“I know.” Now it’s less laughing and more crying. “I don’t want to worry her, but I’m going to have to give her at least one sleepless night.”
“She’ll be fine. She always is—as long as you’re okay.”
I sniffle and blow my nose. My parents have been through a lot and just because they’re older than the parents of most people my age doesn’t mean they’re feeble. I’ve suspected for a long time that Mom asks us to weed and clean so we’ll actually come over regularly. She grew two independent girls who like to throw themselves into work.
“I’ve been willfully ignorant.”
“I’ll accept that.” She sits across from me. “You’re just like Mom, taking the blame for everything.”
I sink my head into my hands. “Oh my god, that’s it. I’m not smothering anyone, but I’m keeping you all from stressing.”
“Then you need to be more like Dad and talk my ear off.”
“Yeah. I will. It’s time.” I get up to toss my used tissues and take my apron off. After throwing it into the dirty laundry, I grab two more chairs from the front and drag them to the back.
There’s a knock at the door. Now it really is the moment where I spill everything. I should’ve talked to them months ago. I should’ve talked to themyearsago. Today, that changes. Cruz crossed a line he never intended to get near, and he did it for me. So I’m going to bound over all the limits I set for myself and hope that at the end, he’s there.
My parents greet me. Dad holds on to Mom’s hand and concern lines each of their faces. They must be fraught after my text. I never invite them to the bakery. I bring them goodies, but geez, why haven’t I asked them to come hang out with me on those long nights?
Because I’m scared I’ll be the reason something bad happens. Just like when I crashed with me and Mom.
“Hey, have a seat.” I sniffle, and crap, I must look like a rabid mess, just short of foaming at the mouth.
Dad wraps me in a big hug, no questions asked, as if he assumes I wouldn’t answer him anyway.
I don’t have to. I don’t need to do any of this. Cruz took care of the blackmail. Damon and Dwayne are too scared to talk. If they wait longer, until Cruz’s dad loses power and influence, then too much time will have passed. I’ll have established too solid of a reputation to be affected by whatever the Miller brothers would say.
But keeping what happened to myself hasn’t helped me at all. I’ve been isolated for years—from friends and family. Cruzknows the whole sordid story, and he still did something he swore he wouldn’t do. He did it for me, knowing everything. If I hadn’t been so jaded and secretive, could I have spent some of those years with him? All of the blackmail would’ve stopped before it started, I know that. Cruz would’ve made sure of it.
How’s he doing?
The more I think about him, the more anxiety will eat me from the inside out. He talked to his dad. He’s been adamantly avoiding everything about his dad, but he must’ve done it. For me.
I love that man.
I swipe at my drying cheeks, straighten my shoulders, and take a seat. “I have to tell you guys about what happened after culinary school.”
Cruz
My place is a mess. I didn’t think I’d ever say that again, but it took a little over a week to get cluttered and full of crumbs. At least I haven’t crept into disgusting territory, although I haven’t cleaned up all the cat treats that Basil spilled yesterday, or the toilet paper from the roll the kittens dragged to the hallway and demolished.
I’m off today, but I’ve been worthless at work since I returned from my trip to Bourbon Canyon and then Colorado. I’ve been working every waking moment, and I’ve needed to in order to fix all the fuckups I caused. A batch of gin was mislabeled as vodka. I got the bottle sizes incorrect, and Haven had to refigure the distribution so we didn’t have to dump and rebottle it all. Then Imessed up an entire batch of whiskey yesterday, and Lane finally sent me home.
My sleep has been shit. Elodie still hasn’t reached out, and she had to have heard something by now. If I expected her to fly across town and into my arms, that’s not happening. My appetite is crap, but Lane puts packaged leftovers of his food in my fridge, and the Hennessys must have some food rotation set up. One of them is always casually bringing in something for lunch that’s enough for everyone.
I scratch at the stubble at my jaw. Shaving went out the window several days ago. Without the guys, I wouldn’t have eaten. I owe them, and I owe them not to muck it all up at work. So I’ll take today to get my head and my heart patched up. Maybe someday I’ll feel normal again.
It’d help if I knew what was going on. Have I made everything worse? The worst-case scenario is that I’ve undone everything I’ve achieved in the last fourteen years, but even sitting in my quiet house with a kitten chasing a scrap of toilet paper and wondering if Elodie will ever smile at me again, I know I’m not that kid anymore. It’ll take more than decking a guy or talking to my dad to turn me back into the old Cruz.
Trusting myself is a mild consolation prize for the mess I’ve made.
An engine sounds in the distance. Not Lane’s pickup. Maybe the mail?
A minute later, there’s a knock at the door. Shit. I’m not presentable. My basketball shorts got a hole in them two days ago when I wore them out with my muck boots to do chores, my hair is going in a few different directions, and there’s a drop of mustard on my shirt from the brat Lane made and dropped off that I ate for breakfast. Regardless, I push off the couch.
When I open the door to a wide-eyed Elodie in a sundress and sandals, I nearly shut it again. I’ve gone off the deep end andI’m seeing things. It’s been weeks since she kicked me out of the bakery and out of her life.
I blink. “Elodie?”
