Chapter Two
TWO
Hailey
“Did Phoebe invite you? Did the godmothers?” I whisper as soon as I reach Jake’s side. He’s impeccably dressed in navy slacks, a crisp white button-down, and shiny leather loafers. Like usual, his brown hair is artfully styled to peak high-class standards.
For a flash, I remember disheveling those strands as he kissed between my legs. I remember the hungered way he looked up at me as his tongue circled my clit.
I gulp hard.
Focus, Hailey.
Jake towers above me in the parking lot.
Tall like Oliver, maybe even an inch taller than him, and his strong jawline clenches as more dark concern narrows his gaze.
He casts an apprehensive glance at the restaurant, as if expecting Addison to rush out after me, but mostly, he’s assessing me head to toe. “No, they didn’t invite me.”
“Did I?” It sounds like a silly question out of context.
His concern hikes. “No, Hailey. I drove here after I talked to Carter.”
“Carter?” What? I almost sway backward, but Jake shields my eyes from the sun with his hand, and I stay fixed on him.
“Stuart Cartwright,” he clarifies. “The only Carter I know. My oldest friend.”
His old boarding school roommate, who happens to be my family’s forger. And also my ex-fling. I used to fantasize that Carter would be the one. The long-lasting forever romance—back when I thought I’d eventually have a whirlwind con artist love story like my parents.
The fantasy blew up when A.) I learned my parents lied to me and they seemed less like people to emulate and more like a cautionary tale and B.) I realized Carter and I no longer want the same things.
He will always be on the move. I want to stay in Victoria for more than a few seasons.
The want feels more like a need now that I’m pregnant.
I shake my head slowly. “Why Carter?”
“You talked to Carter on your drive here,” Jake says, pausing to let his words jog my memory, but all I remember is Oliver.
“No…”
“Look at your call history. He said he called you, and you picked up and told him you were driving to Newport for lunch at Briny Pearl.”
I fumble my phone out of my studded crossbody purse. Sure enough, I have an answered call from Carter. “Thirty minutes ago,” I mutter.
Jake opens the Porsche’s passenger door. “Here, sit. You look pale.”
“I’m always pale.” I’m dazed staring at the phone.
“Paler than usual.”
I feel dizzy, so I sink down on the black leather interior. Jake bends close, extending an arm over me to reach the cupholder. His bicep skims against my shoulder, and our gazes touch for a heady second.
His sandy-brown hair rustles with the wind, and I get lost in his cerulean-blue eyes, dreamy and idyllic like a perfect summer sky.
Jake Waterford has felt unreal.
Like another figment of my imagination. There was a time or two that I wondered if I’d made him up. If my mind had conjured him back when we moved to the quaint, delightfully romantic Connecticut town. The hot landlord to shepherd me and Phoebe into our new honest living.
Then we found skeletons under his bed—he faked his little sister’s death; he’d been friends with Carter—and I knew he had to be real. My brain wouldn’t construct someone this complex with sister baggage and parental issues and boarding school connections to my yearslong crush. He wasn’t simple.
I thought maybe I needed simple, but I found myself liking that he was so complex.
I still find myself liking him.
Even now, as he grabs a three-fourths-filled water bottle for me. I love and hate being doted on and taken care of. I love feeling important enough to matter, but I hate how it’s synonymous with being weak.
“Drink this.” He unscrews the Evian and hands it to me.
“Thanks.” I take small sips. “What did I even tell Carter?” I vaguely begin to recall climbing into the car and clutching the wheel.
“He said you were mostly talking about Oliver.”
“Oh God,” I mumble into a heartier swig of water.
Jake nods more strongly. “Yeah,” he says flatly, then rises to a stand. He stays close.
It’s no secret that Carter and I banged in the past, or that I’m now having casual sex with both Jake and Oliver. The causal situation (emphasis on casual) shouldn’t be awkward, but the more Oliver and Jake avoid each other—it is.
“What did I say?” I ask.
“Mainly that you were concerned about him. You think he needs a new role. Then you were rambling. Carter couldn’t follow your logic, so he called me after he hung up and said I should check on you. He’s not in Victoria.”
“I heard.” Carter flew to Manchester for a long weekend. He’s unsure if he’ll return to town or not.
I pick at the label on the water bottle. Jake remains standing, holding the hood of the car as if he’s touching my head, but he’s not touching me. He’s more careful with me than Oliver is. I love and hate that, too.
“Well, you found me. I’m okay.”
“Are you?” He lifts his brows. “Do you even remember driving here?”
“A little…not enough, probably.” I’ve told him that I lose time while I’m stuck inside my head.
I have trouble being in the present moment.
It’s a persistent problem, but it’s been heightened to these extremes since I learned my parents deceived me and my insomnia reared its ugly head.
“It’ll come to me. It usually does.” We lock eyes again.
He’s the town heartthrob. A quintessential Prince Charming who has women swooning the second he enters a room. Every lady at Victoria Country Club will be trying to pair their prim and proper daughters with him.
Even if I wasn’t a server, even if I wasn’t a grifter, there is nothing about me that screams debutante. I’m a goth weirdo with a brain that never sleeps and a heart that’s never been up for grabs.
Yet, I’ve told him things I shouldn’t. He knows more than he needs to. And that’s how I first knew I liked Jake. It’s also how I know I’ve been letting him reach my heart.
Maybe he’s touched too much of it.
“You shouldn’t drive, Hailey. Not while you’re still recovering. It’s only been two weeks since you hallucinated—”
“I haven’t hallucinated since then,” I say with a nod. “I’m getting better.” I nod again.
He nods back. “It’s okay if it takes a while.”
No, it’s not. I wrap my arms around my abdomen, hoping I’m not drawing attention to my uterus.
Jake’s frown deepens. “What’s the rush? Because if it’s about me and my brother and this unfinished job—”
I pop out of the car, pushing the Evian into his hand. “There’s always a job. It’s not the job. It’s…it’s just me.”
He shifts his weight uncertainly. “You put too much pressure on yourself. This isn’t life-or-death here anymore. You can breathe.”
“Almost. We’re almost there.” I tie my hair in a low pony out of my face.
“Hailey…” he starts, but I’m already walking toward the restaurant.
“Don’t wait for me. Phebs is coming. I’ll ask her to drive us home.”
“How is she getting here?”
“The bus, I think.”
Jake shakes his head in slow-growing confusion. “You girls…I don’t get you two. She could’ve asked me for a ride.”
“You both just broke up.” It was a fake breakup to their fake romance, but it was recent nonetheless.
“What about Grey?” Grey Thornhall—Rocky’s alias in Victoria. “Why couldn’t he drop off Phoebe?”
“She didn’t want to be seen out with her ex-husband right after ending things with you.”
Jake doesn’t like this answer. It means he’s the reason she’s taking public transit. He’s also blamed himself for being the reason Rocky and Phoebe have been secretly dating for half the year and not a public couple. But he’s not the reason.
It’s just the job.
We all have our roles. We all play pretend. It’s only fun when we can see all the pieces. When we know what’s real and what’s fake. I want it to be fun again.
I think it can be, but that involves staying out of my head. My phone buzzes as I hurry back toward the restaurant.
Carter: You should tell them. About the bun in the oven.
Did I tell Carter I’m pregnant?! My eyes bug, and it takes a lot of control not to stall out.
Jake is waiting for me to reach the doors to Briny Pearl, likely afraid I might pass out mid-stride.
I manage to go inside the restaurant, the cool AC hitting me all at once, and I sink down on the rattan bench near a life-sized mermaid sculpture.
I call Carter.
“Ailey!” He picks up on the first ring, his East London accent thick along with his joviality. Carter is rarely somber. I’ve always liked that about him. “Nice chat we were ’aving earlier.”
“The one where I purged everything in my head?”
“Not everything. Trust, you were skirting around things, too.”
I’m quiet.
“Oi, you better be breathing, or I’ll do worse on you and call your big moody brother.”
I smile a little. “Rocky would hang up on you.”
“Not when I say it’s about you.”
That’s true. “Did I tell you that…?” I can’t finish.
“That you’ve got a bun in the oven. You mumbled it. Said you’ve been keeping it to yourself. You and Phoebe. Now me, I reckon.”
I intake a sharp breath. “Carter—”
“I didn’t tell Jake. You barely meant to tell me, and you know me and you, Ailey. I’m not going around spilling all you share. This’ll be the same.”
I exhale.
“Ain’t that the sound of beauty.”
“Breath?”
“Life.”
His words drive deeper through me, and I place a softer hand on my flat belly.
“They should know,” Carter says in my silence.
“Who?”
“All of ’em. Best way to protect the future Tinrock progeny is if the whole team knows.”
“Not yet.”
“Thought you’d say that.” I hear his laughter before it comes. “I’m finishing up a passport for Mum’s friend, but I’ll pop in and out of Victoria when I can. Hit that Uncle Ned?” He’s telling me to go to bed. I understand some Cockney slang. Not as much as Oliver.
“Fly safe,” I say, then call Phoebe after I hang up.
“Ew, this bus seat is nasty,” she says upon answering. “I seriously could not find one that didn’t have a random white or brown stain. Buses shouldn’t have fabric seats. This needs to be illegal.”
“They know.” I stand up, heading toward the patio so as not to worry my mom. I’ve been gone long enough.
“Who knows what?” she whisper-hisses.
“The baby. Carter knows.”
“What the fuck?” she curses harshly. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me—”
“My fault—”
“Never your fault,” she says. “He probably weaseled it out of you.”
“That would still be my fault,” I whisper, skirting around a server and her bowls of lobster bisque.
“I’ll never believe it is, so you need to live with my delusion.”
I smile a little, loving my best friend during a crisis. “I’ll explain everything later. Ride safe.”
“Pray I don’t get a rash.”
“I’ll let Oliver know so he can pray in every language.”
“Perfect. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” We hang up, and I take a readying breath as I push into the patio. My mom nearly springs out of her chair upon seeing me. Her overwhelmed relief slams into me like a monster truck, and it feels…good.
She really wanted me back.