Busted (Promise Harbor Wedding)(2)

Josh sighed, stepped closer. “Don’t do this, Gavin. Haven’t you messed with her enough? Just let her be happy.”

Hayley could barely make out the conversation. Everyone around her leaned forward as though they were having the same problem.

“That’s exactly what I want to do,” Gavin insisted, not backing down an inch. “Is that what you want?”

Jackson put his hand on the groom’s shoulder, long enough to help Josh hold his frustration in check, but it still edged into his voice. “I’m standing next to her in a tux in front of a minister. What do you think?”

“I think that if you don’t let her talk to me, you know that she’ll always wonder. You don’t want that, do you? To have your wife wondering about another man?”

Josh exhaled sharply and shoved his hand through his hair. Then he half turned to the bride. “Allie?”

“What would I wonder?” Her voice was a pained whisper that betrayed more than just shock at Gavin’s unexpected appearance.

Hayley half expected the bride to march across the small distance separating them. Or maybe throw the reverend’s Bible straight at Gavin’s head had it been within reach. In her place, Hayley would have likely done the latter.

“You’d wonder what I had to say to you so badly that I would fly over four thousand miles so I could rush in here to stop your wedding.”

There wasn’t a sound in the church, not even the click of a flash, as Allie stood staring at Gavin, a tear silently tracking down her cheek.

“Allie?” He stepped forward.

She pressed her lips together and shook her head, her mouth moving in what Hayley guessed was, “You’re too late.”

“Bullshit.”

Oh, he wouldn’t…

Gavin stepped forward, bent and scooped her into his arms, then headed for the side door.

And he did.

Hayley opened her mouth, but not a word came out.

“Gavin!” Allie kicked in protest, stalling him.

“Just a damn minute—” Josh started.

Gavin pivoted back around as though Allie were no more than a fluffy, lacy blanket cradled in his arms. “Give me a chance. Let me talk to her. Let me tell her what I came here to say. Then if she wants to come back, I’ll walk her down the aisle myself.”

Josh looked at Allie, his expression so careful he was either still shell-shocked himself or wondering if he could tackle Gavin without hurting Allie.

Ignoring the murmurs of protest, Hayley tripped her way—stupid freaking heels—down her row, scrambling over people not fast enough to move their legs in time, but couldn’t quite make herself walk the rest of the way to the front. She already felt like she was intruding on what should have been a private exchange, but Gavin wouldn’t have barged in without a damn good reason.

Whatever the bride said to Gavin lit up her best friend’s eyes in a way only Allie had ever managed. His arms tightened around her. Protective, sheltering. He glared at Josh like he was seriously contemplating taking him on, then turned away.

The breath Hayley had been holding slid out in relief, but tension jammed her spine straight the instant she focused on Josh. He couldn’t be taking this well, and neither could his mother, who stood up as Gavin turned his back on the groom, striding for the side door that the pianist rushed to open for him.

Between one second and the next they vanished from view, and every head swiveled back to Josh. The groom glanced around the church, needing a couple seconds to process that his bride-to-be had just been snatched out from under him, then strode after Gavin and Allie. The maid of honor, Josh’s sister, bustled after him, barely squeezing her monstrosity of a dress out the door she let bang shut behind her.

Josh’s mom, already on her feet, spun around, her gaze systematically searching the room the way Hayley remembered from eleventh grade math class.

“Detective Stone. Hayley,” she said sharply. Unbelievably, her tone mirrored every single time she’d caught Hayley writing a note to Gavin instead of paying attention in class.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Can’t you arrest him or something?” Josh’s mom glanced once more at the door, then back to Hayley, waiting for her to do something.

Aw, hell.





Chapter One


Yesterday

Promise Harbor, Population 20,121

The town’s welcome sign flew past in the Challenger’s rearview mirror, no more than a blink across Jackson’s peripheral vision. From his point of view there wasn’t a whole lot promising about coming home.

Jackson cranked the pounding music blaring out of the speakers up a little louder, determined to ignore the dread that turned his stomach into a mess of greased knots. One of his best friends was getting married. That’s what he needed to focus on.

Jackson’s trips home had been sporadic over the years. He’d made a point to fly his parents out to see him since the accident to avoid any unnecessary visits to Promise Harbor. Unfortunately, standing up with Josh on his wedding day qualified as a necessary visit.

Promise Harbor’s main intersection loomed ahead, and at the last second he swung right instead of left, away from his parents’ empty house. The dark sky above unleashed an early summer shower as familiar sights blurred past—the elementary school, his high school girlfriend’s house, the rink.

The latter made the tightening in his stomach a million times worse.

He pulled into the parking lot of Stone’s Sports Bar, relieved that the weather and late afternoon meant few cars were out front. He turned off the car and sat staring at the ranch-style building through the rain pounding the windshield.

Why hadn’t he just fed Josh some bullshit excuse about not being able to make it? He’d certainly had enough practice at being a dick. He could have pulled it off, and yet here he sat.

Because he owed them.

Owed his best friends for refusing to let him feel sorry for himself when the rest of the world had wanted to poke at wounds that ripped him wide open inside.

Resigned, he pocketed the keys and climbed out. Even with the rain quickly soaking through his T-shirt, he didn’t rush up the wooden steps that had been slanted for as long as he could remember. Instead he leaned against the railing, inwardly steeling himself against the questions that would follow his long absence.

How’s the knee?

Is that the same car you wrecked?

What are your plans now?

“Son of a bitch!”

Jackson turned at the curse that came from the other side of the glass door. Curious, he pulled it open just as a tool went flying across the floor. Only two other tables were occupied inside, and neither of the two men so much as glanced up when the hammer clanged off the metal table legs closest to Jackson.

Picking up the hammer, he followed the next stream of curses to a cute ass and phenomenal set of jean-clad legs peeking out from behind a jukebox—the Beast—that probably should have been left at the curb years ago.

Wary of more flying tools, he approached from the side as the woman straightened, her blonde hair trailing down the back of her black shirt as she rounded the juke to deliver a solid kick to its front.

“There is no—” kick, “—beating this thing—” kick, “—into submission, Matt.”

A noncommittal sound came from just inside the swinging door behind the bar.

The woman touched the glass dome with far more care than she’d taken with her foot. “You need to smarten the hell up or Matt’s giving you a one-way trip to the junkyard. C’mon baby.” The last words were a fervent plea.

She pushed a couple buttons and “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” exploded out of the speakers. She cursed again and drew her foot back for another kick. From the size of the dent, people were still regularly nailing the Beast, although it clearly wasn’t affecting the sound quality.

“Need a hand?” He offered up the thrown hammer and at the same time processed the woman’s gray eyes as familiar.

Not waiting for an invitation, he eased into her personal space. She relinquished her spot in front of the jukebox, and from the corner of his eye, he thought he caught a glimpse of recognition on her face.

So they knew each other.

A mental replay of those legs and killer ass flashed through his head even as he reminded himself he wasn’t hooking up with anyone while he was in town. Way too much trouble.

“The Beast isn’t a machine you can tussle with. She likes a more precise touch.”

“Is that right?” One golden brow arched, and she waved at the machine with a by-all-means gesture.

He hadn’t expected otherwise, considering his skills with taming the temperamental Beast were widely known. Why then did it feel like she was just humoring him?

He gripped the juke on either side and lifted just enough to rock the Beast side to side for a second, then an extra shimmy before dropping her back on the floor. “That always does the trick when it’s being temperamental.”