He let out a yell. “What the fuck—”

“She said stop.” Will’s voice cut through the night.

“Fuck off, Jensen, we’re just having a little fun.” Matt scrambled backward, then lunged. Their silhouettes clashed like two stags in rut.

Caroline gasped, her entire body buzzing with shock. She crab-walked to the edge of the blanket and jumped up, wrapping herself in a towel. Her bikini top was gone.

Will made a Krav Maga move she remembered from long ago, and she heard a noise like a bag of liquid hitting concrete.

“Fuck,” said Matt. “Goddamn, Jensen, I think you broke my fucking nose.”

Will pivoted and walked away. “Let’s go.” He grabbed Caroline by the arm and strode toward the parking lot.

Clutching the towel, she nearly stumbled, trying to keep up. She was too mortified to say anything except “Hey, I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, I could see that. What the hell were you doing?” Will demanded. “Jesus, look at you.”

She bristled, holding the towel closer. “What, like that was my fault?”

He yanked open the door to his car—his grandfather’s Grand Marquis. “Get in.”

Her top was missing. She was barefoot, too. She got into the car.

He wheeled out of the parking lot. At the same time, he groped behind the seat and found a jacket. “Put that on if you’re cold.”

She was shivering uncontrollably.

Then she realized it wasn’t from the cold. “D-did you really break that guy’s nose?”

“He’ll be okay. But shit, Caroline, he’s on my goddamn team.” He careened into the driveway of her parents’ house, the crushed shells crackling under the tires.

“Well, he sucks,” she said. “I didn’t ask for him to—I didn’t want—”

“Then what the hell were you thinking, parading around in your bikini, doing shots?”

“Don’t you dare blame my clothes for that jerk’s behavior.”

“He was looking at you like a lamb chop all night.”

“How do you know how he was looking at me?” she demanded.

He threw the car into park and leaned over, pinning her against the seat, his face inches from hers, his whiskey-sweet breath on her face. “That’s what guys like him do.”

She gasped in horror and shoved at his chest as hard as she could. “Get the hell away from me!”

He drew back immediately, also looking horrified. “Okay, yeah. I know. I’m sorry. I just . . . Jesus, Caroline. I didn’t mean to—”

She couldn’t even hear him, because she started wheezing in a panic that suddenly roared through her like a forest fire. The latent terror of being pinned down and groped made it impossible to breathe. Her heart hammered against her chest, loud and frightening.

“Hey, hey . . .” Gentle hands cupped her shoulders. “Caroline, hey, listen, it’s over. It’s okay. I’m sorry for what happened.” His touch was tender, his words finally penetrating her panic. “I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was scared about what might have happened if I hadn’t noticed you’d wandered off. It’s over now,” he said again. “I’m here. I’m here, okay?”

She collapsed against his chest, pressing her cheek to his heart and clinging to him. The solid comfort of his embrace felt like a seawall, keeping fear at bay. He was right. Some drunk guy had come on to her, and Will had intervened, and she didn’t need to be afraid anymore. The panic ebbed, and she stopped trembling.

“You all right now?” he asked.

“I was so scared,” she said in a small voice.

“I know, baby,” he whispered, his breath warm against her hair. “I know. It’s over now.”

With aching tenderness, he cupped her face between his hands and stared down into her eyes, placing a feather-light kiss on her forehead. And then something else caught fire, not with panic but with a mindless, long-buried, unstoppable desire. Caroline wasn’t sure who made the first move, but suddenly she was planting a terrible, irresistible, illicit kiss on his mouth.

Time stopped.

Everything stopped.

It was a deep, thirsty kiss, born of years of yearning, and it was like an out-of-body experience. The world fell away, just for a moment. A blazing moment of sweetness. The taste of him. His smell. His hands on her bare skin. Then they broke apart as if burned.

She stared at him. He stared back.

“Caroline, my God. This is—this was . . . Shit. I’ve been wanting this forever, to—”

“Don’t you dare say anything more. Don’t you fucking dare.”

He froze. “Yeah, okay. We both had too much to drink. It’s just . . . You’re right. Damn. I’m sorry, Caroline. I’m so damn sorry.”

The generalized I’m sorry left her wondering, For what? She groped blindly for the door handle and leaped out of the car, filled with an insane jumble of guilt and excitement and horrible shame.

Caroline woke the next morning with a hangover—not from the drinking, but from the lingering fallout of her kiss with Will Jensen.

Her best friend’s soon-to-be husband. How the hell had it happened? Why had it happened? What on earth was she going to do now?

Forget it, that’s what, she told herself stoutly. Pretend it never happened. And hope like hell Will does the same.

Their thoughts were in sync. Without exchanging a word, they avoided eye contact as she and her co-groomsman—not Matt Campion, thank God—led the wedding party down the aisle, where Will, in full dress uniform, awaited his bride. She quickly stepped aside, taking her place as maid of honor. The unfortunate placement put her in a direct line of sight with Will, but she studiously avoided his gaze.

It was almost as if she had dreamed the whole thing. Maybe she had. And maybe Will had been so drunk he didn’t remember that moment. The friendship-destroying moment that complicated everything between them.

She glared instead at Matt, sullen and cowardly, his black eye and swollen nose barely covered by poorly applied concealer. He hadn’t said a word. No apology. No admission of wrongdoing. What the hell gave some guys the idea that forcing women was okay?

When Sierra walked down the aisle, she was a fairy-tale princess, an utter romantic triumph in the dress Caroline had made for her. Gasps of wonder and sobs of emotion drifted from the congregation. Caroline felt as cold as a stone. She didn’t allow herself to feel a thing—not jealousy, not shame, not disappointment, not regret. Not happiness, either, but she forced herself to pretend.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, she hung back, letting everyone else hug and congratulate the happy couple. As she stood apart from the joyous celebration, her mind was filled with flashbacks of the three of them growing up together, the golden summers, the three musketeers, sharing adventures, sharing everything, promising they’d be friends forever.

At the reception, no one seemed to notice that she didn’t dance with the groom. She left without saying goodbye, the tires of her rental car spitting crushed oyster shells in her wake. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she saw the broad silhouette of a man, watching her go.

Part Six

Sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together.

—Marilyn Monroe

Chapter 22

“I have a brilliant idea,” Sierra said, wandering into Caroline’s workshop and admiring the ready garments—beautiful rainwear, bagged and tagged for sale. Each piece featured the signature nautilus shell on the sleeve. And each piece represented hours of work and stress. Amy, from the Sewing Circle, had eagerly agreed to make the deliveries to the boutiques that had agreed to sell the goods, in Long Beach, Astoria, Portland, and Seattle.

“What’s your brilliant idea?”

“Let’s get hammered.”

Caroline pushed away from her workstation, which she’d hastily cobbled together with an old door and two file cabinets. She and Ilsa, a web designer, had been setting up her e-commerce website. “What? Hammered? Nobody does that anymore.” She peered at her friend and at Ilsa. “Do they? Do you?”

“Nah,” said Ilsa. “I used to, but not anymore. Not since . . . well, you know.” Caroline knew Ilsa was referring to the groping incident she’d related at the Sewing Circle meeting. “I’m going to call it a day. You two have fun.”

“I don’t usually drink,” Sierra said. “Too many calories. But tonight is special.”

After Ilsa left, Caroline looked at her friend. Her pretty, troubled friend. “Are you celebrating something? Or lamenting something?”

“Both,” Sierra said. “That’s what makes it so special. That’s why I need to drink. Come over to my place.”

Caroline hesitated. She was in an uncomfortable spot with Sierra and Will. She was friends with each of them, friends with both of them. And there were secrets between them all.

“Come on,” Sierra cajoled. “I need some girlfriend time.”

“I’ll come up for a bit. I won’t get hammered, though. I have to drive.”

“Well, at least have a couple of shots with me, for old times’ sake.”