Island Of Second Chances

Flashes of the night before came to her. Beer, Mark, laughing...then more beer. She’d drunk her misery away, yes, she had, but she’d also brought more misery to her brain, which right now wanted to crawl out of her skull to get away from this crushing migraine. Her stomach roiled, too, and she felt a wave of nausea overcome her. Not good.

She’d have to open her eyes sometime. She cracked one eye open, expecting to see the palm-tree-decorated comforter on her rental condo bed, but instead found herself lying beneath a gray-striped blanket on a large king-size bed in a room she didn’t recognize.

Laura sat up in alarm, the sheets falling from her body, and then realized she was wearing nothing but her bra and underwear. Laura covered her chest with her arms and realized with alarm she was sitting in Mark’s bed. In her underwear.

But where was Mark?

She listened frantically but heard nothing. Was she alone? What the hell had happened last night?

Frantically, she searched her memory of the night before. Beers on his deck. Lots of beers. Then... Oh, no. Tequila shots. Did that happen? Yes, she had a fuzzy memory of Mark slicing limes. Tequila was never good. She might as well just hit herself in the head with a rock. Why did she think tequila was a good idea? But then, nothing after that. Oh, Lord. What had she done? She couldn’t recall anything more.

God, she’d only ever blacked out once in her life in college. That was fourteen years ago. What the hell was wrong with her?

She heard the front door of the condo rattle open and swing shut. Mark? Was that Mark? Frantically she glanced around the room for her clothes. Where were they? And, more important, did Mark...take them off?

She heard a soft knock on the bedroom door. “Hello?” Mark called.

“Uh...yes?” Laura scrambled to pull the covers up to her chin. Granted, she was wearing a sturdy pair of cotton boy shorts and matching bra with more coverage than most bikinis, but still, she felt vulnerable and exposed.

“Morning, Drinking Beauty,” Mark teased. “I’ve got your clothes here. All laundered.” He backed into the room, not looking at the bed. Did he keep his head turned because he was being a gentleman?

He dropped them on the edge of the bed.

“Why did you wash my clothes?” she asked, stunned.

“You don’t remember?” he asked, back still turned.

“Remember what?”

Mark chuckled low. “Get dressed and come get coffee. Have I got a story to tell you.” He shut the bedroom door behind him, and Laura scrambled to get her clothes. What had she done? Had he...? Had they...? Did they have sex? Why couldn’t she remember?

She felt red flames of embarrassment lick her face. She wasn’t that kind of girl. But she had admitted to an affair. Had he thought she was easy? That she just jumped into bed with anybody? She didn’t, for the record.

Laura pulled on her shorts and her T-shirt, her head still throbbing and her tongue feeling like she’d spent the night sucking on sandpaper. She managed a quick glance in the mirror above his dresser and saw her hair in complete disarray. Her short dark bob stuck out in all directions and yet was completely flat on one side. Plus, a smudge of old mascara ringed her left eye. She looked awful.

Laura tried her best to tidy herself up, but she needed more than just water from the sink to really make a dent. She gave up easily, too hungover to do much about her frightening hair. The effort of putting on clothes exhausted her. Her stomach protested at every move, threatening to empty itself at every turn.

She opened the door, cautiously at first, and saw Mark, his back to her, making coffee in the kitchen. She shuffled out, unable to move faster, her head still in a vice.

“Hello?” Her voice came out as a croak, and Mark turned, a knowing grin on his face.

“Well, hello.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and she worried then and there that they’d done it. And she had no memory. Not one single memory of them having sex. She tried to focus on what she did remember, but it all just felt like one white-hot headache.

“Uh, what, uh...happened last night?”

The coffee machine hummed, and the strong smell of some dark brew wafted through the air. Morning sunlight filtered in through the vertical blinds of his patio, striking her head like laser beams.

“You had a lot to drink.” Mark wore cargo shorts, flip-flops and a tight T-shirt over his muscled chest. He looked amazingly put together, not a hair out of place and freshly shaved. He leaned back against the counter, crossing his muscled forearms across his chest, dark hair slightly ruffled and that cocksure smile on his face. How could he roll out of bed looking so...sexy?

“I know that.” Laura’s head pounded. She pressed her hands against her temples, almost hoping to squeeze the headache out of her head. Also, oddly, her nose felt sore, she realized. “But...what else?”

“Well. You at one point yelped, ran down the beach and shouted at the ocean, ‘I don’t need you, Dean!’”

“Oh, I didn’t.” She suddenly wished the ground would open up and swallow her.

“You did. Then you started throwing handfuls of sand into the ocean.” Mark’s grin got bigger. He uncrossed his arms. “And cursing. A lot.”

A dark memory tried to wiggle its way to the forefront of her brain. Yes, that sounded actually right. The feel of the wet sand in her hands. The rush of anger. The release of her fury. Yep. That seemed about right.

“Then you face-planted.” Mark hit the counter for emphasis, showing her how she’d landed as his palm smacked on the granite.

Oh, no. Well, that explains the sore nose.

“Right in the sand.” Mark was having trouble not laughing at this point. The corners of his mouth twitched, and his dark eyes never left her. “I mean monumental face-plant. And you just lay there for a minute. Groaning.”

“I didn’t.” Could this get any worse?

“You did. I tried to help you up, but you told me you were just going to lie there. Let the sea take you somewhere. That maybe it was all better this way.”

Laura flinched. “That sounds dramatic.”

“You were very determined to lie there in the sand.”

“I’m...I’m so embarrassed.” She smacked her own forehead, but that just made her headache worse. She peeked at Mark between two fingers. “Then what?” She almost didn’t want to know.

“Then you tried swimming out to the ocean, even though you were on sand, so it was really less like a butterfly stroke and more like a belly crawl.” Mark did his best imitation with just his arms as he struggled against air. If she’d done that, she must’ve looked ridiculous. “You did make it to the water, though, and got yourself good and drenched.”

“My clothes... That’s why you washed them.”

Mark crossed his beefy arms once more. He was still grinning. The coffee machine beeped, signaling its ready brew, and Mark poured two cups. He handed her one, which she reluctantly took. She didn’t know how much her uneasy stomach could stand, but the coffee smelled good so she decided to give it a try.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, Miss Noise Pollution, but let me tell you, you created a whole lot of noise last night,” he said. “You better be glad I’m president of the condo board.”

“Ugh. No.”

“Yes. Lots of shouting and squealing. And cursing. Lots of cursing about Dean.” Mark seemed to be enjoying this a little too much.

Laura slumped into a nearby armchair and he followed her, taking a seat kitty-corner from her on the couch. He set his coffee mug on the glass table by his knees.

“And I haven’t even told you the best part,” he said.

“Do I want to hear it?” she groaned. She held the coffee cup in both hands and took a sip. It tasted remarkably good. She took another.

“When I finally dragged you out of the surf, I told you we needed to go back to my house and get you into something dry and put you to bed, but you just stripped right on out of your clothes, threw them at me and then went running down the beach shouting, ‘I don’t wanna go to bed!’”

“Ugh,” Laura groaned. “Really?”

Mark chuckled and reached into his own back pocket, pulling out his smartphone. “’Fraid so. I got proof.” He drew up a video he’d taken on the moonlit beach the night before. Sure enough, there she was, running away from him and shouting, arms flailing in the air and dark hair bouncing. Laura almost couldn’t watch it, yet she couldn’t look away, either.

“I want to die right now.”

“That’s also what you said about a half beat later, when you ran out of steam and threw up all over the sand.”

“No!” Laura smacked her face again, forgetting about her bruised nose. “Ow.”

Mark chuckled as he leaned forward, tapping her knee. “You, Miss Straitlaced, are one helluva interesting time when you drink.”

“I’m not usually. But tequila does weird things to me,” she admitted. She brought the coffee cup to her mouth and sipped at the strong brew. “In fact, now that I think about it, tequila was what I was drinking the last time I got in trouble...in college.”

“Well, whatever it was, you put on quite a show.” Mark grabbed his own mug from the coffee table and took a sip.

“So you didn’t take my clothes off?”

Mark chuckled, nearly spitting out his coffee. “No, no. You were more than happy to take them off yourself. I had to encourage you not to take off your bra. You really, really wanted to.”

She shook her head.

“I finally persuaded you to come home with me, but only after you ran around for a good twenty minutes more, shouting at the top of your lungs. I’m surprised the other neighbors didn’t call the police. But then I got you into bed.”

“So...uh...we didn’t...I mean...I don’t remember if we...” This might be the most embarrassing thing she’d ever asked a man in her life. “Did we have sex?”

Mark burst out laughing. “No, we didn’t, Miss Noise Pollution. Which I’m going to continue to call you but for entirely different reasons now.” He glanced at her. “I don’t take advantage of women who can’t consent.”

“Oh.” That was good then.

“And you were in no condition to consent.”

Laura felt searing humiliation. Why had she let herself go like that? She knew why. Because of Dean. Because of everything that happened. She’d wished for oblivion, and she’d gotten it all right.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t usually act like that. I swear. It’s not...me.”

Mark shrugged. “Well, all I can say is running after your half-naked ass on the beach beats the hell out of sitting by myself on the couch.”

Laura got a flash of a memory, but couldn’t quite bring it into focus. She strained to recollect it as she stared at him sitting across from her. The dark shadow of a memory formed. What was it? She couldn’t quite remember.

“You’re sure we didn’t... I mean, nothing happened?”

“We didn’t have sex, if that’s what you’re asking,” Mark said. “But I didn’t say nothing happened.”

Oh, God. Something did happen! Ack.

“What did I do?” It had something to do with that couch. She had an inkling of a memory she couldn’t quite pull into the light.

“Well, wouldn’t you like to know?”

* * *

MARK LOVED TEASING LAURA. It just might be his new favorite pastime. He watched as all the color drained from her face as she imagined the worst-case scenarios from the night before.

The girl knew how to let loose, something he never would’ve expected from her. She also had an amazing body, one that he’d appreciated in the silver light of the moon as she’d jogged down the beach in her underwear. All firm thighs, small waist and jiggling in all the right places.

“Tell me,” she pleaded with him now, her face streaked with old mascara. She looked like a complete mess, but she also looked adorable.

“No,” he teased.

“Mark!” She playfully slapped his arm and he liked the contact.

“What? A gentleman never tells.” He couldn’t help but laugh as she growled, baring her teeth.

“That is not what that saying is supposed to mean.” She slapped at his arm again.

“Fair enough.” He grinned. Now she was getting mad, and her green eyes flashed with growing frustration even as her cheeks grew pinker. God, he loved seeing the passion in her. It reminded him of the woman from last night, the one who’d laid herself bare...emotionally and pretty much literally.

In truth, nothing happened, and yet, everything had at the same time. He’d finally caught her at the edge of the beach, corralling her back to his condo and wrapping her up in a towel as best he could. By then, she was hardly keeping her eyes open, and the fire had drained out of her. He’d been worried about her getting sick again, and that had been his main focus as he steered her to his bed. But before he could even get her to the bedroom, she’d resisted him.

“I wanna go back outshide,” she’d slurred and tried to change course. He’d resisted, and yet she’d forced him to stagger backward a little. Somehow he’d caught his foot on the rug and tripped back into the couch. She fell on top of him, the towel falling away. He still remembered the soft feel of her full, heavy breasts against his chest, the thin cotton fabric of her bra hardly putting up much of a barrier between them. The way he’d wanted her in that moment in a way he hadn’t wanted a woman in a long, long time.

Then she’d leaned in and he’d thought for sure she was going to kiss him.

But instead, she’d collapsed on his chest and begun snoring. Loudly.

“Nothing happened,” he said now. “I promise. Just lots of you yelling. And then you passed out.”

“Really?” she asked, looking uncertain.

“Really,” he confirmed. “By the way, you snore.”

Laura chuckled a little.

“Oh...my head.” Laura cradled her head in her hands.

“Want a little hair of the dog?” He offered her an unopened beer.

“No. Please no.” Laura held up her hands together as if trying to ward off any more alcohol. “That sounds like a terrible breakfast.”

“How about I cook you a real one then? I don’t know about you, but bacon always cures what ails me.”

She looked up at him and managed a weak grin.

“Bacon it is,” he said and got to work on whipping up something for them both.

It had been a long time since Mark had felt this relaxed in his own kitchen. Hell, in his own skin, for that matter. His world had been turned upside down since his boy had died.

God, that awful day. He wanted to shake it from his memory. He glanced outside, past his patio and to the shell of his father’s boat. He hadn’t even thought about the boat in more than twelve hours! The boat was usually the last thing he thought about when he went to sleep and the first thing he thought about when he woke up. Of course, he’d been busy chasing Laura down the beach half the night. Still. He needed to stay focused. He’d need to get to work soon if he wanted to have any hope of finishing it before the race.

“So, the boat? Want to tell me about it?” Laura asked, catching him staring.

“Oh. Well, I want to restore it and race. Every year, there’s a big sailboat race on the island. And the prize is a hundred thousand dollars.”

“Whoa.” She looked suitably impressed. “That’s a lot of money.”

He nodded. “Yep, and when I win it, I’m going to go sail around the world. I’ve got a team who will help me finish the boat and help me race it. And after that, I’m just going out to sea. It’s the only place I feel...okay.”

Laura frowned. “Why is that? I mean, why on the boat?”

Mark swallowed, wondering how he was going to explain this. “I’ve always loved to sail. But now...it’s really because it was my son’s favorite place to be. Before he died.”

Laura’s face went pale. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” Mark said, waving his hand as if it was a dismissable foul. He was so tired of people apologizing all the time if he ever brought up Timothy. It wasn’t her fault he’d died. And frankly, talking about him meant no one would forget him. “I’m naming the boat Timothy...after him. He wasn’t quite three when he died.”

“Mark.” Laura clutched her chest as if her own heart were breaking. “That’s just so awful. What happened?”

“Accident,” he said, curt, cutting off the word before it even left his mouth. Accident. That’s what they called that horrible day Timothy walked into the ocean and never came back. “My ex-wife was watching him on the beach one morning when I was away at work. She fell asleep. Timothy wandered into the water and never came out.”

It was the other reason Mark wanted to be out on the sea. That’s where his boy was.

“She fell asleep?” Laura sounded shocked. “But that’s horrible. The boy in her care and...”

Mark nodded. It was horrible. All of it.

“I don’t know what to say.” Laura’s eyes brimmed with tears. Was she going to cry? He was momentarily baffled by the response. Why did she feel the loss so acutely? He was used to looks of pity. But hers was something else. Like she’d experienced loss herself.

He was about to ask her about it when a hard knock came on Mark’s door. Laura looked a little startled but recovered as Mark checked his phone. Only then did he realize he’d forgotten to plug it in. He guessed it must’ve died shortly after he’d shown Laura the video of her dancing on the beach. Mark walked to the door, praying it wasn’t his brother, or this morning was about to get a lot more hostile.

He swung open the front door to find Dave standing there, tall and blond, looking his usual tanned, thirtysomething self. Dave was one of the best sailors on the island. He’d won the race three years in a row, and he’d be helping Mark do it for a fourth time.

“Do you answer your phone?” Dave accused as he swept into Mark’s condo.

“Phone died,” Mark said and then added sarcastically, “Well, come on in. Make yourself at home.”

Dave saw Laura and stopped in his tracks. “Oh. Uh... I didn’t realize you had company. I can come back.”

“No, come on in. She’s my upstairs neighbor. Laura, meet Dave, the best skipper on the island.”

Dave extended his hand and Laura took it, though Dave barely acknowledged her. He seemed distracted, worried even. “I’ll come back, man.”

“No. Stay. I’ve got a few ideas I want to go over with you about the boat, and we’re way behind, really, so I need extra hands today if you can spare them...”

Dave was really starting to look uncomfortable as he shifted uncertainly from one foot to the other. He glanced anxiously at Laura, who managed a weak grin, her hangover still haunting her.

“No, why don’t I let you... I mean... I’ll come back.”

“Dave. Come on. You’re here. Let’s go over a few things.”

“I can go,” Laura said, standing up for a wobbly second, holding her head. Poor thing looked like she might topple over. That hangover was a doozy.

“No, stay,” Mark said, and Laura gratefully slumped into the couch once more. Mark returned to the kitchen where he finished cracking eggs in a bowl, added a bit of milk and then put them in the melting butter in the pan on the stove.

“You haven’t had breakfast yet. Dave? You want something?”

Dave reluctantly followed Mark to his kitchen. “Uh, no, man. I’ve eaten, and anyway I can’t stay long. The wife wants me to help shop for strollers today.”

Dave and his wife were expecting their first child in a few months.

Mark was happy for his friend. He and Katie had been trying for years and the pregnancy came after they’d both thought neither one would ever be a parent. Dave was a stand-up guy, a good guy, and Mark knew he’d make a wonderful father. Katie would also make an excellent mother. But the news still caused a pang in his heart.

“Any names yet?”

“A few.” Dave relaxed a little bit but still didn’t sit down. “Katie wants to name her Madison, after her mother’s maiden name. I prefer Penelope, after my mom.”

“How about Penelope Madison?” Mark offered.

“Could work,” Dave said, but then sank into a moody silence. He glanced at Laura once and then back at Mark.

“What is it? You look like you just found out your dog died.” Mark dropped his spatula on the kitchen counter. “Come on. Spit it out.”

Dave laughed, a nervous little bark. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you always were a lousy actor,” Mark said. He turned the stove off, the smell of freshly cooked scrambled eggs filling the air.

Dave looked like he was about to face a firing squad. He glanced once more at Laura.

“Look, she can hear whatever it is you have to say,” Mark said, suddenly not caring. “We decided we don’t have secrets.” He winked at her and she smiled shyly.

“I don’t know how to say this.” Dave glanced down, looking ashamed.

Fear and apprehension rose in Mark’s chest. He remembered what his brother had told him about trusting his friends. Had Edward gotten to him? Had Dave been bought?

But they’d been good friends for years, worked side by side on winning boats for the last three years. Sure, Edward had been part of that, but Mark always thought of Dave as his friend first. After all, Mark had been the one to find him in Florida and recruit him to come sail the Tanner boat in the race.

Dave had helped the Tanner brothers win prize money that they ultimately put into Tanner Boating. Dave, of course, had his own money, after inheriting a multimillion-dollar corporation from his dad. He largely lived off a trust fund, using his free time to sail, which had become his life’s passion. Edward couldn’t bribe Dave. It’s one reason Mark had been so certain Dave would be on his side.

“I can’t race with you.”

“What do you mean, ‘can’t’?” Mark felt the panic rise in his throat. Why couldn’t Dave race?

“You know Katie and Elle are friends.”

Elle, Mark’s ex-wife. Yes, he knew Elle and Katie were friends—good friends. Best of friends, actually. The four of them had been nearly inseparable when they’d been a couple. But since the separation and then divorce, Dave and Katie had worked hard to befriend them both. “Yes,” Mark said carefully. “But so are we.” He paused, suddenly wondering if that were still true. “Aren’t we, Dave?”

“Of course, we are. You know that. It’s just...”

Mark wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what came next.

“Listen, you know that I’m on your side,” Dave said. “But Katie is pregnant, and so is—”

“I know,” Mark interrupted, holding up his hand. He didn’t want to talk about how Elle was expecting his brother’s baby. Dave suddenly couldn’t look Mark in the eye. “She feels that she’s got to take Elle’s side, and she’s asked me—” Dave swallowed hard “—not to race with you.”

“What?” Mark felt the betrayal like a sharp jab to the gut. He felt irrational anger flare up in his chest. Why would she ask him to do that? And where were Dave’s balls? Was he just going to roll over because his wife said so? Mark had done a lot of good things for Elle and Dave, and he’d been good friends with both of them.

In the living room, Laura sat stock-still, just listening, eyes wide. But he had more important things to worry about than what she thought of this mess. The eggs he’d just cooked were getting cold, but he didn’t care. Breakfast hardly seemed important. “But what about the boat for Timothy? What about sailing around the world?”

He felt his plan slipping away. He needed that plan. He’d been counting on it.

“I’m sorry, Mark. But I won’t be able to help you finish it or race with you. If it were just up to me, then I’d be with you, man. But I’m in a tough spot here.” Dave’s eyes begged for mercy. “If I don’t do this,” Dave added. “I think Katie might seriously leave me.”

“After all Elle did to me? She ran off with Edward!” She’s having his baby.

“You know she wasn’t the only one who made mistakes.” Dave let the accusation hang there. Sure, throw that in his face, now that he was down.

“That’s not fair.” Mark felt the need to defend himself. He knew they all took her side, even though she’d done the unthinkable with Edward. But his son had died. How else was a father supposed to act?