The Harder You Fall (7 page)

West glanced at the clock on his nightstand. 7:59 a.m. Beck's wedding was set to take place in three hours, one minute.

He stood, made his bed, then showered for ten minutes, towel-dried for two, shaved for another ten and when he dressed, he ditched the usual Saturday-morning soccer gear in favor of a tux.

He'd never thought this day would come and once upon a time he would have bet the bulk of his fortune Beck would remain forever single. Enter Harlow. The black-haired beauty had obsessed the guy from moment one, and in the end, he'd stepped up to be a better man for her.

Would I have stepped up for Tessa if she'd survived the crash?

The real question: Would he have gotten clean?

During her depressions, nothing he'd said or done had helped her. Guilt and frustration had eaten at him and more often than not, he'd ended up doubling his hit. And his hangover. And his bad mood. His bad mood had only fed hers. A poisoned cycle.

He glanced at the clock. 8:40 a.m. Right on time. Yesterday he'd called and asked Monica to accompany him to the wedding. She was an attractive woman in her late twenties, and she fit his usual criteria. Uncomplicated, eager, and he could take her or leave her. He didn't crave her more than air to breathe and when they were apart, he didn't wish they were together.

He stalked into the kitchen where Beck stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with a surprisingly steady hand, the features many had referred to as “half angelic, half demonic” utterly relaxed and—joyous?

West took a seat at the table. “This is weird. You should be freaking out, demanding I help you sneak out of the country. Instead you're making breakfast.”

His friend smiled, a peek at the angelic side. “I'm giving Harlow my name, legally binding her to my side. Why would I freak out?”

West could think of several reasons. “Your life will be forever altered. You'll be set on a new, uncharted path and your happiness will be inexorably tied to someone else's.”

“I mentioned Harlow will be legally bound to me, right? My life will be forever altered in the best way. I'll traverse that new, uncharted path with her rather than alone, and my happiness is already inexorably tied to her. She's my other half.”

He envied his friend. He couldn't imagine being so optimistic. Not by marrying Tessa. Not by sleeping with Monica. Not even by sleeping with Jessie Kay.

Something low in his gut curled with heat. Maybe he'd feel a
little
optimism if he had the blonde in his bed.

He'd purposely avoided her all week, hadn't so much as ordered a sandwich. Anytime she'd come up in conversation, he'd left the room. If he'd thought about her, he'd quickly distracted himself with work or exercise.

He'd worked and exercised
a lot
.

To his consternation, she'd remained at the forefront of his mind, a fascination he couldn't shake. He'd even considered detouring from his usual MO—a feat in and of itself—and sleeping with her once, just once. No harm, no foul.

Problem was “just once” had never worked out for him in the past.

Beck slid a stack of pancakes in front of him, saying, “You've been spacing out a lot lately, thinking about Jessie Kay.” A statement rather than a question. “Don't try to deny it. I recognize the signs. A glaze of hunger in the eyes. Tightness around the mouth. A muscle jumping in the jaw. Jase had the same look when he met Brook Lynn. I'm made of stronger stuff, of course, and managed to keep my cool with Harlow.”

“No, I—”

“Even now your hands are clenched.”

West studied his hands—yep, they were clenched. He eased the pressure on his fingers, saying, “Don't kid yourself. You were practically foaming at the mouth with Harlow.”

“You do realize you're describing yourself right now, yes?” Beck didn't give him time to reply. “Why are you resisting your smart-ass Southern belle anyway? If you think Jase and I care—”

“I don't.” He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms. “Would you resent me if you found out I'd slept with Harlow before you fell for her?”

A light sprang to life in Beck's eyes. “Ah. I get it. You're afraid you'll get possessive of your girl and pissy with your bros.”

West adjusted his cuff links, gave a clipped nod.

“As Jessie Kay would say, you're letting the horse out of the stall before the race has even started.” Beck tossed back a bite of pancake. “Let's say you spent years with Harlow, banging the hell out of her. Today, this moment, it wouldn't affect how I feel about either of you. You were her past, and I'll always be her future. I love you both. I need you both. I'll take you both however I can get you.”

An ache razed his chest. Were things really that simple?

“What's doing?” Jase padded into the kitchen. His dark hair stuck out in spikes. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of faded sweatpants.

“West is deciding whether or not to make a move on Jessie Kay,” Beck replied.

“I change my vote to no. Unless you're going to give her a real shot.” Jase scratched his chest. “She's better for you than she ever was for us, but there will be serious aftermath when you dump her.”

When, not if. The end was never in question.

West pursed his lips. “You handled the aftermath of your one-night stand just fine.”

“And who says she'd want more than two months with him, anyway?” Beck asked. “Who says
she
won't dump
him
?”

Yes. Who said.

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “If I
did
date her, and I
did
dump her, and there
was
aftermath, your girls would hate me.”

Jase poured a glass of orange juice. “Agreed. Brook Lynn can forgive anything—except an insult to her sister.”

“But the girls love us and wouldn't try to block you from our lives,” Beck said.

“Is that what's had your panties in such a twist?” Jase asked.

“Maybe.” Agitated, West glanced at his wristwatch. Nine-sixteen. Shit. He'd planned to leave the house by nine-ten. “I've got to pick up Monica. I'll meet you guys at the church.”

He made up the lost minutes on the road. He'd taken defensive driving classes a few years ago as research for a video game, and the skills he'd learned had come in handy ever since.

As he parked in Monica's driveway, his phone beeped. He glanced at the screen, his gut tightening when he saw Jessie Kay's name.

Which pair do you prefer?

Two photos accompanied the text. The first, a glittery heel with silk flowers sewn over the ankle strap. The second, a plain white flat.

He wrote back:
Why does my preference matter?

Because your best friend is getting married & the woman he loves wants every detail to be perfect. You know him better than anyone else so...  :-)   :-)  :-)

Your shoes are part of those perfect details?

Oh, those are Harlow's shoes. She can't decide between fashion & comfort, even though no one but Beck will see her feet—& he won't see them till he strips her down & gives her the business. I should know, right!

His grip flexed on the phone. She loved reminding him of her past, didn't she?

Then her next text came in and he forgot why he was irritated with her.

THESE are mine.  :-)   :-)

The accompanying photo revealed black hooker heels with a fat red bow perched on the ankle. A present ready to be unwrapped. With his teeth. After he stripped her and tossed her on the bed.

Sex fantasy about Jessie Kay? Now?
Really?
He punched the wheel, the horn releasing a short but thunderous blast.

A few seconds later, Monica strode out the door, and he felt like a total douche for not greeting her properly. Despite the frigid temperature, she wore a little black dress with spaghetti straps and a hem that ended a few inches below her pantyline. No hat, coat or gloves to keep her warm, proving she placed fashion before comfort. She didn't race to the car but held up her index finger to demand he wait.

Having already budgeted for the standard fifteen-minute time suck all women required despite knowing when he would arrive, he gave her a curt nod. He could have followed her inside the house, a beautiful Craftsman-style bungalow with three stories and a wraparound porch, but he popped a caramel candy in his mouth and stayed put. Even though he'd expected the wait, the lack of respect always annoyed him.

He and Monica would be discussing it—and his expectations—tonight. If she proved amenable to his two-month time limit, the countdown on their relationship would begin. He would gift her with a wristwatch, and expect her to use it. They would go to bed, and by morning, he would forget he'd ever desired Jessie Kay.

His friends might approve of her, of them, but the risks were still too great, the rewards not great enough.

He sent her another text:
Tell Harlow to go w/ out a bra & Beck won't ever even glance at her feet.

Like a puss, he waited for a response. One that never came. He wanted to call her, and would have given in to temptation if Monica hadn't bounded outside at long last. He checked his watch. Seventeen minutes. His sense of annoyance only intensified as he entered the cold to open her door for her.

Though her teeth were chattering, she paused to kiss his cheek before sliding inside. “Will I do?” she asked after he settled behind the wheel.

“You are flawless.” And she was. Nothing out of place, her makeup red-carpet worthy. Her dress every man's wet dream.

So why am I not reacting to her?

“Oh, I wish.” She smoothed a hand along the hem of the dress. “I'd hoped to wow you, but my hair wouldn't cooperate, and no matter how many hours I worked out, I couldn't lose the extra pound I packed on.”

False modesty? Or straight-up female crazy?

Jessie Kay would have said something like,
I know! You don't deserve me.
And he would have smiled, charmed. Always freaking charmed. But he didn't pick his girlfriends for companionship, so he remained silent.

Monica's gaze swept over him, and he thought he glimpsed a hint of the intensity some of her former employees had mentioned. “Look at you. Sex on a stick and absolutely delicious.”

“Thank you.”

She frowned at him. Waiting for him to protest?

“Seriously.” Her voice lowered, a whisper that drifted through the vehicle. “I'm not sure I'll be able to keep my hands to myself.”

How would Jessie Kay react if Monica petted him during the ceremony? With jealousy? Or indifference?

Jealousy, pretty please. He wanted to see jealousy on her so badly he shook, even though he had no right to the desire. No right to keep thinking about her. They weren't together. In fact, he'd done everything in his power to push her away. He'd snapped at her, baited her. Insulted her time and time again.

I suck.

He'd been a total ass to her, and right then, right at that moment, it absolutely shamed him. His momma hadn't raised him better, but only an idiot wouldn't learn on his own.

Observe. Understand. Act.

Observe: He owed her an apology.

Understand: So he craved her. So what? So he wouldn't let himself have her. So the hell what? That wasn't her problem; it was his. He had no right to treat her like an archnemesis.

Act: He would offer that apology, and he'd do it with a smile. Afterward, there would be no more picking fights with her. No more snide remarks about
anything
. He would keep his distance, and he would be polite. He would wrap himself in Monica, literally and figuratively.

For the first time since moving to Strawberry Valley, his life would go back to normal.

CHAPTER FIVE

W
EST
HAD
BROUGHT
a date.

The realization hit Jessie Kay like a bolt of lightning in a freak storm. Great! Wonderful! While she'd opted not to bring Daniel, and thus make West the only single person present—and embarrassingly alone—he'd chosen his next two-month “relationship” and hung Jessie Kay out to dry.

And she knew the girl was a two-monther. West didn't date outside the parameters of his crazy.

Jessie Kay stood in a hidden doorway in back of the sanctuary, one usually only used by church personnel. Harlow had asked for—cough, banshee-screeched, cough—a status report, so Jessie Kay had abandoned her precious curling iron in order to sneak a peek at the guys.

Scowling, she pulled her phone from the pocket of her dress with every intention of texting Daniel. Oops. She'd missed a text.

Sunny:
Party 2nite?????

She made a mental note to respond to Sunny later and drafted her note to Daniel.

I'm at the church. How fast can you get here? I need a friend/date for Harlow's wedding

A response didn't come right away. Maybe he was still in bed. He'd gone on a hot date last night and the girl had stayed the night with him. She knew because he'd texted Jessie Kay to ask how early he could give “the snore queen” the boot.

Sooo
glad I never hooked up with him.

Finally, a vibration.

Any other time I'd race to your rescue, even though weddings are snooze-fests. Today I'm in the city on a job

He'd started some kind of high-risk security firm with a few of his Army buddies.

Her:
Fine. You suck. I clearly need to rethink our friendship

Daniel:
I'll make it up to you, swear. Want to have dinner later???

She stored her phone without responding, adding his name to her mental note. If he wasn't going to ignore his responsibilities whenever she had a minor need, he deserved to suffer for a little while.

Of its own accord, her gaze returned to West. The past week, she'd seen him only twice. Both times, she'd gone to the farmhouse to help her sister with sandwiches and casseroles, and he'd taken one look at her, grabbed his keys and driven off.

Would it have killed him to acknowledge her presence by calling her by some hateful name, per usual? After all, he'd had the nerve to flirt with her at the diner, to look at her as if she'd stripped naked and begged him to have
her
for dessert. And now he ignored her?

Men! This one in particular.

Her irritation grew as he introduced his date to Kenna Starr and her fiancé, Dane Michaelson. Kenna was a stunning redhead who'd always been Brook Lynn's partner in crime. The girl who'd done what Jessie Kay hadn't, saving her sister every time she'd gotten into trouble.

Next, he made the introduction to Daphne Roberts, the mother of Jase's nine-year-old daughter, Hope, then Brad Lintz, Daphne's boyfriend.

Jase and Beck joined the happy group, but the brunette never looked away from West, as if he was speaking the good Lord's gospel. Her adoration was palpable.

A sharp pang had Jessie Kay clutching her chest.
Too young for a heart attack
.

Indigestion?

Yeah. Had to be.

The couple should have looked odd together. West was too tall and the brunette was far too short for him. A skyscraper next to a one-story house. But somehow, despite their height difference, they actually complemented each other.

And really, the girl's adoration had to be good for him, buoying him the way Daniel's praise often buoyed Jessie Kay. Only on a much higher level, considering the girl was more than a friend to West.

Crap! Jessie Kay was actually kind of...happy for West. As horribly terribly insanely awful as his childhood had been, he deserved a nice slice of contentment.

Look at me, acting like a big girl.

West wrapped his arm around the brunette's waist, drawing her closer, and Jessie Kay's nails dug into her palms.

I'm happy for him, remember?
Besides, big girls didn't want to push other women in front of a speeding bus. Well, they might want to, but they never followed through.

Jessie Kay's phone buzzed. She checked the screen.

Brook Lynn:
Hurry! Bridezilla is on a rampage!!!

Her:
Tell the soon-to-be Mrs. Ockley the guys look amazing in their tuxes—no stains or tears yet—& the room is gorgeous. Or just tell her NOTHING HAS FREAKING CHANGED

The foster bros had gone all out even though the ceremony was to be a small and intimate affair. There were red and white roses at the corner of every pew, and in front of the pulpit was an ivory arch with wispy jewel-encrusted lace.

With a sigh, she added an adorable smiley face to her message, because it was cute and it said
I'm not yelling at you.
My temper is
not
engaged
.

Send.

Brook Lynn:
Harlow wants a play-by-play of the action

Fine.

Her:
Beck is now speaking w/ Pastor Washington. Jase, Dane, Kenna, Daphne & Brad are engaged in conversation, while Hope is playing w/ her doll on the floor. Happy?

She didn't add that West was focused on the stunning brunette, who was still clinging to his side.

The girl...she had a familiar face—
where have I seen her?
—and a body so finely honed Jessie Kay wanted to stuff a few thousand Twinkies down her throat just to make it fair for the rest of the female population. Her designer dress was made of ebony silk and hugged her curves like a besotted lover.

Like West would be doing tonight?

Grinding her teeth, Jessie Kay slid her gaze over her own gown, one she'd sewn in her spare time. Not bad—actually kind of awesome—but compared to Great Bod's delicious apple it was a rotten orange.

Jealousy struck her again, and struck harder. Dang it! Jealousy was stupid. Jessie Kay was no can of dog food in the looks department. In fact, she was well able to hold her own against anyone, anywhere, anytime. But...but...

A lot of baggage came with her.

West suddenly stiffened, as if he sensed he was being watched. He turned in Jessie Kay's direction. Her heart slamming against her ribs with enough force to break free and escape, she darted into Harlow's bridal chamber—the choir room.

Harlow finished curling her thick mass of hair as Brook Lynn gave her lips a final swipe of gloss.

“Welcome to my nightmare,” Jessie Kay announced. “I might as well put in rollers, pull on a pair of mom jeans and buy ten thousand cats.” Cats! Love! “I'm officially an old maid without any decent prospects.”

Brook Lynn wrinkled her brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Everyone is here, including West and his date. I'm the only single person in our group, which means you guys have to set me up with your favorite guy friends. Obviously I'm looking for a nine or ten. Make it happen. Please and thank you.”

Harlow went still. “West brought a date? Who is she?”

Had a coil of steam just risen from her nostrils? “Just some girl.”

Harlow pressed her hands against a stomach that had to be dancing with nerves. “I don't want
just some girl
at my first wedding.”

“You planning your divorce to Beck already?”

Harlow scowled at her. “Not funny. You know we're planning a larger ceremony next year.”

Jessie Kay raised her hands, palms out. “You're right, you're right. And you totally convinced me. I'll kick the bitch out pronto.”
And I'll love every second of it—on Harlow's behalf
.

“No. No. I don't want a scene.” Stomping her foot, Harlow added, “What was West thinking? He's ruined
everything
.”

Ooo-kay. A wee bit dramatic, maybe. “I doubt he was thinking at all. If that boy ever had an idea, it died of loneliness.” Too much? “Anyway. I'm sure you could use a glass or six of champagne. I'll open the bottle for us—for you. You're welcome.”

A wrist corsage hit her square in the chest.

“This is
my
day, Jessica Dillon.” Harlow thumped her chest. “Mine! You will remain stone-cold sober, or I will remove your head, place it on a stick and wave it around while your sister sobs over your bleeding corpse.”

Wow. “That's pretty specific, but I feel you. No alcohol for me, ma'am.” She gave a jaunty salute. “I mean, no alcohol for me, Miss Bridezilla, sir.”

“Ha-ha.” Harlow morphed from fire-breathing dragon to fairytale princess in an instant, twirling in a circle. “Now, stop messing around and tell me how amazing I look. And don't hesitate to use words like
exquisite
and
magical
.”

The hair at her temples had been pulled back, the rest hanging to her elbows in waves so dark they glimmered blue in the light. The gown had capped sleeves and a straight bustline with cinched-in waist and pleats that flowed all the way to the floor, covering the sensible flats she'd chosen based on West's advice. “You look...exquisitely magical.”

“Magically exquisite,” Brook Lynn said with a nod.

“My scars aren't hideous?” Self-conscious, Harlow smoothed a hand over the multitude of jagged pink lines running between her breasts, courtesy of an attack she'd miraculously survived as a teenage girl.

“Are you kidding? Those scars make you look badass.” Jessie Kay curled a few more pieces of hair, adding, “I'm bummed my skin is so flawless.”

Harlow snorted. “Yes, let's shed a tear for you.”

Jessie Kay gave her sister the stink eye. “You better not be like this for your wedding. I won't survive two of you.”

Brook Lynn held up her well-manicured hands, all innocence.

“Well.” She glanced at a wristwatch she wasn't wearing, doing her best impression of West. “We've got twenty minutes before the festivities kick off. Need anything?”

Harlow's hands returned to her stomach, the color draining from her cheeks in a hurry. “Yes. Beck.”

Blinking, certain she'd misheard, she fired off a quick “Excuse me?” Heck. Deck. Neck. Certainly not Beck. “Grooms aren't supposed to see—”

“I need Beck.” Harlow stomped her foot.
“Now.”

“Have you changed your mind?” Brook Lynn asked. “If so, we'll—”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” Harlow launched into a quick pace, marching back and forth through the room. “I just... I need to see him. He hates change, and this is the biggest one of all, and I need to talk to him before I totally—flip—out. Okay? All right?”

“This isn't that big a change, honey. Not really.” Who would have guessed Jessie Kay would be a voice of reason in a situation like this? Or
any
situation. “You guys live together already.”

“Beck!” she insisted. “Beck, Beck, Beck.”

“Temper tantrums are not attractive.” Jessie Kay shared a concerned look with her sister, who nodded. “All right. One Beck coming up.” As fast as her heels would allow, she made her way back to the sanctuary.

She purposely avoided West's general direction, focusing only on the groom. “Harlow has decided to throw millions of years' worth of tradition out the window. She wants to see you without delay. Are you wearing a cup? I'd wear a cup. Good luck.”

He'd been in the middle of a conversation with Jase, and like Harlow, he quickly paled. “Is something wrong?” He didn't stick around for an answer, rushing past Jessie Kay without actually judging the distance between them, almost knocking her over.

As she stumbled, West flew over and latched on to her wrist to help steady her. The contact nearly buckled her knees. His hands were calloused, his fingers firm. His strength was unparalleled and his skin hot enough to burn. Electric tingles rushed through her, the world around her fading until they were the only two people in existence.

Fighting for every breath, she stared up at him. His gaze dropped to her lips and narrowed, his focus savagely carnal and primal in its possessiveness, as if he saw nothing else, either—wanted nothing and no one else ever. But as he slowly lowered his arm and stepped away from her, the world snapped back into focus.

The bastard brought a date.

Right. She cleared her throat, embarrassed by the force of her reaction to him. “Thanks.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. A sign of anger? “May I speak with you privately?”

Uh... “Why?”

“Please.”

What the what now? Had Lincoln West actually said the word
please
to her?
Her?
“Whatever you have to say to me—” an insult, no doubt “—can wait. You should return to your flavor of the year.” Opting for honesty, she grudgingly added, “You guys look good together.”

The muscle jumped again, harder, faster. “You think we look good together?”

“Very much so.” Two perfect people. “I'm not being sarcastic, if that's what you're getting at. Who is she?”

“Monica Gentry. Fitness guru based in the city.”

Well. That explained the sense of familiarity. And the body. Jessie Kay had once briefly considered thinking about exercising along with Monica's video. Then she'd found a bag of Kit Kat Minis and the insane idea went back to hell where it belonged. “She's a good choice for you. Beautiful. Successful. Driven. And despite what you think about me, despite the animosity between us, I want you happy. I know! I'm as shocked as you are.”

And she didn't want him happy just because he'd had a crappy childhood, she realized. He was a part of her family, for better or worse. A girl made exceptions for family. Even the douche bags.

His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “We're going to speak privately, Jessie Kay, whether you agree or not. The only decision you need to make is whether or not you'll walk out of this room. I'm more than willing to carry you.”