The Truest Thing - Hart's Boardwalk

I didn’t blush. Not this time. “You should go home, Jack.”

His lips quirked in derision. “You heard.”

“About Vanessa. Yes.”

The muscle in his jaw ticked and he stared out at the ocean.

“Were you sleeping with her when you kissed me?” I had to ask. I had to know.

He didn’t look at me. “Does it matter?”

Pain flared across my chest, a hurt so deep, a little gasp escaped me.

Something like remorse flickered over his face.

Or maybe that’s just what I wanted to believe.

Angry, I took a step toward him. He watched me warily. “I won’t let you hurt Bailey.”

He huffed. “So now you’re finally starting to believe I’m not a good guy?”

“Sleeping with Vanessa Hartwell because your father wants Bailey’s inn is not the action of a good man.”

Jack glowered at me.

Tired of this dance between us, I shook my head in exasperation and turned to go. But his hand wrapped around my arm, halting me. I could feel the heat of his touch everywhere, not just on my bicep. “Let me go,” I whispered.

Those blue-gray eyes of his were bright with intensity. “I would never let anything happen to Bailey. I know what I’m doing.” Then he cursed, letting go of my arm. “What the hell do you do to me?” he breathed quietly, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

I hated that I cared that he was in turmoil.

But I couldn’t trust him anymore.

“Go home, Jack. If you’re here to make amends with Cooper, tonight is not the night.”

“Amends.” He scoffed, throwing me a “you’re joking, right?” look. “Sunrise, you can’t make amends for what I did to him.”

“I don’t know if that’s true. What is true is that you can stop making things worse. Do you know that before Vanessa, Bailey never gave up on you? She believed, like I believed, that there was a reason for all you’ve done. But Vanessa was a step too far, even for Bailey. You’re spiraling, Jack. Please stop before you lose the chance to come back from this.”

Jack’s eyes lowered to the ground. I thought he wouldn’t respond but then he bit out, “And for you? Is Vanessa a step too far for you?”

The question pierced me. Painful and sharp. “I … I guess she was just a reminder.”

“A reminder?”

“Of how you see and treat women. I’m not special to you, Jack.”

His expression turned baleful. Furious.

That only made me madder. “In fact, some might say flirting with the town’s shy bookstore owner whenever it strikes your fancy makes you kind of a dick.” I was as stunned as he was by my honesty. But I was also proud of myself. “I’m done letting you toy with me whenever it amuses you.” I turned from his shocked expression and marched back into the hotel to escape him.

Shaking, I hurried to the restrooms.

As brave as I’d been with Jack, it was enough for one evening.

I hid in the ladies’ until it was safe to go home.

* * *

JACK

He’d wanted to get drunk that night because his best friend was finally marrying the right woman, and he wouldn’t be there to see it.

However, as Emery’s words echoed around in his head, Jack found himself getting drunk because of her.

It was one thing suspecting what your actions might cause … it was another experiencing the consequences.

Not only did Em hate him for sleeping with Vanessa, now she thought all their interactions over the years were just him fucking around with her.

He tried to tell himself it was for the best.

But he couldn’t stand it.

He couldn’t stand the awful pain in his chest, in his gut. Everything fucking hurt.

So he went home and cracked open the whisky.

He wanted nothing but oblivion now.

12

Emery

One year ago

I’d just changed out of the bridesmaid dress and into pajamas when I heard the growl of tires on gravel at the back of my house.

The alarm clock on my bedside table read 01:16.

Who on earth …

I hurried to the window that looked down on my driveway and watched as a large figure pushed open the door of a Mercedes.

A Mercedes I recognized.

Jack?

He practically fell out of the car.

Oh my God.

Hurrying downstairs and out onto the porch, I watched as Jack stumbled on the gravel, steadying himself against the hood of the car. He snort-laughed under his breath and cursed.

He was drunk.

“Jack,” I hissed, hurrying down the porch steps.

He looked up from watching his feet and gave me a wobbly smile. “Em, how did you get here?”

Jesus Christ. “Jack, you’re at my house. You drove to my house. Drunk.” I was furious.

He moved toward me and I rushed to put my arms around him as he stumbled.

Holy hell … he was drunk.

“Yes, I nee-needed to see you.” He didn’t slur his words but drawled them out like someone who was falling asleep.

Concern overcame my shock and with great difficulty, I helped him up the porch and into the house.