Page 1 of Broad Shoulders

1

JACKSON

Hands down, this has to be the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. The lush palm trees, the golden sand, the warm turquoise water…it truly blows my mind that a place this perfect actually exists. Hawaii is damn gorgeous.

Except I’m struggling to fully appreciate it. Because a few minutes ago, I ran into one of my old Stallions teammates and his wife. They’re here on their honeymoon, looking incredibly in love—they’re even expecting a baby. I’m thrilled for them. I really am. I truly meant it when I told them how happy I was for them.

But seeing them also reminded me of how alone I am, and have been for years. For whatever reason, the truth hits differently here.

I leave the beach behind, climbing a short set of wooden steps that lead up to the main road. I pass by one open-air restaurant after another. Each patio is lit with string lights, tables filled with people laughing and talking. A couple feeds each other bites of dessert. A family celebrates what looks like their daughter’sbirthday, the little girl beaming as a waiter brings out a cake with a sparkler on top.

Everyone’s with someone. Everyone but me.

I pick up my pace, wanting to get away from these scenes of togetherness. It’s not like I’ve ever been the relationship type anyway. Even during my years with the Stallions, I kept things casual. Marriage was never my endgame. Still isn’t, if I’m being honest with myself.

But still. Some company would be nice.

I hang a right at the next intersection, leaving the tourist strip behind. The side street is quieter, lined with local businesses most tourists probably never see. After a couple of blocks, I spot a building with a weathered wooden sign readingHonu. No neon palm trees. No drink specials advertised out front. Just a simple sign and the low murmur of conversation drifting through an open door.

I step inside and feel my shoulders relax. The lighting is dim but not dark, and there’s a comfortable lived-in quality that no resort bar could ever replicate. The bar isn’t crowded—maybe a dozen people total. I claim an empty stool at the bar, and a guy sitting a few seats down glances over.

“Evening,” he says with a friendly nod. “You get lost, or you come here on purpose?”

“Purposely lost, I guess.”

He chuckles. “I know how that goes.”

I sense someone approaching behind the bar and hear a woman’s voice.

“What can I get you?”

“Whiskey on the—” I turn and my words trail off.

Fuck, she’s gorgeous. The bartender is short and full-figured, her tank top and ripped jean shorts hugging her tanned curves. Her dark hair falls in a thick braid down her back, framing a face with soft cheeks and full lips that hold just a hint of a smile.

“On the what?” Her eyebrow arches, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Rocks? Neat? Straight into your veins?”

“Neat,” I finally manage to say, feeling like a teenager.

She reaches for a bottle, her movements confident and efficient. I try not to stare as she pours my drink. I’m mesmerized by the self-assured way she moves, the small smile playing at the corner of her lips like she knows something the rest of us don’t.

She slides the glass toward me. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.”

She grabs a cloth and starts wiping down the bar. “First time on the island?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Let’s just say you have that mainland look about you.”

“I’ve wanted to visit for years,” I say. “Just never managed to make it happen until now.”

“You must have been an awfully busy guy to put off paradise this long.”

The guy a few seats down suddenly straightens up, looking at me more closely. “Wait a second. Are you Jackson King?”

“Yep. That’s me.” I take a sip of my whiskey, unsure if it’s a good or bad thing to be recognized.

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