Beth Andrews - In This Town

Goddamn her.

Ducking his head, he watched the chemically enhanced vanilla-flavored coffee squirt into the takeout cup. His shoulders ached with tension. His chest was tight, as if he’d explode if he took a full breath.

They’d met here, right here at this very spot, well over three months ago. When he’d run in for a coffee, he hadn’t known his entire life was about to change. But then he’d turned and saw her and it was as if he’d been struck by lightning. As if everything out of order in his life had neatly fallen into place.

He’d been such an idiot.

Anthony sensed her approaching, caught sight of her from the corner of his eye. She was close enough he could smell her light perfume. Could reach out and trace his finger down the softness of her cheek like he used to. Longing mixed with the anger in his gut, made it impossible to ignore the memories that rushed into his mind. Ones he’d been fighting ever since he walked away from her.

“Anthony,” she said, her voice breathless. Scared. She cleared her throat. “Hi.”

He should walk away now. He didn’t owe her anything, not even politeness. But he made the mistake of turning, and noticed how nervous she looked, the way she twisted her hands together at her waist.

And his feet froze to the floor.

“Hey,” he said gruffly, all he could give her. All he wanted to give to the girl who’d lied to him, who’d made him look like such a fool.

She’d cut her hair, he realized with a jolt, his fingers twitching with the need to touch it, to see if it was still as soft as he remembered. Instead of falling to her shoulders, the pale, almost white strands barely reached her chin now and her thick, straight bangs skimmed her eyebrows.

She was unique, so different from all the other girls with her light hair and blue eyes, her lush curves and go-to-hell attitude. She was beautiful. Smart. Funny and sarcastic and jaded. It was the combination of her looks and her world-weary attitude—as if she’d seen and done it all and found each experience boring as hell—that made her seem older. More mature.

Except she was neither. She was sixteen.

He’d kissed her, touched her and she was just a kid, five years younger than he was, two years too young for him.

When he looked at her, when his stomach tightened with attraction, he felt like a creep. Like a loser who couldn’t get a girl his own age or worse, some pedophile preying on young girls. He hadn’t known the truth about her age until after they were involved. But he knew now. It should be enough, he thought desperately, her age and the fact that she lied, should be more than enough reason for him to hate her.

He didn’t. Couldn’t.

Anthony turned away. His movements unsteady, he grabbed his full cup with too much force and coffee sloshed over the side and burned his fingers. Swearing under his breath, he jerked his hand back.

Jessica reached for him, frowning in concern. “You okay?”

Wiping his hand on the side of his leg, he stepped back. If she touched him, he’d be lost. Wrapped up in her again, unable to get her out of his head when he’d finally, finally, stopped thinking about her every day. Stopped dreaming about her.

“I’m fine,” he said, more harshly than he’d intended.

She dropped her arm. Swallowed and then licked her lips. “Uh, are you on fall break?”

“Brandon’s first game is tomorrow.” Anthony dug his wallet out of his back pocket. “I promised him I’d go.”

“Oh, right. He’s really excited.”

Anthony rubbed his thumb across his wallet with enough force to wear a hole in the soft leather. Brandon was his cousin, his family. Not hers. But she’d managed to infiltrate even that part of his life. Ross Taylor, her uncle and guardian, practically lived with Anthony’s cousin Layne. As long as Layne and Ross were together, Jess would be there, at Brandon’s games, at family celebrations and holidays.

“How’s school?” she asked, just like everybody else who didn’t know what to say to him.

He sipped his coffee, glanced over her head. “Same as always.”

“Good. That’s…good.”

She paused, looking at him expectantly, but he wasn’t about to ask her how she was, what she’d been doing lately. She picked up a candy bar and turned it in her hands.

He’d teased her about the candy bars when they’d first met. Had flirted and practically begged for her number. He didn’t usually go to so much effort. If a girl wasn’t interested, he moved on, no harm, no foul. But he’d seen a vulnerability in her eyes, a softness and hopefulness that intrigued him. He’d wanted to break down her walls, see who she really was behind her cynical smirk.

It’d taken time and patience but he’d done just that. He’d gotten to know her, the intelligent, wounded girl who’d so quickly stolen his heart. He’d trusted her, had told her things he’d never told anyone else. His doubts about going to law school, how pressured he felt to follow in his father’s footsteps. He’d thought what they had was real but it was all some sort of joke on her part.

“Well,” she said, sounding disappointed he wasn’t willing to pretend everything was okay between them. That he forgave her. “I guess I’ll see you around sometime.”

He shrugged. Sent her a cool look as he took another sip of his coffee, the hot liquid scalding the roof of his mouth. “Probably.”

Only way he could figure to avoid it was to never set foot in Mystic Point.

It might be worth it just so he’d never have to see her again.

Keira walked up to them, her quizzical gaze going from Jess to him. “Hey, Anthony,” she said, her tone friendly as always, but she linked her arm with Jess’s, a clear sign of whose side she was really on.

He tipped his cup. Message received. “Good to see you, Keira.”

And he walked away. As he paid for his coffee and a pack of gum, he felt Jess watching him. Waiting.

He pocketed his change, dropping a couple of coins in the process. They spun on the dirty floor, but he didn’t bother picking them up, just shoved open the door and stepped out into the bright sunshine and hurried to his Jeep. Only when he was inside, the radio blaring, did he take a full breath, his lungs burning painfully.

He shouldn’t feel guilty. He didn’t owe her anything. Not friendship or whatever she was looking for. She’d used him. Lied to him. Made him look like an idiot. She’d caused him nothing but trouble, brought with her nothing but heartbreak. He was better off without her. Hell, even if none of that was true, he couldn’t be with her—not without going against everything he’d been taught his entire life about how a man was supposed to act. Everything that he knew was right.

So he’d let her go.

But he hadn’t wanted to. Despite everything, despite only being with her for a few weeks, he still felt a connection with her. Still wanted her.

And he had to learn to live with that.

* * *

WALKER STEPPED OUT into the parking lot of the police station and inhaled deeply. The briny scent of the ocean tickled his nose. Made him realize he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been out on his sailboat.

He worked too much, he thought, shifting the folders in his arm, his laptop case in his other hand. If he hadn’t known it as fact, his mother and sisters were all too happy to remind him. Every chance they got.

The breeze ruffled his hair as he approached his car. Setting the folders on the roof so he could dig his keys from his front pocket, he glanced up, saw Officer Evan Campbell, with his round cheeks and earnestness, standing by a cruiser. He glared at Walker, his thin arms crossed over his chest. The kid didn’t look old enough to drive, was pathetically easy to read and was about as intimidating as Paisley, Walker’s six-month-old niece. And yet the great state of Massachusetts had seen fit to legally entitle him to carry a firearm.