Love Me if You Dare Read online

  Well, she did, sort of. Clearly, Phil had set someone to digging and found that law she’d told him about. Oh God, I never should have mentioned that. But at the time she’d felt under such pressure to appease Phil in some way and it was all she’d had. And it was before she really understood exactly why Reece couldn’t part with the Happy Crab. Things had already been changing then, but they’d only changed totally and completely out on that boat with him last night. If only she could go back in time and not send Phil that text.

  But . . . why had Reece been so mean, refusing to even listen, assuming the worst of her?

  Because you look guilty. Of course it seemed like you were responsible for this. And, at least in part, you actually were. You wish you were innocent here, but you’re not. He’s probably going to lose his motel now and there’s nothing you or anyone else can do to fix it.

  When she’d returned to her room earlier, it had crossed her mind to check her email, but she’d opted to go straight to bed instead. Now, she went to the laptop still on the table, not yet packed, and opened it up to see if there was any further information inside.

  She found three emails from Phil—the first two demanding that she call him, the last a terse message saying that since she hadn’t responded and obviously wasn’t interested in doing her job, he’d taken matters into his own hands, getting his administrative assistant to locate the ordinance about reptiles, and informing “Mr. Donovan” that he would be reported to the health department if he didn’t accept their most recent offer. The message closed with: WE’LL DISCUSS YOUR LACKLUSTER PERFORMANCE ON THIS ACQUISITION WHEN YOU RETURN TO THE OFFICE. WHICH SHOULD BE NOW, BY THE WAY, IF YOU WANT TO REMAIN EMPLOYED BY VANDERHOOK.

  Wow. Just wow. She couldn’t believe him.

  But . . . on the other hand, maybe she could. Maybe he was . . . only doing his job, the same as he’d expected her to do hers. It wasn’t unreasonable for him to be upset with her for the way things had gone here.

  And then, for the first time since her return, it occurred to her to check her cell phone. She’d turned it off when they were at sea, out of range, to save the battery, and simply hadn’t thought to turn it back on until now. Strange. She supposed she’d quit living and dying by her electronic communications. Other things had begun to feel more important. Coral Cove had shifted her into a slower, sweeter mode of living.

  On the phone, she found five texts from Phil, the most recent a couple of hours ago, telling her to check her email and haranguing her for not answering him. The truth was, under the circumstances, his anger was fair.

  And she honestly didn’t know if she’d have a job when she got back to Atlanta.

  And she wasn’t sure if she wanted a job—at least the job she currently had. Again, she didn’t know anything for certain right now. Everything felt foggy and confusing.

  Okay, what do I know for sure here?

  Reece has demanded I leave the Happy Crab. Reece was a total jerk to me. I am at fault for part of the reason he’s mad, but not all of it, and he didn’t even care enough to let me explain my side of things. And so even if he’s justified in one way . . . well, maybe he’s not the totally great guy I thought he was. I mean, I opened myself to him last night in so many ways. I put my heart on the line, and my job on the line—for him, because his happiness felt more vital to me than my own.

  I gave him . . . the most precious thing I could, all I had to give, and he just repaid me by believing the worst of me, not letting me defend myself, and throwing me out of his motel.

  She glanced in the general direction of the office. “Fine, you scumball,” she said under her breath, “I’ll go.” And God, her heart hurt. It felt like he’d just crushed it under his heel, like it was made of paper—but she had to ignore that right now. She just had to. Because she had to figure out what to do with Tiger Lily and . . . also what to do with herself.

  Go back to Atlanta? Or stay here, in Coral Cove?

  Making a few short term decisions, she scooped the orange-striped kitty up into her arms and cuddled her to her chest. The cat purred and her body felt warm and cozy next to Cami’s skin. I wish I could just stay here, like this, right now. I wish Reece had never come to my door, and that we were getting together for dinner and a walk over to the pier to see our friends, and watch Fletcher’s show, and maybe I’d even buy another suncatcher from Tamra to try to make her see I’m not so bad, and then we’d walk on the beach and hold hands and I’d still feel safe. But none of that could be. Everything had changed. She shut her eyes for a few seconds, allowing herself to absorb the pain, then bolstered her courage to try to push beyond it as best she could.

  She hugged Tiger Lily to her once more and said softly, “I have to go. But I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

  And it broke her heart to lower the cat on the bed and begin to leave. But Reece had given her no choice, and so she began operating on auto-pilot to get some necessary tasks accomplished. That was what much of her life had been like as a girl—when her father was harsh with her, or when her parents hurt her by denying her some simple thing other kids had like money for a movie or something new to wear—and she reverted back to that now. Moving forward, ignoring emotions for as long as it took to get through what needed to happen.

  She packed her laptop in its bag and wheeled her suitcase out to her rental car.

  Then she went to Riley’s room, bracing herself and knocked, hoping he’d be inside. A moment later, he answered, wearing his usual gentle smile. “Well, Miss Cami. What can I do for ya?”

  His smile and cheerful attitude nearly buried her, but she did her best not to let emotion leak out. She took his hand, squeezed it, and hoped she could get through this. “Riley, Reece and I have had a disagreement and I have to go. There’s a cat in my room—Reece said she could stay. Will you take care of her for me?” She swallowed back the lump in her throat as she finished, making the mistake of meeting the old man’s kind, worried eyes.

  He blinked repeatedly, looking upset, caught off guard. “Of course I will, but . . . surely you’re not really leavin’. Surely whatever this is can be worked out. You . . . you make him happy.”

  Oh shit. She had to shut her eyes, crush back the tears. Be strong. Get back in autopilot.

  So then she opened her eyes back up, pressed her lips together, and squeezed Riley’s hand once more. And tried to keep it simple. “It’s Reece’s choice that I go. Thank you. About the cat. And for being so nice to me.”

  She didn’t wait for him to reply because she couldn’t. She turned and walked away, her heart beating painfully in her chest, her brain still filled with the fog of all of this, of everything good turning so irreparably bad.

  She got in her car, started it, tried not to see the Hungry Fisherman in the distance, tried not to feel the warmth of Coral Cove crowding in around her, somehow reminding her that . . . it wasn’t hers to feel right now. It was suddenly as if it belonged to Reece and could only come to her through him, and that if he didn’t want her here, she didn’t belong here, wasn’t a part of it anymore.

  Still moving automatically, she drove up the road, out of town, past Sunnymeade and toward the big resorts beyond. She drove up beneath the wide awning of the first she reached, called the Sand Dollar, where a bellman rushed over to her window to ask with a smile, “Checking in?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  And then she did.

  Even the resort’s simplest room was lavish, especially compared to the Happy Crab, but it felt . . . plastic to her in some way—a little too perfect, a little too fancy. It simply didn’t feel like where she was supposed to be. But neither did the Happy Crab at the moment. And neither did Atlanta. She missed her cat already.

  This . . . this is a place to sleep tonight. A place to think. A place to figure out what I want. From life, going forward.

  She sat down in a plush chair, the drapes drawn, letting in only a scant amount of late daylight. She didn’t turn on the TV; she didn’t want to tak
e a walk or explore the grounds; she didn’t want to call Phil or answer her email. She felt entirely . . . directionless. For perhaps the first time since she’d left her hometown in Michigan all those years ago.

  How did Reece Donovan drain the direction, the drive, the determination right out of me that easily?

  And she was so, so angry at him. That quickly, he hadn’t believed in her, and it made her feel like . . . like the person she used to be, the person who had put her job first above all else. But she wasn’t that person anymore, and why didn’t he know that—why couldn’t he see and feel that? She punched a throw pillow as hard as she could. Then she flung it across the room.

  She found herself thinking back on when they’d first met. She’d wanted to go to bed with him. She’d wanted not to pass up experiencing the fiery chemistry that burned between them. She’d felt it was better to experience it than not, no matter what—that it was some sort of gift in life that shouldn’t be squandered lest it never come again.

  And she’d gotten what she’d wanted. But of course, she’d learned along the way that she wasn’t a casual sex sort of girl. From the start of their physical relationship, she’d felt an attachment she couldn’t deny or push down and she’d had no choice but to roll with it. She’d already been in too deep to get out. And she’d trusted that it would all just be okay in the end somehow.

  But it wasn’t okay in the end. It wasn’t okay at all.

  Are you sorry you went down that road? If you could go back in time, rebuff his advances, not put forth your own, ignore the desire between you—would you? If it would have avoided all this hurt, guilt, and every other horrible thing you’re suffering, would you have passed up what you had with him?

  Then came the answer. No way. How could I?

  And then something big hit her. This wouldn’t hurt so much if what was between us hadn’t felt so incredible—so positively amazing. So maybe the profound pain she was experiencing right now simply . . . validated it, proved it had been worth it. Maybe the pain was a way to measure how much good had been there, how much joy it had filled her with.

  The only thing she would really take back was . . . hurting Reece. In so many ways.

  Making it so he’d lose the motel. And doing it through Fifi. And making him feel betrayed. And making him believe she’d faked her feelings for him.

  She wanted to scream out loud that it was an accident, all just an ugly, random accident, completely out of her control—but she’d lit the fire. She’d supplied all the ammunition. She was the bad guy here—no matter how she looked at it.

  Now he was going to lose his home, his business, all because of her. She felt like an idiot never to have realized how much that would wound her in the end, too. You’ve always been the bad guy, a bully, in your job. Always. It was just easier when you didn’t see the aftermath. When it didn’t hurt someone you love.

  It struck her then what a horrible job it was. How many people had she hurt? How many lives were worse off because of her? How many people resented what she’d done, what she’d taken from them? God, how did she even sleep at night?

  She’d just never seen it before—she’d never let herself.

  I don’t know how to fix this. Any of it.

  I don’t know who I am anymore.

  So what the hell do I do now?

  Sitting in the chair, she finally broke down and cried. She didn’t indulge in tears often, but hell—if she was ever going to cry, this seemed like a pretty good time for it. As she sobbed into her hands, and then a tissue—and before she knew it a whole overflowing handful of wadded tissues—visions darted through her mind.

  Reece. Their sex. The picture of his family on the wall. Everything that was at once typical and unique about the Happy Crab.

  Polly’s beehive. Riley’s gentle eyes. Tiger Lily’s warmth. Fifi’s . . . smile. Which she thought maybe she’d see now if she only had the chance to look again.

  The smell of a Florida drizzle. Reece rubbing sunscreen on her back beneath the hot, tropical sun. The million stars they’d lain beneath last night that had made her feel she was seeing something wondrous for the first time.

  For all she knew, maybe she had seen that many stars back in rural Michigan. Maybe it had taken being with Reece, observing the world through his eyes, to make her really see them.

  She wasn’t sure how long she let herself cry, but finally she made herself stop. She could cry forever and it wouldn’t repair anything. Only . . . maybe this had actually helped a little. The things she’d thought about as she’d shed those tears had reminded her all over again just how many changes she’d gone through since meeting Reece.

  And I might not know who I am anymore, but . . . at least maybe I’m figuring out who I’m not. And who I’d like to be.

  And that seemed like a starting point. A weak one. Yet all she had right now, so she supposed it would have to do.

  Pulling herself together, she opened the curtains, ordered room service, and tried to start piecing together a few decisions, about what to do tomorrow. At this point, one day at a time was all she could handle.

  TAMRA sat on Fletcher’s back porch with Fletcher and Reece, looking out over the sea. Funny, usually peering out over the beach gave her a sense of peace, just from witnessing the beauty and massive scope of it all—but today she found herself seeing something closer to starkness. The wind was up, making the waves choppy, and the sky overcast, more white than blue. But she supposed her perception might have as much to do with the horrible story Reece had just told them as it did with the actual state of the weather.

  He’d explained all they’d missed over the last couple of days—including the deepened connection he’d experienced with Cami on the boat, making it so he had a lot more to mourn than just the impending loss of the Happy Crab.

  It hurt like hell to hear it—all of it. It hurt because she knew how much the place meant to him and why. And it hurt to hear how Cami had treated him—because Tamra understood romantic pain now so much better than she had just a few months ago. And to be betrayed like that, by someone he’d put trust in . . . well, one could argue that he’d trusted too soon, too fast, especially given what had brought her here in the first place—but none of that really mattered.

  What mattered was that she couldn’t imagine what that particular agony was like. It was one thing when the other person just didn’t feel the same way as you—but it was another altogether when they earned your trust and then shit all over your feelings for them. Which, from what she could tell, was exactly what Cami had done.

  “What are you going to do?” Tamra asked him. “About the Crab.”

  Poor Reece looked exhausted and overwrought as he raked a hand back through his messier-than-usual hair. She’d never seen him this way before. And she could truly feel just how invested he’d been in all this, and how deeply it was affecting him. But she was glad he’d at least gotten out of his apartment, that he’d come to them to talk about it.

  “I haven’t decided,” he said. “I know it would be smart to take the money. Like Cami’s been telling me from the start, I could do whatever I wanted with that kind of money. I mean, I’ve always been comfortable—I have life insurance from my family, and until that sign went up in the lot next door, I’ve had at least a little income from the Crab. But if I took the deal, I could start something brand new, or I could invest it all, retire at thirty-five, and live off the interest.”

  When he ended on a sigh, though, Fletcher stated the obvious. “Only you don’t want to start something new, and you don’t really want to retire at thirty-five.”

  At which Reece let out an almost cynical laugh. “Sounds crazy hearing you say it, but it’s true. And so there’s also a stubborn part of me that wants to just sit there and wait and make them come shut me down. Only . . .” Another heavy sigh. “That isn’t very satisfying, either. Vanderhook wouldn’t even be the ones to lower the ax. All they need to do is make a call to the health department. And sure, I c
ould still sit on that property forever and not sell it, but if the Crab isn’t open, I’m not sure what the point is. My family built a friendly little motel, the first in Coral Cove and the last that’s still standing since the resorts moved in. So if it just ends up a vacant piece of property that isn’t used or enjoyed by anybody, that’s not exactly in keeping with my vision. Or my dad’s or uncle’s or grandfather’s.”

  “Could you just move Fifi up the street?” Tamra motioned over her shoulder in the direction of the little house Reece owned two doors down from hers but hadn’t lived in since before she moved here.

  “I thought of that,” he said. “I thought of moving her, and moving myself. But I don’t think it would fix the problem. There’s plenty of evidence, right down to pictures in the newspaper, of Fifi having lived there. And I’m pretty sure the whole issue behind the ordinance is the idea that she might carry germs that would make the whole place be deemed unclean—even if that’s not true—so I think they’d enforce it whether she was still there or not. And I’m not even sure what hoops they’d make me jump through to reopen.”

  He slumped over slightly, blew out a big breath. “And I guess I’m just tired. Of fighting. I’m one guy with a little motel. They’re a massive corporation. And I have a feeling that even if I found a way to get out of this problem with Fifi, they’d just come up with something else. So maybe it’s just time to cut my losses and throw in the towel. I hate losing my family’s business—but now that I know Vanderhook isn’t above playing dirty, I’m not sure I can save it.”

  After a long, somber moment of silence, Reece looked at Fletcher. “I don’t know how you do it, man.”

  “How I do what, my friend?” Fletcher asked in his usual, calm way.

  “How you . . . forgive your wife so easily for hurting you. How you don’t feel angry about it every freaking day. How you reconcile it all. Because to find out that what I thought I had going with Cami wasn’t real . . . Damn. I don’t even understand how she could have faked some of that stuff.” He shut his eyes, clearly in pain, and then reopened them. “But I guess she did.”