Page 36 of Let It Breathe (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #1)

R eese stared at Clay, his words echoing in her ears.

Larissa. I was talking about Larissa.

She swallowed hard and stared at him. “You fucked my cousin.”

Clay winced like he’d been slapped. “It was eight or nine years ago at a Halloween party. I was stupid and drunk and possibly dressed in a bear costume and a tutu?—”

“You were drunk with me, too. The first time, I mean.”

Clay closed his eyes, looking pained. Reese would have felt sorry for him if she weren’t so damn mad. Mad and confused. She clenched her hands into fists, wishing she had something to grip.

Or to throw at his head.

“Let me get this straight,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. “You have no recollection of drunkenly sleeping with me fifteen years ago, but you remember boning my cousin under the same circumstances?”

Clay winced and shook his head. “I thought maybe I kissed you once—that party over in McMinnville? But I?—”

“Don’t recall fucking me?”

Clay cringed again, then let out a slow, shaky breath. “Please don’t call it that.”

“What should I call it then? Burping the worm? Batter-dipping the corndog? Riding the baloney pony? Putting the candle in the pumpkin?” Rage had her spewing ridiculous words faster than her brain could keep up.

“What is the correct term when one of the participants can’t even remember taking part in it? ”

She hated the sound of her own voice, the shrill echo of it in the tiny, damp cab of the truck. But she was too damn hurt to figure out how else to speak.

“Reese, I’m sorry,” Clay said.

He reached for her, but Reese yanked her arm away, too stung for comfort now.

Clay drew his hand back. “I’m so sorry. I can’t explain which things I remember and which things I don’t. There are big chunks of my memory just blacked out. Things I did, things I said—important things. Things I can’t remember at all because I was too drunk?—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she snapped. She tried to meet his eyes but found she couldn’t do it.

She looked at the side of the winery barn instead, hoping like hell she wouldn’t cry.

Then she wanted to cry anyway, looking at the charred mess of wood and spilled wine.

“It doesn’t matter at all, Clay. It really doesn’t. ”

“It does matter,” Clay said, and reached out to touch her arm. Reese pulled away.

“Look,” she said, “what happened last night shouldn’t have happened.”

Clay shook his head. “I disagree.”

She ignored him. “And what happened fifteen years ago really shouldn’t have happened. I never should have brought it up.”

“Reese, I wish I could remember?—”

“Don’t,” she said, meeting his eyes at last. She blinked hard against the glare of sun-streaked raindrops on the windshield and something she hoped wasn’t the beginning of tears. “Just don’t, okay? This is awkward enough.”

Clay sighed, then looked down at his boots. “Does Eric know?”

Reese bit her lip, wondering if that was really what he cared about. “About last night or fifteen years ago?”

“Either.”

“No. Your secret is safe. Hell, it was safe from you until I shot off my mouth, wasn’t it?”

She couldn’t believe how stupid she felt. Jesus. She’d thought it had meant something. It sure as hell had meant something to her. She swallowed hard, trying to force the ridiculous lump back down her throat.

“I’m sorry,” Clay whispered.

“Stop apologizing!” Reese snapped. “Just stop. I need to get to work. It’s not a big deal, Clay. Just forget about it, okay?”

“Reese, I?—”

“I mean it, Clay. I don’t want to talk about it. It was just a misunderstanding. A mistake.”

“A mistake,” he repeated.

“A big, stupid mistake. Both times.”

She flung open the door of the truck before he could respond, oddly grateful for the giant hole in the wall of the winery barn.

It meant she could walk right though the side of the building and straight to her office without fumbling at doors or feeling his eyes on her as she tried to keep her shoulders from shaking.

Clay sat there in the truck for a few minutes, feeling like he’d just been punched in the gut by a drunken gorilla.

Should he go after her? Try to say something to make it right?

There’s not a damn thing you can say to make it right .

He opened the door and stepped out into the damp dirt. He stared out over the vineyard for a moment, watching a bird flit between the wooden posts at the end of each row of grapes. Off in the distance, he heard the field hands shouting to each other in Spanish as they pruned the rows of plants.

He slammed the door of his truck. Dammit.

He’d screwed that one up big time. Why hadn’t he figured it out earlier?

Surely Reese had dropped clues, given him some hint something had happened between them in the past. It’s not like this was the first time he’d been confronted with a story that began “remember when?” and ended with him staring blankly at the storyteller, having no recollection of the events.

But it was the first time it had mattered. The first time he desperately, urgently wished he could remember.

He’d been telling the truth about the kiss. He thought he’d remembered something like that, but he’d never been sure. It had always seemed safest just to forget about it, to be thankful he’d never acted on his fondness for his buddy’s wife.

She wasn’t his wife then , the voice told him. You could’ve done something about it then instead of pining away for her all these years. You could’ve had a chance.

Not anymore. Any chance he’d had was out the window. Then and now, his fault both times.

But you’ve changed since then , the voice said.

It didn’t matter. Not now, not to Reese.

God, he wished he could remember. Last night had been amazing, no doubt about it.

But what he wouldn’t give to remember the first time. The smell of her hair, the scrape of her nails down his back, the throaty murmur of her voice against his ear for the first time.

You can never get that back.

“Dude, you just gonna stand there with your thumb up your ass?”

He turned to see Eric approaching from the other side of the barn.

“Just enjoying the view,” he offered weakly.

“Whatever. Your crew isn’t here yet, and I need a hand. Help me move some of the cases out of the way so I can get the damn forklift up to the barrels.”

Clay turned and followed him into the winery barn, grateful at least that his best friend was a guy, and therefore not inclined to ask questions about his buddy’s sullen demeanor. Clay dared a glance at Reese’s office as they trudged past, but the door was shut tight and he couldn’t see inside.

“You do something to piss her off?” Eric asked.

Clay pulled his eyes off the door and looked at Eric. “Why?”

“She came stomping in here like someone spit in her Pinot. Figured you might’ve given her more bad news about the construction project.”

Clay shook his head and dared one last glance at the door. “Nope. No bad news on the construction. The ball’s in her court right now.”

“You said balls .”

Clay looked at him. “It’s nice how you’ve matured in your old age.”

“Maturity is overrated. So is politeness. You can still make dirty jokes, too, you know.”

Clay shrugged and eyed the pile of boxes stacked against one wall. “Sure.”

“What is it with you, anyway? You’ve been prancing around here like Miss Manners since you got back to town. Please this and thank you that and God help me if I ever fart or belch or have a dirty thought I happen to say out loud.”

“Whatever, man. I just don’t want to be a jerk anymore.”

Eric frowned at him and shoved an empty barrel out of the way. “It’s just us here now. The only way I’ll think you’re a jerk is if you tell me my Gewürztraminer sucks. Since you won’t be tasting that, I think we’re safe. Grab a box.”

“Right.” Clay moved toward the towering stack of wine cases lined up against one wall. He hefted one up and looked at Eric. “Where do you want it?”

“Over there against the wall. We just need to make room for the forklift.”

Clay nodded and trudged across the concrete floor to the spot Eric had indicated. He set the box down and turned around, headed back for another. They worked like that for a few minutes, silent except for one colorful string of expletives from Eric when he scraped his knuckles on the concrete.

Clay’s brain began to wander back down the dark alley toward thoughts of Reese and last night and that long-ago night he couldn’t remember.

Had her hair been different then? He was pretty sure she’d kept it the same.

Long, with a little bit of curl at the ends.

Had she trailed it over his chest that first time the way she had last night?

He shivered a little at the thought, remembering how she’d smiled down at him as she teased his skin with the soft, grass-scented strands, drawing her fingers down his rib cage, along his stomach, over his?—

“Way to go last night, by the way,” Eric grunted as they both stooped to lift a box.

Clay froze. “What?”

“You were kind of a stud, huh?”

Clay stared at him, speechless. Had Larissa said something? Had Reese? “Um?—”

“The fire?” Eric raised an eyebrow. “I heard you were the one who helped put it out. Also the one who called the fire department. Isn’t that right?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Clay swallowed, feeling his heartbeat return to normal. “It was nothing, really. I just happened to be driving by.”

“Yeah, that’s what I heard.” Eric cleared his throat and hoisted his box. “So you just happened to be driving by at one a.m.?”

Clay picked up a box and avoided Eric’s eyes. “Dropping off Larissa. She got into some trouble with a guy at Finnigan’s. I happened to be there and helped her out.”

“Sure, sure—that’s what ’Riss said. Must’ve been pretty late?”