Rebel(63)

Then it all just pours out of me, and I mean ALL. The night at the club, Paul, our parents’ marriage, the cruise, our marriage, our fights, everything. Once I start, I can’t stop until I’ve unloaded, and through it all she listens silently. If her sparkling blue eyes didn’t look so alert, I’d think she’d lost me long ago.

“So now, I guess he’s got his own room somewhere. I’ve seen him here and there, but we haven’t spoken since he left our suite.” I study the deck intently after finishing my story, afraid to look up at her. It’s pretty wild, and I’m just waiting for her condemnation. Stealing, lies, sort of cheating, sleeping with my stepbrother. Putting it all out there, it sounds like a soap opera.

“That is quite a tale,” she chuckles.

“You don’t think I’m horrible?” I dare to look, expecting the worst. “He might end up being my stepbrother!”

Joyce doesn’t look horrified. She looks amused. “Stepbrother? That’s nothing.” She gathers herself. “I grew up in a small town in the middle of nowhere. I very nearly married my second cousin for my first husband, and some of the other girls weren’t nearly that picky, if you know what I mean.” Then she does laugh, bubbly peals of laughter tumbling out of her. “Trust me, dearie, it’s nothing. You two aren’t even related.”

I laugh at myself. Getting everything out into the open makes me feel a little better. “I suppose you’re right. Compared to how much of an assho— jerk he is, the step thing is nothing.”

“All men are assholes sometimes.” She laughs at the shock on my face. “And all women can be bitches given the chance. Or are you an angel sent down from heaven?” Joyce raises a perfectly lined eyebrow.

Be the bulldog, not the bitch.

I blush. “I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t even know if I should fix it. What do I do?” I guess it’d be too much to hope that the old woman has the answer.

“Does he still make you tingle, even when you’re seeing red and ready to hang his walnuts up for the squirrels?”

“Joyce!” I laugh and blush even harder.

“I’ll take that as a yes. I’ve felt that way about a man exactly four times.” Her grin is sly, like she’s waiting for me to make a connection.

“And you were married how many times?” I see where she’s going with this, but just to be sure.

“Exactly, dear.” She chuckles. “You’re so much like me when I was your age, except they’d never have let us wear tiny bathing suits like yours.” She gazes out over the ocean, lost in thought for a moment. “I absolutely could have, just so that’s clear. I was lovely back then.”

I laugh at the certainty in her voice. It was not a matter to be debated, obviously. “I’m sure you were. I bet you had the guys falling at your feet no matter how you dressed.”

She purses her lips, looking unamused. “Are you teasing me, young lady?”

“Absolutely not.” Hopefully, my smile looks friendly as intended and not patronizing.

Her lips stay tight a moment longer, as if she’s weighing my response. Apparently it’s good enough, since her smile returns. “In that case, do you really want to live the rest of your life wondering what might have been?” She eases back onto her deck chair and pulls her hat into her eyes. “Think about it. Life’s too short. Trust me.”

“Did you ever regret it?” I ask quietly.

“My husbands?”

I nod.

“There were times I had my doubts, but looking back?” Her wrinkled face goes soft and distant. “Not a moment, even the bad ones.” She looks like she wants to be alone with the memories, so I turn to my own thoughts.

I feel a little more resolved to work something out with Gavin, but what? Marry him? I already tried that and it didn’t really work out. Blowing the hair out of my eyes, I lean back into the deck chair and close my eyes.

One of us is going to have to make the first move, but will it be me?





Chapter 33: Gavin


I’m the shark, not the minnow, but someone forgot to tell these fancy-ass bitches that. Somehow word’s gotten out that my sham of a marriage is in trouble, and now I’m practically holding fucking auditions for the next Mrs. Caldwell. The girls won’t leave me the hell alone. In the bar, on deck. Hell, one actually knocked on the door to my room last night. It’d be fucking nice some days to not be a Caldwell.

I’ve barely thought the thought when a bleach blonde with balloon tits crammed into a skimpy red bikini slides onto the stool next to me, orders one of those chick drinks with an umbrella and a long straw. She sucks on it like it’s a cock, while she grins mischievously and looks at me through her long eyelashes.