Wind Chime Wedding (A Wind Chime Novel Book 2) (30 page)

For the first time since meeting Colin, she felt like she was finally starting to get a full picture of him. And he was nothing like what she’d originally thought. Nothing at all.

She reached out, letting her fingers trail over the velvety petals of a peach rose climbing riotously over a neighbor’s white picket fence. The scent of the flower drifted into the air, almost dizzying in its sweetness. It wasn’t just his fiancée that he’d lost. He’d lost two teammates on that mission. He’d lost his ability to walk without the help of a prosthesis. And he’d lost his career as a SEAL, which he’d told her he still missed every single day.

There had to be a lot more going on underneath the surface than anyone realized.

Was it possible, she wondered suddenly, that his decision to open the
veterans’ center on this island wasn’t just because he wanted to do something to give back to his fellow wounded warriors? Was it possible that
he
needed what this island could provide, too—a place to heal?

She thought back to the night when she’d gone up to Annapolis for his father’s fundraiser dinner, when he’d told her he wanted to buy a house on the island, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life here. She thought about the first night he’d come to her house, when he’d said it would be a good home for a family, and that he wanted three children one day.

Yes, he’d
said
all those things. But she hadn’t really believed him. Even when he’d told her he loved it here, she had assumed he would tire of it eventually, that it wouldn’t be enough for him, like it had never been enough for Tom. Since the first night she’d met him, she’d assumed that a man like Colin would never actually want to settle down. Not when he had so many women to choose from.

A barn swallow alighted from a sycamore tree, flapping its wings across the street toward the marina. What if all he wanted was the same thing she wanted—a house, a family, a quiet, simple life on this island?

She’d given up hope a long time ago that she could ever have that, because of who she’d chosen to be with, and because—as Colin had so bluntly put it last week—she’d never imagined, in her wildest dreams, that she would actually meet someone on this island. The thought that she could, that she could actually have everything she wanted, made her heart ache with longing.

When she got to her own street, she took in the familiar row of homes. Her gaze paused on her father’s house, the house she’d grown up in. His truck was parked in the driveway and she could just make out the shadow of a man through the kitchen window.

She still owed him for stepping in at school today, for sacrificing a day of work to be there for Luke. Her gaze shifted back to the other side of Main Street, where Rusty’s hugged the edge of the marina. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone, but she could pick up some take-out and drop dinner off to her father before heading home.

The parking lot was already packed and she did a quick scan of the cars as she crossed the street. She felt a small thread of relief when she didn’t see Jimmy’s red F-250 anywhere. Her shoes crunched over the oyster shells scattered over the gravel as she wove through the parking spots marked by worn wooden pilings and thick strands of rope.

Walking
through the front door of the restaurant, she inhaled
the tangy aroma of fried food and draft beer. The sun was beginning to set, flooding the wooden interior in soft orange light. The outdoor deck was filled with people, not just locals, but a few out-of-towners, too—the first of the weekend boaters who would stop by on their way down the Bay for a sunset cocktail.

She recognized them instantly from their
pastel polo shirts, aviator sunglasses, and pressed khaki shorts.
Their return, like the ospreys and the blue crabs, and any other migrating species that left and came back every year when the weather warmed, gave her a small sense of comfort as she headed up to the bar to place her order.

“Hey, Becca,” Dave Moore called over the baseball game blasting from the TV hanging over the bar. “What can I get you?”

“A crab cake sandwich and a rockfish platter to go.”

“Coming right up,” he said, moving over to the computer screen where he punched in the order. “Want something to drink while you wait?”

“Just a glass of water.”

He filled up a pint glass, added a slice of lemon, a straw, and a friendly wink as he passed it over.

She smiled. “Thanks.”

Beside her, Billy Sadler, one of her father’s waterman friends started to get up off his stool. “Want to sit down?”

“No, thanks,” she said, waving him off. She knew he was there to watch the game, as all of the other men on the barstools were. She glanced up at the TV. “Who’s winning?”

“O’s,” Billy said, settling back onto the stool and looking up at the screen. “We’re up by two. Bottom of the eighth.”

She watched the game for a few minutes, then turned, leaning back against the bar to survey the dining room. E
very table was filled with someone she knew. She waved to a few people who caught her eye, taking a sip of her water, and listening to the crack of balls from the pool table where a group of teenagers were playing a game in the far corner.

She spotted Luke and Courtney, sitting at a small table near the other side of the bar and walked over to say hi. It was unusual for Courtney to come into Rusty’s for dinner, but maybe she was trying to do something nice for Luke to make up for missing the day at school. Luke seemed perfectly content, slurping down a soda, nibbling on a plate of fries, and sketching on his paper placemat.

“Hey, Courtney,” she said, keeping her tone upbeat and friendly, hoping to ease some of the tension from their meeting this afternoon. “Hi, Luke.”

“Hey, Becca,” Courtney said, glancing up warily.

Luke’s face broke into a grin when he spotted her. “Hi, Miss Haddaway,” he said excitedly. “Did you hear about all the fish we caught today?”

Becca smiled, shaking her head. “How many did you catch?”

“Seven!” he said triumphantly, popping another fry in his mouth.

“All perch?”

He nodded.

Some of the guys at the bar started to shout when one of the players on the TV hit a fly ball into the outfield with the bases loaded. She glanced over her shoulder, watching the runs come in, then looked back at Luke. She was about to ask him what kind of lures they’d used to catch the perch when the door to the restaurant swung open, smacking against the interior wall. She jumped, and knew instantly from the expression on Courtney’s face who it was without having to look. Instinctively stepping between Luke and the door, she turned, watching Jimmy saunter up to the bar.

He was wearing a faded T-shirt and ripped jeans. His hair was limp and greasy. His beard was grizzled and unkempt from a week’s worth of growth. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin sallow, and he looked like he was starting to lose weight—in a bad way.

“Give me a couple of Budweisers,” he said, leaning on the bar to keep himself upright. “And make sure they’re cold.”

“Not tonight,” Dave said quietly.

“What are you talking about?” Jimmy asked, slurring his words. He pulled out a few crumpled bills from his back pocket, tossing them onto the bar. “Just give me what I asked for.”

“I think you’ve had enough,” Dave said, keeping his tone calm, trying to diffuse the situation.

Everyone in the restaurant had gone quiet. Every eye was on Jimmy, except for a few teenage girls in the corner, their heads bent together whispering.

Oblivious, Jimmy looked over at where Becca stood, and a slow smile curved his lips. Pushing away from the bar, he walked over, his red-rimmed gaze combing up and down her body.

Becca was vaguely aware of several men pushing back their chairs, rising to their feet.

“Nice dress,” Jimmy slurred, in reference to her modest, work appropriate, blue sweater dress.

“Go away, Jimmy,” she said coldly, remembering not only her father’s warning now, but Grace’s from a few days ago. This wasn’t the time or the place to confront him.

Undeterred, he looked past her at where Luke and Courtney were sitting, looking down at their plates, humiliated by his behavior. “Well, hey there, sis,” he said, grinning.

“Go away, Jimmy,” Courtney echoed.

He ignored her and looked down at Luke. “I heard you went crying to your mom about me not coming to school with you today.” He laughed as Luke’s face went white. “Real men don’t go crying to their mamas. Didn’t your daddy ever teach you that?”

“How dare you?” Becca snapped, her temper breaking as she stepped between him and Luke again.

“Becca,” Dave warned, lifting the hatch from behind the bar.

“No,” Courtney said shakily, pushing to her own feet. “She’s right.” She walked up until she was standing face-to-face with her brother-in-law, anger and protectiveness rippling off her in waves. “How dare you talk to my son that way?”

Jimmy’s red-rimmed eyes narrowed. “Pull the stick out of your ass, sis.” His gaze raked critically over Courtney’s scrawny, overworked frame. “Maybe if you got laid, you’d chill out a bit.”

“Hey,” Billy barked, stepping between them. He put a hand on Jimmy’s chest, pushing the contractor back a few steps. “That’s enough.”

“Fuck you,” Jimmy said, batting his hand away.

Joe Dozier walked up—all six-foot-three-inches and two-hundred-and-seventy pounds of him. “Is there a problem?”

Jimmy started to laugh, as he stumbled backwards. “Look at you people. You’re all pathetic. None of you would even know how to have a good time if it stared you in the face.” He started to turn, head back to the truck, when his gaze zeroed in on Becca again. Lurching forward, his hand shot out, grabbing her arm.

“Why don’t you come out for a ride with me, honey,” he slurred, nodding to where his truck was idling outside the door. “I know I could show
you
a good time.”

Becca’s breath caught at the strength of his grip. It was so tight, she flinched in pain. She tried to wrench her arm free, but he pulled her against him, his whiskey-soured breath hot in her ear as he whispered what he’d like to do to her.

Several men stepped forward all at once, but before they could get to him, Becca drove her knee up, hard, into his groin.

Jimmy doubled-over in pain. “Fuck,” he wheezed.

Joe grabbed him by the back of his shirt, hauling him upright. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Jimmy came up swinging, and Joe caught Jimmy’s pathetic attempt at a punch in his hand. “I said,” he repeated, lowering Jimmy’s arm back to his side, “it’s time for you to leave.”

Jimmy’s eyes narrowed, but he snatched his hand free and turned, weaving as he made his way back toward the door.

“Get the keys out of his truck,” Dave murmured to Joe.

Joe nodded, walking after him.

As soon as Jimmy heard him coming, he scrambled into the driver’s seat, threw the truck into gear, and gunned the engine out of the parking lot. Gravel spun out from under his tires as he turned the corner too sharply, ripping out a neighbor’s fence post.

“Mom,” Luke said shakily, clutching onto Courtney’s side.

“It’s okay, baby,” Courtney said, fumbling through her purse for her phone. Becca watched, her heart still pounding, as Courtney punched in the number for 911. “Yes,” she said when the first responder answered. “My name is Courtney Faulkner. I live on Heron Island. I need to report a drunk driver.”

C
rossing the Chesapeake Bay Bridge to Maryland’s Western Shore the next day, Becca glanced down at the phone in her lap. What was taking Tom so long to call her back? She’d left him three messages and he hadn’t even bothered to send her a text. She’d waited around at home for as long as she could stand it that morning, hoping he’d call her back so they could set a time to meet. When she still hadn’t heard from him by ten o’clock, she’d simply walked out the door, got in her car, and started to drive.

She needed to see him. She needed to talk to him. She needed to know if what they had was worth saving. If he told her he loved her, that he still felt the same way that he had when they were teenagers, she would put her feelings for Colin aside and go ahead with the wedding. But she couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine. She’d been letting too many things happen without taking action, without taking control, without facing the truth.