Barefoot in the Sand (29 page)

Jocelyn’s slim fingers hesitated on the next article of clothing. “Go ahead.”

“Why’d you leave the meeting?” Lacey asked.

Three, four, five long seconds ticked by before Jocelyn finally said, “Coco called and that took forever, then I got back here and made my reservations.”

She wasn’t telling them everything, but how far to push? How much does a friend have to know? Where did they draw the line between friendship and privacy?

“Maybe,” Lacey said softly, “you should ignore this plea from a client and face down the things that are making you unhappy.”

Jocelyn wet her lips. “And maybe you should solve your own problems before tackling my imaginary ones.”

That would be the line Lacey just crossed.

“Oh, shit,” Zoe mumbled. “We’ve had a tough day. Can we just drop all the interrogating of friends and let everyone just do what she wants to do?”

“Because that’s not what friends do,” Tessa said, sitting next to Lacey in a show of support. “Are you telling us the truth, Jocelyn? Is Coco Kirkman really why you’re leaving?”

Jocelyn took a deep breath, pain and angst painted on every delicate feature. “Yes. But I will admit she’s a convenience, because I want to go.”

Lacey leaned forward. “Is it Will Palmer?”

“Who is Will Palmer?” Zoe asked, sitting up. “That hot guy sitting in Lacey’s row? I noticed him. Big dude.”

“No, it’s not Will Palmer,” Jocelyn said with so much conviction Lacey believed her. Jocelyn’s pain was never about a guy. Not that guy, anyway.

But her father…

“My issues have nothing to do with him, honestly.” Jocelyn dropped onto the bed, letting some clothes tumble. “Listen, you guys. I’m not asking you to just feed me a line of bull and say you understand. I’m not asking any of you to do that. All I’m asking for is some space. I need space.”

She always wanted space, and, like good friends, they’d given it to her. Maybe that was the wrong thing to do. Maybe it was the absolute right thing to do. Lacey surely didn’t know.

Jocelyn stood and shook her head in dismay. “Now I’ve wrecked my color-coded packing system.”

Zoe grabbed a cream-colored T-shirt. “Someone needs to teach you that black, beige, white, and gray are not colors.”

Jocelyn just shook her head and her eyes got watery. “ ’Scuze me.” She dashed into the bathroom, leaving them in shocked silence. Then Zoe put up her hand as if she’d had enough and couldn’t bear another word.

Tessa sighed heavily and put an arm around Lacey. “Do you see a pattern here? Our two best friends are not telling us everything.”

“Should they?” she asked. “Do we owe each other completely bare souls?”

Tessa shrugged, Zoe shook her head, and Lacey just stared at the door of the bathroom where Jocelyn had gone for her precious space.

“Who’s the Will Palmer guy?” Tessa asked.

“It’s not about him,” Lacey said. “At least I don’t think so. Remember how weird she was with her father at her mother’s funeral all those years ago? This has to do with him and, honestly, I just don’t know how much we should push.”

“Thank you,” Zoe said, blowing out an exasperated breath. “She’ll tell us what she wants us to know when she’s ready.”

And so, Lacey assumed, would Zoe. “Then maybe that’s what friends really do for other friends,” she said, leaning her head on Tessa’s shoulder.

“What’s that?” Tessa asked.

“They wait for each other.”

The bathroom door popped open and Jocelyn emerged, her face completely empty of the pain she’d worn when she’d gone in there. Her dark eyes were clear and her color was normal.

“By the way,” Zoe said. “We need you to break a tie for us, Joss. We’re voting on whether or not Lacey should go to the beach to meet the building stud.”

“Do you know what happened?” Lacey asked Jocelyn.

She nodded. “They texted me. Why would you go?”

She closed her eyes. Did they have to know everything? Only if they could really help her decide, and, face it, she’d made the decision a while ago. Now she just needed to rationalize it. “I feel like there’s a chance for something different with him.” Zoe rolled her eyes, but Lacey ignored her. “And I’ve never wanted anything so much in my whole life. I really care about him.”

At their silence, she laughed softly. “I’m making excuses to do something. Is that the same as making excuses not to do something?”

Jocelyn didn’t answer at first, but started straightening clothes, methodically folding already crisply ironed khaki shorts. “I think,” she finally said, “that you should do whatever you want and not worry about what we think.”

“But I need your opinion.”

“You need our blessing,” Jocelyn continued. “Which you know you’ll get for whatever you decide to do. But what’s really important is that whatever you decide to do, we’ll be there to cheer you on or pick up the pieces.” She smiled at the others, a hint of tears in her eyes. “That’s what friends do for each other. Even when they don’t understand everything.”

No one argued with that.

“So,” Tessa asked, “what are you going to do?”

“I’m going. And when I get there, I’m going to…” She let her voice trail off.

“Do something that starts with an
f
and has four letters,” Zoe said.

“Right,” Jocelyn said. “Fire him.”

Lacey just laughed. “One way or the other, somebody’s going to get burned.”

C
lay lay flat on the hard-packed sand, close enough to the water that the occasional wave passed under him, soaking his clothes and digging a sinkhole for his body.

A sinkhole. The perfect metaphor for this mess.

He’d been out here long enough that his eyes had completely adjusted to the darkness, allowing him to see the Milky Way in all its celestial glory. A nearly full moon hung in a cloudless sky, cutting a river of silver over the calm waters of the Gulf. Nothing but the sound of the steady surf and the distant buzz of cicadas interrupted his miserable thoughts.

Thoughts that had turned dark, cynical, and circular as each moment passed and he accepted that Lacey wasn’t going to show.

A warm wave punctuated the realization, seeping around
his body again, leaving him wet and chilled, sucking him deeper into the sand.

Who could blame her? He’d lied, even if it was a lie of omission. Sure, he had plenty of reasons—she’d back out, he wanted the affidavit, the allegations were false, the charges dropped—but that didn’t change the truth.

And he’d given
her
a hard time for having excuses.

Who could blame her for blowing him off tonight? For staying with her friends and family, or letting her ex-boyfriend work his magic and convince her that he could be a real father to Ashley? Because Clay sure as hell didn’t want that job. Did he?

He slapped his hands on the wet sand and pushed up, wanting to wash away the thoughts
and
the sticky muck that had turned his skin and clothes into forty-grit sandpaper.

Popping open his button-down shirt, he shimmied free of the wet sleeves and threw the shirt on the sand. Then he stripped off his sopping wet pants and boxers and tossed them on the pile with the shoes he’d long ago abandoned.

Naked, he strode into the surf, instantly relieved of the sand but not of the agony in his chest. He dove underwater and stayed down; his lungs ached. He popped up and sucked in a mouthful of salty night air, wiping the water from his eyes just as headlights cut a swath across Lacey’s property.

Holy shit. She came.

She killed the lights, then the engine, and slammed the car door. He heard footsteps on the cement foundation, imagined Lacey walking around her property looking for him.

Why didn’t he move? He couldn’t. If she came to him, if she forgave him, if she
joined
him in this water and let
him do all the things their bodies wanted and needed to do, he’d say things he’d regret in the morning.

Things like
This isn’t casual
.

When, exactly, had that happened? Probably when he’d walked into that town hall and seen the heartbreak on her face—and felt it right in his own gut. She mattered, damn it. She mattered to him
already
.

He caught a glimpse of her hair in the moonlight, and the peach-colored dress she’d worn that afternoon. She stood still by the picnic table, looking around, probably trying to get her own eyes to adjust.

After a few seconds she climbed up on the picnic table, wrapped her arms around her legs, and rested her head on her chin. In a matter of minutes her eyes would adjust and the moonlight would reveal his pile of clothes or his truck parked near the bushes.

But she put her head down and started to sob. Chest-tearing, throat-ripping, nose-sniveling sobs of bone-deep pain.

Oh, man.

Way to go, asshole
. Way to crush the spirit of the most spirited woman he’d met in years. Maybe ever.

God
damn
it. He strode forward, unable to stop, scooping up his pants in one move as he walked, barely stopping as he stepped into them, ignoring how wet they were. She didn’t hear him over the bawling that already had her shuddering.

He didn’t want to scare her, so when he got about fifteen feet away he started to whistle softly. The six notes he often whistled, a favorite song, a simple sentiment, the music from
her
movie.

A kiss is still a kiss
.

She stopped crying, but she didn’t lift her head.

He whistled the next bar.

Very slowly, she looked up and met his gaze. With each step closer, the moonlight emphasized more clearly her swollen, red eyes, the streaks of makeup and tears, the tremble of her lip.

“Of all the sandy beaches in all the world…”

She shook her head at the lame attempt at humor. “Don’t.”

He stopped a foot away, aching to reach out and take away all that pain. He went for the obvious instead. “I’m sorry this happened, Lacey.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” She wiped her face, but that just made her makeup smear worse, and punched his gut a little harder.

For the time it took for two, then three, waves to break on the sand, they just stared at each other.

“Did you talk to David?” he finally asked.

“David didn’t buy the properties,” she said. “He did meet with Tomlinson, but he said it was to try and buy them as a gift for me, but Tomlinson said an offer was already on the table, which must be the one through the bank. David backed off.”

He didn’t think that was true, not for one second, but it seemed like a lousy time to try to crucify her ex. “Any theories, then?”

She shook her head. “He’s going to try and find out who bought the lots.”

“I’ll find out.”

“How?” she asked.

“How’s he going to do it?” he countered.

“The way he does everything: by throwing money around. What’s your plan?”

“My sister knows a million mortgage brokers,” he said. “She can get information like that.”

“Is that legal?” she asked, plenty of disdain in her voice.

“Yes, Lacey, it’s legal. I’ve never done anything illegal in my life. Stupid, short-sighted, chicken-shit cowardly, and badly motivated, yeah. Guilty as charged. I haven’t lied to you, except by not telling you everything straightaway, and I haven’t broken the law.” He blew out a breath but wanted to finish the speech. “I have made some of the biggest mistakes in the name of love and loyalty that a person can make.”

She stared at him, still holding tightly to her legs, the skirt slipping down in the awkward position, but he didn’t steal a peek at her bare thighs. He was too busy searching for forgiveness in her eyes.

“And I’m still the right man for…”
You
. “The job.”

She swallowed, her eyes welling up as she tried to speak. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but… I… can’t…” Her voice cracked with a sob.

“Forgive me?”

She shook her head. “I can’t…”

Again, the word wouldn’t come out. “Give me a second chance?”