Busted (Promise Harbor Wedding) Page 2

  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 of her laughter 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? He’d borrowed the Chevy specifically for that date at the last second when the transmission had died on his own car.

  “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 for the NHL 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…Heidi… 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? Taking the fall for my brother lending our parents’ truck without asking, then getting stuck cleaning up your puke and grounded for a month.”

  Oh shit. She wasn’t the one he’d taken to Sunset Bluff at all.

  “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 door, 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?”

  An old guy with bushy eyebrows and silver hair that may have been inspired by Albert Einstein whistled and shot his finger up into the air before it took a steep dive. He mimicked the sound of an explosion.

  “Crashed and burned with Hayls? Nice homecoming.” Matt slapped Jackson on the back. “You look like you could use a drink.”

  “Wasn’t your sister all Goth back in high school?” Now that he had her name firmly in place, he clearly remembered the dark clothing with skulls she favored, her jet-black hair and nails painted to match.

  “It was a phase.” Matt leaned on the bar, his expression curious and just a little protective. “Since when are blondes your type?”

  “They’re not.” Never had been. So why was he still thinking about that smile of hers?

  Eight hours later Jackson had forgotten about everything except how damn good it felt to sit with close friends and talk about the usual bullshit. No one asked him about his going-nowhere career, his plans for after the wedding or why the hell he couldn’t shoot a simple game of pool without firing the cue ball off the table at least twice.

  “Is this beer really called Bromance?”

  In too good of a mood to care that he’d lost another match to Josh—who was drunk, no less—Jackson set his cue back on the rack and dropped into the chair opposite his friend.

  He glanced at the half-empty bottle. “Yes. Bromance Brown Ale.” And whoever came up with that name must have been drunk at the time.

  Josh nodded. “Okay. Good. I love you, man.”

  “Maybe time to get you home.” A suggestion he’d broached more than a few times in the last two hours. He didn’t want the bride pissed that her man was too hungover to meet her at the altar.

  “No. I don’t wanna go home yet.”

  Jackson stretched his legs out under the table, studying his friend. “Why not?”

  Josh peered at the scarred tabletop. “I might be having cold feet,” he finally mumbled.

  Confused, Jackson straightened and leaned forward. “What’s that? What’d you say?”

  “I might be having cold feet.”

  “About the wedding?”

  “No, about getting up from this table.” Josh burst out laughing at his own joke.

  His friend hadn’t said a word about any problems with him and Allie. Hadn’t said a whole lot about the wedding in general actually, but weren’t women the ones who usually gushed about that stuff? “Shit, man, are you serious? You want to back out of the wedding?”

  “No. Of course not. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “But you have doubts.”

  Josh sighed. “Doesn’t every guy before he straps on the old ball and chain?” The moment the words left his mouth he slumped a little. “Didn’t mean that,” he added, sounding a little regretful for comparing Allie to some kind of a prison sentence.

  “I guess some guys do.” Jackson shoved a hand throug
h his hair, wishing Matt hadn’t left them to go back to Stone’s. This wasn’t a conversation he was in any position to have on his own. “I’ve never had the guts to even propose to someone, so I wouldn’t know.” One blog rumor and premature ring browsing by his ex-girlfriend certainly didn’t qualify as a genuine proposal.

  Josh was one of the few people who actually knew the truth about Melissa. As far as the public was concerned, he’d been the one to call off their “engagement”, and Melissa had basked in the media spotlight after he’d supposedly broken her heart.

  “But yeah, it’s probably normal to feel a little nervous about it,” Jackson continued. “It’s a big step. It’s serious.”

  “Yeah. Serious. You’re not helping, dude.”

  Jackson grinned. “Sorry. Okay, how’s this? You’ve known Allie forever. You love her. You love her family. They love you. Your mom is thrilled to pieces about this. The whole town is behind you on this. There’s nothing to be afraid of. You two are going to have a long and happy life together.”

  Josh nodded, but continued to stare at the table as though the solution to his cold feet problem might miraculously present itself there. “Still not helping.”

  Giving his friend a hearty slap on the back, Jackson stood. “You’ll be fine. Once you’re up there at the front of the church watching Allie walk down the aisle looking like a million bucks, you’ll be so glad you’re marrying her.”

  Josh picked up his beer and drained it. “Right. Absholutely. Can’t wait.”

  “Fuck. You’re hammered.” Maybe saying it aloud would convince his friend to go home before he showed up at his own wedding still wasted. Matt certainly hadn’t been able to convince him after they’d arrived at their third bar of the evening, preferring to avoid Stone’s, where Allie and her bridesmaids were partying.

  “No, I am not.” Josh straightened. “I’m fine. Let’s have another round.”

  “Nope. I am doing my best man duty and hauling your ass out of here. You’re already going to need a large bottle of Tylenol and a jug of Visine in the morning.”

  “Oh all right.” Josh stood and held on to the table for a moment as though he needed to get his balance under control.

  Allie was going to kick Jackson’s ass, and that was saying something considering how sweet and even-tempered Allie was.

  “I need a burger,” Josh announced. He took a step and leaned a little too far to the right, but managed to straighten before he toppled over.

  “Okay, big guy. Let’s head to Barney’s and then I’ll take you home.”

  “Yeah. Barney’s. I can have a hickory burger. And fries.”

  Josh didn’t say much else on the walk to Barney’s, but something was clearly on his mind. His expression was far too serious for someone with so much alcohol in his system.

  Inside Barney’s Chowder House people filled nearly every booth and table—the norm on a warm June night—but they managed to snag an empty table and took a seat.

  Deciding his friend couldn’t be feeling nauseous if he wanted food, Jackson assumed Josh was looking a little miserable for an entirely different reason. “You know, if you’re seriously having doubts about getting married, it’s not too late.”

  Josh gave him a crooked smile. “Sure it is.”

  “No. It’s not too late until the vows are said.” Jackson leaned across the table, wishing the two of them didn’t need to have this conversation, but he’d be damned if he didn’t make sure that getting married was what Josh really wanted. “If you want to run, I’ll drive us to Mexico tonight. Just say the word.”

  “Mexico?” Josh lifted an eyebrow.

  “Or wherever.” Not like he had anywhere else to be. He ignored the ache in his gut that followed the mental reminder.

  Josh shook his head. “You know I can’t do that. I made a promise to Allie. I always keep my word.”

  “Yeah. You always do.” He’d certainly kept his word when he swore he’d find a way to get Jackson back to Promise Harbor one way or another. “You are a man of honor.”

  “Damn right. I’m a man of honor,” Josh told the waitress who arrived to take their order. “And I’m fucking starving.”

  She blinked at him.

  “Don’t mind him,” Jackson said, trying not to laugh in front of the teenage girl who probably wanted to be anywhere except serving intoxicated customers. “He’s getting married tomorrow.”

  “I am,” Josh added. “To the most wonderful woman in the world.” His expression brightened, then quickly dimmed. He stared at something past Jackson, shaking his head. “Devon?”

  Jackson’s head snapped around. “Devon?” He scanned the room, easily picking out Josh’s ex in the crowd—at the booth directly across from them.

  “Allie invited her to the wedding.” Josh shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal.

  Jackson knew otherwise. “Jesus Christ.”

  Devon stared at Josh, looking surprisingly like she and Josh had both been drinking the same life sucks Kool-Aid. “Hi Josh.”

  “Devon. Hey.” Between one breath and the next, Josh moved to sit across from her. “How are you?”

  She shot Jackson a nervous look before answering. “Good. I’m good. How are you?”

  “Good.” A pause. “I’m drunk.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She offered up a smile that fell a little short from Jackson’s suddenly-wishing-he-weren’t-so-sober perspective. “I guess that’s allowed the night before your wedding.”

  Jackson winced at the direction their conversation might take given Josh’s earlier mood, and it wasn’t going to do his friend a damn bit of good. Still, he tried to ignore their exchange and finished placing their order with their waitress.

  By the time she returned with a soda for him and coffee for Josh, the pair had settled into a quiet conversation Jackson couldn’t follow with the rest of Barney’s chatter. Probably for the best. And probably the only reason he happened to be looking toward the front door in time to see Hayley step inside.

  She gave the crowded dining room only a cursory glance before making her way to the front counter. A couple on their way out waved at her in passing and she smiled in return.

  Jackson searched his memory for that smile, but couldn’t recall much beyond Hayley always slipping from sight, her expression so serious, guarded. The blonde chewing on her bottom lip, one hand tucked in her back pocket, looked far more comfortable in her own skin than the withdrawn, often angry teenager he remembered.

  The same one who’d intrigued the hell out of him even back then.

  Leaving his friend for a moment, Jackson approached the counter. Within a few feet he noticed the smear of mint-green paint on her cheek and the wild tendrils of hair that had escaped the clip she used to pull the blonde mass back from her face.

  She’d exchanged her pants and black shirt for a pair of faded jeans with a rip in one knee and paint-stained T-shirt. Any woman he’d spent time with would never have left the house without taking at least twenty minutes in the bathroom, let alone wearing painting clothes. Although besides his mother, he couldn’t think of another woman he knew who would be painting anything more than her nails.

  It took a few seconds to realize that Hayley seemed to be looking everywhere in the room except at him. Just his imagination?

  He edged a little closer, enough that anyone would have sensed a subtle invasion of personal space. She didn’t so much as glance in his direction. Definitely avoiding him. Interesting.

  “Hi.”

  Hayley took just long enough to look his way to confirm his suspicion that she’d known he was there all along. A polite nod and smile were all she spared him before flagging down a passing waitress to ask about her takeout order.

  “Don’t you guys usually favor doughnut places?”

  “You watch too many cop shows.”

  “It’ll be just another few minutes, Hayley.” A different waitress emerged from the kitchen with a tray loaded with hickory burgers and fries.

  J
ackson’s stomach growled in protest as the tray went in the opposite direction of his and Josh’s table.

  “No problem. Thanks, Pam.” Hayley’s smile faded when she noticed he hadn’t returned to his table.

  “So people do call you by your first name.”

  She picked at a blotch of dried paint on her thigh. “Some of them have even been doing it since I was born.”

  He grinned at her sarcasm. “Does that mean I get to call you Hayley too, seeing as we’ve known each other since grade school?”

  “You’ve known my brother since grade school,” she corrected.

  “So what should I call you?”

  She leveled those sharp eyes on him, and he fought the urge not to squirm for some reason. “How about Detective?”

  A man in his late forties, wearing an apron covered in what Jackson would have bet was Barney’s famed hickory sauce, emerged from the kitchen with a paper bag in hand. “Here you go, Hayley.”

  “Thanks, Roger.” She dug into her pocket, but the guy just waved her off.

  “That’s for the one you didn’t get to finish a couple weeks back after that car chase.”

  Hayley glanced at the door as if gauging how quickly she could make her escape. It was the first expression she’d made that he recognized.

  Jackson slid two feet to the right, putting himself in her path. “Car chase?”

  “Some lunatic three counties over robbed a 7-Eleven. Hayley ran him off the road, then tackled the bastard when he tried to get away on foot.”

  Giving Jackson a wide berth, Hayley nodded at the cook. “Night, Roger.”

  Jackson stayed on her heels. “So you’re some kind of hero, huh?”

  She shook her head. “Hardly.”

  “Ran a guy down and tackled him? I’m impressed.”

  Her eyes searched his like she wasn’t sure if he meant that or not. “Don’t be. I’ve seen eighty-year-old women lining up for early-bird bingo move faster than that moron.”

  Jackson reached the door first, but didn’t push the glass open. “You never said when I could make things up to you.”