Come On Closer (25 page)

Larkin looked around at them all—the friends that Shane had rallied together for
her
—and found herself sniffling back tears. The last thing she wanted to do was cry at her own party, so she bit the inside of her cheek and tried to focus on something other than the bittersweet rush of emotion threatening to swamp her. She wasn't usually this weepy, and the prospect of becoming a human puddle in front of everyone was horrifying.

Somehow, she kept it together, chin lifted, shoulders back. Then Shane's voice rumbled in her ear, because he
knew
. It amazed her that she'd ever thought he was callous. He could be . . . but that wasn't who he really was.

“You need a minute?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“Come on.” He pulled her back out of the room with a gentle tug. Apart from a few knowing smiles, no one batted an eye. They were all together on a dark, snowy night having fun, and that was what mattered. She wasn't going anywhere—except into the next room to decompress, just for a minute.

The kitchen was empty aside from the two of them, and comparatively quiet. Voices were somewhat muffled, undercut by the bass of the karaoke system. Someone—Annalise—had decided to start the night off with Johnny Cash. It was a weird choice, which made it typically Annalise.

I hear that train a'comin'. . . . It's rollin' 'round the bend. . . .

She remembered what Annalise had said about Shane, that he was the kind of guy who seemed to fill up any room he was in. It was the truth. Alone in the kitchen with him, Larkin felt his presence surround her. It was comforting, like being wrapped in her favorite blanket. Which, coincidentally, was now wrapped around her mother on her couch. . . .

No. Not right now.

“Is all this okay?” Shane asked. His blue eyes were filled with concern, but he hung back from her just a little, as though he wasn't sure whether she'd accept his arms around her. She hated that, and hated that she'd made him worry about it. None of this was him. It was all on her.

“This is great. This is
awesome
,” she said. “I mean it.” And whether it was from the exhaustion, the guilt, or both combined with a lack of sleep, she immediately burst into tears. That at least, seemed to remove any doubts from Shane's mind about what she'd find
acceptable, and she quickly found herself pressed up against his broad chest. The tears slowed, then stopped as she rested her cheek against his heartbeat.

It was embarrassing that she could fall asleep like this. Or it would have been embarrassing, if she could have mustered the energy to care. As it was, she could think of nowhere she'd rather be.

“I know you're tired,” he rumbled. “I just wasn't sure how else to show you.”

“Show me what?” She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent. It was, to her amazement, even more her favorite than frosting.

“That you're not alone. That you've got all kinds of people who have your back. That you're still
you
, no matter what's going on at your house right now.”

She sighed. “I don't even want to think about it.”

“You don't have to tonight. But . . . Larkin, this is dragging you down. Everyone can see it. It scares the hell out of me how fast it's happening. And . . . I don't want to lose you.”

She lifted her head to look up at him. “You're not losing me. I'm just so tired lately. I'll figure it out.”

“No, I
am
losing you. You're disappearing into those people. And you deserve
so much better
than that.”

Her laugh had a bitter edge that she didn't like, but it had appeared there recently and refused to leave. “Says who? We don't always get what we think we deserve, Shane. Things don't always work out. We end up with family we can't shake, or jobs we don't want. We can fight and fight and fight, and we still get the short end of the stick. It happens.”

“No,” he said, firmly enough that it startled her. She knew that face, the stubborn set of his jaw, the
determined glint in his eyes. “It doesn't just happen. We let it happen. You and me both.”

Larkin frowned, hurt. In her current state, that could rapidly turn to anger, and that was the last thing she wanted to feel tonight. Not when he'd done such a lovely thing for her. “Shane. Let it go. At least for now.”

“No. I'm afraid if I let it go that one day soon, I'll have to watch you give up. I don't want to do that, Larkin. I can't.”

“Why not?” she asked. “Why is it so important?” Exhaustion made her brave, and she was suddenly determined to hear his reason. She wanted to know, for once, how he felt about her. She needed it, more than she could have imagined just a few short months ago. She didn't want to need it . . . but there was no longer a choice. She'd made hers already, and there was no going back.

He hesitated, just for a moment, and the uncertainty on his handsome face arrowed straight to her heart. She nearly pulled away when his words stopped her.

“It's important because you're the first person who's given me hope in so many years that I didn't even remember what it felt like at first. You make me feel like it's not too late.”

Her heart began to ache in an entirely different way. The breath she drew in seemed too shallow, and she had to try again, drawing in enough air to be able to speak. When she did, her voice hardly sounded like her own, soft and wondering. “Not too late for what?”

“To be a better man. That's what you make me want. To be better.”

“You . . . you're perfect just the way you are,” Larkin said, stunned. No one had ever said such a thing to her.
It was nothing she'd expected. But to hear it now, and from Shane, affected her so deeply that she felt as though even the darkest parts of herself, the ones she never showed anyone, lit up and began to glow.

He shook his head. “No. I'm not. I'm standing here telling you to do something I haven't been able to. That's bullshit.”

“No—”

“Yes, it is. I've been doing a lot of thinking, watching you go through this. You were brave, to get away like you did. And you were strong enough to know what you needed to be able to make your own life. I've never been either of those things.”

“That's not true,” Larkin said. “I think staying here, in a place you love with people you love, even though you knew how much harder it would be, makes you strong and brave. We don't get to have it all, Shane. I understand.” And she did, now more than before. Sometimes people got to choose. Sometimes they didn't. And sometimes the choices they made didn't matter, in the end.

Shane shook his head. “I don't have what I want because I've been scared to jump. I'm not great at leaps of faith.”

“Well . . . they're scary things,” Larkin said.
But look what they can give you when you make them,
she thought, savoring the feel of his arms around her.
Look at what I have. Everything, everyone here tonight. Look at what I gained from making the jump.

Look at all I have to lose if I turn back into the girl who spent so many years being angry and afraid.

“Shane,” Larkin said. “I need to tell you something. I—”

“Hey, you two! Emma wants to do something from
Grease
, but she swears she needs Larkin and . . . oh, crap, I'm sorry, I'll leave.” Sam blushed where she stood in the doorway, her blue-green eyes wide as she took in the scene before her.

Larkin felt the moment slip away, though the words were still on the tip of her tongue. It surprised her when Shane lifted his head to address Sam, his voice perfectly calm and laced with his usual humor. “Don't pretend you weren't spying, you pervert. We'll be right out.” It was as though nothing had happened.

Except the gentle stroke of his fingers down her waist said he'd only slipped into character. The man who'd been speaking only moments before was just for her. Knowing that made the interruption matter far less, though now she would have to find another time to offer him her heart.

She'd never done such a thing before. And she wanted it to be right.

In the middle of a room filled with people doing karaoke definitely didn't feel right.

Sam laughed and ducked back out, still blushing. “Um,” Larkin said as self-consciousness began to creep in.

“What were you going to say?” Shane asked.

“Ah. Well—”

An unearthly screech echoed through the house, followed by a chorus of both cheers and groans as heavy guitar started to play. Larkin turned her head toward the sound, eyes widening. “Oh God. Who's doing AC/DC?”

“That'll be Fitz. Don't let the quiet demeanor fool you.” Shane sighed, pressed a gentle kiss to her lips,
and pulled back from her. “We'd better get out there before he gets any further. My neighbors are nice people, but they will call the cops if they think we're torturing animals over here.”

“Okay,” Larkin said. “But . . . hang on . . .” She turned, rose up on her tiptoes, and kissed him so thoroughly that it took several more screeches that were almost song verses to remind her where she was. Shane's eyes were hazy when she finally pulled back, his lips a little fuller from all the attention.

“Thank you,” she said, “for all of this. And what you said. And everything.”

“Now I wish nobody were here so I could offer you cookies and pretend I didn't want to have sex. For like five minutes. That's about as long as I could probably hold out.”

She laughed, the first genuine laughter she'd experienced since her family had shown up in Harvest Cove. It was a gift. Just like him.

“If I had any energy left at all, I would take you up on that in a heartbeat the second everyone left. As it is, though . . .” She trailed off, regret intruding to mar her happiness again.

“It's okay,” Shane said. “That's not what tonight is about. Just promise me something.”

“Hmm?”

“You've got a lot of people here tonight who want you to lean on them. Me included. People who have a dozen ways they could offer to help. Who want to help. Because they love you. All you have to do is ask.”

She forgot to breathe. “Because they—”

“All you have to do is ask,” Shane repeated, as elusive as ever about the sentiment. Did he mean he loved
her? Or just that everyone else did? She had a wild urge to tie him to something until he explained himself, but Sam would probably be demanding brain bleach if she walked in on that. It wasn't the time, she thought. Not tonight, for all sorts of reasons. But . . . soon. Because she needed to say the words and hear them said back to her.

Another leap of faith. But this time, she was anxious to take it.

“Stubborn butthead,” Shane added as he guided her back through the door. Larkin smiled, because he was right. It was what had gotten her here. It was what would get her through—what would get
them
through. Together.

Shane had more faith in her than anyone ever had. It was humbling, as were the words of her friends as they found her, one by one throughout the evening, and illustrated exactly what Shane had been talking about.

She wasn't alone.

She never would be again.

All she had to do was dust off all that strength and bravery that Shane saw in her and start proving him
right.

B
y the third week in April, the snow had melted to reveal the brown, soggy grass beneath, and the sides of the roads were marked by small piles of dirty snow, the remains of the drifts that had been fluffy and white just a couple of weeks before. The tulips and daffodils had shown their sunny faces to the world, and the cherry trees had begun to bloom. The world was waking up.

And so, thought Larkin, was she. This was already shaping up to be her best spring ever . . . and she was just about ready to put the cherry on top.

“Ooh, where are you off to this fine evening?”

“Dinner. I think,” Larkin said. As long as her plans didn't implode, as they were wont to do. She had a very nice sushi dinner to pick up from Rising Sun, and then a man to pick up to eat it with her while she told him how impossibly wonderful he was. His head probably
wouldn't fit through the door for weeks, but he deserved it. After all, without him, she'd probably still be living in what had increasingly looked like a failed game of The Sims. All that was left was for someone to set the stove on fire, then just stand there and yell while the house burned down. Her sister had been working on it.

But not anymore.

“Let's see the full effect,” Aimee said, circling her finger. “Twirl.”

Larkin obliged. She was wearing the beautiful green dress Shane had gotten for her, both as a statement and for luck. Tonight was the night she told him she loved him. He'd helped her put her past behind her. Now it was time to see what the future held. And as much as she thought—or hoped—she knew the answer, Larkin's stomach was still full of butterflies.

“So pretty,” Aimee said approvingly. “Love the little sweater.”

“Thanks!” Larkin smiled. It wasn't quite the weather for a short-sleeved dress yet, but she hated to cover it with a coat, so she'd found a light cardigan in shimmery pale pink that was a perfect match. Now all she needed was her date. Not that he knew he was her date yet. Shane had mentioned he'd be working late when she'd kissed him good-bye in the wee hours of the morning. He'd been quiet these past few days, she thought. It wasn't like him, but work had been rougher than usual.

Or rather, his father had been rougher than usual. Probably because he'd caught wind of Shane's hand in vacating her unwanted tenants. The man was a jackass, but he didn't miss much.

They both needed tonight. A little celebration to go with the sun.

Jo poked her head out of the kitchen, her dark, curly bun slightly askew. “Go get 'em, tiger,” she joked, and gave her a thumbs-up. “Hey, I heard from AJ. Your mom's doing fine.”

Larkin sighed as the relief washed over her. As much as Jo had assured her that her cousin would
love
to hire an experienced bartender for his place up in Portland, she still hadn't been sure it would work out. Because, well, it was Journey.

“Awesome,” she said. “Thank you ag—”

“It wasn't any trouble, you goof. Now quit it before I smack you,” Jo said, her eyes twinkling. “Amber's doing just fine waitressing for him part-time, too.”

“I knew that,” Larkin said. “She calls.” And they were calls that, despite everything, she felt compelled to take. Her sister wasn't perfect, but neither was she, and Amber seemed interested, in her own prickly way, in trying to rebuild some kind of relationship. They might never get past all the poison from years ago, but Larkin was willing to try.

It had probably helped that she'd been the one to encourage Amber to sign up for some classes at community college. So far, it seemed to have been the right move. Her sister was no dummy—and the important thing was that Amber was discovering that for herself.

As for Journey, well . . . that was probably never going to change. But that was okay, too.

“I wish I could have seen the limo take them out of here,” Aimee said. “That must have been amazing.”

“It was,” Larkin agreed. “I felt like we should have put together some sort of parade. I'm so glad Brynn's friends with Bill the Limo Guy.”

“Harvest Cove networking,” Aimee said with a
wink. “Everybody knows everybody, half of those people are related, and we work together when things need to get done. Like getting your family out of your house.”

“You're not kidding. Brynn with the limo, Seth and his partner to move them in and, you know, make sure they didn't decide to turn around halfway there, Emma with her knack for finding just the right apartment in their price range, and then me with the deposit and first month's rent.”

Jo wrinkled her nose. “It was more than they deserved.”

“It was worth it.
Believe
me,” Larkin replied. She saved her money scrupulously, and what she'd spent was a small price to pay for her sanity. A week ago today, she'd gotten her life back. Because of what she'd made for herself here . . . and because Shane had reminded her that in making people happy, she'd earned some happiness for herself, along with people who would gladly help her find it.

The infinite feedback loop of happiness. It was a thing. And no matter how much he teased her about it, Shane was never going to stop hearing about its wonders. Maybe someday, he'd even decide to try it out for himself, she thought. Or not. Shane hadn't said a word about the teaching job, and whenever she asked, he changed the subject . . . and she knew what that meant. Not that it was her decision to make. All she could do was offer support. Which, lately, it seemed like he needed.

Her smile faded a little before she forced the encroaching thoughts aside. Today wasn't a day for brooding.

“Could you lock it on your way out?” Jo asked. “I've just got a couple more things to clean up.”

“No prob.” Larkin gave a final wave, picked up the box of cupcakes she'd made especially for tonight off the counter, and walked out into the April sunlight. She started for her car, then paused. The flats she'd chosen to wear with the dress were fine for the short walk to Shane's office, now that the ground wasn't covered in snow. The fresh air, lightly scented with the sea, helped clear her head.

Maybe she'd pick up the man and
then
dinner. Making him smile by surprising him after a long day at work would start the evening off right . . . and this dress would make him smile, she knew it. Well, that and the cupcakes. He was developing some kind of addiction to her Devil's Candy cupcakes. Something about the combination of devil's food and candied bacon did strange things to people.

She had every intention of taking advantage of that where he was concerned.

Shane was always telling her he wasn't that nice. Lucky for him, she wasn't always nice, either. She smiled, a wicked little curve of her lips, and looked forward to the evening ahead.

•   •   •

“Nice of you to call me back, finally.” Shane reclined in his chair, looking out at the beautiful day. He was glad. He needed all the good omens he could get, and the flowers and sunshine definitely fit the bill.

“I have these things called students. Leaving them alone in the classroom so I can talk on the phone is frowned upon. And also an invitation to chaos. But lucky you, it's my lunch break now. So is this the ‘let
me down easy' call I've been expecting for two months?” Ryan asked. “If it is, make it quick. I have a beautiful sandwich I need to eat before my sixth-period class gives me indigestion.”

“No. It's the ‘I just submitted my application and would you please see that it gets the right eyes on it?' call. Jackass.”

There was a moment of dead silence.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.” He'd thought about it so much that he couldn't get more serious if he'd tried. In fact, he needed to get this over with so he could be less serious again. Possibly forever. And definitely not in this pit of despair he called an office.

Ryan didn't bother to pull the phone away before he let out a whoop. Shane yanked the phone away from his ear and winced. Still, he couldn't help but laugh. This was the first time he'd said he was applying for the job. To anyone. A part of him had wanted to tell Larkin first, but there was still that lingering fear that the moment he reached for this, it would be pulled away. Someone else would have gotten the job, or Ryan had been full of it and they didn't really want him. He needed to
know
.

“Man, if you cause hearing damage it's going to screw with my chances. I need the ears.”

“Don't be an idiot. May Trainor has been asking me every day if you were in. I was tired of trying to come up with reasons why you'd been too busy to get to the application. I was down to, like, vacationing at a nudist colony in Europe. Or doing the My Little Pony convention circuit.”

Shane grinned. May was the principal at the high school, and she was a good egg. She'd gone to bat for Ryan a few times over the handful of local parents who'd suddenly decided that Ryan's status as an out gay man was going to infect their children with some kind of cooties. And it looked like Ryan had been serious—she wanted him for the position. Theater director. All those kids to teach, and the freedom to get back into local theater, shows to direct . . .

The world seemed to open up all at once, so bright he could hardly bring himself to look for fear it would vanish.

“Thank you for not mentioning those,” he said. “I've got a rep to protect.”

“Who says I didn't?” Ryan said with a snort. “I'll tell her you're in. Welcome to the club, brother. It's a wonderland of hormones, homework, and lunch with yours truly.”

“Sounds awesome.”
I sound like Larkin.
He wanted to laugh. And dance like an idiot through the office singing show tunes. She would definitely approve.

“It is awesome,” Ryan agreed. “May will be back to you ASAP—that I know. So what prompted this? Do I get to ask?”

“I told somebody she deserves to be happy. She might have reminded me that I deserve the same thing.”

“Hmm. I live with a bow-tie-wearing pain in the butt who once told me the same thing,” Ryan said. “Took me a while to figure out he was right.”

“Takes you a while to figure out most things.”

“Hey, watch it or I'll TP your new classroom. So . . .
does she know? Or is this a secret you'll now do a big showy reveal of so she doesn't kill you for not telling her?” Ryan asked.

“The latter. What do you think?”

“You're lucky she's sweet. So, even bigger question. Did you tell
him
yet?”

Shane leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling.

“No.”

Ryan's voice softened with sympathy. “Uh, how do you plan on doing this? Certified letter? Flaming bag of dog poop on his front porch?”

“I'm thinking massive confrontation in his office. But I like the poop idea.”

“Big surprise. Hey, look, if there's anything I can do . . .”

“I know.” And if he'd learned anything at all from the past few weeks, it was that he would never again dismiss friends' offers of help out of hand. He and Larkin were mirror images of each other in some ways . . . and complete opposites in others. Being with her pushed him in ways that weren't always comfortable, but he never wanted to go back to the way things had been before.

He'd told her she made him want to be better. Even if he might always be a work in progress, he was ready to put the words into action.

“Well, whatever he says, remember: you are the Drama King of Harvest Cove, come to reclaim his crown,” Ryan said. “And if people don't like it, fuck 'em.”

Shane hung up laughing, and found that all his nerves about telling his father that he was moving on with his life had quieted. He should have done this a
long time ago, but at least now he was sure where he belonged. Like he'd said to Larkin, they weren't sixteen anymore. They didn't ever have to be again.

And he was finally ready to start his life.

He stood, pushed back his chair, and headed down the hall to a door that had always seemed a lot more intimidating than it actually was. A quick knock, and Jim Sullivan's voice boomed out.

“I'm busy today. Whatever it is, better make it quick.”

Well, at least he'd had years to rehearse this one.

“I only need a minute,” he said, and stepped inside.

•   •   •

She could hear the shouting all the way down the street.

“If this is what you want, you ungrateful little shit, then enjoy! This is what it feels like to be everybody else!”

Larkin broke into a run. Shane's office came into view, along with a small group of people who'd gathered to see what the yelling was about, no doubt. There was a squad car parked out front, lights off. And in front of the building was Shane, a cardboard box in his arms, facing off against Jim Sullivan. His father's face was as red as his hair, and he hadn't finished shouting yet.

“Don't look so upset, son! You wanted a normal life, right? Isn't that what you told me? Well, in normal life, employees who get fired are escorted out by security.”

Shane wasn't shouting, but his voice carried, resonant, Larkin thought, from years of practice. “I didn't get fired. I quit. And I
will
be back for the rest of my things.”

“Your things? Which are those? I paid for everything in this building, you included. You will
never
practice law in this town again. Not here, not anywhere near here. Do you hear me? If I didn't know better I'd think you belonged to someone else, because you have never acted like a son of mine. You're not a Sullivan. You're a goddamned
joke
!”

Shane stood facing him, and Larkin was glad to see that it was Seth lingering by his side instead of an officer Shane didn't know as well. Seth was watching Jim like he might watch an angry, venomous snake that had gotten loose. Shane, though, was impossible to read. He stood tall, not moving a muscle, his features impassive. But as she drew closer, Larkin could see how tightly he gripped the edges of the box in his arms.