Crossing Lines (4 page)

Erik shrugged. “I have no idea.” His head bounced side to side and his lips moved, like he was doing the math as he took in the details of the room. “I’d say close to a shitload.”

When Lizbeth approached him about Mazze Builders underwriting the event, along with Monteague Boats, Kevin told her he’d be happy to. Now, he wondered if he should’ve asked a few more questions… and set a budget.

“This is all your fault,” Erik said, nodding to the Venetian tapestry hanging on the wall and the upstairs balcony, which had been transformed into the Bridge of Sighs.

“Is that right?” Erik didn’t elaborate, so Kevin did a quick run-through of possible offenses and decided the list was way too long to narrow down in one night, let alone a single conversation. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.”

Erik broke into a full-fledged grin that usually meant trouble—at least in the past, before he settled down and got in the family way—and took a sip of wine. Following a shudder, he said, “While kicking around possible themes, Lizbeth said they positively”—Erik made his voice breathy, imitating Lizbeth—“had to do a Venetian party to remind you of home.”

Kevin laughed at Erik’s impressive imitation, then gave the room another cursory glance. All very Italian, but… “Sorry,” he said with a shrug and shake of his head, “none of this reminds me of Raleigh.”

When amused, Erik’s blue eyes danced. Right now, the bastards were doing the cha-cha. “That’s what Kat said.” He shoved his hand in his pocket and rocked back on his heels. “But Lizbeth insisted on creating an event to remind you of… and I quote… the Motherland.”

The Motherland?

He tried to keep his laughter contained, but when he and Erik made eye contact, GAME OVER. After getting themselves under control and apologizing to the nearby group of grandmotherly patrons for the outburst, Kevin shifted sideways so they formed a ninety-degree angle, blocking their conversation from the others. “I’ve been to Italy once. I was four and I don’t remember anything. And I only speak Italian because my mother made me learn.”

“Which comes in handy when you don’t want anyone to understand what you’re saying… or when you’re thinking out loud.”

“True, but… Jesus… the Motherland?” He scrubbed a hand down his face and stifled another round of laughter.

“She’s just trying to make you happy.”

“I suppose, but if she really wanted to make me happy, we’d be in shorts and T-shirts, eating pizza and drinking beer.” Which was the way he preferred to roll. Lizbeth’s livelihood, however, depended on events like this, and she thrived in these environments.

He searched the room and found her working a crowd near the kitchen. Her fitted, gold gown dragged the ground and shimmered in the soft candlelight cast by a wall sconce. The halter-top was made of a combination of fabrics. The scrunched up part—ruching, she called it—was made from gold thread and beads; the other half was the same shimmery material as the skirt. Combined with her long black hair and dark eyes, she was stunning.

“This isn’t all about me or Saving Grace,” he said to Erik. “This is a tremendous business opportunity that also gave her a chance to test things prior to Miranda’s wedding. Of course, we’ll have an additional two hundred people here, and everything will take place outside. But in her mind, it was the perfect trial run.”

Erik nodded thoughtfully. “I can see where that would make sense to Lizbeth.”

The two fell into their own thoughts, and Kevin studied Erik’s profile as he shuffled foot to foot and checked his watch, as anxious as Kevin to get this party over and done. Without much thought to taste, Kevin sipped his wine and contemplated going where the two of them had never gone before. At least not at the same time.

He wasn’t sure why they’d never discussed Lizbeth or her and Erik’s previous relationship. It was as if they’d come to a mutual, unspoken agreement the best thing for their friendship would be to pretend Erik hadn’t had her first. Literally. After a long silence and much deliberation, Kevin decided to end the Lizbeth moratorium. “How long did you and Lizbeth date?”

Erik whipped around and his mouth fell open. He snapped the hatch shut a few times, but the thing kept flopping open into the oh-shit position.

“I understand,” Kevin said. “Date isn’t the best descriptor. But for the sake of this conversation and our friendship, let’s go with that.”

Erik nodded like a busted bobblehead and loosened his already slack tie. “Yeah, okay. That works.” He tossed back the last of his wine and said, “We
saw
each other a handful of times over about six months.” He lifted his shoulder nonchalantly. “Then she left for Europe and I didn’t see her again until the night she showed up in Topsail, when you guys hooked up.” His eyebrows dipped as he studied Kevin. “Why?”

Kevin shrugged, trying to match Erik’s indifference, but doubted his friend would buy all the just-curious-and-making-conversation. “How well did you get to know her?”

Erik’s eyes cut to the door a split second before his feet and body angled in the same direction.

“Not biblically, dumbass, in general.” Kevin was aware standing here talking about his girlfriend—for lack of a better term—with his best friend, who once upon a time also banged said girlfriend, should leave him feeling guarded or protective, at least raging with jealousy like Erik had been over Kat.

It didn’t. Digging around for any kind of emotional attachment to Lizbeth only garnered a whole lot of nothing.

And for
that
, he felt bad.

“Do you know her favorite food, favorite color, what kind of books she reads? When she stares off into space and gets a sad expression, did you figure out the cause?” At Erik’s blank stare, Kevin glanced to the door and tugged at his collar again, feeling like a convict trapped in a house with the swat team closing in. He’d gotten himself into this situation, but now he had no way out and nowhere to hide. Despite his discomfort, he’d started the conversation and he needed to finish it. “How well did she get to know you?”

Erik sighed and his shoulders sagged. “I didn’t bother to learn any of those things, but she didn’t care about me, either. That’s not what our relationship was about. We usually met out for drinks, and then…” He made a
you know
motion with his hand and cut his eyes to the wall.

A moment later, he took a deep breath, then turned to face Kevin, committing himself to the conversation despite the awkwardness. “What’s going on? Why the questions after all this time?”

“I’m not sure,” Kevin said, still trying to figure out the whys himself. In the past, mostly in college, Kevin and Steve, and Erik and Steve shared women. Kevin and Erik never did. Whether it was their competitive natures or an ego thing, he didn’t know, but it was a well-established line they all understood would never be crossed. It seemed counterintuitive to discuss Lizbeth like this, but desperation had Kevin searching for a lifeline. “I guess I’m looking for someone else who understands her.”

Erik squinted, like the increased focus would help clear things up.

Kevin squinted back to see if it worked. Nope, still confused.

“Sounds like there’s trouble in paradise,” Erik said, cocking his head to the side.

Kevin laugh-snorted and motioned for the guy with the drink tray to bring him another. Shitty wine was better than nothing, especially during this conversation. After snagging two glasses, he said, “We’ve never been paradise, but lately…” He looked around, trying to find a nice way to explain the situation. Finally, he gave up on tact and said, “She’s lost her damned mind. She’s always been self-absorbed, but she’s out of control.”

“Yeah, she’s planning a
wedding
.” Erik emphasized the last word by stretching his arms wide.

“Kat didn’t get like this, and it was
her
wedding.”

Erik grinned. “Yeah, but our wedding was a small, intimate affair. Not one of epic proportions. And Kat didn’t have a business riding on it, either.”

Kat and Erik’s wedding had been perfectly suited for them. “Sometimes I wonder if Miranda wouldn’t have preferred something smaller, something similar to yours.” He actually wondered if Miranda was ready to get married at all. She was a young twenty-two and oftentimes seemed unsettled. When he tried to talk to him about it, Wade brushed off Kevin’s concerns. And Miranda accepted the proposal, so who was he to pop their balloons?

“You think Lizbeth is doing things her way, rather than Miranda’s?”

“Doesn’t she always?”

“You got a point.” Erik stared at him as if he were studying tea leaves. “You’re ready to end things.”

It wasn’t a question, but Kevin nodded anyway. “Yeah.” The weight of his decision settled on his shoulders while simultaneously breaking something loose in his chest. His gaze traveled back to her, and he finally felt something: sadness. A soul-deep sadness because they weren’t better matched, and no matter how hard he tried, they never would be.

“But?”

He turned back to Erik. “But what?”

“You know what you need to do, but something’s holding you back.”

“Hello…” He gave Erik a prompting look. “Wedding. No, make that
epic
wedding. Here”—he pointed to the ground—“at my house, in two weeks. If the best man dumps the maid of honor right beforehand, things will get awfully awkward and uncomfortable for everyone.”

Erik opened his mouth, then closed it. Opened. Closed.

“What?”

After several tense moments of silence, Erik said, “You’re too nice.”

“What?” Gee, he sounded like a broken record.

“It doesn’t matter who or the circumstances—your sister, your girlfriend, the homeless kid you pick up off the street and employ.” At Kevin’s raised brow, he said, “You gonna deny it?”

“Look how great the homeless kid turned out to be.” Wade was smart and hardworking, and hiring him was one of the best decisions Kevin ever made.

Erik rolled his head around in a circle. “You’re missing the point. You and Lizbeth have been on and off more than a light switch, but you still care about her. For that reason, you’ll put her wants and needs before your own. Even if it makes you miserable.”

Kevin glared, but it was all for show because he was having a hard time coming up with a decent argument. “So… what you’re saying is I’m a pussy.”

“And a dick.” Erik’s eyes lit up as his grin stretched wide. “Hey, check you out; you’re a complete package.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m just messin’, trying to lighten the mood.” Erik’s voice was soft and cajoling, like he was trying to talk Kevin off a forty-foot ledge. He chewed at the corner of his mouth, trying to decide whether or not to continue, which was weird because Erik was usually blunt and to the point. Decision made, he said, “Kat and I are worried about you.”

Kevin flinched in surprise. “Why?”

Erik rubbed his temple and took a step closer. In a low voice, barely audible over the din of the crowd, he said, “You’re tense as hell and stressed all the time. SOP for me, definitely not for you.” He looked at Kevin’s hands. “You’re drinking more and more all the time, and it seems to be getting out of hand.”

Kevin’s tongue stuck to roof of his mouth as heat flared under his collar. He widened his stance and squared his shoulders, going toe-to-toe and eye-to-eye with Erik. More than once they’d narrowly escaped a roll-around-in-the-dirt beat-fest, but cooler heads—as in Steve—always diffused the situation before the first punch.

Steve wasn’t here tonight, however, and Kevin was carrying a ton of pent-up steam that needed venting. “Say again,” he challenged.

Unimpressed with the posturing, Erik met his stare, unwavering and equally threatening. “You’re double fisting piss that’s being passed off as wine. You don’t see the problem?”

Deep-seated anger erupted into rage as Kevin’s vision turned crimson. The walls closed in around him, caging him like an animal. Cornered and isolated, exposed to the world, he wanted to come out fighting, claws exposed, going for the jugular to end the threat. He’d never wanted to live up to his nickname, Wildman, so badly.

Laughter in the distance—Kat’s laughter—broke through the violent fog clouding his mind and judgment. For the second time in one day, he was forced to back the fuck off. No matter how badly he wanted to, he couldn’t pummel Erik for speaking the truth.

His drinking wasn’t out of control… yet. He realized, however, if he kept his current pace, it would be. He couldn’t go to sleep without tossing back a few shots, and his first stop upon arriving home in the evening was always the fridge. Most nights, he drank his dinner rather than bothering to fix something of substance, so… yeah… there might be an issue.

Erik relaxed and took a step back, easing off his aggression in direct proportion to Kevin stepping off his. “Is it the job? Lizbeth? The wedding? Hell, all of the above?” The stress lines around his eyes smoothed and his gaze turned imploring. “What can we do to help?”

“Nothing,” Kevin said, setting the glasses on the side table so the tremble in his hand wasn’t obvious. He pushed his fingers through his hair and blew out a breath. “Work has been a bitch.” And that was before things blew up over the water tower. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he added, “Lizbeth is definitely part of the problem.”

“What are you going to do?”

He threw both hands into the air, palms up. “What can I do right now? I mean, look around.” He made a wide sweeping gesture with his arms. “She threw a party to remind me of ‘the Motherland.’” He laughed, then sobered. “Seriously, though, how can I do anything this close to her sister’s wedding? She’s been planning for a year, and she’s already self-conscious about her baby sister getting married first.” He shook his head. “Forget Lizbeth. I can’t do that to Wade and Miranda. Things would be so awkward and tense between us. I’m afraid their day would be ruined by stress and Lizbeth’s dramatics.”

Erik pressed his lips together and gave Kevin a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, bro. You’re definitely wedged into a tight spot.” He glanced to Lizbeth, then back to Kevin. “I guess you’ve stuck it out this long. Another few weeks won’t kill ya. Right?”