rough patch. This is all still fixable, as long as you manage to keep your John Thomas in your pants till we get home,” Scot
assured him. Bret appeared doubtful, but Phillip nodded in
agreement and put a cigar to his lips. Nathan tossed him a Zippo which he snatched out of the air.
“Have you spoken with her?” David asked him softly, as if
trying not to wake a sleeping bear. Bret stared at his cards intently. He shook his head.
“She won’t answer her phone. I don’t even know if she’s
alive or dead.”
“She took Steph’s call the other night at the bar.” Nathan
offered. Bret shot him a stunned look, as did everyone else at the 192
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table. “So she’s most definitely alive.”
Suddenly Bret seemed to crumble, and his voice broke as he
spoke. “What did I do? I don’t understand why we can’t make
this right.”
Scot, David, and Phillip exchanged concerned looks.
“You’ll work it out. Steph obviously knows something, so
press her for details. When we get home, find Sarah and make
her talk to you.” Scot suggested, putting a supportive hand on
Bret’s shoulder.
Bret nodded. “If Fury’s this much of a problem, I’ll
leave…but if she doesn’t want me, this is my livelihood, and it’s all I have. I feel like I’m at a crossroads, and I have no idea which direction to turn.”
Bret stood suddenly and tore off for the restroom. Nathan
threw his cards down on the table and picked up his scotch.
“Everything is a soap opera with you blokes these days.”
Scot turned on Nathan and surveyed him like a strange life
form. “One of these days Nathan, some woman is going to reach
into your chest and yank out your still beating heart. Then you’ll finally get it.”
“I highly doubt that will ever happen.” Nathan chuckled as
he blew out smoke in perfectly shaped O’s.
Phillip shook his head and finished his second beer. “Oh,
it’ll happen. And you’ll look back on the simplicity of this time in your life, and you’ll still want her. Then you’ll know you’re in love, and you’ll be as right fucked as the rest of us.”
All eyes turned to Phillip. There was a collective silence as
the three men seemed to communicate silently.
“Something you’d like to talk about Phillip? Some feelings
you’d like to share?” Nathan purred in his typically taunting
way. From the restroom came the familiar sound of Bret heaving
up his dinner.
“Same old, same old. Nothing new with me,” Phillip replied
and grabbed a third beer. David plucked it from his hand.
193
TAMMY COONS & MICHELLE PACE
“There’s only one toilet in this bungalow, and Bret’s al-
ready puking in it. Slow the hell down.”
Phillip took it back from him and popped it open. “Leave
me alone.”
Bret stumbled out of the restroom. He was pale, with red-
rimmed eyes. David stood up.
“Dude, it’s time for you to drink a liter or two of water and
get a night’s sleep. I don’t need you looking green at the wed-
ding.”
“Yep,” Nathan agreed. “Let’s get Cinderella home before
she turns into a pumpkin.”
David and Nathan dragged Bret out the door. Scot gathered
the abandoned playing cards into a pile. Phillip stacked the poker chips and began to toss beer cans in the garbage.
“Party killer.” Scot joked.
Phillip smirked. “You ditching me?”
“Yeah, I’m going to take this opportunity to go be with my
wife and son. I’m pretty surprised you even showed up here to-
night.”
Phillip tamped out his cigar in one movement. “Why’s
that?”
“Cheyenne told me.” Scot’s face left no doubt what he was
referring to. “What do you want Kersey? An engraved bloody
invitation?”
Scot walked out the door and left Phillip alone. With no fur-
ther distraction, he let the gravity of the truth sink in. Steph had said it. The words. And now he was afraid. Knowing Christopher was no longer an obstacle and there was no bathroom door to
shield them from one another gave him pause. There was noth-
ing at all standing between them now, and he felt like a man teetering on the edge of a cliff. Too jump or not to jump, that was the question.
He ran a hand over his damp hair and knew he was kidding
himself. He’d never had a choice at all when it came to Stepha-
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nie. Their fate was in her hands. If he’d have found her on his
hunt earlier, he would have done whatever she asked. He fin-
ished his final beer and wandered outside into the night. He
slowly trudged back to his bungalow, having exhausted his
search for her and exhausted himself in the process. Stephanie knew how to find him. And she knew where he lived. She’d
come to him when she was ready, or she wouldn’t. And he’d just
deal with whatever she decided. He kicked glumly at a rock in
his path and focused on the calming sound of the water as it
crashed against the rocks below.
He approached the bungalow and saw someone near the
door. His heart hummed like a freshly tuned engine as he drew
close. It was her. Stephanie sat on his porch, slumped against his door. Her eyes were closed and her arms hugged her knees close
to her chest. She looked like she’d been there for some time, like she might even be sleeping.
He took the first step, and the sound of his footstep made
her open her eyes. She instantly pulled herself to standing. He
closed the distance between them and paused, waiting to see
what she would say or do. Neither of them spoke or moved for
what seemed like forever. Phillip stood his ground; she needed to make the first move this time.
Stephanie stepped forward and looped her fingers in his belt
loop, pulling him into her. She was on her tiptoes, and her fin-
gers were on his neck, pulling his face down toward hers. She
embraced him, one arm around his neck and one grasping his
cheek. She planted a kiss on his forehead, his cheek, and his nose as if claiming each as her territory.
“What changed your mind?’ he whispered, his voice sound-
ing horse. He felt her cheek against rub against his as she continued to cling to him. She pulled back and
