Bolted (29 page)

Her chest was so tight she could hardly breathe. “Well. Um. I wanted to come and…and wish you a-and A-Allie all the best.” She
hated
how her voice stuttered.

He nodded slowly, his face solemn. “Really?”

No.
“Yes.”

“Have you seen Allie?”

“No.” She didn’t think she could. She hadn’t thought she could face her, either. She’d pictured herself sitting in the church, just one of the two hundred or so other guests there to witness their vows. But now Josh sat right in front of her.

There was so much she wanted to say to him, and yet so much she couldn’t say to him.
Josh.
Pressure built behind her eyes and cheekbones. Emotion swelled inside her.
Why are you marrying her? What about me? What happened to us, Josh? What is she giving you that I couldn’t? Just living here in Promise Harbor? Is that it?

After Josh had left, after she’d cried for about a week and spent the next six months wavering between anger and depression, she’d told herself that someday she would meet someone else. Someone like him. Someone honorable and brave and loyal. There was another man out there, someone like him, but someone who’d honor
her
, someone who’d be loyal to
her
.

Her heart hurt so badly at that moment she couldn’t think straight. They were sitting there staring at each other across the small table in Barney’s Chowder House, where they’d come that time they’d been back in Promise Harbor for Allie’s mom’s funeral, the only time they’d ever been there as a couple. The air around them thickened, heavy with memories, longing and regrets. Well,
she
felt regrets anyway—she couldn’t speak for Josh, but as he looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes and a slow, wistful smile…she thought maybe he did too.

But it was too late for that, so she pushed that all to the back of her brain where it belonged. Later she would pull out the memories again, let herself feel the longing and regrets, but now, she couldn’t. Because tomorrow Josh and Allie were getting married.

Her throat closed up and her eyes burned but she kept that smile firmly in place, trying to show him she was okay. “I hope you and Allie will be very happy together,” she said, her voice low because if she spoke any louder it would come out shaky. “I want you to be happy.”

She really did want him to be happy. Even though
she
wasn’t.

“Devon.” Her name was a sigh across his lips.

Jackson was sitting there watching them, his eyebrows pinched together. Devon smiled at him too, and he kind of winced. The waitress arrived with their burgers and fries. “Your food’s there,” she said, nodding.

“Uh. Yeah.” Josh hesitated. “Want to join us?”

Her smile started to hurt. “No, I’m done. I’m just leaving. Nice to see you again, Josh.”

Still he looked at her with that funny expression, and then he too smiled and nodded. “You too, Devon. You too.”

She grabbed her bill and hurried to the front to pay it so she could get the hell out of there.

His game… Her rules.

Busted

© 2013 Sydney Somers

Promise Harbor Wedding, Book 3

Hockey star Jackson Knight has a hundred reasons not to return to Promise Harbor, but none of them are good enough to get him out of attending his best friend’s wedding. Even with a career-ending knee injury, every puck-bunny in town will be gunning for him.

Worse, getting a pair of cuffs slapped on him at the bachelor party could ruin any chance of getting back in the game, even as a coach. Unless he can convince the arresting officer to smooth things over—by going to the wedding as his date.

Hayley Stone figures posing as Jackson’s girlfriend is the least she can do to salvage his reputation. Plus, having a man with a toe-curling smile on her arm will keep her ex off her back.

What starts as a simple plan to deflect small-town pot-shots unexpectedly becomes a sizzling night that hits Jackson like a full-body-check to the heart. Now he’s determined to prove that she’s the best of reason of all to come home—for good.

Warning: Contains a fiery powerplay both on and off the ice, skin-tingling forced intimacy, interfering grandparents, bear costume hijinks, a haunted house and the kind of game-changing chemistry worth fighting for.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Busted:

Promise Harbor, Population 20,121

The town’s welcome sign flew past in the Challenger’s rearview mirror, no more than a blink across Jackson’s peripheral vision. From his point of view there wasn’t a whole lot promising about coming home.

Jackson cranked the pounding music blaring out of the speakers up a little louder, determined to ignore the dread that turned his stomach into a mess of greased knots. He reached for the can of soda next to him, grimacing at the empty can.

More Pepsi was definitely needed to get through this weekend without anyone seeing him with a beer in his hand. Anywhere else he wouldn’t care what people thought of him, but this was home, for better or worse.

And one of his best friends was getting married.

Jackson’s trips home had been sporadic over the years. He’d made a point to fly his parents out to see him since the accident to avoid any unnecessary visits to Promise Harbor. Unfortunately, standing up with Josh on his wedding day qualified as a necessary visit.

Promise Harbor’s main intersection loomed ahead, and at the last second he swung right instead of left, away from his parents’ empty house. The dark sky above unleashed an early summer shower as familiar sights blurred past—the elementary school, his old high school girlfriend’s house, the rink.

The latter made the tightening in his stomach a million times worse.

He pulled into the parking lot of Stone’s Sports Bar, relieved that the weather and late afternoon meant few cars were in the gravel lot. He turned off the Jeep and sat staring at the ranch-style building through the rain pounding the windshield.

Why hadn’t he just fed Josh some bullshit excuse about not being able to make it? He’d certainly had enough practice at being a dick. He could have pulled it off, and yet here he sat.

Because he owed them.

Owed his best friends for refusing to let him feel sorry for himself when the rest of the world had wanted to poke at wounds that ripped him wide open inside.

Resigned, he pocketed the keys and climbed out. Even with the rain quickly soaking through his T-shirt, he didn’t rush up the wooden steps that had been slanted for as long as he could remember. Instead he leaned a shoulder against the wood post, inwardly steeling himself against the questions that would follow his long absence.

How’s the knee?

Is that the same car you wrecked?

What are your plans now?

“Son of a bitch!”

Jackson turned at the curse that came from the other side of the glass door. Curious, he pulled it open just as a tool went flying across the floor. Only two other tables were occupied inside and neither of the two men so much as glanced up when the hammer clanged off the metal table legs closest to Jackson.

Picking up the hammer, he followed the next steam of curses to a cute ass and phenomenal set of jean-clad legs peeking out from behind a jukebox—the Beast—that probably should have been left at the curb years ago.

Wary of more flying tools, he approached from the side as the woman straightened, her blond hair trailing down the back of her black shirt as she rounded the juke to deliver a solid kick to its front.

“There is no—”
kick,
“—beating this thing—”
kick,
“—into submission, Matt.”

A non-committal sound came from just inside the swinging door behind the bar.

The woman touched the glass dome with far more care than she’d taken with her foot. “You need to smarten the hell up or Matt’s giving you a one-way trip to the junkyard. C’mon baby.” The last words were a fervent plea.

She pushed a couple buttons and “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” exploded out of the speakers. She cursed again and drew her foot back for another kick. From the size of the dent people were still regularly nailing the Beast, although it clearly wasn’t affecting the sound quality.

“Need a hand?” He offered up the thrown hammer and at the same time processed the woman’s slate gray eyes as familiar.

Not waiting for an invitation, he eased into her personal space. She relinquished her spot in front of the jukebox, and from the corner of his eye, he thought he caught a glimpse of recognition on her face.

So they knew each other.

A mental replay of those legs and killer ass flashed through his head even as he reminded himself he wasn’t hooking up with anyone while he was in town. Way too much trouble.

“The Beast isn’t a machine you can tussle with. She likes a more precise touch.”

“Is that right?” One golden brow arched, and she waved at the machine with a by-all-means gesture.

He hadn’t expected otherwise considering his skills with taming the temperamental Beast were widely known. Why then did it feel like she was just humoring him?

He gripped the juke on either side and lifted just enough to rock the Beast side to side for a second, then an extra shimmy before dropping her back on the floor. “That always does the trick when it skips.”

Conscious of the blonde’s scrutiny, he skimmed the song selection and punched in a favorite.

“Hit Me With Your Best Shot” played again.

He frowned and jostled the jukebox a little harder this time. The song continued to play and…was it getting louder?

The blonde merely shrugged and held out the hammer.

“I got this.” He ignored the hammer, but reached around back and unplugged the machine for a few seconds, giving it time to reset. The aging machine probably just needed a little reboot and she’d rock the roof off this place like she always had.

Confidence took hold despite the blonde’s amused gaze, and he hit the play button. The same song pounded out of the speakers, the tune a sudden and unexpectedly potent reminder of everything he’d lost.

“Precise touch?” the blonde echoed, laughing a moment later.

The contagious sound pulled at his memory, but he couldn’t place it.

“You’d have a better shot of sending a rotten egg into the net without breaking it than getting anywhere with this machine,” she continued. She tucked the hammer back in the bag of tools on the table behind her.

“Sunset Bluff.” The words were out, his mind snagging the faint memory before it slipped away.

She paused, facing him with that skeptical brow arched.

“You and me in a red Chevy with a passenger window that wouldn’t roll down.” There was no way he had imagined that face staring at him through the passenger window, right?

“I remember that truck.” A flattering smile curved her lips, reinforcing the fuzzy memory he still couldn’t quite nail down. “The radio sucked.” More tools went into the bag.

The radio? “That’s all you remember?”

Her gaze turned reminiscent. “I do remember you throwing up everywhere.”

Details he could have done without came into sharper focus. He could count on one hand how many times he’d gotten drunk before being drafted at nineteen, and luck would have it that she’d apparently been there for one of those shining moments.

Fantastic.

He winced at the memory and the smile she tried to hide. Despite their embarrassing history, he found himself returning the smile. “At least tell me I made it up to you?”

She laughed even harder. “Not even close.” She hefted the bag off the table and carried it to the bar. “And I highly doubt it would have occurred to you to try.”

He hadn’t been nearly the jerk a lot of his high school buddies had been, even if his mind had been on hockey more than girls. With that easy, sexy smile of hers, he would have wanted to take her out again. He was sure of it.

“Then let me make it up to you now.” He gestured to the bar. “Let me buy you a drink. We can catch up, or at least maybe I can help you remember something better about that night.” His earlier determination to avoid women this weekend was going down in flames.

She threw him a disbelieving look. “You don’t even remember me.”

His silence was undoubtedly telling, but it was coming back to him. Heather…Haven… Something like that.

“Besides,” she added. “I don’t drink on the job.”

“Then later,” he pressed, wanting to talk to her a little longer. Maybe he could get her to laugh again. “You could tell me what’s changed around town. Or show me.”

When she bit her lip, tipping her head like she was actually considering it, he threw in, “We could sneak into the rink.” The outrageous suggestion had been one of his signature moves in high school, and it had never failed.

“You mean break in?”

He shrugged, both encouraged and just a little wary of the intrigue brightening those storm-gray eyes of hers. Why did it feel like he was missing something?

A moment later she burst out laughing. Again. “Did that actually get you laid?”

At least he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut on that one. Not that she gave him time to answer before she continued.

“You know what else I remember about that night? Getting stuck cleaning up your puke and being grounded for a month.”

Oh shit.

“Hayley,” he managed, the croaked name rising to the tip of his tongue out of nowhere.

She nodded and lowered her voice. “Though I usually go by Detective Stone these days.” Without a word she waved at the two tables across the room and headed for the door. “I’ll call you later, Matt.”

“See ya.” Matt came through the swinging doors, grinning as he stopped next to Jackson. “Welcome home, bro.”

Jackson stared at Hayley through the glass door. “That’s your sister.” Twin sister, though she and Matt didn’t look at all alike, or at least he’d never thought so before.

Matt had the decency to grimace instead of calling him an idiot outright. “Didn’t remember her, huh?”