Had To Be You (38 page)

She pressed her lips tight, shaking her head. “He doesn’t get any more chances with me. That’s it. From now on, he’s not a part of my life anymore.”

“I’m sorry, Rory.”

“It’s just—it’s not worth it.”

As a few last tears leaked out, she closed her eyes to rest her head in the crook of his neck, tucking it under his chin. His body, as always, felt so warm and solid. Maybe it was just the way he held her, but there was always something so soft about him, even with the hard lines of muscle that made up his lean, athletic build. He was almost like a big teddy bear (if one ignored the increasing number of occasions lately when she just wanted to throw him down on the nearest flat surface and have her way with him).

“Don’t cry,” he gently pleaded, and ducked down to murmur in her ear. “Unless, of course, you’re just moved to tears by how damn good I look in this tux.”

She was able to laugh at this, and quickly swiped at her eyes.

His hand found the small of her back and he held her a little closer.

“You can get pissed off and take it out on me, if you have to. You can even try to pawn me off on other women. But sooner or later you’re gonna figure it out, Rory. I’m always going to be here for you. And do you know why?”

She met his steady blue gaze and silently shook her head.

“Because you are worth it,” he said.

And she should have known then.

This was Matt. He wasn’t like every other boy at school. He wasn’t like her, and he wasn’t like her dad.

He wasn’t like anyone else.

THIRTY

Rory frowned into the paperback book in her hands, absently creasing the binding. It was a quiet, lazy afternoon, the soft sounds drifting up from the beach muted by the gentle crash of the surf. Basking in the warm sunshine, she felt anything but relaxed.

Suddenly, finally, she heard his truck swing into the driveway to park.

Ducking her head to return back to her book, she was acutely aware of the fact he was now ascending the wooden steps to the deck.

She’d started to fear he wouldn’t show at all.

“Hey.”

Glancing up, she tried to respond as nonchalantly as possible. “Hi.”

“Catching some rays?”

“Mm-hmm.” She carefully reached down to adjust her bikini top, paranoid that the sudden thunderous pounding of her heart against her chest would somehow be visible from the outside.

“Nice day for it,” he commented, shoving his hands into the pockets of his khaki cargo shorts as he glanced out towards the water. “I was down the marina earlier, doing some work on my boat.”

Rory finally lowered her book, glancing up to narrow her eyes against the glare of the summer sun.

“Did you go out?”

“Nah. I had too much stuff to do.” He grabbed the back of one of the other deck chairs to drag it closer, and dropped to sit next to her.

“It doesn’t look like you’re doing much right now.”

He threw her a sideways grin.

“Trying to get rid of me already?”

“I was simply making an observation.”

“Try to sell that to someone who isn’t familiar with you and your sarcastic ways.”

Rory snuck a glance at him when he gazed out at the beach, her eyes traveling over the broad muscles of his chest and thick curve of his tanned biceps, before she quickly turned away, her face warm from more than just the sun.

When he’d first suggested these somewhat tentative plans to spend time together today, Rory was quietly thrilled. As soon as her head hit the pillow, however, she was tossing and turning. It was a restless night, wondering to herself which might be the more difficult scenario to deal with—trying to start a relationship in the shadow of your significant other’s history with someone else, or trying to start a relationship in the shadow of your significant other’s history with
you
.

Coming from any direction, this wasn’t going to be easy.

“And what have you accomplished with your day so far?” he asked. “Working on anything other than that suntan?”

“Actually, if you want to know the truth, I am working on something.” She tilted her head to meet his gaze. “I’ve been trying to come up with a game plan.”

“For what?”

She smiled wryly. “My whole life, basically.”

“I thought you had that all figured out by the time we were fifteen.”

“If we could actually predict what we’d turn out to be way back then?” she replied. “Wouldn’t you be sending me postcards from the Major Leagues by now?”

He grinned in response, nodding in acknowledgment.

“Well, like everyone says, you have this fantastically unbelievable job, right out of college. And I have no doubt it’s only going to be onwards and upwards from here on out. So what’s left to plan? Exactly how much more awesome it will be?”

Rory gave this some consideration. She was so focused on work when there, on proving herself and advancing from her entry-level status, yet in all this time away she’d barely given it a passing thought. The job had always been too good to pass up, especially for someone her age, with its salary and fringe benefits. She now had the financial independence so many of her college friends were still struggling to achieve, but still felt like she was missing something.

“
Besides, you do realize that no one really has it all figured out yet, and anyone who says they do is basically lying, right?”

“
Breakfast Club
?” Hesitating, she quickly amended her answer. “No, wait—
Reality Bites
!”

“For the win,” he said, acknowledging the correct response.

Even when using movie-trivia-speak, he managed somehow to put everything in perspective. He was always good for her in that way.

The last thing she wanted to do, however, was weigh this time together down with heavy thoughts. She already worried all morning that she might have scared him off. For the time being, she intended to keep things light.

“Hey, did you hear about the shark sightings?”

“Yeah, I actually spotted a few out past the Lighthouse last summer, too.”

“Okay—which one?” she said, reverting back to a familiar old pastime. It was a game they started one summer afternoon out on the island, after misjudging the tide and getting stranded there for hours. “Attacked by a great white or by a whole school of hungry piranhas?”

He rested his head back against the deck chair to give this some consideration.

“So, we’re talking getting torn apart and eaten in a couple of big chunks, or being gnawed away at with a thousand razor-like little teeth?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Well, despite the fact I find that glimpse into your mind to be rather disturbing, I guess I’d have to go with the shark.” He turned to let his eyes drift over her. “How ‘bout you?”

“I’m not sure.” She paused in careful contemplation. “I’m thinking the piranhas? There is the possibility you could quickly lose consciousness from extreme blood loss, thereby hindering any chance of escape.”

“And a seventeen foot long shark lopping off an entire limb to instantly sever major arteries—that wouldn’t involve a bit of blood loss, ya think?”

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose you have a point. So why pick it then?”

“Because sharks can be easily hypnotized.” He smiled faintly off her look. “I’m serious. I saw it on the internet.”

“Then it must be true.”

“Okay, my turn…following your lead,” he said with a lazy sigh. “A hundred filthy sewer rats or one giant rabid water buffalo?”

“Well, hold on, because I once spotted a rat over near Fisherman’s Wharf that could have been mistaken for a Rottweiler.”

“These are merely hypotheticals. Just play the game, Finn.”

“Sorry, but size does matter.”

“Does it?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Do we have a final ruling on that?”

The minute the words left her lips, the heat of embarrassment was already spreading out from the pit of her stomach, but his (to be expected) reaction only turned her cheeks a brighter shade of pink.

“Okay.” She stumbled in her reply, “I, um—wow, you know what?” She sat up quickly in her chair. “I think I’m going in for a swim.”

Pushing up from the chaise to stand, she discreetly adjusted her bikini, trying not to make her discomfort too apparent.

“I think I’ll go, too.” Matt sat upright, tilting his head to squint up at her expectantly. “Race you down?”

Rory hesitated, a small smile lifting the corners of her lips as he tugged his shirt off. “Sure,” she replied nonchalantly before bolting towards the stairs with a triumphant laugh. “If you’re prepared to lose!”

“Oh, I don’t think so!”

He jumped up from the chair to cross the deck in the opposite direction. Placing one hand on the rail for balance, he hopped over the side, landing with a thud in the yard below before dashing after her through the dunes.

As the beach was clearing out, they didn’t have to worry about disturbing sunbathers on towels by kicking up sand, so they both tore down the beach at top speed. Matt passed her easily in the final strides and, doing a small sideways flip, he dove into the waves with a huge splash, followed by her in one swift, fluid motion.

Spurred on by the adrenaline of the race, both strong swimmers, they swam hard against the current, their strokes determinedly cutting through the water for several yards before they slowed to a stop to tread water.

“You cheated!” She pushed the drenched strands of hair out of her eyes as she gasped for breath.

“There were no rules implied!” Matt raised his hands in defense before swiping his dripping wet face. “I can’t be accused of cheating if there were no rules.”

She only laughed, slapping her hand across the water to splash him, but picked up a random piece of seaweed in the motion. It hit him directly between the eyes.

“Oops.” She bit back her smile as he wiped the slimy substance off with a grimace. “Sorry.”

“Okay, that’s it.” His voice held the edge of a growl before he took a gulp of air and then submerged under the choppy waves.

“Matt! Don’t you dare!”

She tried to swim away, still laughing and breathless, but only paddled a few feet, unsure where he might come up. The swells in the dark blue ocean water this far out made it impossible to try to detect what might be lurking just under its movable surface.

Suddenly he burst through right behind her, grabbing her around the waist.

“Matt!”

“Shh…don’t struggle,” he chuckled, before turning his head to spit out a mouthful of salty water. “It might attract the sharks!”

She laughed again, resting her hand on his forearm as he slid it a little more snuggly around her bare midsection, using his other arm to keep afloat as they treaded water. He tilted his body back, extending the arm in a lazy, crooked backstroke. Rory let herself relax into his hold, taking a breather to rest her weary limbs and instead let him be her guide through the tidal current. It had been so long since he’d held her in any way.

“I should still dunk you for that,” he murmured low in her ear, mumbling around the waves that splashed at his chin.

“But you won’t.” She smiled, resting back against his solid chest, the gentle pull of the current rocking them as if the rough ocean was nothing but a baby’s cradle.

“No,” he replied quietly, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I won’t.”

She lay in his arms like that a moment, floating on the water. Gradually, she became aware of every part of him touching every part of her, wet skin brushing, bumping against wet skin; the pliant crush of her soft body resting against the hard lines of his. Ever so slowly, drawn by instinct, she tilted her head towards him, lips close enough to kiss.

Suddenly, too abruptly, he released her, paddling away. He glanced back, his voice revealing nothing.

“Coming in?”

“Ye-yeah,” she said shakily, as if only now aware of how cold the water actually was.

Following after him, stroke by stroke, Rory remembered how, at nine years old, she once got caught up in a scary, powerful riptide. At first she struggled against it, trying to get in to dry land, swallowing salt water and flailing about in a panic for a good ten minutes until she remembered the rules, and headed parallel to safety and shore.

Whenever her feelings for him threatened to overwhelm, she always panicked and chose the wrong way, nearly drowning their whole relationship in the process. Had she stayed, swam it out, who knows? Maybe she could have realized that there had been no reason to be scared after all.

Her feet hit bottom and she walked the rest of the way out of the surf, toes digging into wet sand as she squeezed the water from her long hair and tugged down her bikini bottoms. They trudged back up the beach in near silence, both of them drenched, salt water drying on their legs by the time they reached the house.

A beach towel was draped over the back of her deck chair and she grabbed it to dry herself off a little, passing it over to him as he mumbled his thanks.

He rubbed it over his hair, head bowed. Rory took the opportunity to let her eyes surreptitiously drift over the tight ridges of his tanned abdomen, then lower to where his soaked shorts hung low on his hips, drenched and clinging to him, lingering a moment on that familiar bulge in the material. The feel of him pressed against her wet skin was still fresh and vivid in her mind.

“What time do you think it is?” Matt remarked, glancing up to peer at the sun’s level in the sky. He glanced over, the blue of his eyes meeting hers. “Are you hungry?”

Her head shot back up. “Um, yeah, I could go for something.”

“We could head into town and grab a bite,” he suggested. “Or maybe avoid the long lines and just cook out. I could run to the market out on the beach road and pick up some stuff.”

With Kevin and Danny once again gone for the rest of the day and evening, Rory liked the sound of option two very much.

Matt used the outdoor shower and borrowed some clothes from his brothers, back out the door before she was done rinsing her conditioner. Rory took full advantage of the time, shaving her legs smooth and hydrating her sun-warmed skin with essential oils. The clean hint of fragrance was just enough. She blew out her long hair until it was silky straight, and pulled on a pair of short denim shorts and a fitted tank top.