Garnet Flats (The Edens)

Foster was mad. When I stacked our sins against each other’s, his outweighed mine tenfold. He didn’t get to be mad. So why wouldn’t this guilt go away? It had been plaguing me for three days.

“Okay, spill,” Lyla said the moment she flipped the lock on the coffee shop’s front door. “Who was that smoking hot guy earlier?”

“Someone from the past.” I sighed, toying with the rag I’d been using to wipe down tables. “It’s complicated.”

The same explanation I’d given Foster on the sidewalk earlier. It sounded just as trite and pathetic as it had the first time.

“You don’t want to talk about it, do you?” She walked to the table, taking one of the chairs and turning it up onto the table.

“Not really.”

She frowned but didn’t hound me for details as we worked in silence to close the shop.

I finished wiping down tables and turning up the chairs while she worked behind the counter, cleaning the espresso machine and hauling the unsold pastries to the refrigerators.

The light beyond the windows faded fast until darkness had settled and the glow shining through the glass was from the downtown streetlights.

Lyla cleaned the kitchen as I swept and mopped the floor, the two of us making short work of the closing routine.

Part of me envied Lyla for owning this shop. She set her own hours. Her choices were her own. There was freedom here I’d never have as a doctor. Not that I could imagine doing anything else with my life. But it made times like this special. I never complained about cleaning the coffee shop or folding linens at The Eloise or washing dishes at Knuckles or moving cows at the ranch.

My family was full of entrepreneurs and had been for generations. The ranch was the biggest enterprise, but the Eden name was splashed all around town. If we didn’t currently own a given business, chances were, one of our relatives had in the past.

In recent years Mom and Dad had pushed hard to retire by selling some of their investments. Giving each of us kids the option to step in.

Only Mateo and I hadn’t taken over a business. My youngest brother was flying planes at the moment, but I hoped he’d find his way back.

Montana had a way of tugging us home.

I’d made the decision to live my life here, beside my parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins.

And now Foster.

He was staying in Quincy. I refused to acknowledge the relief I’d felt when he’d told me he wasn’t leaving. I also wasn’t letting myself picture the hurt on his face when he’d asked me if I’d been ashamed.

Never. I’d never once felt ashamed of loving Foster. But I should have told everyone about him. I should have been honest about our breakup.

Lyla came out of the kitchen with a towel in her hand. “I’m done in the kitchen. What else needs to be finished out here?”

“Nothing.” But instead of picking up my coat so we could go to dinner, I turned over one of the chairs and slumped in the seat. “That guy? That’s Foster. The man I dated my senior year of undergrad.”

“Really?” Lyla rounded the counter, taking down another chair to sit at my side. “I was busy and didn’t catch his name when he was talking to Knox. He’s gorgeous.”

“I know.” I groaned. Foster had only gotten sexier with age. This would be so much easier if he weren’t still the handsomest man I’d ever seen.

“Why is he here? Think he wants to rekindle things?”

“He’s here . . .” For me. To make amends. To talk. Maybe to seek forgiveness. He hadn’t come out and said he wanted to try again, but that kiss the other night was impossible to ignore. “It’s a mess.”

“You broke up because you moved, right?” she asked. “If he’s living here, maybe the timing will be right this time.”

“He broke me,” I whispered.

“What do you mean he broke you?” She sat up straighter. “What happened?”

The story of our relationship rushed from my mouth, like it had been waiting years to be freed. By the time I was done, there was as much hurt on Lyla’s face as there had been on Foster’s earlier.

“You never told me any of this,” she said.

“It’s not exactly easy discussing how your boyfriend married your best friend.”

“College roommate,” she corrected. Lyla had always referred to Vivienne as my roommate, not my best friend, because that title she’d claimed in the womb. “I get that it’s not easy to talk about, but you should have told me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Knox didn’t know about Foster either. Does anyone?”

“Dad does. Foster was supposed to help me move, but after the breakup, plans changed. Dad came to help me with the U-Haul. I was pretty upset. He knows what happened and you know he doesn’t keep secrets from Mom.”

“Unlike you.” Lyla scoffed. “I’m mad at you.”

“You’re not alone,” I muttered.

“We don’t keep stuff like this from each other.” She flew out of her chair, swiping a can of glass cleaner and a rag from the counter. She went to work on the display case—the display case I’d already cleaned—erasing invisible fingerprints and smudges until the glass squeaked.

“I’m sorry, Lyla.”

She whirled, eyes blazing. “I tell you everything. You’re not just my sister, you’re my best friend. You help me through the bad days. You didn’t even give me the chance to be there during yours.”

“I’m—”

“Shush. I’m on a roll.” She started pacing. “You’re brilliant. You’re an incredible doctor and you help so many people. But you suck at letting anyone help you. Would it be so hard to not be perfect?”

Ouch. “I’m not perfect. Far from it.”

“I know you’re not perfect. You can’t cook worth a damn. Not that you’d ever admit it. Not that you’d ever admit how you’re really feeling. Here you are, after working all week at the hospital, cleaning my coffee shop.”

“I don’t mind.”

“That’s not the point and stop interrupting me.” She held up a finger. “I don’t need you to help me clean. But I know you want to, so I let you. Get the difference?”

I kept my mouth shut.

“That was a real question you have to answer.”

“Yes.” A smile tugged at my mouth. “I should have told you about Foster a long time ago. I promise to tell you the next time a man breaks my heart.” Not only because I should lean on my sister, but because it was important to Lyla that she be given the chance to show up on my bad days.

“Thank you.” She gave a single nod. “So what are you going to do about Foster?”

“Ignore him?”

She laughed. “A single woman does not ignore a man who looks like that.”

“God.” I dropped my face into my hands. “I don’t know. I don’t know. He kissed me three days ago, and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Good?”

“Remember when we were fifteen and you got your first kiss?”

Lyla walked to her chair, taking a seat with a dreamy smile. “Jason Palmer.”

“I made you tell me every single detail that night.” We’d snuck out to the barn so that no one would hear us talk. I’d been curious and excited and a little bit jealous. Lyla had always been more daring with boys. “You told me it was better than rainbows.”

“I do love rainbows.” She gave me a sad smile. “This kiss with Foster wasn’t just good.”

“It was better than rainbows.”

“Oh boy. As your sister, I’m obligated to hate him for what he did to you. But as your best friend, I will support you in whatever you decide. What are you going to do?”

“Ask him to leave?” I shrugged. “I can’t. It’s too late.”

Lyla reached over, placing her hand over mine. “Too late for rainbows?”

“The rainbows disappeared in the storm.” The storm of Foster and Vivienne.

“Then maybe you can get some closure. He wants to explain. What’s the harm in letting him try?”

The harm? That I’d fall for him. And he’d break me again.

We sat together in silence for a few moments, until I stood and put my chair on the table. Then together, we walked to Knuckles and ate a quiet dinner. When Lyla started to yawn through dessert, I signaled for the check.

“I love you,” I said, giving her a hug as we stood between my Jeep and her car in the alley behind the coffee shop.

“I love you too. Good night.”

“Night.”

Lyla drove in one direction on Main as I turned the other. Except when I reached the street that led to my neighborhood, I kept going straight until I found myself on Lower Clark Fork Road, following the dark curve of the river out of town.

Maybe Lyla was right. Maybe I needed closure with Foster. Maybe then the pain and frustration would go away. Maybe then I could truly forget.

And damn it, I had a few things to say myself.

Foster was mad at me. But he didn’t get to be mad.

With every mile, my heart raced. My own anger blossomed until my grip on the steering wheel was punishing. The lights inside the gym streamed through the windows into the night. I parked, hopped out of the Jeep and hurried inside, not giving myself a chance to second-guess this visit. To cool my emotions.

Heat blasted me in the face as I stepped inside.

The gym was nothing like it had been earlier in the week. In the center of the space was an elevated boxing ring. The mats and skirt around the base were a bright blue. Black ropes stretched from corner to corner. And in its center, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts, was Foster.

His body, those cut muscles, glistened with sweat. His chest heaved with labored breaths.

Desire pooled between my legs. My core clenched. Fuck. Coming here tonight was a mistake. He was too tempting.

Watching him train had always been such a turn-on. During his fights, I’d sit on the edge of my seat, hoping that he’d win. Panicked that he’d lose.

But on the nights he won—which was most of the time—we didn’t make it out of the parking lot before I dragged him into the back seat of his truck and tore his clothes off.

“What do you want, Talia?” Foster’s voice held a razor-sharp edge.

I wanted to look at him and feel nothing. I wanted to be able to rip that photo of us in a hundred pieces. I wanted to sleep at night and not have his face haunt my dreams.

I wanted him to stop being mad at me, because damn it, he didn’t get to be mad at me.

Heading for the ring, I climbed its edge. Then I bent and slipped between the ropes, marching straight into his space.

“You don’t get to be mad at me.” I poked a finger into his bare chest and was met with nothing but solid muscle.

He glanced at my boots and the flecks of snow that had made their way inside. His jaw clenched. “Take your shoes off. This is a brand-new fucking ring.”

My nostrils flared, but I bent, peeling off one boot to throw over the ropes followed by the other. They each landed with a thud on the concrete floor. I was a little shorter without the boots, so I stood on my toes and poked him again. “You did this. Not me. So you don’t get to be mad at me.”

“You didn’t bother telling your family about me.” He planted his hands on his narrow hips. “We were together for a year. Admit it. You were worried about what Daddy would say when you brought home a guy like me.”

“Oh, fuck you.” I slammed both hands into his pecs, pushing as hard as I could. He didn’t even rock on his heels. “How can you say that to me? How can you think I’d be ashamed? Fuck you for thinking I ever cared about money.”

“Because you had it!” He threw out his arms. “You fucking hid me, Talia. You hid me.”

“I loved you.” I pushed him again, giving it my full weight. “I was twenty-one years old, living in Las Vegas, a thousand miles from home. My parents knew your name. Everyone knew I was dating a guy. But no, I didn’t get into the details of my love life with my brothers.”

“Excuses, Talia. What about your sister?”

“She knew enough. I didn’t know what was going to happen to us. I don’t know why I didn’t tell her, okay? It wasn’t to hurt you. Or to hide you. I was leaving and we never talked about it.”

“We talked about it.”

“Oh, really? When? I was moving to Seattle and all you ever said was ‘We’ll figure it out.’ ” I tossed those air quotes in his face.

“We would have figured it out.”

“Was that before or after you married Vivienne?” This time when I pushed, I gave it all my weight. I gave it seven years’ worth of anger and heartbreak. And this time, he had to take a step back to keep his balance.

“I loved you for 437 days.” I didn’t give him space. I crowded him, making a fist. “One year, two months and eleven days.”

It had been a long damn time since I’d thrown a punch. But we were in a fighting ring. And damn it, I wanted this fight. So I threw a jab at his nose.

He blocked it with a flick of his wrist. “What the fuck?”

“I thought you said you had a fight coming up.” I threw another jab, the muscles in my arm tensing. “You wanted my help, right? Well, here you go.”

“Talia, knock this shit off.”

“No.” This time I threw a punch with my right arm, aiming for his kidney.

He knocked it away with his elbow, backing away and around the ring.

But I just kept following, throwing pointless punches that never landed against his skin.

“I hate you for choosing Vivienne.” Another punch.

“I hate you for not loving me the way I loved you.” Then another punch.

“I hate you for being so fucking hard to forget.” A tear dripped down my cheek as I threw the next punch. My eyes flooded and Foster was blurry but I just kept on swinging. “Ashamed of you? I would have done anything for you.”

“Talia, stop.” He grabbed my hand but I yanked it free, and this time when I threw my punch, uncontrolled and vicious and with all my might, he let it collide with his chest.

Pain exploded through my hand, my knuckles aching. “Son of a bitch.”

“Shit.” Foster seized it, completely unfazed that I’d hit him as hard as possible, and peeled my fingers back, inspecting my hand.

“It’s fine.” I ripped it away, retreating to the other side of the ring and turning my back to him as I shook out my knuckles. Once the pain faded, I sniffled and wiped my eyes dry.

Nice, Talia. I’d just completely lost my mind.

I tugged on the ropes, ready to make an escape, but Foster’s hand closed around my elbow, stopping me.

“Tally, I’m sorry.” It was as sincere as his other apologies. Little by little, they were sneaking their way inside.

“I was never ashamed of you,” I whispered. “Never.”

Foster hadn’t talked much about his childhood while we’d been together. He’d taken me to meet his parents at lunch once and they’d both seemed nice. But we hadn’t gone to his parents’ house. We hadn’t spent much time at Foster’s apartment because it had been in a rough neighborhood.

“Will you look at me?” he asked.

I dragged in a shaky breath and turned. A small block of black letters ran in a vertical line along his ribs. Earlier, I’d been too busy gawking to notice them. Then I’d been too busy punching.

But now, there was no missing them.

GARNET FLATS

“What is that?” I pointed to the words, meeting his gaze. “Why do you have that tattoo?”

It was the only ink on his body.

He closed his eyes for a long moment, his shoulders slumping. “You told me once that your great-grandmother loved to hunt for garnets.”

“Great-great-grandmother,” I corrected.

She, along with my great-great-grandfather, had founded Quincy. Our family had lived here ever since. People joked that you couldn’t throw a rock down Main without hitting an Eden.

It wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

People called our immediate family Quincy royalty—either in jest or jealousy. I really hated that term. We were just people who loved this town enough to stay and build our lives in the community. We were a family who cherished our roots and our stories, like my great-great-grandmother’s.

She’d loved hunting for garnets. By the time she’d died, she’d amassed quite the collection. Most had been turned into jewelry, handed down through generations. I had a pair of garnet stud earrings. Lyla and Eloise each had necklaces.

Garnet Flats was the area on the ranch where she’d found most of her garnets—hence the name. Dad used to take me there to hunt for my own in the summers. Mom would pack us a picnic lunch and we’d have a daddy-daughter date. I’d never found a gemstone of my own, but that spot had become my special place.

It had been one of many stories I’d told Foster about Quincy. About the ranch. He’d always seemed fascinated by my Montana home, saying how he couldn’t wait to see it for himself.

He was here now.

And my special place was inked on his skin.

“I’ve never heard anyone describe a place the way you talked about it,” he said. “I could close my eyes and be there, standing with you in the meadows. I could see the mountains and smell the trees. I could picture the house you wanted to build. The life you wanted to live.”

“Why is it tattooed on your body?”

“As a reminder.”

“Of what?”

He gave me a sad smile. “Of what I lost.”

The tears came back.

“Your dreams were my dreams, Tally. I lost them when I lost you.” He hooked a finger under my chin. “Did I lose you?”

Yes. It should have been an easy answer. He’d chosen Vivienne. So why couldn’t I say it? Why couldn’t I walk away?

His eyes searched mine as he towered over me, leaning closer and closer. And just like the other night, I didn’t push him away.

I wanted rainbows.

Foster’s lips brushed mine. A whisper of a touch that ignited a fire in my veins.

I lifted on my toes, throwing a hand around his neck to tug him forward.

He didn’t hesitate. His arms wrapped around me as he hauled me off my feet, pinning me to his chest.

One sweep of his tongue and the world outside this ring vanished. The world didn’t exist. The past was a haze. My legs wrapped around his waist, locking us together.

He slanted his mouth over mine, his tongue delving deep to tangle with my own, and I melted into the oblivion. It was rainbows and stars and a symphony of desire. His lips were heaven, soft but firm. His teeth nipped and he sucked with just the right amount of pressure to make me whimper.

His hands drifted to my ass, hoisting me higher until my face was above his and my hair draped around us. Then we dropped, Foster sinking to his knees. His hold didn’t falter. His lips didn’t break from mine until he was resting on his heels and I was sitting on his thighs.

“Fuck, Tally.” He shoved at my coat, stripping it off my shoulders.

I shook out my arms, frantic to get it off. Then he pulled at the hem of my sweater, dragging it up until it was whipped off my head and sailing across the space.

The heat of his skin pressed into mine as his mouth latched on to my neck, sucking and kissing while my hands roamed his skin, tracing the honed muscle of his shoulders and chest. His hands splayed over my spine, the strength of his body enveloping mine.

He’d changed over the years. He’d gotten stronger, bulkier, transforming from a strong young man to this Adonis. Foster’s body was honed for sin and sex.

“More,” I gasped as his fingers pulled down the straps of my bra.

Foster leaned forward, taking me down until my back was against the mats. He hovered over me, his lips leaving a trail across my skin as he peppered kisses along my jaw and down my neck.

My fingers threaded through his hair as he moved to my breasts. The wet heat from his mouth seeped through the lace cups of my bra as he sucked a nipple into his mouth.

“Oh, God.” What the hell was I doing? Who fucking cared?

Lyla could keep her rainbows. I wanted this.

Fireworks.

My entire body was ready to combust.

“Say my name,” he growled against my skin as he kissed down my belly to the hem of my pants.

“Foster,” I breathed.

“Good girl.”

I lifted my hips as he wrenched open the button and yanked down the zipper. Then he dragged the denim down my legs, stripping my jeans and socks, leaving me in nothing but my bra and panties.

We were a frenzy, desperate to strip the remaining pieces free. I worked my bra while he pulled down his shorts and the boxer briefs below. Before I could shimmy out of my panties, he ripped them from my body, tossing the torn lace over his shoulder.

Then he claimed my mouth once more while his arousal throbbed against my drenched core. No foreplay. Neither of us needed anything more than our mouths fused, tongues twisting.

Foster reached between us, dragging the tip of his cock against my clit and sending a shudder through my body before he positioned himself at my entrance and thrust inside.

I cried into his mouth, savoring the stretch. The wince of pain from his size. The pleasure that came when he inched his huge cock in deeper.

“Fuck, Talia,” he groaned against my lips.

“Move.” I wrapped my legs around him, clinging to his shoulders.

He pulled out and rocked us together, finding a rhythm that stole my breath. The steady pounding of his hips against mine sent me barreling toward the edge. The sound of our pounding heartbeats and erratic breaths filled the empty space.

Foster leveraged the power from his body, not holding anything back as he moved inside me, because we’d both always liked to fuck hard. His hand caressed my ass, drifting along the curve of my thigh until he reached my knee. Then he pushed away from where I’d had it wrapped around his hip. He lifted it higher, nearly to my shoulder. The angle sent him so deep I gasped.

Foster had learned my body’s secrets a long time ago and the man had a great memory.

“You feel this?” He thrust forward and stopped, the root of his cock pressing against my clit.

“Foster.” I clawed at his shoulders, my back arching off the mat.

He pulled out only to slam inside again. “Do you feel this, Talia?”

My legs began to tremble. The build was coming, my breath catching.

“Answer me.” He changed his pace, bringing us together in a slow thrust. Agonizingly slow. “Do you feel this?”

Not the chemistry. Not the lust. Not the fireworks.

The impossible emotion, buried beneath it all, that I refused to name.

“Do you—”

“Yes,” I whispered. Yes, I felt it.

Foster’s lips found mine for another kiss, his tongue plundering, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside, until stars broke across my eyes and I came apart, shattering into a thousand pieces, crying his name. My orgasm triggered his own and he came on a roar as I pulsed and clenched around his length.

It took minutes, hours, to float back to earth. Maybe because I clung to haze and pleasure, knowing reality was going to sting. Foster held me tight until the sweat from our bodies had cooled and he rolled off me, collapsing into a boneless heap at my side.

The light from the fireworks faded.

The rainbow disappeared.

I squeezed my eyes closed, not wanting to see my strewn clothes or the torn panties on the other side of the ring. They were the evidence of my weakness.

But I couldn’t stay on this mat forever, so I shoved to my feet and collected my jeans, dragging them up my legs. I stuffed my socks and bra into a pocket and tugged on my sweater. Then I climbed out of the ring to put on my boots and coat.

“Talia.” Foster hadn’t moved from where he lay in the ring, naked. He opened his eyes, turning his head to stop me with that stormy blue gaze. “Did I lose you?”

“You lost the woman I was.”

“And the woman you are now?”

I wished I had an answer. I didn’t. So I left him in the ring and drove home. And rather than cry in my garage, I let the tears fall in the shower instead.