The Trouble With Love (15 page)

“But you did.” Dev met her gaze. “Just want to be clear on who knows what.”

“I had a meltdown a few weeks ago,” Rocky admitted. “Luke pressed at a vulnerable time. Please don’t blame him for keeping quiet. I swore him to silence.”

“Anyone else?”

“Promise me you won’t hold it against her.”

“Chloe?”

“Chloe and Monica,” Rocky blurted, cheeks flushing. “That damned meltdown. I’d kept everything—the seduction, the proposal, my crushed feelings and resentment—bottled up for all those years; then that one day … it all gushed out. I begged them both to keep my secret. I know Chloe felt weird about it, but she promised anyway. She’s a good friend, a good soul. She didn’t want to hurt me or to put a strain on your friendship with Jayce.”

“You don’t have to defend Chloe’s actions,” Dev said in a calm tone. “I get it. I get her.”

So there it was. She’d told her big brother, her overprotective, mega-controlling brother, everything about the past. Filled him in on who knew what. The world didn’t end. It didn’t even shift. Rocky hugged herself feeling all sorts of stupid. She’d wrestled with her secret for thirteen years and this was the extent of the fallout?

“Rocky.”

She met her brother’s gaze. “Yes?”

“Thank you for telling me.”

*   *   *

Jayce’s homecoming had been a dismal affair. Rolling into Sugar Creek just prior to midnight, he’d parked in front of the chalet he’d grown up in, staring into the darkened overgrown lawn twenty minutes before having the balls to cross over the threshold. Crossing that threshold represented the meshing of his past, present, and future. It meant dealing with some shitty-ass memories instead of locking them behind a mental armored door. Purchasing another property would’ve have been easier but would’ve entailed admitting defeat.

Screw that.

Because of his time on the force and his years as a private investigator, Jayce had witnessed people battling demons far greater than his own. Yet whenever he visited Sugar Creek, in particular this house, the past seemed insurmountable. How could a grown man feel like a vulnerable kid? Why couldn’t he believe what Dev and Dev’s dad had told him that one terrible night—that it wasn’t his fault? Normally he kept the painful memories at bay, but by God they thrived inside the four walls of 241 Lark Lane. He hated the power this house had over him. That his parents had over him—even after death.

Time to come to terms.

Jayce had spent the night bunking on a bare mattress in his old bedroom, alternating between nightmares and insomnia.

This morning, he stood in the shower—hands braced on the tile, head lowered—trying to snap out of a bad mood while the pulsating water pounded his tense shoulders and back.

He was wiped.

Not so much from the long drive or the restless night of sleep but because he was being haunted by a whole new set of memories. Twenty-four hours chock-full of Rocky. Rocky at the hospital—mugged, rattled, and bloodied. Rocky striding into a publishing house with kick-ass confidence and curves. Rocky eating hot dogs in Central Park and bemoaning the treatment of carriage horses. The list went on. He couldn’t purge the sound of her laughter or the smell of her shampoo or the sight of her naked luscious body. He couldn’t shake off the memory of her writhing beneath him in bed, begging for more, screaming his name.
His
name. He kept reliving one moment after another, knowing they were meant to be together.

If they could just get past the bullshit.

Jayce gave up on the shower, slaking water from his body and stepping out onto a folded towel. Somewhere, in the dozens of boxes stacked in the living room, dining room, and kitchen, was a bath mat. The house was in chaos. Dev had gone above and beyond, meeting the moving van and getting all of Jayce’s furnishings and belongings inside. Mostly everything was crammed into the three larger rooms of the fairly small house. Which was fine. Jayce had had the walls repainted and the hardwood floors refurbished, but there were still a lot of details left undone. He wasn’t quite ready to set up house. Not that he was stalling.

Jayce stepped into a pair of jeans, eyeing his cell when it rang.
Dev.
“Mornin’.”

“You up?”

“You coming over?”

“Just pulled into your driveway.”

Beautiful.

Dev hadn’t been happy when Jayce had called from New York with the news that he and Rocky had quarreled and that she’d be returning to Sugar Creek on her own. The man was fed up with the bad blood between his sister and friend and their constant reluctance to fill him in on the crux of their hostility. Jayce fully expected Dev to call him on the mat today. He just wished they could’ve duked it out somewhere else. Just what this house needed—another ugly scene.

Resigned, Jayce pulled a baggy long-sleeved tee over his head and raked wet hair from his face. Barefoot, he trekked over cold hardwood floors, kicked up the thermostat on his way through the living room. The end of October in northern Vermont. A good twenty degrees colder than Brooklyn. Bracing himself for the frigid air and a cold reception from his friend, Jayce opened the front door and got a fist in his face.

Pain exploded in his jaw, knocking him back two steps.
“Damn!”

“She was sixteen.”

“Seventeen.”

“Barely. You were fucking
twenty-two.
”

Jayce worked his offended jaw and contemplated the moment. The secret, thank God, was out. “I can’t believe Rocky told you.”

“Disappointed?”

“Impressed.” He’d expected Rocky to hold out, not to rush forward. “Although I would’ve preferred to tell you myself or at least together. How much hell did you give her?”

“Not much. Figured she’d suffered enough.”

“Me, on the other hand.” Jayce welcomed the throbbing pain in his jaw. This had been a long time coming and maybe was the first step in moving beyond. “I have no excuse. I should’ve known better.”

His friend hovered on the threshold.

Jayce didn’t know what chilled him more—the frigid wind blowing through the open door or Dev’s frosty glare.

“Rocky claimed she was the instigator.”

Jayce didn’t respond.

“Said you offered marriage, tried to do the right thing.”

“Yeah, well, that’s when things
really
went wrong.” He still couldn’t believe that his proposal had been the reason behind Rocky’s fierce resentment all these years, but lamenting the fact to Dev, or anyone for that matter, wasn’t Jayce’s style.

“What really gripes my ass,” Dev went on, the cold fury in his eyes melting down a notch, “is that you kept me in the dark for so long. Thirteen years of wondering why my best friend and little sister were at odds.”

“Are you going to be able to get past this?”

“Eventually.” Bearing a paper bag Jayce hadn’t even noticed until now, the man moved into the house without an invitation. “Coffee’s getting cold.”

Jayce shut the door, feeling as though he’d been coldcocked a second time. “You brought coffee?”

“Wasn’t sure if you’d unearthed a coffeemaker. Brought Danish, too. This will be my third attempt at breakfast this morning.” Dev weaved through a maze of packing boxes on his way into the kitchen.

Shaking his head, Jayce followed. Apparently they were going to “get past this” over coffee and Danish. Trying to adjust to the new kink in their friendship, Jayce pulled two mismatched stools up to the breakfast bar while Dev produced two ceramic traveling mugs and neatly wrapped pastries. The mugs were stamped with a moose head—a cartoonish bull wearing blingy cat-eye glasses and a chef’s hat—and the name Moose-a-lotta. “Customized coffee mugs? Looks like Daisy and Chloe went all out.”

“You have no idea. Wait until you see the place.” Dev draped his jacket over a box and took a seat. “I have to say, I’m impressed and proud. Great location, concept, and food. Sure to be a hit with locals and tourists.”

“Didn’t know Daisy had a business streak in her.”

“Gram’s been full of surprises lately. Sort of like you.” Brow raised, Dev handed him one of the mugs. “I know Rocky blew you off, Jayce, but you were the adult. You should have addressed the situation, considered her romantic illusions, reasoned with her, struck a compromise or truce. Something.
Jesus.
Instead, you escaped to New York and fostered the angst of her melodramatic youth. It goes against everything I know about you. Why the easy way out?”

Jayce met his friend’s puzzled gaze. “Not easy,” he said. “Convenient. Deep down, I think I was looking for an excuse to leave Sugar Creek. Rocky gave me one in spades.”

Dev glanced around the kitchen, and Jayce knew he was thinking about Jayce’s shitty childhood and that one unbelievably shitty night.

“When … if you need to talk about it, I’m here.”

In that moment, Jayce felt the full force of Dev’s sincere friendship. All Jayce managed was a nod.

“So here’s how we’re going to get past the jailbait issue and thirteen-year cover-up,” Dev went on, smoothing over a painful memory with talk of an awkward misstep. “We’re going to shelve this topic and never touch it again, because what’s the point?”

While Jayce contemplated his response, Dev’s phone rang.

Dev glanced at the caller ID, then glanced back at Jayce. “It’s Chloe,” he said, then took the call. “Yeah, honey. What’s up?… No, I didn’t kill him.” He glanced at Jayce. “Yeah. I know. Working on it. Talk to you later.” He disconnected, then sipped coffee.

Jayce toyed with his cup, feeling exposed. “So you told Chloe.”

“Rocky told Chloe. And Luke and Monica.” Dev cocked a brow. “You didn’t know?”

Jayce scraped a hand over his whiskered chin.

Dev quirked a smile. “I think that’s the extent of it. For what it’s worth, Chloe and Monica sympathize with you, whereas Luke … You might want to steer clear of his right hook for a while. Anyway,” Dev plowed on. “I was worked up when I stopped by Moose-a-lotta for the second time this morning. Chloe talked me down.”

Jayce massaged his jaw. “That punch came
after
you cooled off?”

Another grin. “So, what prompted you to leave Brooklyn?”

The question caught Jayce off guard. He’d expected Dev to ask for an update on the mugging incident or on the current status of Jayce and Rocky’s relationship. Aside from the blowout, wasn’t Dev curious about the time they’d spent together this past weekend? “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got all day.”

“I was restless.”

“That’s your long story?”

Jayce shrugged. He’d never been big on sharing his intimate thoughts and feelings. A building sense of discontentment coupled with the death of his friend Mrs. Watson had made him itch for another life. Rocky had merely given him direction. He wasn’t in the mood to discuss either motivating factor. “On my last visit, I realized how much I miss Sugar Creek. Wide-open spaces. Laid-back pace. That day I pitched in with your family to build a new shed for Rocky? It felt good.”

“Being surrounded by the people you love and who love you.”

Jayce raised a brow at his friend’s choice of words. “When did you get so pansy-ass sentimental?”

“New outlook on life.”

“Because of Chloe?”

“Partly.”

Jayce eyed his friend over the rim of his steaming mug. Of the two of them, Dev had always been more forthcoming. Mostly because he was an opinionated control freak. “Something you want to share?”

“No. What about your career plans?” Dev prompted after finishing off his apple pastry. “You said you had something in mind.”

Again, Jayce was surprised. Still no mention of the weekend in New York with Rocky. “Starting a new venture. A cyber detective agency. I—”

Dev’s phone blipped. “Sorry.” He checked the screen. “Text from Gram: ‘
Vincent got detained,
’” he read aloud.
“Need a ride to church. Rocky not available. You? Or I could drive myself.”
He shook his head. “Like hell.”

“Thought she still had an ankle cast.”

“She does. Even without, she’s a menace on wheels,” Dev said while thumbing in a return message. “Told her I’d be right there.”

“Why didn’t you just call her?”

“She wouldn’t answer. Ever since Chloe taught her to text, she’s been as addicted as a teenager. Except she doesn’t abbreviate,” he said while zipping up his jacket. “Guess I’m going to have to increase her data plan before she drains her bank account.”

Jayce followed Dev to the door, feeling more awkward by the minute. No interrogation or, hell, slight interest in how Jayce and Rocky had gotten along during the daylong sightseeing tour? How they’d spent their time? What they’d talked about? No prying at all?

“Sorry to cut this short,” Dev said. “I’m curious about the new agency. You can fill us in tonight.”

“Us?”

“The family. Or some of us anyway. Dinner at Gram’s. Sunday tradition, remember?”

He remembered. It used to be one of his favorite things. Sunday dinner with the Monroes. Jayce had always had a standing invitation, just like a member of the family.

Guilt needled his conscience. It wasn’t just the past. It was the fresh tumble with Rocky in New York. Not that Dev needed intimate details, but he did deserve to know Jayce’s long-term intentions. Then again, so did Rocky. Jayce dragged a hand through his hair, knowing they wouldn’t be having that conversation anytime soon. Not until she cooled off. “I’m not sure—”

“No excuses. You said you wanted to ease back into Sugar Creek. What better way than to start with the family?”

Showing up for dinner, catching Rocky off guard in the wake of their latest fight, struck Jayce as a bad idea. On the other hand, skipping dinner to avoid an uncomfortable scene would be taking the easy way out. Again. “Five o’clock?”

“Four thirty. Gram tweaked tradition by adding a cocktail hour. See you then. Oh, and Jayce,” Dev said as he crossed the front porch. “Word of advice: Make peace with Rocky before dinner.”

Coldcocked, chastised, supported, and manipulated by his best friend over coffee and Danish. In spite of his unsettled mood, Jayce’s lip twitched as he watched Dev drive off. “Welcome home, Bello.”