Page 12 of Beards and Broken Hearts

I open my mouth to speak but hiccup again. This one comes out extra loud, and I can feel my cheeks burn.

“Yeah,” I finally whisper.

“Jenson, go home.” Layton in his rich, deep voice.

He must think I’m still uncomfortable, but I feel ten times better with these men nearby.

Jenson nods, gives me a kind smile, says goodnight, and takes off toward the parking lot.

“Can I take you home? My grandma called and said a few of you needed a ride, so she sent me. Sorry.” He says with a shrug.

It’s dark, but I can see his body has relaxed, but his eyes keep shooting glances in the direction the man went.

“That’s rich, even for her, seeing how I came out of the bathroom just in time to watch literally everyone else drive off in the limo. Elenore hanging out the top. Wouldn’t even listen to my sister’s protests.”

He takes a long, deep breath and shakes his head in disbelief.

“I suspect a setup.”

The laugh that bursts out of my mouth is so abrupt I slap a hand over my mouth to stop it. My eyes widen, and looking up at Layton, I am relieved to see the man crack a smile. The sight is something I hadn’t seen in so long, and it brings unwanted memories rushing back.

The first day we met, and we instantly connected.

It was just another summer day in Candy Cane Key until the shaggy-haired boy stumbled into my backyard, trying to escape his grandma’s plans to go shopping. I invited him to stay, and we spent the day together. We watched The Hangover on my laptop and laughed for hours. After that, we were inseparable.

More memories assault me, but I push them away and focus on the last one. The last day of summer when he promised to come back the next year like always…because he loved me.

The pain isn’t fresh, but I still rub my chest at the memory.

“Want a ride home, anyway?” He mutters, seeming to understand. Maybe he remembers, too. Part of me still wants a fucking apology. I realize we were both kids, but I never got an explanation. Maybe a car ride is exactly what I need to finally move forward with my life.

I nod, “Yeah, please.”

He tucks his hands in his pockets, keeping his distance, and nods his chin to the parking lot. It’s dark with only one light, but with Layton by my side, especially after he just knocked a guy out for me, I don’t feel as afraid as I expected.

The evening has grown cold, and when a cool breeze blows through the magnolia trees surrounding us, goosebumps rise on my skin. Suddenly, this outfit doesn’t make as much sense, but I rub my arms for warmth as we reach his truck.

“Here,” Layton says, reaching for the door. It’s an unexpected gesture, but I guess some things about him haven’t changed since we were kids. He always opened the door for me. Once I’m in the cab, I expect him to close the door, but he surprises me again by shrugging out of his jacket and leaning in to drape it over my shoulders.

My brain short circuits for a millisecond as his face is inches from mine. His rich scent, something woodsy with a hint of peppermint, fills my nose, and my breath hitches. His scent lingers long after he’s closed the door, and I force myself to close my eyes for a moment. My hiccups shake me out of the trance, and I remind myself I’ve had too much to drink. That’s all it is. There is no way I’m feeling anything for my teenage boyfriend.

By the time Layton climbs into the cab, I’m convinced the alcohol is playing tricks, and I decide that keeping my mouth shut is the right answer. My house isn’t far, and I’ll be out of his realm of sexiness, but then I remember I still have his shirt stuffed in my purse.

I laugh because, well, I’m drunk. He side-eyes me like I’m strange, but I can see the corner of his mouth turn up even in the dark cab of his pickup.

Rummaging around my purse, I pull out the cotton tee, earning me a full-blown grin. I’d think the man was blushing if it weren’t so dark. Layton has a new shirt on now, but I reach over the console and place it in his lap anyway.

“I believe this belongs to you,” I say.

It’s his laughter that surrounds me now. Warm and comforting, even though it has no right to make me feel that way anymore. That stupid laugh has always done mystical things to my body, and now is, unfortunately, no exception.

“Thank you,” he finally replies.

“No, thank you,” I emphasize the last part to let him know I enjoyed his little show.

It’s stupid, and I shouldn’t, but part of me feels like we’re driving back in time. Cracking jokes and looking out for each other like we did then.

He takes a deep breath as we fall quiet, but I can tell there’s a lot on his mind. Layton has always been easy for me to read. I don’t think many people saw him like I did, and I guess some things never change.

---