Almost Just Friends Page 11

  Piper said something, but Gavin couldn’t have repeated it because he didn’t hear a word of it. He couldn’t talk either. Or breathe.

  CJ, the only person outside of his family whom he’d ever loved, and also the only other person besides Piper on his list of people to make amends to.

  Which he wasn’t exactly doing a bang-up job of.

  He hadn’t seen CJ since they’d been, what, twenty years old and on top of the world? For one thing, he’d not come home often, and for another, CJ had left Wildstone for a while too. They needed to talk, but knowing what a prick he’d been, he’d felt uneasy and awkward about doing so.

  Vaguely, he realized Piper had made some excuse to leave them alone and was gone. CJ still stood in the doorway, looking neither uneasy nor awkward.

  Made sense. Gavin had been the one to screw up. He’d made a lot of mistakes, and he was here to own them. But as it turns out, saying that to himself and actually doing it were two very different things. “Are you hungry?” he heard himself ask. “I’ve got breakfast. Well, minus the toast. There’s more than enough. I could make you a plate—”

  CJ was already shaking his head and turning away, without a single word to the guy he’d once claimed to love, and Gavin died a little inside.

  “Ceej.”

  He stopped but didn’t turn back. Tall, leanly muscled, tan on top of his Puerto Rican coloring, all of it stealing Gavin’s breath.

  “I’m . . . sorry,” he said.

  That got CJ to turn around, his dark gaze looking . . . haunted and sad, which didn’t match his carefully distant tone. “For?”

  Okay, so he was going to make Gavin say it. Fair. “For leaving. For staying gone. For not returning texts or calls. Pick one. Or don’t. Whatever, it’s your choice.”

  CJ took that in a moment. “When I say whatever, I really mean screw you.”

  “Sometimes me too,” Gavin said, relieved because they were at least talking. “But right now it means I really am sorry, and I don’t know how to make you believe that.”

  “That’s because I don’t give a flying fuck.”

  But see, that had to be a lie, because CJ always gave a flying fuck, about everything, and it was that, the sarcasm and lie combined, that gave Gavin his first little bubble of hope since the day he’d left rehab. “Okay,” he said, nodding. “Understood. But you used to give a whole bunch of fucks, at least about my homemade breakfasts, and I have to tell you, I’ve only gotten better.”

  CJ’s gaze slid past him to the stove, and Gavin bit back a smile. Gotcha. “I can hear your stomach growling from here,” he said softly.

  “That’s because I’m just coming off a twelve-hour shift.”

  “So you’re starving. Why make yourself suffer when it’s me you’re mad at? Here.” Gavin stepped back, giving CJ plenty of room and space to enter on his own terms, like he’d have done for a hurting stray animal. Meanwhile, he piled up a plate with food and set it at the table, gambling on the fact that CJ wouldn’t spite himself just to snub his long-ago ex.

  After a long hesitation, CJ took the bait. He came in and sat heavily, like maybe he was exhausted. Probably for the same reason Piper always was. Budget cuts had caused hiring freezes, leaving the police, fire, and other emergency response agencies far too understaffed.

  CJ began to inhale his food, and when he caught Gavin watching, staring really, because he couldn’t seem to help himself, he quirked a brow. “What, you’ve never seen a guy eat before?”

  “You look good, Ceej.”

  CJ looked away, but not before Gavin caught the slight color to his cheeks. “You forgot the crepes,” CJ said. “We always had crepes for dessert.”

  Gavin’s breath caught at the memories. “Crepes were your specialty.” Crepes and tacos. There was just something about the way CJ put his heart and soul into anything he cooked, but especially those two things. “I haven’t had them since . . .” Gavin trailed off, feeling a shocking desire and longing for that time in his life. Back then, everything had felt so complicated, but had really been the simplest—and best—years of his life.

  Without another word, CJ rose, and Gavin thought that was it, the guy was out. But instead, CJ made himself at home at the stove and began to make crepes.

  Watching him move in the kitchen like he’d been born to it brought back a whole bunch of memories. It’d been CJ who taught him how to cook in the first place. He could probably run any kitchen in the world and yet . . . “So. A cop, huh?”

  CJ froze for a single beat and then kept whipping the eggs and flour. “You’re just surprised because you have authority issues.”

  Yeah, he did. Serious ones. He watched CJ carefully pour the first crepe into the pan, wait until it bubbled and got to the perfect color, before using nothing but the pan handle and a flick of his wrist to flip the crepe.

  Four minutes later, it was CJ’s turn to hand Gavin a plate, with a rolled crepe stuffed with the raspberries and blueberries he’d found in the fridge, topped with powdered sugar.

  Gavin took one bite and moaned.

  CJ’s gaze went straight to his mouth.

  “And I’m surprised,” Gavin said quietly, picking up their conversation where they’d left off. “Because I seem to remember the both of us running from the cops. More than once.”

  CJ’s eyes hardened. “We were two feral kids who thought that nothing could stop us. We were dumbasses.”

  True. Gavin had been grieving for his loving parents and seeking ways to forget his pain. CJ had been kicked out of his house for being gay. No warning, no anything, just forced out with only the clothes on his back, leaving him to the streets.

  Luckily, his older brother had taken him in, and Gavin had been grateful. Even then he’d known he was going down the rabbit hole, feeling lost and completely unable to help CJ, because he himself had been so troubled. And he’d found his trouble, often. The memories gave him the opening he needed. “I screwed up.”

  CJ nodded. “Yeah, you did.” He turned to go.

  Unable to let him leave, not like this, Gavin pressed him up against the door to stop him, but something else happened. A bolt of not-so-forgotten hunger and desire coursed through him.

  And given the way CJ sucked in a breath, he felt it too. Slowly he turned to face Gavin.

  “I was young and stupid,” Gavin said, looking him right in the eyes.

  “And now you’re . . . not young and stupid?”

  Taking heart that CJ hadn’t shoved him away, he shook his head. “Well, I’m working on it.”

  They stared at each other, the air crackling between them. Yeah, the spark was still there. And by spark, Gavin meant out-of-control, raging wildfire.

  But CJ shook his head. “Not going to fall for that again, Gavin. Or you.”

  Gavin tried not to react, because he knew that was hurt talking. And yeah, he had a lot to make up for. He’d known what CJ’s family had done to him, how they’d turned their backs on a sixteen-year-old kid, leaving him to fend for himself in the world. And then, several years later, Gavin had done the same damn thing. He didn’t deserve forgiveness, but he wanted it anyway. “You don’t feel anything?”

  “Didn’t say that.”

  Gavin looked at him, really looked. CJ had changed, going from lanky kid to one hundred percent man, and Gavin was shallow enough to admit that the new muscles and rugged, tough look was hot as hell. But besides the superficial shit, there was more. CJ’s eyes weren’t as cold and unfeeling as they’d been at first. The cop had given way, making room for his old best friend and first lover.

  And like Gavin, CJ was most definitely not having coplike thoughts, because his eyes darkened the way they always had when he’d been aroused, and relief and hope filled Gavin. “You know if thought bubbles appeared over your head, you’d be screwed, right?”

  CJ snorted. “Yeah. But luckily I no longer act on my impulses. You should try that.” And then he shoved Gavin away and walked out the door.

  Chapter 12


  “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

  The next afternoon, Cam stood in the alcohol aisle at the grocery store, picking out his poison. He’d driven his dad here, because, for one thing, the man drove like a menace.

  “You going to follow me through the whole store?” his dad asked.

  Which brought Cam to the second reason he was here. If left to his own devices, Emmitt would stock the kitchen with junk food, which was apparently killing him. “Unless you think you can behave.”

  “I’ve told you, son, there’s no fun in behaving.”

  Cam pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dad.”

  “Fine. For you, I’ll try.”

  “Not for me. For—”

  “My grandkid. I know.” His dad nodded. “Don’t worry, I plan to be around long enough to drive him crazy in the way I wish I could’ve driven you crazy.”

  “Don’t underestimate yourself,” Cam said dryly. “And maybe the baby’s a girl. You ever think of that?”

  His dad looked horrified. “What will we do with a girl?”

  Cam laughed and shook his head. “I haven’t the foggiest. Just go get what you need from Piper’s list.”

  “You ever going to tell me what’s going on with you two?”

  “How do you know something’s going on?”

  “I got eyes in my head, don’t I?”

  Cam gave him a look, and his dad laughed and ambled off with the cart. He knew his dad thought Cam was being a hard-ass, and he was. He didn’t care. He was done letting down the people who mattered to him. First his mom, whom he hadn’t been able to save. Then Rowan.

  But not his dad too, dammit. Or Winnie and the baby. Or their future livelihood—which was the marina.

  And that brought him to the third thing. He’d put in a request at the DEA for a West Coast transfer. They had an office in San Luis Obispo, only thirty minutes from here. He’d still have to travel back East once a month for a weekend of Coast Guard training, and then there’d be the occasional activation and deployment, but the idea of being based near his dad was shockingly appealing.

  For many reasons.

  But there was no guarantee he’d get the transfer anyway, so he had no plans to tell anyone about it unless it came through, but he was surprised by how much he wanted it to.

  And if he was being honest, it wasn’t just about the baby, or his dad, though both those things were huge factors. It was also about Piper.

  He hadn’t seen her coming. At all.

  And then, as if he’d conjured her up by wishes alone, she came around the corner, head down, eyes on something in her hands. A list, no doubt.

  He eyed her cart—a box of tampons, ice cream, and wine—and bit back a smile. “Rough day?”

  She lifted her chin. “What makes you think that?”

  He took in her flashing eyes that were lined with exhaustion, and decided not to point out that it was all over her face. And in her cart. “Just asking.”

  She sighed. “I’m making dinner tonight,” she said, as if she were faced with walking to her own guillotine.

  “Interesting menu,” he said, nodding at the contents of her cart.

  She stepped in front of it, blocking his view. “You making fun of me?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  She sighed and sagged a little. “It’s family dinner night. Used to be tradition for the three of us. But now . . .” She shook her head. “I don’t know what to make. I’m completely out of the habit of cooking.”

  “What did you used to cook?”

  She gave him a small smile. “Mac and cheese and hot dogs.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “You think?” she asked, looking so adorably hopeful, he nodded. “Okay, then,” she said. “Thanks.” She started to move off, but he put a hand on her cart.

  “You probably don’t know this,” he said, “but it’s customary when someone gives you a suggestion for what to cook for a dinner party that you invite them to attend.”

  She blinked. “You want to come to the Manning shit show? Like, on purpose?”

  She was a confident, strong-willed, strong-minded woman in every part of her life. Except, apparently, in recognizing when a man wanted her. Really wanted her. “I like your family,” he said. “You’re all . . .”

  “Cray-cray?”

  “Real.”

  She looked at him for a long moment. “Dinner’s at six.”

  He smiled. “See you then.”

  Twenty minutes later, he’d driven his dad home and ended up in the marina office, where he’d been trying to make sense of the mess.

  Apparently Rowan had done everything here, which made Cam feel even worse, because he’d accused his brother of being irresponsible and immature. Of giving up on college without even giving it a try, to hang out on the lake and do nothing. Of not giving a shit about his future.

  Turned out, Cam had been dead wrong, about a lot of things. He hadn’t realized how hard his brother had been working, or how without him, the marina would have fallen into disrepair and disorganization.

  His dad was lost without someone to run the place, and Cam intended to fill that gap until he had to go, hopefully hiring someone to help before he left.

  But the real question was, how did one apologize to a dead man? Because Rowan hadn’t been slacking. Chances were, he’d felt he couldn’t go off to college. He’d had to stay here and help out their dad, holding the marina together so the guy would have an income.

  And he’d never let on to Cam, not once, not even the smallest complaint. Cam didn’t know what to do with that, with knowing exactly how badly he’d failed his brother.

  Running a marina, even a small one like this, took an incredible amount of work. They had several dozen slips, a gasoline pump, repair services, rental equipment for people who didn’t want to own but wanted to go boating, and all of it required constant upkeep.

  It was about creating relationships and customer service, about being good enough, kind enough, helpful enough to encourage repeat business.

  And no one understood that more than his dad and Rowan, because at their core, they were both social, charismatic creatures. Attributes that Cam hadn’t gotten from the family gene pool.

  For years now, boating and being out on the water had been about work, about keeping the world as safe as possible, about stopping atrocities that most people would thankfully never have to think about. It hadn’t been about fun, not for a long time.

  He wasn’t sure he could get there, but he was sure as hell going to try. For his dad. For Rowan. For the legacy he’d left.

  Over the past week and a half, he’d spent a lot of time going through the office. Rowan had surprised him there too. He’d had an org chart, broken down into service categories. Dockage, fuel, repairs, etc.

  What his brother hadn’t been able to do, probably due to lack of time, was calculate revenue and expenses. He hadn’t been able to see where they were bleeding money or what was working. So Cam had dug in. He’d focused on the largest revenue source first: the slips and storage. First problem was they had too many empty slips.

  Gavin appeared in the office doorway. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself.”

  He came in and sprawled out in the chair facing the desk. “I could hear you swearing from the docks.”

  Frustrated, Cam pushed away the laptop. “Give me a boat to repair, or anything over paperwork any day of the week.”

  Gavin turned the laptop to face him. “Bookkeeping not your thing, huh?”

  “I’d rather go back to boot camp and get tortured by the sadistic training officers all over again.”

  Gavin glanced over the numbers. Clicked on a few tabs. “You got an existing customer list?”

  “Yeah. I need to hit it hard to get all the slips filled for the upcoming season.”

  Gavin nodded. “Yeah, you do. I’d start by reducing the rate—offer a special promo rate. Then rinse and repeat until seven
ty-five percent of the slips are filled. Keep the rest available as transient slips and charge more for them.”

  Cam took a second look at him. “Great advice. Okay. What else?”

  “Once you get your slip inventory paid for, you’ll be in better shape. The service and fuel should be easy profit, assuming you stay on top of it. Which means someone taking better care of these poor books.”

  Cam didn’t think twice. “You available to handle that part?”

  Gavin’s brows went up. “You trust me with your bookkeeping?”

  “Why, you going to skim off the top?”

  “Hell, no. I’m not aiming for prison.” Gavin rubbed his jaw. “But you should know, I’m . . . a drug addict. I’m in recovery. Out of rehab six months now.”

  Cam leaned back, surprised. “Piper know?” When Gavin gave a slow shake of his head, Cam swore. Piper was going to be pissed, and rightfully so. “What is it with you and Winnie?”

  “I’m going to tell her.”

  Cam groaned. “You’re both killing me.”

  Gavin snorted. “Not my first time hearing that.” He paused. “Look, for what it’s worth, Piper deserves better than what Winnie and I have given her. I’m working on that.”

  “Maybe you could work faster.”

  Gavin nodded.

  Cam studied him for a minute. He hoped Gavin just needed a second chance, one his brother wouldn’t ever get. “The job’s yours if you want it.”

  Gavin blinked. “Serious?”

  “Dead serious. I’m leaving here in less than two weeks, with no guarantee when my next extended leave might be.”

  Gavin looked him right in the eye. “You going to break my sister’s heart?”

  “Winnie will be fine. I’ll make sure she’s covered financially, and she’ll have you and Piper for support too.”

  “I wasn’t talking about Winnie.”

  Cam drew in a deep breath. “I respect your asking, but whatever’s happening—or not happening—between Piper and me is not up for discussion.”