“Miranda! No!”
I wasn’t that guy. Why did everyone, even the person who knew me best, assume I was jumping into bed every chance I got? Even Jules had insinuated I played women to get what I wanted.
At one point, when I was young and dumb, I did. I was an idiot who thought satisfaction could be found in a moment. A notion Miranda had proved wrong every day. She taught me, more than anyone else, that something real—somethinggood—was cultivated one moment at a time. Unfortunately, we learned everything good could be destroyed, ripped out by the roots, in the blink of an eye.
“She waswearingyourclothes.She still had wrinkles on her face from the pillow. Sleeping till almost noon like she’d had a wild night.” Her arms were crossed, and she wouldn’t look me in the face.
I didn’t have to defend myself to her. We weredivorcedand Bree was a young, selfish brat who rarely heard the word “no.” I had more important things to talk about—like why and how I missedfour yearsof my son’s life because of her.
I ran a hand down my face, forcing calm into my tone. Forcing myself to slow down and explain for Miranda’s sake. “There’s a story. Want to hear it or keep on?”
“Fine.”
“A coworker set me up with Bree because…I was struggling after our divorce. We went on a few dates, talked a little here and there. But we never became an official couple. Bree acted like we did though.” I shook my head, remembering a few things. Like how overly seductive she was. She wasn’t my type at all. But I was lonely and made a lot of excuses to keep her around. “She was…she liked me more than I liked her, I’ll put it that way.”
Miranda was frowning at me. Why did this part matter to her? Why would it bother Miranda that another woman was in my life unless she was jealous?
“Anyway, that particular night, I had a few people over to watch the game and Bree came. I had one beer, but she had way too much. I kept telling her to stop so she could drive home. But by the time the game was halfway through, she was spilling crap. She dumped a bowl of salsa or something down the front of her shirt and pants.
“I planned to drive her home, but right as everyone was heading out for the night, I got called in. So, I told her she could crash on the couch and gave her some fresh clothes to wear. I didn’t know how long she’d stay and obviously she never told me you showed up.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “So, you assume this chick snooped through your mail, intercepted my letter, and lied to keep us apart?”
It did sound crazy. But yes, that’s what I thought. I’d put nothing past Bree. I clenched my fists a few times to ease the tension building in my knuckles. Blew out a breath. “It sounds like something she’d do.”
“She didn’t live with you?”
“No. She never even spent the night.”
“Why would she do all that then?”
I had a hunch and it twisted my stomach into knots. It made me want to march into the Blanton and Grayson insuranceagency and wring her neck. The pieces of the puzzle clanged together and made my breathing shallow.
“Because…I’m pretty sure she was in love with me.”
“In love?”
“We weren’t even an item, but when I told her I wasn’t interested in anything long term, she dragged her keys down the side of my truck, cussed me out, and sent nasty text messages for a month.”
Miranda’s jaw dropped open.
“Yeah.”
But her expression quickly shifted. “But wait. When I came to the department?—”
“I remember. You asked if I got the letter.”
“Yes.”
“I…” I scrubbed a hand up my jaw, the weight of what I lost settling on me, dragging me under. Desperation pushed me into a frantic explanation. “Man, I feel like an idiot. But I got so many letters from the credit card company, Miranda. You let the payments on your old card lapse and never changed the address. I couldn’t change it for you since the card was in your name—I tried. There was a threatening notice, the interest rate and monthly payment were skyrocketing and your credit score went to crap—and it wasn’t even great to start.”
“You thought I traveled to Tennessee to talk about my credit card debt?”
“Yeah! You tried to communicate with me so many times.”
“What?” She seemed incredulous, like she had no recollection of how often she’d hit me up.
“I ended up blocking your number because you called and texted me all the time about everything. One time you called to ask where your oil dipstick was located.”
