my own.”
She waited for the argument, the “Why would you do that?” fight. She wouldn’t admit she’d just peeked at who’d texted him, but—
“Okay.”
Okay. Okay? Had two syllables ever stabbed so deeply? What could she say? You’re supposed to say no!
“Okay,” she repeated, grateful that the word even found its way through her pain-thickened throat.
He didn’t respond, his eyes still distant. He was a million miles away—with Jayna.
“I’ll get the materials tomorrow morning,” she somehow managed to say. “Will you…”
“I’ll leave the key behind the mailbox.”
In other words, he’d be gone by tomorrow.
“Good-bye, Clay.” She opened the kitchen door and stepped inside as fast as she could move, with no regard for waking David or Ashley.
When she closed the door and leaned her head against it, she took a deep breath, but all that came out of her was a low, slow, soul-cracking, heart-wrenching sob.
“Mom?”
She whipped around to see Ashley at the kitchen table drinking a glass of milk, waiting for her like a mother waits for a wayward teenager who’s stolen away in the middle of the night. For a moment, Lacey braced herself for the inevitable disapproval, hearing her mother’s voice in her head.
I told you he was scum.
I warned you about that boy.
You never pick the right ones.
“What’s the matter, Mom?” Ashley stood slowly, her chair scraping over the tile floor, echoing loudly in the silent house.
“It’s Clay. He’s leaving.”
Ashley’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no! I’m sorry!”
“It’s not your fault, honey.”
“But, Mom…” Her face looked stricken as she came around the table, reaching out. “You’re crying!”
“I know you hate when I cry, Ash. I’m sorry. I-I just…” The sob caught in her throat, embarrassing her. “I feel so stupid.”
“You’re not stupid!”
She swiped her eyes, choking a dry laugh. “Honey, when you hand yourself over to a guy and give him everything and he dumps you, you are officially too stupid to deserve happiness.”
Ashley hugged her close, squeezing harder than Lacey could remember. “You’re not stupid, Mom. And you do deserve happiness.”
“Yes, I do, baby. Yes, I do.” The problem was she’d just thrown it away. And he hadn’t even put up a fight.