And the manners? Sheesh. She was just as thankful and gracious as the next typical person, but she’d heard the words please, thank you, ma’am, and sir more times than she could count. She felt like a fish out of water—a phrase someone else had used to describe her today—and there was still another day and a half to go of this Southern family fun.

  Which apparently didn’t always include the women.

  She’d been hurt by the rejection to join the game, and that had been silly. She knew if she and Bryson weren’t fighting, then she wouldn’t have cared one bit, but things were already strained between the two of them, and she’d been dealing with an emotion that was completely foreign to her.

  Insecurity.

  Never once in her relationship with him, or any other man for that matter, had she ever felt as if she wasn’t good enough for him. Bryson had been a Southern gentleman from day one, and although it had been true she’d had to get used to his insistence of opening all things with a handle and carrying any and all objects for her, she’d fallen hard and fast for him. Even with him doing chivalrous things for her, she’d always felt on equal footing with him, had always felt he’d put her needs before his.

  Until she’d met his mom.

  Was it a Southern boy thing to never argue with his mother? She didn’t know. Like she told his family, she’d grown up in Northern California where most people stood up for equality and what they wanted. She’d never witnessed a grown man deferring to his mother’s wishes over his significant other’s before. Could be a cultural thing, but even so, it still hurt.

  And Bryson still didn’t understand that.

  By letting them put her in this room away from their son, he was condoning the fact that she was being viewed as lesser in both their relationship and to his mother. Joanie had given birth to him. She was blood. Who was Taylor but some girl out West he was screwing around with? She’d never felt insignificant until the moment Bryson had chosen his mother over her.

  It wasn’t as if Taylor had demanded they fry kittens for dinner—though she wondered if they’d eat anything swimming in grease. No, she’d expected to sleep in the same room with her boyfriend.

  Like they’d always done when together at night.

  Until they’d gotten here.

  What happened might seem minor to some, but what was eating away at her was the possibility of there being more to it. The fact that Bryson hadn’t put up a fight at all made her wonder just how much he saw her in his future. Regardless of what her friends thought, the two of them hadn’t talked about marriage, and until this weekend, she was okay with that. She hadn’t wanted to rush, and they hadn’t. Now, she wondered if he only viewed her as a temporary plaything until Mrs. Right came along. Had his mother known the truth? For all she knew, he talked to his mom about everything, leaving nothing out. Taylor knew for a fact he’d talked to Joanie about Taylor on some level. She just didn’t know how in depth those conversations had gone.

  This insecurity thing was a bitch.

  And she couldn’t tell Bryson how she really felt because what good would that do? She wanted him to stand up for his girlfriend, to tell his mother she was being silly. If Taylor told him as much, anything he did from that point on would be a reaction to Taylor’s words and not because it was something he himself wanted to do.

  There was no winning this, and that seriously depressed her because while she could see the deeper meaning in his actions, he was clueless to it all.

  When she worried the water would turn cold, she finally got out and dried off, not rushing. Why should she? She was just going to bed.

  Alone.

  Again.

  Maybe she should pull out her tablet and read, get lost in some pretend drama so she wouldn’t have to face hers for the night. When she saw her bag, she noticed the bottle of sleeping pills she’d packed. She didn’t take them very often, only when she had a bout of sleeplessness, which happened once or twice a month. Knowing she wasn’t the least bit tired and should be because she’d spent all day in the exhausting sun, she grabbed the bottle and took one of them. No way would her restless mind be able to turn off tonight without their help.

  Once she was dressed, she brushed her teeth and walked out of the bathroom into the bedroom. And froze.

  “How did you get in here?” she asked Bryson, who was lounging on the bed in his pajama pants and cotton shirt, shoeless. God, she loved his feet. She shook off that thought and focused on his face. “I locked the door.”

  “I unlocked it.”

  “Obviously,” she muttered, walking over to her side of the bed, knowing the whole thing was hers, but not wanting to say that. She couldn’t put salt on that wound right now. “Why didn’t you just unlock the bathroom door, too, while you were at it?”

  “I-I wasn’t sure what you were doing in there.” His cheeks turned a little pink, and she wanted to roll her eyes.

  “I didn’t turn on the shower to drown out the sound of me going to the bathroom.” Who would’ve heard her anyway? She was in the corner of the house reserved for evil stepchildren.

  Or the prodigal sons’ whores.

  “Didn’t want to chance it.”

  She started to climb into bed and stopped herself. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I came to talk.”

  She sighed, getting in the bed anyway and pulling the covers up to her chin. At least he was lying on top of them. She stared at the ceiling as he turned to face her. “I’m not in the mood to talk. I’ve taken a sleeping pill, and it’s kicking in already.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but she knew in ten minutes she’d be loopy until she succumbed to sleep.

  “You not sleep good last night?”

  She cut her gaze to him. Really? “Are you kidding me? That’s what you came to talk about? If so, you should just go back to your room. I don’t need this when I’m trying to go to sleep.”

  His jaw clenched. “No, that’s not what I came to talk about.”

  Her heart pounded a little harder. Maybe she’d been wrong earlier, jumping to conclusions that had nothing to do with the reality of their situation. Maybe he did understand the core of her feelings on this and realized what his actions had done to her ego and overall mental state of things.

  “Look, I’m sorry about the game this afternoon. It’s a family tradition that’s been going on for fifteen years. We didn’t start it with the intention of omitting the women … it just sorta happened like that.”

  She slowly shook her head. He hadn’t hit the nail on the head. He continued to miss it entirely. A little deflated that he hadn’t jumped right into the real problem, she just said, “It’s fine. I get that.”

  “It’s not fine. You didn’t hang around the game to watch or even visit with Kara. You swam off by yourself and I felt like shit. It’s been eating me up all afternoon.”

  Ah, so this was about guilt.

  Not about her.

  The lump in her throat was forcefully swallowed down. She didn’t understand the sudden need to shed tears, but she would not cry in front of him. If she did, he’d say whatever he felt was necessary to make her feel better for now, but in reality all that would be was a temporary fix. A tiny bandage over a gaping wound.

  She needed to get him out of this room before she broke down, or succumbed to the sleep aid, which meant swallowing her pride once more.

  “I’m sorry I was distant this afternoon. I’ll do better tomorrow. Kara was really nice and Mary Kate is a little doll.” She smiled up at him, but her smile quickly turned into a yawn.

  “How long ago did you take your pill?”

  “About fifteen minutes ago.”

  “You’re going down for the count,” he said, chuckling.

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  He shifted off the bed and bent over to kiss her forehead. It was the only part of her exposed from the nose up as she’d snuggled deeper into the covers.

  “Good night. I love you, baby,” he murmured before lifting away from her.

  She felt the first tear form but she ruthlessly blinked it away. “Love you, too,” she muttered, hoping it sounded filled with sleep and not the despair she truly felt.

  Once he left, she waited a few minutes before slipping out of the bed and quietly locking the door. Then she moved the chair that was beside the nightstand in front of the door as her breathing began to hitch. She knew if Bryson really wanted in the room, he’d be able to get in.

  All she was doing by locking the door and providing an obstacle was buying time. If she wasn’t quiet and he happened to come to the room, he just might hear her, and she’d need the extra minutes it’d take for him to get into the room to gather her composure.

  It was the last thought she had as she crawled into bed and burst into tears, crying herself to sleep.

  Chapter Six

  When Bryson planned on bringing Taylor home for the family reunion, he’d been eager to introduce her to everyone and further ingrain her into his life. All the scenarios he’d contemplated had joyous overtones of happy times and family fun. Never once did he think of this weekend as being marred in confrontation.

  Taylor was mad. She might’ve acted all right last night, but he knew something was off with her. It had all started with the sleeping arrangements, and it had just gone down from there. Maybe he should’ve handled it differently, but what could he do about it now? It wasn’t as if he could go back and undo what was done. Besides, telling him to man up had only pushed him into agitation as well. A weekend of relaxation and good times had turned out to be wrought with problems.

  They had several grills going today to cook burgers and hotdogs. Taylor’s comment, “Where’s the grease?” had gotten a few chuckles and promises that it’d return for dinner since they’d ordered fried chicken. She’d played off the interaction and had been charming and outgoing today. She’d been honest last night when she said she’d do better today. He should be happy she was at least trying to have a good time. Maybe he’d feel better if her welcoming personality hadn’t drawn his asshole cousin closer to her.

  Damn Tucker. He was a cowboy Casanova if Bryson ever saw one. He’d seen his cousin in action many times when they were growing up. When they were teens, he’d even thought Tucker’s tendency to charm the ladies had been legendary.

  Now it kind of pissed him off. The cocky man was hovering around Taylor as if he were her boyfriend. A few times Bryson had caught the jerk touching her hair as they laughed at something obviously hysterical.

  “I’m going to kill him,” Bryson muttered.

  “Who?” his dad asked, cleaning the grill beside him. He followed his son’s line of sight and whistled low. “Seems like he does have a death wish. Though that boy’s always had a way with the ladies.”

  “She’s my lady, though.” Bryson tossed the last of the steel brushes into the bin and rinsed his hands with the big jug of cleaning water.

  “I’m sure she’s not encouraging him, son. Taylor is too sweet of a gal to screw around. I only just met her, but even I can see that.”

  He groaned and grabbed his glass of tea, unable to take his gaze off Taylor and Tucker. At least she’d forgone the bikini today. She said she’d gotten too much sun on her shoulders yesterday. Bryson had offered to put lotion on for her, but she’d politely turned him down. Normally, she’d make a comment about his hands being on her, but she hadn’t hinted at anything sexual. More proof that she was still not happy with him.

  “She gets emotional sometimes,” he muttered, putting the lid on the cleaning tools.

  His dad chuckled. “She’s a woman, boy. It’s in their blood.”

  Bryson’s lips lifted in a partial smile. “More so than that. She says it’s the Irish in her. Her great-grandmother immigrated here from Ireland, you know?” he said conversationally.

  “Nothing wrong with a woman having a little spunk.”

  Taylor’s squeal of laughter had him jerking his gaze in her direction. “That rat bastard,” he spewed. Tucker had picked up Taylor and done something with her in his arms. Bryson had missed the initial exchange, only caught him putting her back on her feet.

  “Just calm down,” his dad said, but he was laughing, finding humor in Bryson’s mood.

  “You don’t get it,” he said, shaking off the anger. “She’s mad at me. Has been ever since we got here.” He couldn’t get a smile out of her since they’d gotten here, but his cousin could? Yeah, that added to his irritation.

  His dad frowned. “Really? I hadn’t noticed. Sure, she seemed a little standoffish yesterday, but I assumed it was nerves. We can be an intimidating bunch.”

  “It’s not that. She doesn’t have a problem with crowds.” He sighed, looking at his dad, which wasn’t easy since he didn’t want to turn away from Taylor. “She’s pissed about the sleeping arrangements.”

  His dad’s eyebrows shot up. “Why? She said the bed was fine,” he said with an alarmed look on his face. “It’s an expensive bed. You know your mother. She only wants the best, even for guest rooms. But I haven’t actually slept on it— ”

  “It’s not the bed, Dad. It’s the fact that we aren’t sleeping in the same one.”

  He sighed. “It was your mother’s idea to put her in there. She said Taylor would be more comfortable having her own space and would’ve been embarrassed if we’d assumed she’d be sleeping with you. Said women don’t like to be called out on their sex life and shoving her into your old bedroom with you would’ve been the same as talking about it. Because that’s how women think, or something like that. Hell, I don’t know. I just followed her lead.”

  “I can see that. I even appreciate mom trying to preserve Taylor’s virtue or image or whatever she was trying to do, but I don’t think Taylor saw it like that. I get the feeling she thinks I chose sides or didn’t want to go against Mom, which doesn’t make any damn sense.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because she told me to man up.”

  His dad stared at him and then laughed out loud. “You? To man up? Ha! That’s rich. You’re the biggest, strongest of the bunch.”

  “I know, right? I think there’s more to it, but I don’t know how to ask without pissing her off even more. The few times I’ve opened my mouth, I just shoved my foot in deeper. I’m to the point that I want to pretend it didn’t happen and get through the weekend. Once we’re back home everything will be normal again.”

  “Bad idea, son. Don’t ever pretend a woman will miraculously get over being mad.” He shook his head and scoped their surroundings, seemingly to make sure they couldn’t be heard. “If there hasn’t been groveling and the requisite begging of forgiveness, that stuff can come back to bite you when you least expect it. Take my word for it. Talk to her, hash it out, and move on. Don’t ignore anything.”

  Bryson rubbed his head. “Yeah, I know we should, but I don’t think I can do that here. We have a long ride back home. Plenty of time alone in the car to talk then.”

  His dad nodded. “As long as you don’t let things fester.”

  Her lyrical laughter caught his attention again. This time, Tucker was holding something out of her reach and she was jumping, trying to get whatever it was out of his hands. “That’s it.”

  Bryson stomped off toward her, and he heard his dad hot on his heels. Whatever, he was sick and tired of his cousin overstepping with Taylor.

  “Having fun?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at Tucker.

  “Now, now,” his dad admonished, stepping between the men.

  “What?” Tucker asked, feigning innocence, the son of a bitch.

  “We were just hanging out,” Taylor said softly, grabbing Bryson’s arm. He looked at her and took a deep breath, pushing away the anger he felt toward his cousin. He wasn’t mad at her for trying to enjoy the party. His anger was completely directed at his cousin, and it was time Bryson stepped in before Tucker’s behavior shot completely out of control.

  “I know. Ready to go fishing?” he asked, forcing a smile.

  “Oh, um, sure.” She shrugged.

  “Sweet. I’m in the mood to reel something in,” Tucker said without missing a beat. Bryson caught the innuendo, but chose to ignore it … which was fucking hard.

  “You’re not going.”

  Tucker scoffed. “You don’t own that lake. I can boat right along side you if I want and you can’t do anything about it.”

  Bryson took a threatening step toward his brave, stupid cousin, but his dad put his palm out to halt him.

  “Why don’t we all go. It’ll be fun,” Butch said. Then he looked at Taylor, smiling. “I know this sweet little honey hole where the crappie bite for hours.”

  “I don’t know what a crappie is, but it better be a fish and the biting you’re talking about better be a reference to catching said fish.”

  Chuckling, he said, “Sure is, and my boy here does a fine job of catching a mess of ’em.” He looked at Tucker. “You got your tackle?” His statement was clearly inviting his asshole cousin along.

  “You know it,” he said, smiling.

  “Good. Let’s head to the fishing lake and get started. Maybe we could fry up what we catch to go with dinner tonight.”

  Taylor groaned. “Haven’t you ever heard of baking? Everything doesn’t have to be tossed into a deep fryer.”

  Bryson felt the tension leave his shoulders as the other two men laughed with Taylor. He was pleased she seemed to be having a good time now, but he also knew her well enough to know her smiles hadn’t always reached her eyes today. Sure, she’d been having some fun, but other times it was still forced, and he could see right through it.

  “You have a little comedian here,” Dad said, still chuckling as he pulled Taylor into his arms and started toward his truck. He called out to his mom that he’d be back later. Bryson and Tucker fell into step beside them, he beside Taylor and Tucker on the other side of his dad. At least the man was smart enough to back off now that Bryson was around her. When they reached the truck, Taylor was led to the front passenger seat. “Boys, get in the back.”

 

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