Relapse in Paradise Read online

  Her bony hands grasped his bare arms in a desperate plea. “I won’t cave. I’m sorry for what I did to you, for what you nearly lost because of it. But you didn’t. Don’t you get it? If you’re the weak one and you made it, then so can I. Emily is an outsider looking in. She has no clue what this is like. How this feels.”

  “She understands you better than you think, Jordan.”

  Jordan’s gaze hardened. “She doesn’t know shit.”

  “Her mom died suddenly. Much like your dad. She knows loss.”

  Her perfect rosebud mouth pursed. “She relates to the cause but has no concept of the effect. Forget her, okay? You and me, Boston. Show me how. Show me what keeps you steadfast day in and day out.”

  Boston took a step back, and Jordan faltered. He didn’t lift a hand to steady her. “You want to know how I do it, Jordan? It’s pretty simple.” He stalked to the door, gripped the knob, and pulled it open. The storm hadn’t calmed, and a chill wind swept into the apartment. “I stay the hell away from you.”

  Chapter 10

  Emily lifted her hand to knock, but before her knuckles came down on the door, it flew open, and her loose fist froze midair. Boston looked like a stone statue, his face a foreboding mask of dislike. For an instant, she took it was meant for her and instinctively stiffened.

  Jordan stomped through the open door, and Emily relaxed.

  A part of her wished she’d have waited to confront Boston at The Canopy in the morning rather than tracking him down at his home, but then she’d have missed this not-so-happy reunion. Boston had been alone with Jordan and hadn’t succumbed to tipping back drinks or—so far as it seemed—falling into bed with her. The war had only begun, but every battle counted.

  Emily didn’t shy away from the confrontation already in play. She glanced from Boston to Jordan and back again. “Shall I wait outside?”

  Much to her surprise, Boston’s eyes lit up when they landed on her, a slight smile replacing the scowl. “Don’t be ridiculous. Come in out of the storm. Jordan was just leaving.”

  Emily stepped around Jordan, and Boston stared at his departing guest. “I’m sure you’ve got better places to be.”

  She appeared to struggle with her composure for a moment as she shifted from one foot to the other and blinked rapidly while looking at neither of them.

  Whatever Emily had ventured into, it had been emotional for Jordan. Probably for Boston, too, but he hid it better.

  “Yeah, there’s a party somewhere suffering from my absence.” Her emerald eyes might’ve been plucked from a porcelain doll. They glossed over with unshed tears and something meaningful meant for Boston. “Until we meet again.” One eyebrow arched, and she left, closing the door against the weather.

  Boston glared at the door and muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

  Emily put a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

  He turned on her. “Do you mean am I drunk?”

  Her eyebrows snapped together. She dropped her hand. “That’s not what I asked.”

  With his back to her, he breathed a deep inhale followed by a loud exhale. “I’m sorry. It’s not easy having Jordan crop up out of the damn blue. But it’s different this time. The game has changed.”

  “How do you mean?” Please don’t say me. Hani’s wrong. I can’t save you, Boston.

  He turned around, and the strain on his usually relaxed, nonchalant face spurred a rush of concern for him. He rubbed the nape of his neck. “She’s sober. I didn’t notice when we ran into her at the beach. That last comment of hers about heading to a party was a dig at my conscience. She wants help, Emily, but hell, I can barely help myself. I don’t want to be the reason she goes back to it, but I don’t want to risk what I’ve managed to pull together.” He shook his head and brushed past her to plop down onto a patchwork love seat. “What do you care, anyway? You’re leaving this mess behind in a matter of days.”

  Emily joined him on the love seat. Besides the single bed in the far corner of the open room, separated by a tacked-up sheet, it was the only place to sit. “Don’t be an ass when we’re finally getting along. I’m on your side.”

  He cast her a sideways glance. His normally light blue eyes were dark with strain and stress. “Do I leave her to drown or try to save her, knowing there’s a damn good chance I’ll drown, too?”

  Emily sat back against a flat cushion and gathered her hands in her lap. The truth? Boston might not want the truth. “It’s a tightrope situation. One slip, any loss of balance whatsoever, and you’re both going down.”

  He grunted. “Insightful.”

  “Forget it.” Emily stood. If he wanted her to speak her mind, fine. “I didn’t come here to give advice regarding a situation in which I have nothing at stake. It’s not my future on the line. You want the truth about me, Boston? I don’t have the patience or compassion necessary for someone like Jordan. I hold a hell of a grudge and have never been one for tolerating excuses. Either she wants it or she doesn’t. That’s something you should know about me. I don’t make mistakes twice. And while I may understand her grief, I may even pity her weakness, I’d never be dumb enough to put my life in her hands. Because, if she does fail, you won’t be on the sidelines watching, Boston. You’ll be holding her hand, and it’ll be too late to let go. You can kiss everything—The Canopy, this apartment, Hani and the rest of your friends—good-bye. There you have it, my honest opinion. However, I didn’t come here to share my intolerant views. I came to tell you something about Ryder.”

  Boston’s gaze snapped to her. So that got his attention.

  Emily clamped her jaw shut on a nasty insult. They hadn’t been this way with each other since her first week on the island. She shook her head and started for the door. “It can wait until tomorrow, granted you’re in a better mood. It’s one thing going toe-to-toe. It’s kind of fun. This, though, this is the opposite of fun.”

  Boston was on his feet, his hand on her arm, before she reached the door. “Damn it, Emily.” He hung his head. “Don’t you ever feel like everyone is the enemy?”

  Yes, actually. She remembered a time when she’d felt exactly that way. “I’m not your enemy.”

  “You’re not like me, either. You’re—”

  “What? Spit it out. A snob? Not poor? Let it go, Boston. Do you see what you’re doing? You’re treating me the way you’re afraid of being treated. I’m not the problem here. You are.”

  He dropped his hold on her. “You’re right. It’s something Jordan said. She’s already in my damn head.” He sidled back to the love seat.

  Emily considered him.

  To her, Boston was a fighter. How difficult to come up from the dregs, to elevate himself, and then stick around to help those who grappled with the same issues he had. Most people would’ve run away upon obtaining the clarity of sobriety, herself included. Boston stayed. He lived on the fringes of his past and toyed with the stability of his future to make an impact in the lives of others.

  Why didn’t he see himself that way, instead of continuing to believe he was some kind of loser?

  Emily padded over to him. This time, she sat pressed up against him and nudged him, in demand for his full attention. When she had it, she bowed her head. “I’m going to swallow my pride, which is large enough to be a choking hazard, and tell you something. I don’t go around saying stuff like this, but you need to hear it from someone. Brace yourself. I’m about to shatter every illusion you have left about me.”

  He frowned. “You actually love rice, and you’ve been busting my balls for the sake of seeing me sweat?”

  “You’re too cool to sweat. And no, I’m truly sick of rice and look forward to returning home and banishing every last grain from my pantry. What I want to say is I respect you, Boston. Your red shorts make me cringe and your hair is against company regulations, but I’ve never once attempted to help people the way you do every day.”

  She regarded his nearly barr
en apartment and meager belongings.

  Scarred, lumpy furniture, chipped and mismatched cups on a plank of wood serving as a shelf, no window coverings over blinds yellowed with age. “I know what my sister paid you. You’d live better than this if you didn’t funnel every penny into The Canopy. This life is a choice, a completely selfless choice, and it bowls me over. For all my money and success, I’ve made a fraction of the impact you have on the world.” She met his eyes. “I admire you.”

  His pale blue eyes held disbelief and a hint of caution, like she’d told a joke and he waited on the punch line. “You’re serious?”

  She ignored his incredulity. “Jordan reminds you of a weaker time, but I don’t think you’re who you used to be. I didn’t know him, but he doesn’t sound like you.”

  An eyebrow shot up. “Are you breaking up with me? Trying to convince me I’ll be okay when you’re gone?”

  She shoved his shoulder and refused to crack a smile. “You gave Jordan the boot, which is what you should’ve done two years ago. I had nothing to do with it.”

  He grew still and the playfulness fled from the moment. “You had everything to do with it.” A beat passed. He blinked. “And Hani, of course,” he added quickly. “Akela and Thompson. Kale, even, if the guy ever feels safe to return.”

  Ryder. Emily almost jumped from her seat. “I almost forgot. I came here to tell you—”

  “Tell me the truth.” The sudden earnestness of Boston’s gaze made her pulse skitter. “Why do you keep going out with Ryder?”

  She didn’t understand. They’d already had this conversation. “I told you. I want to help Kale.” She paused and tapped her chin with her index finger. “It comes back full circle to what I’ve been saying, actually. I’ve never done anything useful and selfless for someone else. Not like you do.” Why’d it sound so stupid saying it out loud? She smoothed her hands across her lap. “My little apartment here is a novelty. I get it. This isn’t my life. Everything playing out in front me—the hunger of the people who come to you, the history between you and Jordan, Jordan and her disease—is like a television show. When I go home next week, it’ll be the flip of a switch and I’m back in my nice house, driving my nice car, sleeping on silk sheets—”

  “Now you’re just rubbing it in.”

  “I’m only trying to do something real for once. I want to leave behind some evidence I existed here. I didn’t passively standby. I made a difference. I did something. This desire is new to me. I’m not the empathetic type. Children are the only people for which I seem to have any capacity for compassion. Because kids don’t have control, the adults around them do.”

  Boston’s lip curled. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. I saw you with my own eyes relate to and understand Jordan. Not enough to justify her behavior, but that’s not what empathy is. Empathy is feeling another’s pain. Compassion is wanting to do something about it. You empathize with Jordan. How can you say you have no capacity for it?”

  Boston read her wrong and gave her far too much credit. “It’s not who I am. Really. Ask Quinn, she’ll tell you. Hell, ask anyone.”

  He cupped his chin and narrowed his eyes. “I don’t buy it. You know what else? I think you like going out with Ryder because he’s more like you. And less like me.” He shrugged and glanced away. “It’d be weird if you weren’t attracted to a guy you have so much in common with.”

  Oh, if he only knew. Emily slowly shook her head. “I spend my life, day in and day out, with men like Ryder. Yes, I’m comfortable in his company because I know exactly where I stand. But there’s a catch. Nothing is free, least of all respect. There’s a tradeoff when you play with the big boys.”

  “What could possibly be the downside?”

  “You become one of them.”

  Boston trailed a lazy examination of her body. Even sitting, it had the effect of making her feel exposed and underdressed. Though, that could have to do with the new wardrobe she’d adopted.

  “You’re far from a boy.”

  What she hadn’t said to Boston gripped her. Just because the men she worked with lost sight of her femininity didn’t mean she liked it. She paid the steep price, but there were times she would’ve given anything to be seen as a woman. Blake had been her ideal vision of what a man ought to be. Clean-cut, successful, charming, and powerful. Her equal. Not a man she had to care for or pander to.

  Yes, she usually found herself angling for guys like Ryder, to no avail.

  So, what was it about Boston that snagged her attention? His ragged clothes, long hair, and tattoos should turn her off. Only, the better she got to know him, the more winning he became, despite his appearance—or because of it. She tried imagining him in a suit with short hair. The image seemed offensive.

  He studied her with questions written on his face. “Most women are happy to hear they don’t look like boys.”

  She patted his arm. “Ryder isn’t my type. Maybe I don’t have a type.” Maybe that was why it never worked out with the kind of men she pursued. “And anyway, there’s no warmth between us. Or heat.”

  “Hmm.” Boston nodded slowly and considered her. She caught a glimpse of the scholar he’d once been. “Warmth or heat? There’s a difference?”

  “Of course.” For example, Blake had offered her neither. He hadn’t loved her enough to be warm. Cordial. Sweet, perhaps, when the mood struck him. But no warmth. Not for her.

  As for heat… Her sex life with Blake was an unending source of humiliation. She’d never talk about it. Not to anyone.

  Boston leaned closer to her. “When we kissed at the beach, warmth or heat?”

  If her lips didn’t answer, her body would. Her breath came shallower, and a familiar weight settled low in her belly. The effect of that stupid little kiss was her dirty little secret. She’d been waiting for Boston to torment her by bringing it up. How to explain? As much as she pretended disdain, she’d have clawed his clothes off and done something illegal right there in the sand if Jordan hadn’t been present.

  The attraction didn’t embarrass her. The thought of how Boston might react to it, however, mortified her. He’d been more than clear on his feelings about women like her, and no amount of time on an island would make her another person, regardless of the clothes she wore. If that wasn’t enough, she had Jordan on which to base a fair comparison of the type Boston felt drawn to.

  She licked her lips and gave him an honest answer. “A little of both, maybe.”

  He nodded as though pleased. “It’s curious, don’t you think?”

  “What?”

  He settled back. “Warmth I get. I like you. We get along and have fun together. But the heat… See, you’re not my type any more than I’m yours. You’re so together. I’m attracted to women a little on the wild side. Careless women who don’t wear bras and like to dance without any music. Regardless of what you say about Ryder, I’ve heard enough about Blake to understand you like ’em straight-laced. The slacks, and the neat hair, and—”

  “Together?” she suggested.

  “Yeah. The opposite of me.”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said. How can you still see yourself as this mess of a guy? You couldn’t operate The Canopy if you didn’t have it together.”

  “Okay, fine. Say you’re right. Do I have it together enough for, say…you?”

  They looked at each other for a long minute. His blue gaze gave nothing away. Was he testing her? Teasing her? Trying to prove a point of some kind?

  “What are you really asking me, Boston?”

  He drew in a breath. “I guess I’m asking why you’re attracted to me.”

  Emily’s mouth fell open, and her skin practically caught fire. She cursed her pale flesh and tried for mild indignation. “Excuse me?”

  His eyebrows rose in clear challenge, and he swept a lock of hair back from his face, where it fell across his chin when he tilted his head mockingly. “You’r
e denying it?”

  Her mouth worked like a fish on land, desperately gulping for life-giving water that wasn’t there. “Some conclusion you’ve jumped to.”

  “Heat, Em.” Like he was explaining himself to a halfwit. “Heat is born of attraction. There’s obviously something physical between us. Warmth implies emotion, though.” He paused and rubbed his cheek, something he did often. “I guess I’m trying to ask if you’d ever consider a guy like me. I mean, like, similar to me. Not me. Not us.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’ll be blunt.”

  “Please.”

  He angled his body toward her, and his hands gestured wildly as he tried to explain. “If Jordan is the only kind of woman I have a chance with, I’m screwed. But you’re different. And if there’s heat and warmth and stuff between me and someone like you, it means I can aim higher. Despite my shorts, my hair, and my lifestyle. So, tell me the truth. Do I have it ‘together’ enough for you? Or is Blake the only type of guy you can see yourself with?”

  She’d never seen him so antsy. “The answer matters to you?”

  “It’ll give me hope there’s life beyond Jordan. I don’t need someone who has the power to drag me under. I need someone tough, someone to kick my ass if I don’t toe the line, someone to give me a reason to keep my head above water. I need someone—”

  “Like me.”

  The room seemed to freeze. She noticed for the first time the rain pelting against the slanted roof over their heads and the wind howling outside the window. Suspended in time, Emily took in the words she’d dreamed of hearing Blake say to her.

  Of hearing anyone say to her, her entire life.

  Why now? Why a beach bum in Hawaii? Why a rehabbed alcoholic with more baggage than a Louis Vuitton warehouse? Then again, the things he’d said about warmth, and heat, and their odd attraction to one another were real. She supposed she could do worse than Boston.

  Only, he hadn’t asked about her, but someone like her.