Wrapped in Love (Boys of Jackson Harbor 4)

“Not drinking, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Her voice is thick, like she’s talking around tears. “I was just hoping we might talk.”

I search her face, see the sincerity in her eyes. “I thought we already did that.”

“We did, and I should give you time to process everything, but . . .” She drops her gaze to her hands, twisted in front of her. “Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive me?”

I take them in mine. “It’s been years. I’ve let go.”

She cocks her head to the side, studying my face. “Let go, or moved on?”

Before I realize what I’m doing, I catch my gaze drifting back to Molly—her long blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. “I think the two may have gone hand in hand for me,” I admit, to myself as much as her.

“I’ve missed you.” She squeezes my shoulder. “I’ve never forgiven myself for losing you. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. I didn’t realize how lucky I was.” She steps closer and tilts her head back to hold my gaze. I can’t help but compare it to how it feels to have Molly this close. How different this is. How right it feels to close the distance and pull Molly into my arms.

“Sara . . .” I’m not sure what to say, or if I should even say anything at all when I’m in such limbo with Molly. A year ago I’d have jumped on the chance to have Sara back. And ironically, a year ago I hadn’t forgiven her. Maybe I needed to understand what she did in order to move on.

Sara takes advantage of my contemplative silence and lifts onto her toes to press her mouth to mine. I step away from the kiss, but not before her lips brush over mine.

“I’m sorry. I can’t . . .” I don’t get a chance to put my thoughts into words, because I spot Molly, standing ten feet away and staring at me like I’ve just torn out her heart.

When I meet her eyes, she turns on her heel and rushes through the kitchen door.

Sara grabs my arm before I even realize I’m chasing after Molly. “Brayden?”

I shake my head. “I can’t do this right now, Sara.” I look over my shoulder to where Molly disappeared into the kitchen. Shit.

Molly

The night is clear, and stars twinkle down from a cloudless winter sky as I push out into the lot behind Jackson Brews. I didn’t take time to grab my coat, and the icy wind bites into my bare skin. I welcome the sting against my cheeks as I tilt my face to the stars. I won’t cry. I have no right to cry.

They kissed.

I wish I could be angry about that, angry with Brayden for leading me on or for making me want so much more than I ever let myself believe I could have, but I’m cursed with enough rational thought that anger eludes me. This is my fault. Brayden is giving me what I asked for—no strings. No commitments. No future. None of the things I know he’ll be so good at giving the right woman.

“Are you trying to catch pneumonia?”

I close my eyes at Brayden’s voice. The deep rumble of it. The way it scrapes over my skin like a highly anticipated caress.

When I turn to him, he’s pulling off his jacket and handing it to me. I shake my head. “Take it,” he says, his voice hard enough that I decide it’s not worth arguing.

I slip into it. It’s still warm, and it smells like him—clean and spicy. The scent makes my head spin with memories that almost knock me off my feet.

He folds his arms and stares at me, his face hard. I expect a lecture or a speech about why my jealousy is unfair.

“Say it,” I spit out when he says nothing.

He arches a brow. “What do you want me to say?” His eyes scan my face, snagging on my mouth for a beat before returning to meet my eyes. “Do you want me to apologize for what you saw in there?”

“No. You don’t owe me an apology.”

An emotion that I can’t name passes across his face. “Then why are you looking at me like I just broke your heart?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You kissed her.”

“She kissed me,” he says.

“I’m sure it was a hardship,” I mutter, hating the bitchy edge that laces every word. I shrug. “Relax. I don’t have any claim to you, and I know it.”

Those intense, dark eyes search my face. “You could, you know.” His voice hitches, as if it’s catching on something, stumbling over an emotion he’s tried to hide and tripped on instead.

I scoff. I’m an idiot. This is stupid. But try as I might, I can’t ignore this want clawing at me. This wish that I could be someone else. This craving for more than a girl like me should expect. Stupid, stupid, stupid.