Bethany wondered if the green floral carpeting beneath her feet could swallow her up if she wished for it hard enough.
As glad as she was not to be alone with her terrible, loud, getting-drunker-by-the-second family, she couldn’t help but be embarrassed that Trey was seeing all this and taking the brunt of the rude questions and comments about his, well, everything.
First Uncle Reuben had started on the tattoos, then Aunt Wendy on his beard stubble and shaggy hair. Then Grandmother on his clothes. So what if they were dark? So what if his leather jacket had scuff marks on it? And yeah, he was a big guy, but it was all muscle. Aunt Wendy’s sniffling comment about big, hairy men was completely uncalled for.
When their entrees arrived, Bethany picked at her pasta, trying to let the conversation blow right over her. Beside her, Trey was munching on a breadstick instead of his own bowl of noodles and sauce. She wanted to ask him to make sure his food was okay, but she didn’t want to draw attention to them again, since the discussion seemed to finally have veered away from Bethany’s poor life decisions.
“…should have let me help you with that,” Uncle Reuben was saying to his older sister. Grandmother was shooting daggers at him as he continued, completely oblivious. “At your age, you shouldn’t be trying to do all that paperwork on your own.”
“It’s none of your business,” Grandmother fired back as she speared a meatball with her fork. “I can handle my own affairs.”
“But I’ve told you a million times, that’s not the right investment for you. When your son died, I told you at the funeral that you should take that money and—”
Bethany’s stomach dropped as if the penne she’d just swallowed was made of solid lead instead of wheat. “What did you say?”
Trey sat up straighter, as if the tension in Bethany’s question had put him on alert.
God, she was glad he was there beside her. Even gladder when he reached beneath the table and put his broad hand over her cold one, squeezing slightly.
“It was life insurance money. Nothing that should have gone to you, you greedy little snot,” Grandmother said, alternating her dirty looks between Bethany and Reuben. “I paid the premiums. It was my policy on my Marine.”
Bethany didn’t say anything further. Nothing surprised her anymore. Of course her grandmother had hoarded the money from her father’s life insurance. The funeral he’d had had been so sparse, it had looked like he’d died penniless.
But a funeral wouldn’t bring her father back. She’d given up being upset about her grandmother’s decisions after Dad’s death several years ago.
That didn’t mean salt in the old wound didn’t sting though.
“I’ve told you many times not to bring up my money matters in front of people,” Grandmother said to Reuben with a glower. “My finances aren’t to do with anybody else.”
“They will be when Reuben puts you in a home,” Aunt Wendy said with a gleeful little cackle. “He’s just trying to make his job easier.”
“What do you mean, a home? There ain’t a thing wrong with me!”
“Now, Trudy, we both know you’re getting on a bit,” Reuben said, gesturing with his wineglass. A good bit sloshed out onto the front of his shirt. He frowned down at the stain before taking another swig and continuing. “I’m just looking out for your best interests. When you can’t handle living on your own anymore, what do you think will happen?”
“I’m not going into any home!” Grandmother’s voice pitched into a near-shriek as she stood and looked at her brother. “All my things are at my house. That’s where I belong. And if I need help, I’ll make Bethany move in with me. It’s where she’s supposed to have been all along.”
Bethany’s blood turned to ice in her veins, and instantly the promise she’d made felt like an iron shackle around her future. “No,” she said, weakly at first and then stronger as she repeated it. “No. This is not happening. And it’s not appropriate to talk about this in public.”
“You’re damn right it’s not.” Uncle Reuben slammed his wineglass down so hard Bethany was afraid the stem would shatter. “I’ve got rights, and I’m not about to lose them to a girl who’s sleeping with some kind of gangbanger. She’s probably got all kinds of diseases now, and—”
“I’m going to give you about two seconds to shut your damn mouth before I shut it for you.”
Four heads turned as if on swivels. Trey was smiling, but his expression wasn’t cheery in the least. He was staring down Uncle Reuben like a big cat sizing up his prey.
“Bethany’s off-limits. Talk all the shit you want to about the rest of your family, but keep your trap shut when it comes to her.”
Bethany could do nothing but stare at Trey as Uncle Reuben’s temper shot through the roof. Gratitude suffused her. She’d been silently praying for a fire in the kitchen or a meteor strike, anything to get them out of there. Apparently Trey was a mind reader.
“Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that?”
Aunt Wendy wouldn’t sit back for it either. She jumped to her feet much quicker than Bethany had ever seen her move before. “My husband’s got every right to talk however he wants! This is a free country!”
Grandmother, suddenly realizing that none of the attention was on her, jumped into the fray. “I can’t believe you’re acting like this in front of the family! You’re embarrassing me, Bethany Ann Jernigan! I’ve never been so humiliated in my life!”
This was a scene Bethany had watched play out a billion times before. It was as if she were frozen in place, desperate to escape but held by the invisible shackles of an unlucky genetic link and the promise she’d made. God, she’d give anything to get out of this.
Trey stood too, pulling Bethany to her feet and grabbing the strap of her purse in his free hand. “We’re not going to sit here and listen to you be like this. We’re leaving.”
“The hell you are! You’ll sit down and act like a civilized person and not ruin my family dinner!” Grandmother reached for Bethany’s arm, but Trey blocked her grip. Not to be outdone, Uncle Reuben decided that he’d be the one to pull his prodigal niece back into the fold where she belonged.
But because of his impaired depth perception—thank you, alcohol—he missed entirely, his balance falling victim to his ill-advised movement. Instead of Bethany, he grabbed the table and jerked.
Breadsticks and pasta went flying, glass breaking, wine spreading across the plush carpeting like floodwaters overtaking a flowered field. Bethany jumped back to avoid it puddling around her shoes.
Reuben stumbled toward them, red-faced and yelling, his fists held up as if he intended to start beating one or both of them.
“We’re leaving,” Trey said and dragged her out of the path of stampeding Reuben.
The waiter arrived then. “What’s going on? What ha—”
His words were cut off midsentence, and Bethany turned just in time to see Reuben’s wild swing connect with the waiter’s midsection.
“Reuben!” Aunt Wendy screamed. Not to be outdone, Grandmother sank to the pasta-covered floor in a dead—presumably faked—faint.
Trey didn’t stop. He shoved through the front doors like the devil was on their heels. Bethany could have told him he didn’t have to worry—Trudy was “passed out” in a pile of broken breadsticks and a river of wine.
It was true. They were leaving. She was getting out. For a moment she wondered if she was dreaming, as if mortification and a blow to the head had rendered her unconscious.
“Where’s your car?”
Bethany nodded toward the neighboring lot. “I parked in front of the department store.”
“No time,” Trey said as blue lights lit up the distance. “Hop on my bike.”
He passed Bethany his helmet as he cranked the engine. She locked her grip around his strong midsection, her heart in her throat as he left the lot at speed.
They passed the cop car as it peeled into the parking lot.
With his strong back against her cheek, Bethany held tight as the wind tore at her clothes and her hair where it streamed from beneath the helmet.
He’d saved her. Again. How could she ever repay him?
* * *
Trey would have found the whole situation hysterical except for two things—one, he’d been planning to take a bunch of those breadsticks home with him. And two?
That dick-for-brains had insulted Bethany.
The urge to deck the drunken asshole had been strong, but the need to get her away from the situation had won out. Good thing too. He’d had plenty of close calls with the law in the past, and he knew what happened if the cops started remembering you. It would be nothing good. No matter how innocent he’d been, he’d have a much harder time proving it than the belligerent asshole, drunk as he was.
Bethany’s arms were locked around his middle as they moved into a more rural section of the county. Trey’s temper eased a little as he sped down the road. The feel of the wind, the speed, the beautiful woman who’d leaned on him that day, her arms and legs still around him—how could he stay angry when he had that?
It was as if something in him had broken. No. Something in him had been broken, and it was healing, slowly but surely, with every minute he spent in her presence.
He didn’t want to think about that too much. Distraction.
Maybe it was the intensity of the day, but this fake relationship was feeling all too real right now. Wouldn’t it feel good to just keep pretending? He’d need to grab a second helmet if Bethany would be riding with him. He’d had short-lived relationships in the past, but none of those women had been on the back of his bike that often. But Bethany… Now that was a pleasant thought. She was thin and lean, but her grip was strong. He wouldn’t take any chances with her. She needed some leathers too. The wind wasn’t as cold as it had been, but at speed, those jeans and that sweater she wore would act like lace—all holes and no warmth.
He was insane to be thinking about having a future with her, but he’d never claimed to be wrapped too tight. After all, he had decided to pretend to be a goddamn wedding planner to impress his mommy.
“Where are we going?” Bethany shouted over the sound of the engine as they stopped at a red light.
“My place,” he replied. “That okay?”
She nodded rather than yelling again, and he kicked off the pavement when the light turned green.
He hadn’t really thought about his destination. He’d just automatically turned his bike toward home. Felt right, somehow, the idea of showing her his private hideaway.
Nobody but his brothers in the Shadows had been to his house. Hell, only Wolf and Jameson had been inside it. None of the women he’d spent time with had been invited.
After the childhood he’d had, Trey was much too protective of his private space to share it with just anyone.
As a foster kid, there wasn’t much that he could call his own. He’d shared clothes, bedrooms, books, toys, everything. When he’d gotten attached to something, it was inevitably taken away. The idea of keeping his home private and sacred was ingrained, and the relief he’d felt at being able to keep the space safe had been worth a lot.
But Bethany he trusted. He wasn’t sure why, or how, in such a short time. It might be because she’d revealed so much to him that morning.
Her family was obviously a huge source of discomfort for her. No wonder she stuck close to the Yelvertons. They were as different from her grandmother and company as night was from day. And though he knew there were things she hadn’t told him, she’d showed him her vulnerability. Had trusted him with it.
How could he not do the same?
The wooded path that led to his house split in two, with the left branch leading to the bigger houses on the property, and the right branch heading toward the little house Trey called his own. The rumbling of the engine echoed off the trees as he slowly rolled toward home.
He could feel her body move as she looked around, and he smiled a little.
Was she worried he was dragging her out to the woods to take advantage of her? Or was she hoping for it?
Well, he couldn’t deny that lying her down in a private bower wasn’t tempting, but it’d be with her full support and on a much warmer day.
He cut the engine in front of his house, and the silence was loud around them.
“You live here?”
He lowered the kickstand. “Yup.”
“I pictured something…different.”
Trey snorted. “Sorry. Would you rather I hole up at the bar?”
“No, no, not what I meant. Sorry.”
He reached beneath her chin and unbuckled his helmet. It was a little too big for her. He’d grab a spare from the house for her. “I’m just giving you a hard time. Come on.”
Lacing his fingers through hers, he led her up the front porch steps.
“It’s beautiful,” she said as he unlocked the door. Her voice was soft as a flower petal. “So quiet and private.”
He didn’t say anything, just held open the door for her. And for some reason, his nerves stretched tight as she entered his private space.
It wasn’t that he felt violated. In fact, quite the opposite. He was desperate for her to feel welcomed, to like what she saw.
What was wrong with him?
As she turned slowly, examining the room she’d entered, he found himself standing stock-still, spine ramrod-straight, hardly breathing, his gaze trained on her.
She looked from the extra-long couch done in dark green to the cream-colored rug in front of the cold wood-burning fireplace. TV, game consoles, and DVDs lined the opposite wall. Just beyond was his kitchen, small, quaint, but neat. The hallway to the left led to the single bedroom and bathroom. And, straight ahead…
“Your view is gorgeous.”
She walked toward the sliding glass doors, straight to his favorite spot on the whole property. And something inside him fell into place.
In his whole life, nobody had seemed to get him that way. Nobody loved the things he loved, nobody felt the way he did. But when he saw Bethany’s eyes light up at the sight of the duck pond outside his deck, the weathered wood and rushes surrounding the little dock, the way her hand caressed the back of his chair as she sighed happily, he knew.
There was someone like him in the world. And she was it.