Every Little Thing

Studying his familiar face, a face almost as familiar as my own, that horrible longing had clawed at me. My hand had slid further down his stomach as I’d moved into him, pushing the duvet off him as I’d pushed my fears aside. He’d mumbled and shifted in his sleep as I’d slid over him until I straddled him. Eyes following my fingertips as they trailed lightly over his skin, I’d let the ten years between us build my courage. His body had changed as had mine. He’d been athletically wiry when we’d first met. Now there was softness to his chest and torso when there hadn’t been before. But I didn’t care. That softness was a part of him growing older with me.

  There were the scars on his lower belly from his appendectomy four years ago. I’d rushed him to the hospital for that. A little one at the top ridge of his belly button, another little one near his left lower pelvis, and a bigger vertical one under his belly button. They were faded now, but I could still trace them with my fingers and remember how worried I’d been about him as I waited for him to get out of surgery.

  Tom had shifted under my weight and I’d felt him grow semi-hard beneath me. Tingles of anticipation had flared to life between my legs and I’d leaned over to pepper kisses over his belly. Just as my boobs no longer sat as perky as they did ten years ago, Tom’s stomach wasn’t flat and rock-hard anymore. It didn’t matter to me, like I hoped my no longer twenty-four-year-old boobs didn’t matter to him.

  Huh.

  What a joke, I thought.

  But two nights ago I’d believed that he didn’t care about that stuff. So I’d pushed my confusion and fear further away, and my lips had trailed up his body to his neck as my fingernails had dragged gently down his stomach.

  He’d groaned and shifted again.

  “Tom,” I’d whispered in his ear before nibbling on his lobe. He’d tasted clean and fresh all over from his shower.

  “Mm, Bails?” he’d groaned and I’d lifted my head to watch as his eyes flickered open. He’d stared at me with sleepy confusion. I’d known when he’d stopped feeling disoriented because his eyes had narrowed and his whole body had tensed under me.

  An ugly feeling had tightened in my stomach.

  “What are you doing?” he’d grumbled.

  I’d smiled through my fear. “What do you think I’m doing?”

  He’d rubbed his eyes and lifted his head off the pillow to stare at the alarm clock. “Shit, Bailey, I have to get up in four hours.” He’d clamped his hands on my hips and shoved me off him.

  I’d fallen on my side, staring at him in shock.

  “Go back to sleep.” He’d turned on his side, giving me his back.

  Hot tears had flooded my eyes.

  He had done what I’d feared.

  I’d reached for him and he hadn’t reached back.

  Worse . . . he’d pushed me away.

  Anger had flooded me. “Fuck you!” I’d thrown myself out of bed.

  “Bailey,” he’d groaned.

  I hadn’t looked at him. Like a hurricane I’d blown through the bedroom, hauling clean underwear out of the dresser, grabbing my jeans off my chair, rummaging through my closet for a clean shirt.

  “Bails, I’m sorry, okay. I’m just tired. Come back to bed.”

  I’d heard his voice getting closer but I was already downstairs and out of the house.

  My hands had shaken as I’d reached for my car door.

  But Tom was faster than I thought because it had been slammed shut again and he was there standing next to me, half-naked in his boxers and bare feet. Under the light of the street lamps I’d seen remorse in his dark eyes.

  “I’m sorry, babe.” His hands had gripped my biceps tight. “What I did was shitty. I was half-asleep. I’m a grumpy asshole.”

  I’d fought the urge to cry. Tom had never made me cry and I wasn’t about to start letting him make me cry now. “You are an asshole.”

  “I’m an asshole,” he’d repeated. “Now will you come back to bed?”

  “You can’t just say you’re an asshole and think that makes it okay.”

  “I know,” he’d whispered. “But I don’t want to argue about it out here in the middle of the night where we might wake up your neighbors.”

  I’d wanted to scream, “Fuck the neighbors!” Instead I’d nodded reluctantly and followed him inside.

  He’d tried to lead me by the hand but I hadn’t wanted him to touch me.

  Even back in bed, when he’d spooned me and rested his chin on my shoulder, I’d stared at my wall, listening to his breathing change, feeling his body relax before his snoring kicked in.

  Anger had filled me, mingling with fear.

  Not just because Tom had pushed me away . . . but because . . . of how it had made me feel.

  I should have been burning with hurt. Deep, anguished hurt.

  Any normal woman whose lover pushed her away would feel deep, anguished hurt.

  Mostly my pride had been hurt.

  Mostly I felt pissed off.

  And that’s how I felt now, lying on Jess and Cooper’s couch. I’d known that night that Tom and I were over. I just didn’t want to believe that I’d spent ten important years with a man who wasn’t right for me.

  The fear, that fear of starting over crept upon me again, and my chest tightened in panic. Sucking in a lungful of air I sat up. Even though it was only four forty-five in the morning, I decided I might as well get on with my day. I left a note for Jess and Coop, promising them I’d see them later and thanking Jess for being there for me. And then I got in my car and drove home.

  Although I was awake I also felt like I had a hangover even though I hadn’t had any alcohol. I felt that empty nausea/hunger in my belly, the faded energy in my limbs; something I hated since on normal days I found myself blessed with a boundless amount of energy.

  I wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone today, but no matter what, I had a business to run. My intention was to go home, shower, eat, and get to the inn.

  It was not my intention to have to deal with Tom.

  Unrealistically, I had expected him to just slink away and accept my pronouncement that we were over. But his car was parked in my driveway and since he had a key I knew he was waiting inside my small house for me.

  That made me angry on many levels, but mostly because I’d made my mind up—no matter how scary it was—that I was starting over without Tom Sutton in my life. Right away. Immediately. Which meant I wanted him gone immediately. I didn’t want him in my small house, taking up too much room, touching my things.

  Yet, I knew that was unrealistic. I had to get out of my car and deal with him.

  I felt that horrible nausea rise up toward my chest and took in a shuddering breath.

  My front door led straight into my sitting room. Tom sat on my corner sofa, chalk white, dark circles under his eyes. He stared at me, pained, haggard.

  It soothed my pride that hurting me at least caused him pain.

  “You’ll need to give me back my key,” I said.

  His gaze turned pleading. “Babe, please, let’s not do anything rash.”

  The fact that he thought I could forgive him for his disloyalty renewed my anger. After ten years he didn’t know me well enough to know that I considered loyalty of the utmost importance in any relationship?

  “Speaking of ‘rash’ . . .” I put my hands on my hips, glaring at him. “I’m guessing I’ll need to be tested for STDs since you were fucking someone else while you were fucking me because I know last night wasn’t just one mistake and that you’ve probably been fucking her for a while and how many others were you fucking?” I rambled, something I tended to do when I was either excited or enraged.

  I also didn’t think I’d ever used the word “fucking” so many times in one sentence. But I think I could be forgiven on this occasion.

  Tom stared at me wide-eyed. “It was a mistake.” br />
  That didn’t answer my question. “Having an affair with a twenty-two-year-old. Yes, definitely a mistake.”

  “She’s twenty-three.”

  “Oh, that makes it all okay then!” I yelled, wondering if he’d hit his head on the way over here.

  Tom flinched. “I’m sorry, babe. But please believe me when I say it was a mistake. It was stupid. I don’t even know what we were thinking. She loves Rex. I love you. It was so stupid!”

  “How many times have you made this stupid, stupid mistake?”

  His expression turned wary at my dry question.

  “It had definitely happened two nights ago when you pushed me away, right?”

  Guilt flooded his eyes.

  And in that moment I hated him. I never thought I could feel that toward Tom but I hated him for doing that to me. For being able to do that to me. I could never hurt someone like that. No matter how attracted to someone else I was, I could never betray someone. I didn’t have it in me.

  And I hated him for his cavalier treatment of my affection and loyalty.

  “Get out,” I said, exhausted. Done. “Just get out. I don’t want you anymore.”

  “Ten years, Bailey.” Tom strode toward me and I stood my ground this time, frozen as he clutched my hands and squeezed. “You’re not going to throw away ten years.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. “I didn’t. You did.”

  “It was a mistake.”

  I wrenched my hands from his grip. “If I hear that one more time! It wasn’t a mistake, Tom. A mistake is a onetime error. This was calculated. This was disloyalty. And I just can’t look at you the same way.” I shook my head and admitted, “And it’s not just your fault. It was mine, too. For sticking it out this long, for giving you the best years of my life, waiting for you to commit, stuck in limbo with you . . . when the truth is I knew all along we weren’t right for each other.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  I scoffed.

  “Bails, you’re right, I admit it. I’ve found it scary to commit but I’m more scared of losing you. I’ll do it all. I promise. A house. Marriage. Kids.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I love you.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean why?”

  “Why do you love me?”

  “Because . . .” He stared at me confused. “I do.”

  I stared at him, saddened by his response. “Do you know why I loved you, Tom?” He winced at my use of past tense. “Because you made me feel safe. I don’t feel safe anymore.”

  Anguish filled Tom’s expression. “Bailey,” he whispered.

  I strode to the door and opened it. “I’ll send you your stuff. I’d appreciate it if you returned the favor.”

  For a moment I thought he wasn’t going to move, he stood and stared at me so long. However, to my relief, he walked over to me, pulled my key out of his pocket, and lifted my hand to place the key into my palm. He curled my fingers around it and then lifted my fist to his mouth. I let him place a kiss on my knuckles, tears of disappointment and regret pooling in my eyes.

  “You deserved better.” The words were thick with emotion. “I’m sorry.”

  It was only when the door had closed behind him and I’d heard his car pull out of my drive that I let myself cry.

  The sobs that racked my body surprised me. The grief surprised me. In all the thoughts and fears and hurts that had whirled inside me since last night, it never occurred to me that in ending my relationship with Tom, in wanting to be done with him so I could start over, I would ultimately be losing one of my oldest friends.

  Vaughn

  Vaughn knew what he was going to look like when he was sixty-one years old because everyone told him he was his father’s spitting image. From his dark hair to his steel-gray eyes to his height and physique.

  William Vaughn Tremaine was still a powerful and well-respected man. Age hadn’t changed that—in fact the amount of people who respected him had only increased over the years. And he was still a good-looking son of a bitch to boot. He stood, staring out of the window in Vaughn’s penthouse suite, his hands in the pockets of his dark blue suit.

  When the construction on Paradise Sands had completed, William had stood in that exact spot and said, “I can see why you chose this place.”

  Now he turned to Vaughn, eyes smiling. “I bet that view doesn’t get old.”

  “No, it does not.”

  “Is that why you’re living in a penthouse suite rather than in the house you bought down the coast?”

  “It’s more convenient to stay at the hotel.” Vaughn shrugged.

  His father narrowed his eyes on him. “Or you just don’t like being alone in that big house.”

  There was no point answering since his dad was right. Like always.

  “You know how I cured my loneliness? I got a lady friend.”

  Vaughn grinned at his dad’s choice of words. “How does Diane feel about being referred to as your ‘lady friend’ after twelve years together?”

  William shot him a look. “At my age it’s inappropriate to call her my girlfriend.”

  Laughing, he nodded. “I suppose so. What about at her age?”

  “She’s fifteen years younger than me. That’s nothing.”

  “I know, Dad. But it doesn’t explain why you’re referring to her as your lady friend instead of say . . . your wife?” It wasn’t the first time he’d questioned why his dad hadn’t married Diane already. Vaughn liked her. She was widowed at thirty-four, had no children, and while many of her peers spent their days volunteering on boards for charities, Diane was passionate about her charity work. She was kind and she was unpretentious. And Vaughn knew his dad loved her. But anytime he mentioned marriage, William closed up and changed the subject.

  To his surprise, his dad turned to face him, looking somewhat sad. “I had a wife. She’s gone.”

  Pain hit Vaughn in the chest. “Dad . . .”

  “Diane had a husband and he’s gone. We care about each other. We do. But neither of us can replace what we’ve lost and we don’t want to. My wife is dead. I’ll never have that back. So Diane is my companion and we’re both happy to continue on in that way.”

  Surprised by his father’s sudden openness, he treaded carefully. “People marry again, Dad. It doesn’t take away what you had with my mother.”

  “But it will never be the same. With anyone. I know other people marry again all the time. However, that is not going to work for me. Your mother was the love of my life.”

  Emotion choked Vaughn and he looked down at the glass of water in his hand, hiding it from his father.

  “I’m not built to love someone else the way I loved her,” his dad continued. “And I suspect my son will take after me in that respect, too. But that Dunaway girl—” The hardness in his voice brought Vaughn’s head up, steel meeting steel as their eyes locked. “You didn’t love her, Vaughn. And I need you to stop acting like your soul mate died and get on with your life.”

  A sudden surge of defensiveness burned the lump of emotion in his throat to ashes and he shot up to his feet. Having his father towering over him, admonishing him, made him feel all of ten years old again. “I’m not acting like that.”

  “Then why are you going through women like they’re going out of fashion? And why are you staying at your hotel in Delaware of all places? Last time I checked my successful son owns hotels all over the world. Of all the places he owns a hotel he chooses Delaware to set up home?”

  He rolled his eyes at the sarcasm in his father’s voice. “One, before that Dunaway girl, as you refer to her, I was never into monogamy. I experimented with commitment, the experiment failed, and now I’ve returned to what works for me. Two, I’m making sure this hotel gets off the ground. I stayed at all my hotels when they first opened.”
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  “For about six months to a year. You’ve been living here for three years. You’re hiding out here.”

  “I’m not hiding out here.” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Really, Dad, you came to see me to attack me?”

  “I’m not attacking you. I’m concerned for you.”

  “And I’m telling you there is no need to be concerned.” He pulled his suit jacket off the chair he’d draped it over and shrugged into it.

  “Where are you going?”

  “We are going out. For drinks.”

  William raised an eyebrow. “It’s a little early, don’t you think?”

  “Normally I’d say yes, but I want you to meet the proprietor of the bar next door. Cooper Lawson.”

  His father followed him out of the suite. “Is he a friend?”

  Vaughn hesitated over the word. A year ago he might have used the word “acquaintance” instead but during the past few months he’d grown to trust Cooper. He’d confided in the man. “Yes, he’s a friend.”

  “Then I look forward to meeting him.”

  Cooper’s wasn’t open yet, but the owner was used to Vaughn dropping by before opening for a drink when he needed a moment of peace from the chaos of his life. Between traveling from hotel to hotel, and managing them all from Hartwell, Vaughn didn’t have time for many moments of peace. It was a luxury to have somewhere quiet to go to where no one could get at him, where no one knew where he was.

  And sure enough as he waited outside the locked bar with his dad after rapping on the door, it swung open to reveal an unsurprised-to-see-him Cooper.

  Cooper stood before them in jeans, boots, a T-shirt, and a red flannel shirt. He was the salt of the earth type—hardworking, unpretentious, and loyal. Most people in Hartwell admired and respected him, and Vaughn had no doubt that he was the kind of man William Tremaine would respect, too.

  “This is my father, William. May we come in for a drink?”

  Cooper stepped aside to let them pass. His dad stopped and held out his hand to the bar owner. “You can call me Liam.”

  Grinning, Cooper shook his hand. “Call me Cooper.”