Page 14 of Infinite

“To the owner’s son, Paris,” Sean adds. “Hmm. Or is it Lynda? Could be Brooklyn or maybe something fancy like Minnesota. Whatever his name is, he’s out of the picture. Did you see? She’s not wearing a ring no more.”

I didn’t bother looking, but if Sean’s telling me, it’s because he did look. Ever since learning she accepted that jackass’s proposal, I’ve forced myself to stop wondering what could’ve been between us. Who the hell am I kidding? I’veneverstopped wondering about us. How her hair fanned over my shoulder and the feel of her when I climbed on top of her.

My chest tightens with anger. Memories of Becca always start out so good. No matter what, though, they always end the same, with me in a bad mood and in too much pain to be reasonable. “Why are you telling me this?” I ask. “You think I care what she does with her life?”

Sean is the type of guy you want on your side in a fight. He’s strong and all limbs. He’s not as lean as he used to be and definitely has more bulk than when we worked as lifeguards. But like a good ol’ boy born and bred in the deep south, he can knock out a man with one good punch, step over him, and take on the next guy who follows. Is he the most PC and appropriate guy you’ll ever meet? Nope. Not even close. But Sean has one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing and he’s more brother than pal.

“You should care,” he says. “Becca’s my friend.” He takes a breath. “And regardless of what’s happened between you, she’s your friend, too, Hale.”

“Later Sean,” I say, disconnecting before he can say more shit than I need to hear.

Shit, nothing he says make sense. My “friend” he called her. God damn. That’s not what it looked like all those years ago and all those that followed. Every time I saw Becca after that night on the beach, every time I thought that maybe we could somehow start over, I’d hear things. I’d see things, too.

I’ll never understand why she didn’t leave with me that night her family caught us fooling around. I all but fell to my knees, begging her to come with me and promising to take care of her. Her family was never good to her and she was never good enough for them. Her Daddy wanted a son. When he didn’t get what he wanted, he treated her like garbage instead of embracing the special person Becca always was.

Still, she chose them and not me.

I return to my work, but I don’t do more than type a few words to an email before my thoughts return to the next time I saw Becca after that. It was a New Year’s party two years ago. Sean and Mason told me Becca wanted to see me, that she felt bad about missing dinner with our friends Trin and Callahan. Except, from the moment I arrived at her party, Becca seemed scared for me to approach.

A few women, friends of hers, I thought, found their way to me. I spoke to them while Becca spoke to some of the players who couldn’t seem to get enough of her and would lick the floor at her feet if she asked nicely enough. When those women got too close, Becca lost it, storming toward me, spewing nonsense about them keeping their distance from “her man.”

She meant me. It shocked the hell out of me, but more than anything it sent rage burning through me like a dam of hell fire.

I rub my eyes, replaying that night. Callahan got in trouble and we went after him. Becca looked scared. We’d fought and we were both upset, but without thinking I reached for her hand. It was my way of letting her know pissed or not, I’d stand with her. She held me tight, refusing to let me go. I thought we were going somewhere. Again, I was wrong. Denver (that’shis name) called Becks and ordered her back to Charlotte.

Fast forward to this past New Year’s. I mutter a curse and lean back into my seat.

Once more, Becca invited me to a New Year’s party in Kiawah. Once more I showed up like the pining idiot I was. After sending me multiple texts insisting I come and that she missed me, how could I refuse? I had my doubts. Trust me. After the previous New Year’s fiasco I wasn’t keen on what might go down. Instead of listening to all those warning bells going off in my head, I decided to go, thinking it was time to give us another chance.

I didn’t RSVP, hoping to surprise her with a bottle of champagne and a grin. I arrived as she hurried off to the beach by herself. I thought this was the perfect moment. The thing was, the surprise was on me.

Becca walked toward me all shy-like, the ocean wind whipping her long hair against the side of her face. For a second, we were twenty-two again, two kids on verge of falling in love.

She smiled and I swear I saw a flicker of grateful tears. She looked—I don’t know—moments from racing across the sand and throwing her arms around me. But then she froze. My guess is she noticed my eyes widen to saucers when I saw that giant rock glistening on her ring finger. If that wasn’t bad enough, she tried to hide it behind her. It was too late. I stomped back to my Aston Martin, ignoring her when she tore after me. She begged me to come back. I didn’t. To hell with that. Instead, I took off, blocking her number as I burned rubber around the bend.

Becca was engaged. She didn’t bother to warn me like a real friend would. Instead, she set me up like a fool. She sold her house in Kiawah soon after that. Probably so she and that loser can buy one on together.

“Mother fucker,” I mumble, glaring at the screen as if it somehow wronged me.

I reach for Neesa’s report, but I don’t get far. Yelling and scrambling erupt behind the double doors leading to my office. Like a bomb detonating, the doors burst open. I’m already to my feet when men covered with FBI jackets swarm in like an army invading a small country, their guns out, hollering at me to freeze.

“What hell is this?” I ask.

Strong bodies lurch forward, pinning me to my desk. “Hale Wilder,” a big man barks into my ear. “You’re under arrest for fraud and stock market manipulation.”

Chapter Three

Becca

“Miss Shields. Miss Shields!”

LeeAnn is a wonderful young lady, but if she wants to keep up with me she needs to learn to run in heels. Every steel magnolia I know, including my best friend, Trinity, who prefers sandals to stilettos any day of the week, can scale a maple tree in three-inch platforms.

“Yes, Leanne?”

She’s huffing and puffing where I have yet to break a sweat. It’s barely lunch time and I’ve already clocked more than two-thousand steps. Welcome to my world, y’all.

“Miss Shields, if I can just have a moment?”

---