Just a Wish Away (10 page)

"I'm sure she already does."

She moved toward the elevator where Braden was waiting. He had his back to the crowd, his stance making it clear he wasn't interested in conversation.

"It's okay. They're not interested in you at the moment," she said.

He flung a quick glance over his shoulder. A few of her aunt's friends were headed toward her room while the others were resuming their seats in the waiting room.

"Thank God for that," he said with a sigh.

"Aunt Phoebe looked really pale."

"She's going to be all right. She's as tough as she said."

"I'd forgotten how much she always liked you."

"She thought I protected you. Little did she know you were the one with all the bad ideas," Braden said, a small smile on his lips. "The only person I had to protect you from was yourself."

She shook her head. "That is not true."

"Yes, it is."

"You had some bad ideas, too, Braden."

"Like what?"

"I'm thinking," she retorted.

He grinned. "Yeah, you keep thinking, because you're not going to be able to come up with anything."

"I'm sure I will," she said, not really caring that Braden was putting all the blame on her, because for the first time since she'd come back, he sounded like the old Braden. God, she'd missed that boy.

The elevator doors opened, and they got in. She pushed the button for the lobby as Braden said, "I'm surprised your father isn't here."

"I'm not. He can't be counted on to show up anywhere."

"Sounds like your aunt has finally seen him for who he is."

"It was nice of her to recognize that she treated my mother harshly. She just couldn't go against her brother. I understood that, but it still hurt."

"Do you still see your dad, Alexa?"

"I've seen him probably three times in the last seven years. He came to my high school graduation, my college graduation, and I went to the hospital when his fourth child was born. He barely spoke to me. I don't have any relationship with his kids. I always wanted brothers and sisters, and now I have four half-siblings that I don't even see. I have no idea what they think about me."

"How old are they?"

"They're young, elementary school age."

She was relieved when the elevator doors opened. She didn't want to talk about her father and his second family. It was too painful.

"Shall we go to the beach now?" she asked as they headed back to the car.

"Sounds like a good idea."

"Really? I thought I only had bad ideas," she said lightly.

He smiled. "Well, we'll see how this one turns out."

* * *

Alexa parked her car by the harbor. Then she and Braden walked the three blocks to a narrow, pebbly path that led down to the beach. A pair of bikes locked around a wooden fence pole reminded her of all the times they'd put their bikes in the exact same place. It also reminded her of the very last time they'd left this beach, and the one and only time Braden had kissed her.

Braden didn't seem to be taking the same slow trip down memory lane. Instead, he walked briskly ahead of her.

When they hit the sand, she gave a sigh of appreciation as the water came into view. She'd always loved the ocean, the crash of the waves on the beach, the squawking of birds as they dove into the sea in search of food, and the misty salt spray that always seemed to linger on her lips.

Despite the fact that it was a Thursday, more than a few people were getting a head start on the weekend. An older couple strolled hand in hand along the shoreline. A father was throwing a Frisbee to his kids, another young couple was trying to launch a kite, and a lone man was tossing a tennis ball to his dog, who plunged happily in and out of the water.

As they walked across the sand, Alexa found her gaze drifting downward. She'd spent many hours on this beach looking for sea glass, a popular phenomenon on this part of the coast. A pang of regret hit her as she thought about all those beautiful pieces of glass that she'd wanted to turn into something beautiful. She'd left her last collection behind at her aunt's house. She wondered if it was still there.

Her dawdling made the distance between her and Braden greater. She didn't understand his mood. Gone was the lighthearted man who had teased her about having bad ideas. Since they'd arrived at the beach, he'd gone cold and hard. His entire body was one tight muscle, and he was practically running down the beach. Whatever he was thinking about now was not making him happy. She wondered what had changed.

Breaking into a light jog, she had just about caught up with him when he stopped abruptly, grabbed his leg and fell to the ground.

She ran over to him, dropping to her knees by his side. "What's wrong?"

He grimaced as he clutched his right thigh. "Cramp," he gritted out.

"Can I do something?"

He shook his head, his face a mask of pain. "It will pass."

She hated seeing him suffering, and she had nothing to offer, not even a bottle of water. She reached out a hand, thinking she'd offer to massage the cramping muscle, but he pushed her away.

"Don't," he said shortly.

"Sorry."

She watched and waited. The tension in his face gradually began to ease. Finally, he moved into a sitting position, wincing as he stretched out his leg.

"Is it better?" she asked.

Angry, hurt pride filled his eyes as his gaze met hers. Braden had always hated to look weak. "Yes," he said shortly.

"You know this reminds me of the 4
^th
of July carnival," she said, shifting into a more relaxed position.

"What are you talking about?" he grumbled.

"You pulled your hamstring during the three-legged race, but you wouldn't admit you were in pain. You insisted on finishing. You were determined to win."

"And we did win," he pointed out.

"Yes, but you couldn't walk for a month after that."

"What's your point?"

"That you're stubborn and you never admit when you're hurting."

"Fine, I admit it. I'm in pain."

She tilted her head, studying him for a moment. She decided it was time to risk asking another big question. "What happened to you, Braden? How were you injured?"

He hesitated for a long moment, then said. "There was an explosion – gunfire – I was shot a couple of times, once in the leg. It ripped through my muscle."

"Were you the only one that was hurt?"

"No. There were several casualties."

Her heart filled with compassion, sensing that he'd lost someone important to him. "One of your friends?"

"Yes. I don't want to talk about him."

"It might help. Just tell me his name."

He drew in a breath and then said, "Pete Connors."

The name rang a distant bell. "You used to hang around with a kid named Pete," she said. "It wasn't the same guy, was it?"

"The very same. We grew up together, enlisted in the army together, did pretty much everything together. But I came back, and Pete didn't." Braden paused, turning his gaze toward the water. "His parents can't even look at me – his wife either. They want to know how come I made it, and he didn't. I ask myself the same question."

"I'm sorry, Braden." She wished she had more to offer than an apology, but any platitudes would only piss him off. His wounds were too deep and too personal.

He shrugged as if he didn't care, but he did. He probably cared too much.

"I'm glad you made it," she said. "If you ever do want to talk about it, I'll listen."

"That won't happen."

"Well, if it does, I'll…"

His gaze narrowed at her pause. "Were you going to say you'd be here for me? But you can't say that, can you?"

She had stopped herself, realizing she was about to make a promise she might not be able to keep. "I don't know where either of us will be in the future, but I promise that if you want to talk, I'll listen."

He stared back at her for a long minute, his expression completely unreadable.

After a moment, she changed the subject. "How's your leg now?"

"It will be all right in a minute."

"You were practically running down the beach. Why the big hurry?"

"I don't know."

She didn't believe him. "Really? You don't know? Because I have a theory."

"I'm guessing you're planning to share it with me," he said dryly.

"Being on this beach made you think about the past, and you didn't want to. You thought you could outrun your thoughts – the way you used to do. When we came here as kids, I could always tell when you were worried about your dad, because you always wanted to race me somewhere."

"Maybe I just liked to run."

"You know I'm right."

"You always think you're right."

"Well, I usually am," she said.

His expression lightened. "I don't remember you being this cocky, Alexa."

"I grew into it." She paused, meeting his gaze. "You don’t have to pretend with me, Braden. You can just be who you are, say what you think, the way you used to. We talked a lot in those days."

"You talked. I listened."

"You talked some, too. It wasn't all one-sided. You can try to shut me down now, but you can't rewrite history."

"Maybe we just remember our history differently."

"Possibly," she conceded. "We can start from now. I'd like to get to know you again. Why don't you give me a chance?" She got to her feet and offered him a hand. "Don't be proud. Take it."

As soon as he put his hand in hers, she realized her mistake, because the heat of his fingers sent a little tingle down her spine. And when Braden stood up, he didn't let go of her hand. He just stared down at her the way he had all those years ago… Her breath caught in her throat.

Instead of kissing her, he turned and pulled his hand away.

That was fine, she told herself, trying to calm her suddenly pounding pulse. The last thing she needed to do was kiss him again, because just like before, she was leaving in a few days.

Chapter Six

Braden couldn't believe he'd almost kissed Alexa. What the hell was he thinking? He was not in a place in his life to get involved with anyone, much less Alexa. He'd already wasted too many years thinking about her. And despite the fact that it was good to see her again, their lives were going in opposite directions, just the way they always had.

He took the rest of the beach at a slower pace, still feeling tightness in his quadriceps muscle as he walked. Alexa was right about one thing; he hated to feel weak. He'd always been physically active, and after joining the Army, he'd become exceptionally fit. Now he felt like a shadowy version of himself, and he didn't like it. He needed to get his act together, start moving forward. He'd been licking his wounds for too long.

"Oh, look," Alexa said, stopping abruptly. She squatted down and pulled out a beautiful piece of light blue glass. "This is pretty."

"Like your eyes," he said, the words coming out before he could think better of them.

Her cheeks flushed a little. "Maybe I'll take this with me," she said, as she stood up.

"And do what with it? You're an accountant now." He still couldn't believe his once imaginative and creative friend had ended up in a job where she punched numbers all day long.

"I don't know what I'll do with it," she murmured, slipping it into the pocket of her jeans.

"Maybe it will remind you of who you used to be," he said pointedly.

"Do you think I need reminding?"

"Do
you
think you need reminding?" he countered.

She frowned. "I hate people who answer questions with questions. It reminds me of the psychiatrist my mom used to make us see."

"You saw a shrink?"

"It was part of family counseling, although my Dad only went once, so it wasn’t much of a family experience."

"Did it help to talk things out?" He'd had his own sessions with an Army psychiatrist and hadn't found them at all helpful. However, if he were honest, the lack of progress was most likely his fault. He'd gone under duress, and hadn't been willing to open up.

"It didn't help me," Alexa said. "My mom might have gotten something out of it. She loved to talk about how badly my dad had treated her, and the doctor was paid to listen. She got to vent to her heart's content. The only other person she had to talk to was me, and I wasn't much help. I was a kid. I didn't know what to say. I just knew I had to keep things together until she got back on her feet."

"That was a big burden, feeling responsible for someone else's happiness," he said quietly. "Especially when that someone was your mother. It's supposed to be the other way around."

"It was what it was. I just had to keep putting one foot in front of the next. I couldn't let myself look too far forward, because I'd trip."