Chapter 9 #3
“I don’t want you around my friends anymore if this is how you’re going to act.” He glared at Wren, his blue eyes dark as wet denim and his mouth firm with disapproval. “What were you thinking?”
“I was just having fun. Nothing even happened.”
“Your fun leads to trouble.”
“He didn’t even kiss me.”
“He’s lucky he didn’t. And you’re lucky I stopped him when I did.”
Her confusion turned to anger, alcohol making her bolder than usual. “Lucky? Is that what you think I am? What are you even doing, Greyson? This isn’t about Andy. Whenever any guy comes within two feet of me, you turn into a complete caveman. Why?”
“Andy’s three years older than you.”
“What does that matter when I’m an eighteen-year-old adult?”
“It matters when you’ve got no experience, and you’re drunk and leading guys on!”
“I wasn’t leading him on!”
“I know how you are when you get like this.”
She staggered back as if he’d physically struck her. “When I get like what?”
“You show up here, looking for attention like a pick-me girl—”
She slapped him before she even realized she’d lifted her hand, the crack echoing between them like a gunshot. Her palm stung, but not as much as her heart.
He glared at her, a red mark blooming across his cheek. “I can’t do this with you anymore.”
“Do what? The only thing you’re doing is making me feel like a whore when I didn’t even do anything.”
“You need to find your own friends.”
The space around her heart seared like molten metal as she looked up at him, stunned that he would say such a thing to her. He was supposed to be her friend, her safe harbor in every storm. “What happened to you?”
“I grew up. One day you’ll understand.”
“No, I won’t. I don’t care how old we get, Greyson. We aren’t meant to outgrow each other. Our bond’s deeper than that.” Tears burned behind her eyes. “If you hate it here so much, why did you come back?”
His mouth formed a firm line, jaw clenched with unspoken truths.
Realizing he wasn’t going to explain himself to anyone, she said, “You should have stayed out at sea. At least then I’d remember you as a decent guy.”
“I’m still a decent guy.”
“No, you’re not. The Greyson I knew would never treat me like this.”
“If I wasn’t decent, I would have had you six ways to Sunday by now.”
She was speechless, shock coursing through her like ice water. She didn’t know this side of him—this crude, territorial stranger wearing her best friend’s face. “You’re an asshole.”
“I’m just trying to be honest. You can’t keep coming here looking for something I can’t give you. I don’t have feelings for you, Wren. You need to get that through your head. You’re like my kid sister. That’s all.”
The words hit her like physical blows, each one more devastating than the last. “Well, if that’s all I am, you’re a shitty fucking big brother.
Here.” She flung the rejection letter at his chest, the paper fluttering between them like a wounded bird.
“I came by because I was upset and wanted to show you this. Pardon me for thinking you might care.”
Thinking back to that horrible day, she suffered the same ache she had when he said those mean things to her. Greyson always swore he never saw her as anything more than a little sister, but of all the Hawthorne brothers, he was always the most territorial.
They didn’t speak for almost a year after that. But he spent so much time working for the fishery, she hardly saw him anyway.
It wasn’t until she started construction on The Haven, six years later, when he’d built his cabin and settled back in Hideaway, that they actually found a somewhat normal vibe again.
She rubbed her temples and groaned. “Oh, God, Jocelyn, what the hell am I doing?”
“Okay, take a breath. You’re safe, and this isn’t anything we can’t handle.”
Wren reached for the donuts and shoved half a glazed in her mouth. “I cranft neef’n figreah Greyson oub.”
“Honey, when you talk with food in your mouth, no one knows what you’re trying to say. Wash it down.” Jocelyn pushed the rocks glass closer, and Wren took a sip.
“Wow.” She swallowed and examined the glass, warmth spreading through her chest. “Why is that so good?”
“I know, right?”
She took another small swallow, then set down the glass. “I said, I can’t figure Greyson out. Every time he touches me, he tells me it can’t happen again.”
“And then he makes you come.”
“Exactly! What is that?”
“Look, obviously, he has feelings for you. We always assumed that was why he didn’t want other guys sniffing around your territory.”
“But at the bonfire—”
“Fuck that bonfire! That was one day, Wren—like a million years ago. Look at the big picture. His fingers were in your pants.”
“Do you have to be so graphic?”
“Hey, I write ‘em like I see ‘em.”
“Well, you’re not writing about this.” She frowned, confusion swirling with the whiskey. “As soon as we stopped, he told me to date whoever I wanted. He doesn’t care. Even if it’s his brothers, he acts like it means nothing to him.”
“Oh, he cares. He’s just being a little bitch about it. I bet he cares so much it’s making him crazy. As a matter of fact, next time you go out with Soren, you should go somewhere right in the open where Greyson can see.”
“I can’t use Soren that way.” She thought again about the way he’d kissed her last night, the heat and promise in his touch. “At least Soren is actually talking about a possible future.”
“That’s true.” Jocelyn scratched her chin in thought. “I mean, he’s nothing like Greyson, but maybe that’s a good thing. At least he’s not afraid to go after what he wants.”
“But what do I want?”
Joce raised a brow as if to ask if that needed to be verbalized. “Where does Logan fall in all of this?”
Wren dropped her head into her palms and groaned. “I don’t know. Logan felt too personal. I can’t go there with him. He’s always been different with me than the other two.”
“It’s because you’re closer in age.”
“Probably. But how will he feel if I date his brother or brothers after turning him down? Gah!” Wren slouched and groaned, covering her face with both hands. “I’m a terrible person! I should just tell them all no and go out with Noah.”
“Hold up. Who the hell is Noah?”
“Some guy from my yoga class who asked me out.”
“Damn, girl, your shit’s on fire. Four men?”
She looked at her friend through splayed fingers. “Joce, what do I do?”
“Get comfy. You’re on the Naughty List this year. Why not enjoy it?”
Wren looked at her in pure desperation. “I don’t know how to enjoy this without hurting them. This is all going to blow up in my face.”
“No, it’s not. We just need to set some ground rules.” Her posture straightened as she ticked off fingers. “First, Logan’s too deep in the friend zone. You can nip that one in the bud right now. This Noah guy... What’s he like?”
“Meh.” Wren shrugged. “He’s all right, I guess—“
“Gone. Off the list. We’re not wasting time on meh.” A third finger went up. “Soren’s got game and he’s a good kisser.”
“He’s also open to talking about a future.”
“Right, but we don’t know if he’s in it for love, or just doing this for the inheritance.”
Her blunt summation left Wren startled. “Do you think that’s it?”
Jocelyn shrugged. “I think it’s a part of this. I mean, would he have come at you so aggressively if there wasn’t a time crunch with his dad’s health?”
“No.”
“So, it’s definitely a factor. In book world, we call that the catalyst. But there are always unforeseen twists. And, hey, there are plenty of arranged, contractual marriages that end in orgasms and love.”
Wren tried to envision a future with Soren, but the vision was blurry. Familiar settings but no one had a head. All the males in her fantasy were faceless and unidentifiable. “My future’s headless.”
“Stop. What about Greyson?” Jocelyn did that slow, wicked smile that was usually followed by a phone call requesting bail money. “Now, Greyson is a man who needs massive emotional exfoliating. He’s been compressing his feelings for so long, I think he’s man-stipated.”
“Man-stipated?”
“Yeah, you know... Emotionally constipated, repressed, his heart’s too small, like he has Grinch syndrome. He’s a Great Wall of Guy. Emotionally Amish and suffering from the feelings famine. He’s in a tear duct drought—“
“Okay, okay. I get it.” If you didn’t stop Jocelyn once she started, you ended up with a bit of a runaway train scenario.
“But you get it?”
Boy, did she ever. “Yes, I’m well aware that Greyson buried his feelings the day we buried our moms.”
The appropriate silence followed at the mention of her mother. Life would have been so much easier with her here. There were times Wren could have really used some wise, feminine guidance. Of course, she had her dad and Aunt Astrid and all of her friends, but nothing ever replaced a mom.
Wren had a terrible thought. “What if he just... can’t?”
“Can’t what, perform? What were you dry humping the other day? I assumed he was at least hard.”
“No, I mean, what if it’s just not in him to open up?”
“Look, I’ve written thirty-five books, and conquered my fair share of emotionally repressed lumberjacks.
That man needs to be climbed like a snowy mountain.
He’s one of those guys where you gotta break ‘em down casually.
Show ‘em a boob or two. Get them hooked on the hookup. And then—slowly—dissolve his other barriers.”
“He won’t let that happen. Every time he touches me he tells me it can’t happen again.”
“He’s like a masochist. I think he gets off on denying himself.”
“Or, he’s just not that into me.”