Love Everlasting (Isle of Hope series Book 2) (10 page)

Chapter Thirteen

One leg jiggling over his knee, Sam drummed his fingers on the patio café table at Cutter’s, glancing at his watch for the umpteenth time. “Where the heck is she?” he muttered, well aware it was two minutes to four, so Shannon wasn’t technically late. But it felt like he’d been waiting for days, the Pepcid AC he took a while ago doing nothing for the churning in his stomach. He could blame it on the four cappuccinos he’d had since he’d arrived an hour ago, he supposed. Or the ten-mile jog this morning before he went home and changed, which had been more of a run for his life than a jog. Or even the stupid bees that buzzed around the pot of petunias hanging next to his table. He swatted at one who zipped too close. Bees made him downright nervous since they liked to sting him too much.

Just like Jasmine was about to do.

He upended his cup, then scowled when sludge trickled down his throat. Nope, it didn’t take a medical degree to diagnose the awful pains in his stomach because he knew exactly why they were there. Jazz was coming over tomorrow to pick up the rest of her things.

Including her favorite swimsuit.

For a trip to the Bahamas.

With the intern.

“Where are you, Shannon, I need you,” he muttered under his breath, switching legs to twitch the other over his knee while the leather tie on his tan Topsiders flopped in the air, as goosey as him. He looked at his watch again before scanning the parking lot, the sight of her car pulling in both expanding his rib cage in relief and racing his pulse more than the stupid coffee. She got out of her car and he exhaled slowly, thinking she had to be one of the purest, most natural women he’d ever seen, sun glinting off strawberry blonde hair thrown into an adorable messy bun as unpretentious as she.

A slow smile slid across his face as he watched her, always amazed how unspoiled she looked with her clean peaches-and-cream complexion and smattering of near-invisible freckles. Like a Georgia peach, just beginning to turn lush and ripe. Even from across the parking lot, he could see a spark of fire in those blue eyes, and his smile blossomed into a grin at the tight press of her lips. Generous lips usually full in repose, the color of pale raspberries and just as sweet.

Not that he was ever going to taste them again. His mouth quirked as he snatched his cell off the table and slipped it into the pocket of his creased Brooks Brothers shorts. Because Shannon couldn’t abide him as a man, which made her the perfect choice as a female friend. As much as Shannon’s sweet and pure appearance inspired nibbling, he’d discovered since that night in his kitchen that he liked having a woman as a good friend, so he wasn’t about to botch it up again. This friendship was too important.

Because Jazz is too important.

“Hey, you didn’t have to bother dressing up on my account,” he teased as he rose, her bare-bones getup only reinforcing her wholesome appearance. His grin ramped up to double dimples when those porcelain cheeks ripened with a blush, wondering why on earth he got a kick out of tweaking such a sweet and shy kid. Maybe because that sweet mouth pinched in restraint and those searing blue eyes challenged him to trip that glorious temper no one else ever saw, unleashing words no one else ever had the guts to say.

The truth.

“So … what’s your pleasure, Angel Eyes?” he said, pushing in his chair.

The edge of her mouth ticked up. “A tall, frosty glass of peach iced tea.” She batted his hand away from the small of her back when he tried to usher her inside. “At home.”

“Your wish is my command,” he said, looping her waist to whirl her back toward the parking lot. “Just lead the way, kiddo.”

“Not a chance, Doc.” Slapping his arm away, she ricocheted back to the entrance like a paddleball on a string, ducking inside before he could even open the door. “Jack would blow a gasket if he saw me out with you, which come to think of it, might be a good thing.” She lobbed a one-sided smile over her shoulder. “
Way
cheaper than a restraining order.”

She marched right up to the counter and ordered a peach iced tea, then tussled with him about paying for her own, losing the battle when the young woman deferred to him with a dazzling smile.

“You know, it’s downright criminal how you get your way with women.” Shaking her head, Shannon made a beeline for the outside patio.

“Not all of them,” Sam said with a wry smile, racing to open the door for her, “which is why you’re here, remember?”

“Really?” Shannon seated herself at the table, offering a flutter of lashes that tickled him because it seemed so out of character. “I thought it was because of extortion.”

He grinned and slid in his chair, questioning his sanity in purchasing a fifth cappuccino. “Come on, Shannon, ‘extortion’ sounds so crass. Let’s just think of it as two friends helping each other out.”

Cracking a skewed smile, she perched on the edge of her chair with hands neatly folded on the table. “Like I said—extortion. But since we’re both here and I’m not wearing heels, why don’t we get down to business?”

“See? That’s what I like about you,” he said with a chuckle, “you don’t mince words; you get right to the point.” He took a healthy swig of his coffee, eyeing her over the rim with a teasing look. “With or without stilettos.” Setting his cup down, he sucked in a deep breath and propped his arms on the table, all of his good humor bleeding out along with a long, bumpy sigh.

“She’s going to the Bahamas with him,” he said quietly, just saying the words out loud a reality crash that sent his stomach into a free fall. Head bowed, he gouged his eye socket with the pad of his thumb. The happy-go-lucky persona he worked so hard to maintain with an upbeat manner and maniacal regimen suddenly stripped away to reveal the wounded man inside. For some reason he couldn’t ascertain, Shannon’s presence allowed him the luxury of brutal honesty, exposing deeply buried feelings no one ever saw—sometimes not even him.

“Oh, Sam …” Shannon’s whisper carried all the tender compassion he’d known it would, the barest touch of her fingers to his a balm he’d seldom experienced before. Certainly not from a mother who’d deserted him at the age of five nor from a long line of foster parents more interested in the subsidy than in him. And one sure didn’t unload true feelings and failures with other guys, not even good friends like Jack, and never
ever
with women. Especially a woman like Jazz. No, he’d learned long ago that image was all he really had to ward off the pain, all he could really count on to keep him afloat when others deserted him. And they always did.

Eventually.

His dad. His mom. His foster parents. His fiancée in college.

Even Jazz.

Shannon gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“Yeah, me too,” he muttered, voice barely audible as his gaze lagged into a vacant stare, memories of past relationships tainting his mind. Far as Sam could tell, love was little more than a commodity, as fleeting as the people who stole in and out of his life, a revolving door of rejection that always hit him hard. Which is why image was everything. A message to the world that he had it all, no matter how many people screwed around with his heart.

Unfortunately, Jazz was not only an important part of that image, she was the one woman who’d managed to make him care despite his “player” charade—that careful façade that had both bolstered his confidence and kept rejection at bay.

Until Jazz.

The one challenge he had yet to conquer.

His mouth tamped in a tight line. And he’d never walked away from a challenge yet. Without thinking, he downed his cappuccino in a series of scalding glugs, as if it were the whiskey with which he’d numbed the pain at the Memorial fundraiser. Slamming the cup on the table, he shoved it away, his voice taking on an edge. “But, it is what it is,” he said, huffing out a noisy sigh. He peered up. “Now I just need to figure out how to get it back to what it ‘was.’”

Serious blues eyes stared back, soft and serene, reminding him just why he’d nicknamed her Angel Eyes. “How about … to what it
could be
instead?” she said quietly, and his pulse hitched hard for several precarious seconds, the impact of her words as loud as if she’d blasted them through a megaphone.

He sat straight up, adrenaline pumping through his veins along with the caffeine. “Yeah … yeah, that’s exactly what I want.” Shaking his head over the brilliance of her statement, he fanned fingers through his hair with an open-mouthed smile, wondering how on earth he’d managed without a female friend like Shannon all of this time. “I mean, that wasn’t what I was after in the beginning, I’ll admit. I just wanted what we had before—a nice, cozy relationship with lots of fun. But since I’ve lost her twice now, it’s been like a kick in the head, you know? Making me realize just how much I care about her and want her in my life.”

He grinned outright, the revelation escalating his mood as much as the cappuccino. “I never even thought about it being any better.” Tunneling his hand through the curls at the back of his head, it latched there as he stared at her in awe. “I swear, Shannon, you’re amazing. One sentence. One mind-blowing sentence, and you change everything for me, parsing it down to something so startlingly simple.”

Those blue eyes softened with sympathy. “Not so simple, Sam, because it means
you
have to change in order for the relationship to change.”

“I can do that,” he said with the utmost confidence, jaw firm. “If I can put myself through med school and college, score a spot in Augustine’s practice—the chief pediatrician at Memorial—and compete in an Iron Man Triathlon, I can do this.” He glanced at his watch. “And I’ll start tonight when Jasmine comes over to pick up a swimsuit she left and the rest of her things. All I need is your input as to what you think I should say and do.”

A twinkle lit in her eyes. “Uh, we’re talking a major overhaul, Dr. Love,” she said with a patient smile, “and one hour over coffee and tea isn’t going to cut it.”

“My thoughts, exactly.” He rose and pushed in his chair. “But two or three will at least get me started and hopefully prevent me from making a fool of myself tonight.” He cleared the trash from the table and pitched it in the receptacle before hooking her arm to pull her up. “So … how are you at miniature golf?”

Shannon blinked, snatching up her tea before he pushed in her chair. “Pardon me?”

He gave her a lopsided smile as he tugged her toward his car. “I’ve had five cappuccinos, and I’m ready to jump out of my skin, kiddo, so I need to do something active while you give me advice on how to handle tonight.” He paused, eyes in a squint. “You are good, aren’t you?”

“At advice?” Eyes wide, the heels of her Nikes seemed to drag across the asphalt.

“No, I already know that. At miniature golf.” Opening the passenger side of his car, he winked, leg slacked while he waited for her to get in. “I learn best when crushing competition.”

Mouth unhinged, she perched a hand on her hip, challenge luring a smile to her lips. “Good, because I advise best when crushing pride.”

He grinned, palm extended to invite her to get in. “Then crush on, Teach, because I’ve got an awful lot to learn.”

“Yeah, me too,” Shannon said, her smile taking a slant when he closed her door. “Like how to say ‘no.’”

Sam chuckled as he strode around his car to get in on the other side. “Now, you know you don’t mean that, because this will be fun. Besides,” he said, glancing over his shoulder before easing out of his spot. He gave her a wink. “Something tells me this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Chapter Fourteen

A beautiful friendship?
Shannon stifled a grunt as she watched Sam bag a hole-in-one on the third hole.

“Score!” He swooped his ball out of the cup with a little-boy grin that scored more than his stupid hole-in-one.

Yeah, a real beautiful friendship. For Dr. Love, maybe, but for me?
Shannon recorded his score on the tally sheet with a quiet sigh.
Not so much.
Not when the man she swore to avoid forever had railroaded her into having fun with him, laughing with him, seeing him in a light that didn’t bode well for her heart.

In a mere thirty minutes at Putt ‘N Stuff golf, she’d seen a side of the “player” that not only surprised her, but alarmed her as well. Whether opening car doors for her or guiding her with a protective hand to the small of her back, to shamelessly flirting with the elderly cashier or paying for Carol Green’s mini-golf with her three grandsons—Shannon soon understood Sam was a person who thrived on serving others. Jack had told her as much, but she’d let the player reputation sour her opinion of a man who mentored foster kids and coached basketball for inner city youth. It didn’t take long to see he had a way of making everyone feel special, and in a clutch of her heart, Shannon finally understood one reason why. Because the little boy inside—the abandoned orphan lost in the foster-care shuffle—wanted to feel special too.

“Hey, awesome shot, Sam!” one of Carol’s grandsons said whose mini-golf game he’d paid for. His brothers and Grandma Carol quickly echoed their approval, and Sam grinned like he’d just won the U.S. Open.

“So, Teach,” he said as he ambled back, club over his shoulder, “how should I handle tonight? You know, when Jazz comes over?”

“How do you want to handle it?” she asked, strolling to the next tee.

He grunted. “By ignoring her, but she has a key, so it’s too late to change the locks.”

Shannon assessed the obstacles on the green before taking her stance, feet a shoulder width apart as she eyed the hole. “Interaction is important, Sam, and you don’t have many other opportunities to talk to her, do you?”

“Just on rounds twice a week since she’s a Peds nurse at Memorial, then sometimes weekends when I’m on call. But not often unless she comes into the office to see her dad or I run into her at Memorial hangouts.”

With a putt fine-tuned in high school golf class and backyard sessions with Jack, Shannon sailed the ball smoothly over a hump to bank off the back edge, missing the hole by six inches or more. She wrinkled her nose. “Then you have to take advantage of this opportunity,” she called over her shoulder as she finished the hole with a birdie. “How have you reacted to her in the past when you’ve run into her after she’s broken it off?”

“Hey, nice one, kiddo.” Club over his shoulder, he cocked a hip, one hand buried in his pocket while his smile faded into a scowl. “I usually give her the cold shoulder till she needs one to cry on, and then I cave because I can’t stand to see her unhappy.”

Shannon retrieved her ball, wondering how a guy with such a soft heart could so casually toy with the hearts of so many women. She halted halfway on the mini-green, a sudden thought taking her so by surprise, she actually grinned outright. “Well, then …” she said as she approached with a reflective grate of her lip, suddenly realizing just how valuable Sam could be in the novel she was ghostwriting.
Love Everlasting
was book three in a trilogy by one of her publisher’s top-selling authors, but the poor woman had had a breakdown and couldn’t write a word. So now Shannon was on the hot seat with a skeletal synopsis about a playboy and a princess. Adrenalin coursed as she suddenly saw Sam in a whole new light, wondering if God was trying to kill two birds with one stone: saving Sam along with Shannon’s sketchy manuscript. She paused in front of him, almost giddy over the research that he could provide. “Then let’s introduce her to the new Sam, shall we?”

He squinted while he recorded her score. “I don’t know, Shan—I’m kind of fond of the old one.”

Her smile canted as she strolled back to check out the tally. “Yeah, well, whose fondness you looking for, Doc—yours or Jasmine’s?”

“Okay, I’ll give you that one.” He handed her the scorecard before teeing up, besting her birdie with another hole in one and a cocky smile. “But the mini-golf win is all mine.”

She logged in his score, peering up with a scrunch of her nose. “Gosh, Doc, between your inflated ego and jugular competitive streak, we may never find the other Sam.”

“We have to, Shannon—my life depends on it.”

She glanced up, the sobriety of his tone stilling her hand on the scorecard. The serious Sam was back—his faint smile at odds with the solemnity in his eyes.

Her heart softened. “It does, Sam, more than you know. Women want men with depth and values, not fast cars and fancy moves. They want a man they can respect. That’s the main way a woman falls in love. Prove to Jazz you’ve changed and are worth her love and respect.”

“And how do I do that?” he asked quietly, probing her with a look that said golf was suddenly the last thing on his mind.

She sighed, well aware there was only one way she knew for a person to really change, and she wasn’t sure Sam was ready to hear it. But he needed to—badly—and for the first time ever, she actually understood why God might want her to become his friend. An honest-to-goodness friend who put aside her own desires to impact someone else with the truth. In the slow blink of Sam’s eyes, she felt her perspective shift, suddenly seeing beyond the expensive clothes, good looks, and effortless charm to a man whose life truly did depend on what Shannon could give.

Faith.

And what Sam could give as well
, the counter thought came
.

Heartbreak.

Shaking the fear off, she jotted his score and handed the card back, her mind made up to be the person God had called her to be. Not a woman attracted to or repelled by a player she’d hoped to avoid, or even a ghostwriter desperate for research. Nope. But someone who had a chance to impact that player for good and change not only his life, but his eternity as well. A mission to mend the badly bruised heart of a rejected little boy, who drew his confidence and love from perishable things.

Warn the rich people of this world not to be proud or to trust in wealth that is easily lost. Tell them to have faith in God ...

Shannon studied him now, this self-assured man whose very confidence was as much a façade as the image he strove to project and knew God had graced her with his trust. The trust of a man who didn’t trust—or open up—to many people. A golden opportunity to lay down her own fears and insecurities for the sake of another, opting to trust the very God she espoused with her own vulnerable heart.

Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends.

“How do you do it?” she repeated, awed by the peace that suddenly flooded her soul. “You do it by learning to respect and love yourself, Sam, seeing yourself through God’s eyes rather than through your own shallow trappings.”

His gaze was wary. “Religion? You’re really going to play that card with me?”

“It’s not a card, Sam,” she said softly, “it’s a lifestyle that can not only help you win the game, but the very desires of your heart.”

His low chuckle vibrated the air as he shook his head. “I’m not looking to warm a pew, Teach; I’m just looking for how I should handle Jazz tonight.”

She tilted her head to assess him in that point-blank manner that always seemed to penetrate his charm and pretense. “
Which,
you would learn in that pew if you decided to warm it. But the basics? Forgive her, treat her with kindness, be there for her as a friend
without
strings attached.” She patted his face with a parental air, his sandpaper jaw reminding her he wasn’t that little boy she often saw beneath the surface. “Unconditional love, Doc, the kind that God gave to us.”

“And that really works?” He squinted at her, disbelief crinkling his brows.

Her smile indulged. “Worked for me, big boy, and the Good Book says ‘love never fails.’”

He cut loose with a grunt. “Yeah, well you can’t prove it by me.”

“That’s because your love is self-absorbed and self-serving,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone.

His jaw fell open. “Gosh, Shan, why don’t you tell me what you really think?”

“I’m trying,” she said with a squirm of a smile. Teeing her ball, she glanced up to see the wounded look he always teased her with that was more real than anyone knew. Her smile broke through, honest and tender and sweet for a friend she suspected she would come to care for a lot. “Because one of my most annoying qualities is telling my friends the truth, Sam, so I always will.” The affection in his eyes suddenly fluttered her stomach, and cheeks growing warm, she quickly looked away to focus her gaze on the ball, palms suddenly sticky on the club.

At least, most of the time ...