Bethany shivered as the cold air of the bathroom hit her wet skin. She’d needed a shower less for her body than for her mind.
Grandmother Trudy was at it again.
After the Purple Heart incident, Bethany had toyed with the idea of never speaking to the woman again. But her promise to her father kept ringing in her head, a constant reminder that he’d loved the woman—difficult though she was.
Bethany snorted as she briskly rubbed the green-striped towel down her body. Difficult wasn’t the word for Grandmother Trudy. Terrible? Impossible? Pure evil?
In any case, the phone call she’d gotten that morning had definitely left Bethany feeling off.
“I need to talk to you.”
“There’s nothing that needs to be said,” Bethany had said curtly, tossing the covers back and swinging her feet over the edge of the bed.
At six on a Saturday morning, the only phone calls that should be happening were for bodily injury or garage-sale early birds. This was neither. Well, the bodily injury was a thought…
“Your misunderstanding about my Marine’s medal has nothing to do with this.”
“My misunder—” Bethany shook her head and paced back and forth in front of her closet. “Never mind. Not discussing that with you. What is it?”
And then Grandmother Trudy had dropped the bomb.
“The family is coming into town this afternoon.”
Bethany’s stomach dropped, and her knees almost buckled, but she grabbed onto the knob of the closet door just in time to stop herself.
“What?”
“The family is coming in. Your uncle, aunt, and cousins. They want to see you.”
Even the memory of her grandmother’s words made Bethany want to hop straight back into the shower and stay there for the rest of the day. But she couldn’t. She had to go meet with her grandmother’s side of the family and pretend that everything was peachy keen, jelly bean.
She hated everything about that.
Jerking a brush through her wet hair, she avoided looking directly at the mirror. She knew what Sarah and Mama Yelverton would say if they knew what she was planning to do that afternoon.
“Are you insane? Why would you put yourself in that situation again?” Sarah would yell and rail, threatening to shake sense into her.
Mama Yelverton would shake her head sadly. “Bethany, I don’t think it’s a good idea. You remember what happened last time.”
She did. She remembered all too well how her grandmother’s brother, her great-uncle Reuben, had nearly set her grandmother’s house on fire. He’d gotten drunk while grilling, and an overreaction to a flare-up had sent flaming burger patties straight into a pile of cardboard boxes on the porch. His wife, Great-Aunt Wendy, had screamed at him the whole time, as if that would help to calm the flames that were licking their way toward the house. Bethany, ever the problem-solver, had immediately worked to put out the flames, but Uncle Reuben had stumbled into her, shoving her hands-first into the fire. She’d ended up in the ER all night with blistered palms and a deep-seated desire to never see those people again.
No wonder Grandmother hadn’t warned her in advance.
“So why are you even going?” Her question to herself was voiced aloud, but her answer was silent.
Because of that freaking promise. Dad, if you knew what this was going to cost me, would you have put me in this situation?
She wasn’t sure. But in any case, she’d do what she had to do to protect that horrible old woman.
For her father’s sake. Semper fi.
She took her time getting dressed. After all, it wasn’t like she wanted to be in her grandmother’s company any more than she had to be. Especially after the most recent violation she’d so cavalierly tossed Bethany’s way.
Clothes. Makeup. Hair. Bethany sighed as she turned off her curling iron. At least if the whole group of them was arrested for a public WWE-style brawl, her mug shot would look pretty good.
If she still had all her teeth. Aunt Wendy had a mean right hook. She’d witnessed it being aimed at Uncle Reuben plenty of times.
A soft trilling from her bedroom wrenched a groan from her.
Phone ringing again.
For a moment she was tempted to let voicemail have it. That way, if the caller had the last name of Yelverton, she’d be saved from having to lie about her plans for the day. And if it was Grandmother? Well, she’d be seeing her soon enough anyway.
But ignoring problems wasn’t inside Bethany’s comfort zone. With a curse, she sprinted toward the bedroom, skidding to a stop in front of the bedside table.
Her heart did a little turn and skip when she saw the name flashing on the screen. With a quick breath to compose herself, she swiped the answer button.
“Trey?”
That deep, rough voice never failed to warm her from the inside out. “Beth. How are you?”
“Okay,” she said, wrapping her free arm over her stomach in an effort to calm the butterflies.
Hadn’t she told herself that she was going to keep her distance from Trey? That she’d treat him like a brother from now on? Why hadn’t her body gotten the hint?
“Sorry to bother you so early on a Saturday, but I wondered if you would have some time to help me with those invitations this afternoon. I need to get the proofs to Mrs. Yelverton soon.”
Bethany bit her lip and looked toward the spare bedroom, where her die-cut machine sat in the same place that Trey had left it.
“Oh, I wish I could. Believe me, I do. I would much rather be doing that than going where I’ve got to go today.”
“It’s okay. We can work on them some other time. Just thought you might have a free day. Don’t want to interrupt your plans.”
The wheels in Bethany’s head started turning then. A smile broke out across her face as the notion formed.
“Hey, Trey. You’re pretty good at keeping people straight, right?”
Trey snorted. “I’ve made a career out of it.”
Incredulity crept into Bethany’s tone with a good bit of mirth. “I guess wedding planning is kind of an exercise in crowd control.”
Trey cleared his throat. “Yeah. Um, yes. Right. Why do you ask?”
“If you’re free this afternoon, think you could give me a hand? It’ll take a little acting on your part, but you’d be making my life a lot easier.”
She could almost imagine him crossing his arms over that broad, muscled chest as he said, “Details. And don’t skimp.”
As much as she could without talking about her father, Bethany gave him the scoop. She finished up with “…and if you’re with me, I think they’d be much more inclined to behave. I mean this in the nicest way possible, but you’re a little, erm, physically intimidating.”
His laugh brought the blood rushing to her cheeks.
“I’ll take that as a compliment. But what’s the excuse for bringing me to a family function? Won’t they wonder who I am?”
Her cheeks got hotter. “Well, if you were to pose as someone important to me, that’d explain it pretty well, I think.”
“I could do worse than act like the boyfriend to a perfect blond princess like you.”
Her hackles rose. “I’m not a perfect blond princess.”
“You’re right, Strong Girl. My mistake. I’m in. No charge. Where should I meet you?”
Relief soaked her as she rattled off the address to the restaurant her grandmother had chosen.
As the call ended, Bethany looked down at the phone in her hand.
Well, it was a Hail Mary pass for sure. Here’s hoping it worked out. And if not? Worst case?
She got to pretend to be Trey’s girlfriend for an afternoon.
That was a guilty fantasy almost worth facing her family for.
* * *
Trey cut the engine of his bike at the back corner of a crowded parking lot. His nostrils twitched as he took in the sight of all the SUVs, minivans, and hybrid sedans crowded around the Olive Garden like suburbanite piglets rooting for a spot at the faux-Italian teats.
Of all the places Bethany’s family could have picked…
He gritted his teeth and swung his leg over the bike. He could put up with the place for her. At least they had good breadsticks.
Frankie Blue Eyes crooned through the tinny speakers aimed at the poor jokers stuck outside in the chilly breeze. Trey strode past them toward the entrance. Bethany had already texted him that she was inside.
The hostess shrank back a bit at the sight of Trey—or it could have been the dark look that probably crossed his face when he took in the pungent scent of garlic that clung to the place like cheap perfume. But in any case, she ushered him back to the corner of the restaurant where Bethany was sitting alone at a table for ten.
“Hi,” she said, smiling up at him. And with that one expression, ninety percent of his pissed-off drifted away on the vampire-repellent breeze.
“Hey,” he said, sinking into the chair beside her. Despite the crowded restaurant, there was a good amount of space around their mostly empty table. “How long have you been here?”
“Since they opened,” Bethany admitted, circling her glass of water with both hands. Drops of condensation puddled in the tender spot between her thumb and palm. Trey wanted to reach over and brush it away, but he didn’t. “It’s better if we’re back here. Disturb fewer people that way.”
“It’s only one. You really think he’ll get that drunk?”
Bethany bit the side of her lip as she looked up at him. Damn. She really shouldn’t do that. It reminded him how soft her mouth was, how it had felt as he kissed her—
“He starts early. And he doesn’t really need to be drunk to be an asshole. He’s a lot like Grandmother Trudy in that respect.”
“I see.”
And Trey did. In the way her hand shook a little as she lifted her glass to her lips. In the wary way her eyes darted toward the room’s entrance over and over. In the waves of frustration that were almost visibly rising from her.
His strong girl was rattled, and if that didn’t make him want to throttle whatever was bugging her, almost nothing would.
“You’ve got this,” he said, reaching over and catching her hand. Her skin was cold and damp from the glass, and he rubbed it with his warmer one. “I’m here with you. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“Thanks,” she whispered, looking up into his eyes with those baby blues of hers. God, she was so beautiful. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this, but I can’t help but be really happy you’re here.”
He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. There weren’t words for the weird feeling taking over his chest, the swelling mixture of pride and he didn’t know what else inside him. But it was a good feeling. A big feeling.
She was shaking him up in ways he’d never expected.
“Oh God,” she said, looking out the window. “They’re here.”
She started to jerk her hand away. He gripped it tighter. “We’re supposed to be together, right? Let me help.”
She nodded and squeezed back. “You’re right. Oh God, this is going to be a nightmare.”
Trey sank back into the chair’s cushioned backrest, smiling a little to himself.
Bethany didn’t know who she’d chosen for her backup. She had no clue that Trey regularly handled addicts, prisoners, the dregs of society. There was no way for her to understand that there wasn’t anything her drunk uncle Reuben could throw at him that he wasn’t prepared for.
This, Trey thought, rubbing his thumb across the rapidly jumping pulse at Bethany’s wrist, is going to be fun.
But, then again…
“Bethany!”
Trey blinked twice. The man was probably 150 pounds soaking wet. His face was flushed, his walk unsteady, as if he’d already been hitting the bottle before walking in.
Behind him was a pinched-faced, thin woman with dyed-black wispy hair. His wife, Trey presumed. Behind them was a stooped-backed, gray-haired woman whose sweatshirt had entirely too many fake gems hot-glued to it. The way her faded blue eyes darted around the room, her fingers curling into her palms, Trey guessed this was the hoarding grandma that Bethany was not fond of.
A group of teenagers followed behind them, staring down into their phones and pretending not to be there. Trey couldn’t blame them as Bethany and he rose to greet the newcomers.
“Hi, Uncle Reuben,” Bethany said weakly as the man gathered her into his arms for a hug. He lingered too long, and Trey’s protective instincts kicked into gear as the guy’s bony fingers wandered a little too far down Bethany’s back for a friendly uncle’s hug. He reached over and grabbed Bethany’s arm, pulling her free of Uncle Handsy’s embrace. She shot him a grateful look as he slung his arm possessively over her shoulder.
“Who’s this?” Aunt Wendy sniffed as she sank into a seat in the center of the long table.
“This is my…my boyfriend.” Bethany didn’t meet his eyes as she said it, but Trey gave her an encouraging squeeze. “Trey Harding. This is my aunt…”
As Bethany made the introductions, Trey started cataloging their opponents.
Reuben. More than half drunk. Obviously too fond of his niece. Asshole to the waiter. Huge potential for trouble.
Wendy. Chronic bitch face. Jealous of Reuben, with good reason. Prone to talking loudly over anyone and everyone. Huge potential for escalating whatever Reuben decided to start.
Grandma Trudy. Narcissistic klepto. Had already tucked her silverware and napkin into her oversized purse and asked the confused waiter for more. Had skewered Bethany with more than one comment about her “trashy gangbanger” boyfriend. Needed a good kick up the bony ass, but would probably stay out of Reuben’s way if he went postal.
The teenagers were non-issues. They were Reuben and Wendy’s grandkids and would obviously rather be pretty much anywhere other than at the Olive Garden seeing their Great Aunt Trudy and distant cousin Bethany.
Trey ordered an iced tea when the waiter got around to him, and settled back with his hand firmly on the back of Bethany’s chair.
“So, how long has this little…thing…been going on? I’d never have dated someone like that.” Grandma Trudy looked like she’d smelled something bad as she asked the question. Her face resembled the backside of an alley cat.
Bethany smiled shyly over at Trey. “A couple months now. Trey’s such a great guy.”
“He’s got an awful lot of tattoos,” Reuben grunted over his “sample” glass of wine. He’d intentionally bumped the waiter’s arm so his glass had gotten overfilled.
“I do,” Trey said smoothly, presenting his fist to Reuben, knuckles first, only inches from his nose. “Want to check them out?”
Reuben blinked owlishly as he realized Trey’s smooth reply was a threat.
“No, no, that’s okay.” Reuben rounded on the waiter, who’d stopped by with his notepad to take their order. “This sample tastes bad.” He lifted his mostly empty glass of white. “What’ve you got in red?”
Trey’s muscles twitched as he settled back in next to Bethany.
That poor waiter better keep those breadsticks coming. This was going to be a long lunch.