Brewing Temptation

Noel

Mistyvale, Alaska, was a far cry from my hometown of Tampa, Florida, the fog-shrouded emerald mountains markers of my fresh start. A new beginning, as far away from my psycho ex-boyfriend as possible without leaving the country. I was prepared to settle in a new, tiny town and the challenges that came with it. What I wasn’t prepared for was the tattooed, surly, sexy fisherman next door.

Jameson Rhodes was the kind of man that would melt women and shamelessly return them to their loved ones in a liquid state contained in a damn mason jar.

Would five-thousand miles be enough to start my new life, or would my troubles transform the town grump into my own personal superhero?

Jameson

As a third-generation fisherman, my plan has always been to uphold the tradition of the Rhodes Away and look after this damn town. At least, it was until my brother came home to visit and left trouble on my doorstep in the form of a five-foot-two, red-haired bombshell with an attitude problem.

Noel McShane was a walking tornado of sass and sex appeal, wreaking havoc on my once simple life. She tore onto my island and somehow, I found myself in uncharted waters, playing her fake boyfriend to keep her monster of an ex at bay.

With my family legacy on the line, could I resist her colors, curls and chaos, or would she capsize even my best laid plans?

The black varnish of Brexley’s front door stared back at me expectantly. Waiting. Watching the lunatic that had been pacing in circles for the better half of the last hour, no doubt. I lifted my hand for what had to be the tenth time, heart pounding in my chest like the beat of a runaway train.
This was it.
This was the moment that would determine whether I could break free from the suffocating grip of fear and reclaim my own damn life. Down to my bones, that fact rang true.
“Come on, Noel,” I whispered to myself, the words barely audible over the cacophony of nerves. “You can do this. Just knock on the damn door and ask for help.” Taking a deep breath, my optimism warring with the knot of anxiety and betrayal in my gut, I moved within an inch before the oxygen left me in a rush. My fist fell away from the door and I whirled for the front steps, puffing air into my cheeks. A stress laugh bubbled up my throat, co-mingling with a sob that lodged itself in my chest. My feet didn’t falter as I dropped down her front steps, only to screech to a halt, eyes sliding closed as they burned, shoulders falling.
“Fuck that. Turn. Around.” My aching cheekbone seemed to throb in affirmation. Like my body was demanding I follow through. Life felt surreal, like a crossover between a morbid comedy and a horror movie. I was stuck somewhere in no man's land, armed with only four shots of espresso, a heavy hand of sarcasm…and a desperate need to remember what it felt like to be safe.
The problem was, with each second, my courage shrunk like an erratic accordion playing an indecisive melody–notes of hope swallowed by squawks of regret.
What if Brexley wasn’t home? Okay, yes, their cars were out front, but what if they’d gone out on a date? Rhyett seemed like a ‘take an Uber if you’re drinking’ kind of guy. What if they couldn’t help me? What if…what if they judged me…or worse, pitied me? Would they ask me the same ten million questions I’d been asking myself? Questions that danced in my head, like demons threatening to devour any remnants of hope I had left.
Brexley and Rhyett had only been together for a handful of months, but in that short time, her boyfriend had won over our entire friend group. He was the second of twelve children and seemed willing to share that big brother vibe with all of us who needed it. In a matter of weeks, he’d swept my workaholic best friend right the hell off her feet and perpetually went out of his way to make sure our loyal companions felt welcome in their home, becoming one of my best friends in the process.
But he’d seen it.
He’d known, somehow, what Eric–who was supposed to be my loving boyfriend–was under those fitted suits and polished shoes. Must have sensed it when he came to the hospital after my ‘car accident’ that left my collarbone fractured. One look at my bruised face, and the man stood taller, nerves blatantly bristling. Like he couldn’t put his finger on it but knew it was no accident.
Was the shocked betrayal painted so plainly in my eyes that a virtual stranger could read the words my own family couldn’t? Could he see the confusion warring in my head? The wrestling match between asking what I’d done wrong, and the white-hot trepidation that overcame me when Eric’s eyes disconnected as if a wall had dropped between us? Like he couldn’t even see me. Couldn’t remember that he loved me, or that we’d made declarations of forever. All he could see at that moment was that he couldn’t control me anymore, and his outraged threats and manipulative undercuts were no longer yielding results.
Did Rhyett somehow know that it had been Eric’s hands that ripped the wheel sideways so quickly we’d gone careening off the vacant country road into the light post? Lucky to be alive–that’s what the officer said. Lucky. Ha! And because he was the damn devil incarnate, Eric walked away without a scratch across his damnably beautiful face.
Feeling trapped and terrified, he’d temporarily calmed me with what were now clearly hollow declarations of change and tearful, trembling apologies poured like honey into bitter liquid, hiding the acid beneath. He’d get help, he said. Losing me would devastate him, he said. As I stared down the black paint, embarrassment flushed my cheeks. How could I have been so stupid to swallow his poison and believe for the best?
My current fears were entirely irrational. Of course, they would help. Of course, Brexley would move heaven and earth for me. We’d been best friends since childhood, built our business from the ground up, and made it a staple in the city. And she’d found her soulmate in Rhyett Rhodes. There had been plenty of times when she’d leaned on me…and it was time I sucked it up and admitted I needed her to lend me her strength. To be my haven in this storm. I knew I couldn’t continue to let fear dictate my future. Not this time. Not anymore.
Because what in the hell would have happened if I hadn’t gotten out of that damn house?
“Come on, Noel.”
Logically, I knew I was worth more than this, even as I bounced on the balls of my feet, muttering like a crazy person. Worth more than trembling with anxiety in my own house. Worth more than living in fear of constant scrutiny, of always–always–being inadequate. Worth more than a whiskey-laced-tongue slinging insults and an alcohol-fueled fist that finally collided with my face instead of the drywall.
Inevitable, that breaking point. Allowing my determination to see the good in everyone kept me hanging on, hoping he would heal…change…be who I knew he could be instead of accepting who he continually showed me he was. But logic meant little where love was concerned. It really was blind, justifying the most heinous behaviors as I clung to the idea of who I’d fallen in love with instead of the reality of him. Scared? Yes. Desperately grasping for control? Yes. Justified…?
My tongue subconsciously jutted out to taste the copper on my lip. This was it.
Now or never.
Summoning every ounce of determination, I mustered a half-hearted smile—more for my reassurance than anything else—and my trembling hand connected with the door. The weight of uncertainty pressed back against my aching knuckles, and I sucked down a breath as feet shifted somewhere inside. Voices glittered. It was time to face the darkness head-on, armed with nothing but a glimmer of hope, two of my best friends, and a little resilience. Squaring my shoulders, I decided to emerge stronger from whatever was behind that door. Like hell would Eric fucking Connely dim an ounce of my fire.
At least, that’s what I told myself right until I turned to bolt a few seconds too late. Brexley’s voice halted me at the edge of the top step. “Noel?” Her voice dripped with skepticism, like she’d tied her anxiety to my own.
Slowly, I turned back toward her, struggling to lift my chin or meet her eyes as shame coursed through my veins. The shattering of her glass jerked my attention as what could only have been her favorite merlot poured over the concrete like blood. “Noel?!” She screeched, lunging forward, eyes rounding when I held up a hand, wanting anything but to be touched right now. The damn thing trembled as I shook my head, eyes dropping to the ground, where the burgundy slowly crept towards my bare feet. I’d sprinted here without shoes, for God’s sake.
Oh good. I must have looked as good as I felt. Suddenly, the dull throb in my cheek and lips crept past the fortifying wall of adrenaline.
“Is Rhyett home?”
His presence was irrefutable as he stepped into the door frame, only to leap past me, looking around for a threat too smart to be caught dead on his doorstep. Satisfied there wasn’t an immediate danger, they ushered me inside and to the couch, where Brexley handed me a fresh glass of water and Rhyett supplied an ice pack. I cleared my throat. When I lifted my face, eyes burning, Rhyett sucked down a breath and tears trailed down Brexley’s face.
“I need your help.”