Can't Get Over You (Fortune's Island, Book 2) (8 page)

“See? Now you understand why I want to kill every man who gets within ten feet of Sophie. I tell ya, I miss the days when you could drop off a family member at the convent.”

Carter laughed. “You are way more protective than me.”

“It’s not that.” Brian laced his fingers together and looked out over the bay, just as the island’s pier came into view. “Sophie’s been through a lot. She…well, she just doesn’t need the bullshit that comes with some loser trying to get in her pants. So do me a favor, and keep the dogs at bay this weekend.”

“Yeah, sure.” Carter forced himself to look away from Sophie. She was beautiful—but off limits. Still, he wondered what Brian had left unsaid about his sister.

The ferry docked. Sophie packed away her laptop and got to her feet. She hung her indigo leather briefcase from one shoulder, then flipped out her phone and started scrolling through the messages. Several men looked over at Sophie, but she was buried in the phone and didn’t notice.

Brian didn’t have to worry about some dog trying to pick up his sister. Not unless they were a walking laptop or iPhone.

Brian and Carter joined Sophie at the gangplank. She looked up at them, and flashed a quick smile in Brian’s direction, then went right back to her phone. “You know you’re supposed to be on vacation, right?” Brian said. “That means not working for a little while.”

“I just have this one brief to review and then—”

“I’m going to throw your briefcase into the water.” Brian arched a brow. “And you know I will.”

Sophie sighed. “Fine.” She tucked her phone into the front pocket her briefcase, but Carter could see by the stiff set of her shoulders and the thinning of her lips that she was not happy about it at all.

“Soon as we get off this boat, I’m putting a drink in your hands,” Brian said. When his sister started to protest, he put up a finger. “First rule of vacation—” He glanced over at Carter.

“Thou shalt drink early and often.” Carter finished the familiar refrain between him and Brian.

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you two a little old for that?”

“And aren’t you a little young to be living like a workaholic?”

“Says the pot who keeps calling the kettle black instead of looking in the mirror.” She blew her bangs out of her face with a chuff, then turned to Carter. “Talk to him, will you? And get him off my case.”

Carter was so stunned that Sophie had addressed him, it took him a second to respond. “He won’t listen to me any better than he listens to you.” Carter grinned. “Brian’s a bit of a…”

“Bossypants,” Sophie supplied.

Carter laughed. “Exactly.”

Brian scowled. “I am not. I just want you to enjoy yourself this weekend, Sophie. Do as I say, not as I do. Or did.”

“I will when you get off my back about it.” Sophie put up a finger, cutting off Brian’s protest. The crowd began to disembark, and the three of them followed down the gangplank, tunneling down and emerging on the pier. “Now, let’s call a truce and go get a drink.”

“About damned time,” Brian muttered.

They grabbed a cab at the stand by the ferry office, then headed south, away from the uppercrust northern area of the island. The cabin his dad had rented to Carter’s friends was just a half mile from The Love Shack, which meant pretty much everything they did today would be within walking distance. On the weekends he was on the island, Carter usually stayed with his parents, in the small bungalow where he and Jillian had grown up. It was prime beachfront property, something his father could have sold for five times what he bought it for, but Whit Matheson loved the little house that he and Grace had lived in all their married lives, and would never sell it.

The cab pulled up in front of The Love Shack, and the three of them disembarked. It was early yet—just past four—which meant The Love Shack was mostly empty. As much as Carter loved living on the mainland, there was just something about walking into The Love Shack that felt like coming home.

“Carter, you’re here.” His mother came rushing forward, and cupped his face in her soft hands. “I’ve missed you.”

Carter chuckled as he stowed the group’s weekend bags in the corner. “I was here last weekend. That was less than five days ago.”

“I still miss you.” She drew back and wagged a finger at him. His mother was tiny, but a powerful woman who loved her kids with a fierceness that a mother lion would envy. “You have your own kids and you will see. Every time one of your kids come home, it’s like God restored a part of your heart.”

Carter pressed a quick kiss to his mother’s cheek. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you, too.” She reached out and drew Brian into a hug, then Sophie. “Welcome to Fortune’s Island, and to The Love Shack. Any friend of Carter’s is part of the family.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Brian said.

“Suck-up,” Carter muttered. Brian just grinned.

“I hear The Love Shack has some of the best clams on the island,” Sophie said. “I’ve been looking forward to those the whole trip out here.”

Grace beamed. If there was anything she was more proud of than her kids, it was the restaurant. Sophie had unwittingly won major brownie points by praising it. “We do indeed. If you three want a clam bake, we can set that up on the back porch. Weather is nice today, and the tide’s coming in, so the view is spectacular.”

“That sounds great,” Brian said. “You up for that, sis?”

“Steamed clams, corn on the cob?” Sophie made a small mew. “Definitely.”

Carter heard that sound escaping Sophie and, for a second, he completely forgot his promise to Brian. Sophie had let her hair down, and unbuttoned the top button of her blouse in the warm interior of The Love Shack—and that had Carter’s mind traveling down some definitely bad paths. Brian was his best friend, but the one thing his best friend had asked of him seemed to be the most impossible thing in the world right now.

EIGHT

Zach’s cell phone rang just as he was getting into the car after a quick pre-performance night practice. Maybe it was because he was so used to just clicking
answer
and getting Jillian, or maybe because he was still walking around distracted and frustrated and mad at himself for last night, but he answered without checking the Caller ID.

A robotic voice spoke into the phone in flat, lifeless notes: “An inmate from Cedar Junction State Prison is calling. To accept this call, please press one.”

Zach’s finger hovered over the End Call button. Every time before, for the past six and a half years, he had done just that. Hung up without answering. After a year, his brother had stopped trying to call, except on Zach’s birthday and around Christmas. Then, six months ago, Keith had started calling again. Maybe hoping to reconnect before his release date.

Zach did miss his brother—the brother he used to have. The one who hadn’t been this angry, rebellious hothead who had alienated almost everyone in his life. The brother who had let drugs and alcohol rule his choices, and derail him from the plans he’d made years ago with Zach.

For just a moment last night, Zach had emulated the worst behavior of his older brother. He had let his anger dictate his choices—something Keith was famous for doing. That scared
Zach—and made him want to redouble his efforts to keep Keith from having any influence over him whatsoever. But there was still a part of Zach, a foolish, sentimental part, that missed the brother he remembered from childhood. The one who would stay up late at night and tell him corny jokes and have farting contests.

The phone was heavy in his hand, waiting for his response. One button to answer, another to avoid the call. At the last second, Zach’s thumb shifted left and up, then he pressed a single digit, and put the phone to his ear. “Yes, I accept the charges.” A few clicks, a moment when it sounded like the phone was in a tunnel, then Keith’s voice.

“Wow. You…you picked up,” Keith said. “I mean, I didn’t think you would. All this time…”

His brother sounded older. His voice was hoarser, harsher. Like he’d spent a lot of time yelling. In the background, there was shouting and arguing, and the constant sound of buzzing. Zach imagined his brother in a hallway somewhere, jostling for space among men three times bigger and five times meaner.

“Yeah, well, I can’t talk long,” Zach said.

“That’s okay. Whatever you got, man. I…” A pause. “I miss you, dude.”

“You’ll be out soon.” It wasn’t saying he missed Keith, too, because he wasn’t sure he did. He missed the Keith he used to know, the big brother who would let Zach tag along on runs to the corner market to get a push-pop in the summer, or go on a campout in the backyard on a weeknight. Not this person he didn’t even know. This…prison inmate. Even after all these years, it was tough to put those words together with
my brother.

“I…I have a lot of things to make up for,” Keith said. “With you, with Jillian—”

“No, you don’t,” Zach cut in. The last thing he wanted, or needed, was for Keith to tell Jillian what had happened that summer all those years ago. How could he explain keeping that from her for years? Denying her the answers she wanted and needed? All this time, Zach had kept this one giant secret—that it had been Keith who attacked Jillian that night on the beach. Keith who had stolen her backpack and left her there, unconscious.

If Zach told Jillian that, would she forgive him for protecting his brother years ago? The brother he had once idolized, not seeing the truth about Keith until it was too late and he was behind bars? Better to keep all that buried, rather than resurrect it in some misguided make amends journey of Keith’s. “You don’t have anything to make up for,” Zach said. He prayed Keith would let it all drop, would accept that everyone had moved on and forgotten. Even if that was a colossal lie.

“Zach—”

“Listen, I have to go. I’ll see you when you get out.” It was an empty promise, because Zach had no intentions of doing that. He had yet to forgive his brother for what he had done to Jillian, or for how he had hurt everyone in the family. Maybe prison had changed Keith. Maybe it had only hardened the rough edges. Zach decided he didn’t want to find out.

“That’s why I was calling. So you can be there when I get out.”

“I gotta go, Keith.” Then Zach hung up the phone. He leaned against the roof of his car, the cold metal of his cell phone against his forehead, and felt like a jerk. Keith was his brother, and he was avoiding him like he was the plague. Right or wrong, they still shared DNA and memories, and those facts made Zach’s chest feel heavy.

He got back in the Mustang and started the engine. He could go home, maybe lie on the couch, catch up on whatever game was playing on ESPN, and kill the couple hours until the band
played at The Love Shack tonight. He could hit one of the bars on Fortune’s Island, have a beer and some pizza, and be surrounded by the friends he’d made here. Or he could go to the one person who had always made everything right in his life.

The one person who was probably going to refuse to see him.

Zach did a U-turn and headed down the road toward The Love Shack. In a few days’ time, he and the band would be performing here, their one shot at making it big. If he was smart, his every thought would be focused on that. On finally seeing his dream within reach. Instead, all he could think about was seeing Jillian, of being around her, and simply feeling that…calm he always felt when they had been together.

Her car wasn’t in the lot, but he would bet that it was over at Harvey’s garage, getting whatever was broken fixed. There were only a couple other cars parked at The Love Shack, normal for a Friday night, which usually didn’t pick up until the band arrived around eight.

Zach parked and debated going in the front door, then figured if he knew Jillian, he knew where she’d be. He skirted around the outside of the building, down the crushed shell path that yielded to sand, then up the creaky wooden steps of the back deck.

Party lights hung in loops between the rafters, all covered by a faux tiki thatch roof. The tables were painted picnic tables, built to withstand the battering of ocean storms and to stay put when the winds got high. When the weather was good, Grace and Whit opened the doors between the restaurant and the deck, and let the music from the band fill the outdoor space. It became an undulating party on nights like that, with people filtering in and out of the spaces, filling the bar, dancing on the deck, or grabbing a bite to eat at one of the tables. He liked those nights, when it seemed like his music was reaching out across the Atlantic Ocean.

Jillian was sitting at the end of the deck in the southern corner of the restaurant, inside a little nook rarely used by customers. The slight jog of the deck sat out of sight of the other outdoor seating, and offered a perfect place for some of the staff to sneak a smoke break. Jillian and Zach had stolen more than a few kisses in that corner, unnoticed by anyone.

She had her arms wrapped around her knees, and was watching the tide whoosh in and out. The seagulls were diving into the shallow pools at the edge of the water, squawking disagreements about territory and prey. Jillian’s hair was down along her shoulders, and the breeze toyed with the easy curls, dancing them across her shoulders. She had on a pale pink T-shirt with The Love Shack’s logo scrawled across the back, and dark blue shorts that showed off her tanned, toned legs.

The second he saw her, the stress in his chest eased. It was like letting out a deep breath every time he saw Jillian. It had always been that way, and he suspected it always would be. She had this way about her—in her personality, in her smile, just in her entire being—that calmed him. He missed that. More than he realized.

He came up behind her, then stopped three feet off her left shoulder. Close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume, but far enough to give her the space their breakup had set in place. “Hey, Jillian. I figured I’d find you out here.”

She turned and scowled at him. “I have nothing to say to you after last night.”

He sighed, then came around her and took a seat on the bench at the next table. They were only a few feet apart, but it might as well have been a few million miles. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I just…I guess it shocked me to see you with someone else.”