7. Dolly
7
DOLLY
Wind whips through my hair, the spring air slightly cool against my skin, even in the warm sun. The pretty blue sports car that Hux rented hugs the curve of the old back road we’re on, the thrill of riding with the top down on a beautiful day coursing through me.
Granted, it’s not a midnight joyride in my grandfather’s T-bird, but what is?
I giggle at the memory, unable to hold it in, earning me a curious side-eye from my best friend.
“I didn’t take it that fast,” he comments.
“No, I was just thinking about that night we borrowed Opal.”
Hux groans, his couple days of scruff hiding the sly smile that I know is spreading across his face. Butterflies swarm in my tummy as I recall that feeling of freedom as we cruised through town, the full moon above us, not a care in the world. Including the fact that we were only fifteen and neither of us had a license. Or permission to use the car.
“I still kick myself for taking that left.”
“We had no way of knowing that the Hoopers had gotten a puppy and that Mr. Hooper would be walking the thing in the middle of night!” I laugh, still unable to believe our dumb luck all these years later.
“Still, had I taken a right…”
“We would have driven straight past the center of town and the fire station—and my great-uncle, who absolutely would have recognized his brother-in-law’s car,” I remind him.
Because that’s how small towns work. Everyone knows everyone. Especially when you’re the son of the largest employer in town, and the daughter of the town lawyer, granddaughter of the retired police chief, and great-niece of the fire chief.
We’d gotten our wrists slapped pretty good for that one. Gramps covered for us—as much as he could—saying that he knew we had taken it, and that it was all in the name of good fun. In the end we ended up with trash duty for Rhythm and Brews—the Hickory Hills beer and bluegrass festival held every Labor day weekend—which wasn’t fun but was better than the alternative.
“Touché. Turned out better than the night we accidently let the Griffins’ bull out,” Hux laughs.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, turning away so he can’t see the guilty smile I’m trying to hide.
“Excuse you? Did you have a head injury I don’t know about?”
“Huxley Adams Hayes,” I feign seriousness, brushing windblown hair from my face. “I will, until my dying breath, deny that we let the Griffins’ bull out.”
Hux looks over at me, his expression incredulous at first, but then he bursts into laughter, the car swerving, causing him to have to straighten us out and focus back on the road. He knows exactly what I mean.
Because we most certainly did not let him out.
That very large, very angry beast crashed through the fence all by himself. Okay, so he might have been goaded by Hux, who very narrowly dodged out of the way while pretending to be a matador because he lost a bet. To me. But those are details that don’t need to be made public.
“That was not one of our better ideas,” he mutters.
“No, that one goes right on top of the stupid list. The slip and slide was our best.”
“Yes! We should do that again. Next hurricane, we bust out the tarps and go to town.”
I chuckle, trying to picture the adult versions of ourselves sliding down the muddy hill on the Hayes property the same way we did during Hurricane Frances in high school. It was a blast, the whole group of us in our bathing suits, soaked to the bone and covered in sticky, wet, red Georgia clay. I was sore for a week afterward, covered in all sorts of mystery bruises from sliding down the hill, bumping along the rocks and who knows what else under that tarp, but it was worth it. A redo would probably require a decent amount of ibuprofen. And some Southern Brothers.
“Let’s do it!” I say, excited about the idea.
“That’s my girl.”
I shiver, Hux’s words having more of an effect on me than they should. I tell myself that it’s because it’s been so long since he’s said something like that. As my bestie, he’s always been respectful of my relationship, even when I know he didn’t want to be. And that included not saying things like that’s my girl , even if all he meant was that’s my best friend .
Except, I don’t think that’s the only reason I’m reacting that way.
“See,” he says, reaching over and squeezing my thigh. “You needed this.”
I did…
I sigh, sitting back and letting myself simply enjoy the lightness that fills my chest. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way. A really long time.
The idea of us escaping town to “get up to no good” sounded preposterous when Hux first floated it. Even more so when he texted me a list the next day of what to pack, but wouldn’t tell me where we were going. Even now, all packed and in the car en route to our unknown destination, I’m still not sure what he has up his sleeve.
I trust him. Wholeheartedly. Until my very last breath.
But that doesn’t mean I understand.
Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since I did anything that could even be considered close to the category of “no good.” Fuck, at this point in my life, I’d settle for staying out past my bedtime. That’s about as close as I’ve gotten over the last six years.
Looking over to my left, I take in my big, bearded lumberjack-esque small-town partner in crime. Once upon a time, if there was trouble, we’d find it. Or create it. We never met a curfew we didn’t break, or a window we didn’t try to at least figure out how to sneak out of. Skinny-dipping, bonfires, streaking, TP-ing the houses of someone who “deserved” it, tailgate lunches during our free periods on Friday in the school parking lot—you name it, we did it.
And while we weren’t the ones who spray-painted the town monument, we know who did. That’s another secret I’ll take to my grave.
We weren’t bad kids—we simply liked to know exactly where the line was, and nudge it some. Or a lot.
“Thank you,” I say, so softly I’m not entirely sure it’s out loud.
“I’ve got you, Doll. Always.”
Reaching over, Hux takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. The warmth of his touch is comforting, making the lightness in me settle in even more. Letting me know that I’m safe.
All the more reason I know that I need to open up and tell him. Let him in on how I’m really feeling. That the great big emotional monkey on my back isn’t heartbreak like he thinks. The problem, adding to the embarrassment of admitting that I’m embarrassed, is having to tell him. Is admitting that I didn’t tell him before now. And that I don’t know why.
Probably because I barely admitted it to myself.
Closing my eyes, I lose myself in the rhythm of the tires on the pavement, trying to think through everything I’m feeling. To find words to describe why these last couple of weeks have been simultaneously the biggest horror and relief of my life. Yet, nothing comes. Words fail me.
“Hey there, Sleeping Beauty,” Hux whispers, nudging me.
“Huh?”
I sit straight up, bright sunlight burning my eyes as I try to open them, dizziness taking over for a second. Swiping at my chin, I catch a bit of moisture, dread washing over me that I was drooling on top of napping. Napping. Did I seriously fall asleep?
Who falls asleep in a convertible with the top down?
“We’re here.”
My eyes land on a massive Queen Anne style house, surrounded by live oaks swaying in the breeze, the stone fountain out front bubbling its welcome, like something out of a travel video. A black sign hanging from the eave of the wraparound porch features the silhouette of a swan, beautiful script lettering spelling out The Seven Swans Inn.
“Somerset Island?” I choke out.
Hux nods, the corner of his mouth quirked upward, looking pretty proud of himself. My pulse jumps, the rest of my insides following as I wake up in an instant, still trying to process all this.
Hux brought me to Somerset Island…
Just off the southern coast of Georgia, and about forty-five minutes from Savannah, Somerset Island is home to pristine beaches, a world-class golf course, bike trails, and historical landmarks, making it an incredibly popular vacation spot. The Somerset family bequeathed the island to the state in the 1950s, and the small community was born.
I stare at Hux, who is still looking prouder than a peacock, leaning against the pretty blue rental car, the high-end paint job shimmering in the sun. When he rolled up in the convertible this morning, rather than his old beat-up truck, part of me wanted to question it, but I talked myself out of it. I told myself that he knew that I’d complain about being stuck in that old beater for more than a couple of hours, the padding on the bench seat long past needing an upgrade. Actually, the whole thing is long past needing an upgrade—but that’s a different story.
Now, I know he has something else up his sleeve.
“Just what kind of no good are we going to get up to on Somerset?” I question, throwing all the sass I can at him. I jut out a hip and fold my arms across my chest, bumping up my boobs, a move that would work on any other man out there. Any man except Hux.
Not that he doesn’t like boobs. He does. Even mine. We might only be besties, but he’s a man, and I’ve caught him staring a time or two over the years. But his resistance to my move here has nothing to do with the boob move, and everything to do with the fact that the Hayes men have an armor when it comes to sass that might as well make them bulletproof. All thanks to the fact that their younger sister, Willa—a former Miss Georgia—is the walking, talking definition of spitfire, and they’ve had years of deflection practice thanks to her.
“Oh, don’t you worry. I’ve got plenty planned. We’ll find some trouble while we’re here,” he tells me, crossing his legs out in front of him as he leans against the car. “But this trip is also partially just an escape. Which you can’t tell me you didn’t need.”
“I didn’t?—”
“What did I just say?” he sasses back. Oh yeah, Hux can also give as good as he gets.
I glower at him, sticking my tongue out as if I’m five. It’s not the most original comeback, but it’s the only one I have right now. Because he’s right. Escaping is good.
“C’mon, Doll.” He reaches for me, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me close. I fall into him, letting the warmth of his body surround me, my head resting against his chest. My pulse finds the steady beat of his, matching it, relaxing me as we stay like this for a long moment. “Let’s go check out the beach before we check in, then we can get started with letting loose.”
I laugh, the sound reverberating back to me from his hard chest, not wanting to let go quite yet. Something about being like this feels right. Safe. Like for the first time in I don’t know how long, things are okay. As they should be.
Stepping back slightly, I settle under his arm, holding tight to that warmth, letting him lead the way to the beach. The small path that winds around the inn toward the beach is well-worn, spring wildflowers sprouting up on either side to guide the way.
The path gives way to a jetty, and we stop to remove our shoes, stepping onto the sand, letting our toes sink into it. The warm, soft earth is grounding, pulling even more of my emotions forward. Emotions I had planned to keep buried.
“The B&B has been on my list…” I mutter. I’m not sure why I say it out loud, other than not wanting to keep it in.
“I know. I really expected the girls to tell me this is where you were coming on your bachelorette, and that Alice would try and bankrupt me at the spa.”
I snort. Had we opted to come here, that would have been a distinct possibility. Although Emily and Rose probably wouldn’t have been very far behind her. All three of them were more than happy to take advantage and spend Hux’s money like it was going out of style when he said that he would cover the bachelorette—all expenses paid—as the man of honor, as long as he wasn’t required to attend.
“I thought about it, but…” I pause, my stomach roiling as I think back. “But I wanted to save it. Thinking it would be a romantic trip. I had tried to get Jeff to come for my birthday a couple of times, but he could never get the time off work.”
Or maybe he wouldn’t take the time…fucker…
“Well, we’re here now. That’s what matters.”
Yes, it is.
My heart squeezes, the corners of my eyes starting to burn as tears threaten. The last thing I want to do right now is cry. That is not how I want to start this trip. That’s not what this trip is about. It’s not a pity party.
So we’re not going to throw one.
Marching straight toward the water, I swallow hard, shoving the sad me right out of the way. It’s time for her to take a break. Time for the one she’s been overshadowing to shine.
Cold water hits my bare feet, the shock slamming into the red-hot emotion bubbling to the surface, forcing her up and out. Allowing me to do what I’ve wanted to do since Hux handed me that note.
I scream.
It’s loud. Angry. Shrill. So unladylike and borderline bloodcurdling that I’m sure I turn a few heads. I do not give a damn. Because it’s also freeing. A release like nothing I’ve ever felt. So I do it again.
Louder. Harder. Longer.
Until my lungs hurt.
I have no idea how long I stand there and scream. Tears streaming down my face, my throat coarse and my body yielding, I slump down, ready to collapse. Until a pair of strong arms wrap around me from behind, giving me the support I need. My heart leaps, a new energy pouring into me, the safety I felt earlier once again taking over.
“I got you,” Hux whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head.
And he does. He always has.
“I’d say fuck Jeff, but I already did that, and look where that got me,” I snark, letting the bitter take over for a moment. I feel Hux chuckle behind me, his laughter making our bodies shake. “So I hope he sits on a cactus. Or his favorite book gets a really bad movie adaptation. Or something equally as horrible.”
“May he always piss into the wind,” Hux adds.
Shakespeare has nothing on us.
Twisting in Hux’s arms, I look up at him, ready to thank him for being here. For dragging me out of Hickory Hills. For being the best friend I could ask for. But the glint in his eye tells me he’s still thinking about my ex peeing himself, and I am not about to ruin that.
Instead, I lean into the moment.
“So, you said something about finding trouble?”