Always My Hero (22 page)

Riley groused about posing next to a skyscraper of a Christmas tree when it was clear he wouldn’t have been the one to decorate the upper half. Taking a step back, Bree tapped her chin. He had a point. The entire juxtaposition of the shot was just too funky. Riley sat stiffly in his chair. His jaw was clenched and she knew he was seconds away from losing his temper.

Rather than figure out a whole new December layout, they could switch Riley with Sam. Sam had finished his shoot the first day, but had come back with Riley today. She asked Damian if they could set up the backdrop for January again, this time with Riley lying on the rug. Everyone thought he would have looked more natural, sitting in his wheelchair beside the fake fireplace, but he’d insisted on lying down. It took the three of them to get the stubborn man out of his chair and positioned on the floor where he looked comfortable and “come hither,” not like he’d fallen out of his wheelchair and waited for someone to rescue him. But this really worked. Riley’s idea was a lot better than the layout that he’d originally been assigned.

Sam stepped up, shrugging out of his sweatshirt and tossing it to Bree before heading for the holiday tree-decorating scene. Damian took a few shots of Sam placing the star on the top of the tree. He handed Sam a wrapped gift and told him to hold it in his lap, like he was hiding the real gift underneath. Good Lord! Bree knew her photographer was having just a little too much fun posing his models for this calendar.

They took a break and she called Ryan again. Damian had complained about the football helmet causing a bit of glare in Ryan’s photos and wanted to take some more. His phone went straight to voicemail. Oh, come on! It was one thing to have to drop Wesley off at school and forget that they were driving in together this morning. It was something else entirely to blow off the whole shoot.

Doyle had come in to retake his photos. Apparently he didn’t look sweaty enough for a summer day at the beach. If anyone were to ask her, she’d say a certain photographer liked the look of the many tattoos that covered Doyle’s arms and back. Bree hoped he’d decided to wear board shorts instead of his Speedos today. Nope. Oh, lucky her!

A stinging awareness had her flexing her hand, where she noticed a long scratch across the top. She really hoped Damian was happy with the October shots today because she’d rather not see those kittens again. Rubbing in a little saliva to wash away the blood, she crossed over to where Doyle waited for the photographer.

“Hey, you haven’t heard from Ryan today, have you? He was supposed to be here this morning and I think he forgot.” Her smile bright, she refused to look any lower than the man’s chin.

“Ryan? Why would I have talked to him today?” Doyle’s eyes darted this way and that, refusing to connect with hers. Odd.

“Bree darling, be a love and oil up our Mr. July, would you?”

“I beg your pardon?” She swung around, hands on her hips and fixed Damian with an incredulous stare.

“My assistant couldn’t make it in today. Some stomach bug going around. The baby oil is on that chair over there.”

“I think Doyle can figure out how to slick himself up. And, really? Is that necessary?”

“Doyle needs his hands dry in order to hold the beach ball. And it was my understanding that you hired me for my artistic vision. If you would like to hire someone else, I can take my things and go.”

Wonderful. She’d pissed off the prima donna. Sucking in a deep breath, Bree plastered on a kiss-ass smile and swallowed all the things she wanted to say. The words swam in her stomach, causing a bellyache and making her wish this day was already done. Damian smirked and turned on his heel, heading back to take some more shots of Sam in front of the Christmas tree.

“Just his upper torso is fine—front and back—if you please.” Damian threw the words over his shoulder as he left.

“
If you please
,” she mimicked, glancing over at Doyle to see if she could coax a laugh out of him. He wasn’t paying any attention to her.

“Don’t worry, I promise Ryan won’t get upset over our little intimate moment.” She giggled, trying to lighten the mood.

Instead, Doyle groaned, looking even more miserable than he had before. What was his problem today?

Bree grabbed the baby oil off the beach chair and dribbled some in her palm. Doyle turned his head to the side, refusing to look at her, so she started with his back. Nope, not awkward at all. She tried to concentrate on the designs sketched on his back. They were symbols that she didn’t recognize. Tracing one made Doyle flinch and she realized she was probably making things worse.

“Everything okay today? Besides ... this?”

“Whatever he said ... I feel awful, you know? I just hope you know I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I thought it was all cool.”

She paused a moment to try to make sense of that, then shook her head, admitting defeat. Walking around until she was face to chest with one of the best fullbacks Scallop Shores had ever seen, Bree tried to hurry the process along. Doyle hissed when she slathered the oil across his lower stomach. Oh, god, was he ticklish? This was just getting worse and worse.

“Bree, I’m so sorry. I was distracted with some things this morning and I completely forgot we were supposed to come here together. I got your messages. Somehow my phone got turned off—”

Ryan had come into the warehouse at a run and spotted her right away. She glanced over her shoulder when his breathless excuse abruptly cut off. He was glaring daggers at Doyle, hands clenching into fists at his sides. Anxious to finish up so she could wash her hands and put some distance between her and this awkward altercation, Bree stepped up on tiptoes to apply oil to his inked shoulders.

“So one of my women wasn’t enough? You needed to have the other one too?”

“The other one?” Bree turned around, her shrill tone carrying throughout the warehouse. Heads started popping out of other sections. She didn’t care.

“I’m one of two, now? Is that it? You have a pair of girlfriends? That’s a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

“I meant Haley
was
mine. Now she’s not. You are. Or you were.” He spoke to her, but his eyes never left Doyle.

Ryan’s nostrils flared and Bree got the feeling the only thing keeping him from throwing a punch was the fact that she stood in between the two men.

“I had nothing to do with this. That creepy photographer told her to put this oily shit on me for the pictures.”

“And you didn’t enjoy it one bit!” Ryan ground out.

“Ryan, lay off him! Doyle has been miserable about something all day. I haven’t been able to get it out of him but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that you’re at the root of it.”

“If you knew what he did, you wouldn’t be taking his side.”

“Pretty little models, we’re getting along well, yes?” Damian swept in from the other side of the warehouse, hands on his hips.

“I think they’d get along better if they each stayed in their own section.” Bree grabbed a towel and wiped her hands, staring at the man who was acting like a stranger today.

“I should go. I can come back—”

“We finish this calendar shoot today. No one leaves until their part is done. Get into your costume and find your backdrop.” Damian clapped his hands twice and left them just as quickly as he’d swooped in.

“Ryan, we need to talk.” Bree reached for his hand to walk with him toward the September set.

He shrugged her off, looking from her to Doyle and back again. His shoulders were hunched, but he no longer looked angry, just sad.

“Not right now. I need to be by myself for a bit.” Starting to head for the other side of the warehouse, he spun and gave her a mournful stare. “I’m sorry I flaked on this morning.”

Okay. That he was sorry about. How about being sorry for almost coming to blows with one of his oldest friends? Or being sorry for assuming that Doyle was making the moves on her? Or for not taking a quick minute or two to explain what the hell was going on? When would he be sorry for that?

Ryan’s sneakers scuffed across the cement floor of the old warehouse. He didn’t say another word. Just kept walking.

Damn it!

• • •

Ryan wasn’t hiding. He just happened to have a craving for his mother’s cooking. What was the point of finally living in the same town as his parents again if he couldn’t drop by for a home-cooked meal once in a while?

Sure, he’d left written instructions on closing the store for Haley to follow, rather than go over it in person. And yeah, he may have ducked out of the photo shoot before remembering to say goodbye to Bree. But he hadn’t heard any complaints from Wesley when he’d swung by the apartment and told the kid to pack an overnight bag in case they didn’t make it home tonight.

He just needed time to think, to sort out what was what. It was impossible to do that at his place. Standing in the living room doorway for a moment, he watched Wesley and his dad playing a game of chess. His father’s hand was still very unsteady, so when it was his turn, Wesley would steady his grandfather’s arm so that the man could move only the piece he wanted to, not knock over everything in his path.

Wandering down the hallway, Ryan paused to study the photos his mother had put up over the years. Family vacations, Little League, birthday parties. He sneered at a picture of the entire football team just after they’d won the state championship. There he was, sitting on Doyle’s and Foster’s shoulders. Then a picture of him with Haley, senior prom. God, he had the urge to take a swing at that frame, smash the glass to bits, and rip the photograph to shreds.

He’d wanted to ask Bree to prom. She would have looked so beautiful. But he had his stupid status to maintain. And she didn’t go. Not even stag. A childhood memory she would have gotten to experience, had it not been for his stupid ego.

The pictures trailed off after that. A wedding photo of him and Haley. A few scattered ones of Wesley that he’d sent over the years. But nothing as consistent as his own documented childhood. Nothing like it would have been, had he moved back to Scallop Shores to raise his son after his divorce.

Pity party for one, please! Ryan sighed in disgust, flopping down on the futon shoved in the corner of his old bedroom. Wesley had left his backpack open and several library books were spilling out on top of the bed. An ever-present copy of
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire
, which Ryan had recently learned was Wesley’s all-time favorite book, lay on top. It reminded him of Bree, and he shoved it back inside the book bag and zipped it up.

He flung an arm over his eyes and groaned. Things were going so well. They finally had a shot at happiness. Now one stupid conversation with Doyle had him rethinking everything. Bree deserved better than him. She deserved a man who would make the right choice the first time. A man who would fight for the honor to be with her.

Instead, he’d chosen the girl who had apparently been honing her acting skills on him all along. He wondered if Haley ever loved him. God knew he’d stayed with her in order to protect his reputation, his status. She could have just as easily been dating him because she looked best on
his
arm. But staying with him after high school? Marrying him? It was all some giant game to Haley. But it was his life she’d toyed with.

“We’re not having anything fancy tonight. Just spaghetti and meatballs. But you’re welcome to call Bree and invite her over. That is, if you aren’t avoiding her.” His mom leaned a hip against the doorframe, wiping her hands on a dish towel with apples embroidered on the edges.

“I’m not—” Ryan frowned when her raised eyebrow challenged him to finish that sentence. He knew better than to lie to his mother’s face. She might be smaller than him, but she could still bring him to his knees with one disapproving glare.

“I want to go back in time, Ma. I want to choose Bree, like I should have. I want to have never married Haley.” He finished on a groan, grinding his back teeth together.

“Nonsense! You wouldn’t be the person you are today if you didn’t make the stupid mistakes you were meant to make in your youth.”

“But we could have been together all these years.”

“Or not. Maybe you would have been together for a while, but whatever issues you needed to work on within yourself would still have come up and then you would have ended up divorced from Bree instead of Haley.

“You are together now because now is when you are
meant
to be together. Don’t overanalyze it. Don’t go wishing for do-overs. Accept that things happen for a reason and be happy. Just be happy, Ryan.”

“She deserves better than me.”

“You are who she wants. And I think Bree Adams has waited a long time for her happy ever after, wouldn’t you agree? Haley managed to pull you two apart once already. Don’t let her get away with it again.”

“I have so many regrets, Ma.”

“We all do, baby. But don’t let this be one of them. Grab your chance at happiness and hang on tight. Bree loves you and she loves Wes. Anyone can see that. You two need her.”

He definitely couldn’t argue with that.

“Maybe I’ll bring her home some leftovers. I’m not quite through with my super funk.”

“Fine. But I’m not fixing a plate for Haley.”

“Jesus, I wish I’d never taken her in. Would I be an evil prick if I kicked her out?”

“Watch your mouth. What if your son heard you talking like that?”

“So I should just suck it up and let her stay?”

“I didn’t say that. I just said make sure Wes doesn’t hear you talking about her. If her poor parents no longer acknowledge her, take your cues from them. Boot her ass to the curb!” Anne winked at her son.

Twisting the dish towel in her hands, she snapped it at his foot.

“Take your super funk out to the kitchen and fix a salad while I’m finishing up dinner. There are a few dressing choices in the fridge.”

Scrambling up from the futon, he scooted through the doorway, trying to avoid another towel snapping. He heard it whistle past his butt just as he pulled an evasive maneuver the likes of which he hadn’t used since his days at UCLA. They were both laughing by the time they arrived in the kitchen.