Holden chuckles and I’m surprised by how good it feels to make him laugh. “You girls sure know how to keep a guy in place…and dishonor a symbol of the hardest trophy to win in sports.”
“Whatever.” I shrug. He shakes his head in disbelief, takes one last long look at the ring and lowers himself back down to take more measurements.
After a couple of minutes, he glances back and catches me watching him. The shithead grins, all cocky like I haven’t seen on his face since he was a teen, and then he has the balls to wink. He fucking winks at me. “You can deny it all you want, you like what you see.”
“I’m just admiring my handiwork,” I flat-out lie. “I’m assuming I’m the one who made your nose a little crooked when I clocked you.”
He slowly stands up. I can’t stop my eyes from slipping to his stomach to watch his abs as they flex and ripple with his movements. I know it’s impossible, but I swear his six-pack is more of a twelve-pack. “Eyes up, Larry,” he chides with amusement. I roll my eyes and then glare, but his smirk doesn’t leave. “It’s cute you think you’re the only one I’ve ever made angry enough to attack me.”
“Oh I’m sure I’m not,” I reply coolly.
His eyes stay on me as he reaches up and runs his index finger slowly over the bridge of his nose. Honestly, the crook in it is barely noticeable. “You and your left hook broke my nose the first time. But it’s been busted by a couple hockey pucks and a few fists since. I am happy to report it has stayed in one piece for about a decade.”
“Are you almost done?” I ask, changing the subject because I just want him gone. This conversation is pointless and exhausting and his hot body is impossible not to stare at, which is annoying.
“Nope. Because you keep ogling me and reminiscing fondly about the time you punched me,” he replies and my jaw drops. He ignores me and heads into the kitchen.
Of all the people in the entire world, my brother had to pick him. I sigh and walk over to the bar cart, grab the wine opener and head back into the kitchen. It’s a small L-shaped room, which makes it almost impossible to not bump into Holden. I manage to squeak by him as he measures the counters by the sink, but after I grab the chilled bottle of wine from the fridge I have to wait for him to move from the counter so I can uncork it. I sigh impatiently. He smiles passive aggressively and I swear he moves way more slowly than he has to. “Thirsty?”
“I just walked to and from the grocery store, so yeah, I’ve earned a beverage,” I reply and wonder why the hell I feel like I have to defend myself to him. “And it’s been a rough…couple of years.”
That seems to take his snark level down a notch and his smirk disappears. “Yeah, I can only imagine how hard it is being from a loving family, with a rich brother who probably helps you out when you need it and a long-term boyfriend who puts up with your attitude. Completely rough. Drink up.”
I tense. I can feel my anger rush through my entire body. I feel it in my earlobes, for God’s sake. I turn to him with venom dripping from my voice. “Don’t even begin to think you have any clue about me or that you have any right to judge. How do you even know anything about my life?”
“Your brother was more than happy to update me while I was talking to him, trying to keep the stupid secret that you’re here,” Holden says calmly, not ruffled in the slightest at my fury.
“My brother doesn’t know everything,” I say and pause. “Thank you for not telling him I’m here.”
“You’re welcome,” he says simply.
The moment feels like a bit of a truce so I use it to retreat onto the porch with my wine, the opener and a glass. I’m halfway through my first glass, rocking slowly in my dad’s old chair, when he appears in the doorway. He barely glances at me before he opens the screen door and starts down the stairs. Good, I think, but at the same time, I feel a little disappointed. Maybe it’s because I feel like a good fight right now and well, he was giving me one.
He walks straight to his trailer and instead of hanging out in front, on his shitty lawn chair, he heads inside and closes the door. I hear my phone ring from where I left it on the dining room table. It’s probably Ty. Again. He’s called about twelve times today, but he has yet to leave a message. I should talk to him. I know that, but instead I head into the kitchen to grab a bag of salt-and-vinegar potato chips. I haven’t eaten all day and my stomach is growling. I refill my glass while I’m in there too.
With an open family-size bag of chips in one hand and my wine in the other, I wander back toward the porch but pause at the open door to my parents’ room. I stare at the oak sleigh bed and old white chenille quilt that they’ve had since…well, as far back as I can remember. I walk into the room and my nostrils are instantly hit with familiar scents. The room is an elixir of pine from the floors and walls, roses from my mom’s perfume and musk from my dad’s aftershave. An almost empty bottle of it sits on his tallboy dresser next to the small closet. I walk over, put down my chips and wine and gently pick it up. I pop the top off and sniff. The scent fills my heart, but it also makes me ache and tears instantly start falling down my cheeks.
“Oh God, Dad, I miss you so much.”
6
Winnie
It’s been two days. Two long days. This guy gets up at the crack of ass and marches in here to start work every damn morning and it’s killing me. I haven’t been able to sleep much at night. Somehow I can only fall asleep around four or five in the morning so I need him to not wake me up at nine. But that’s what he’s done for the last two days. And it’s only going to get worse. He’s spent the last two days clearing the rooms of belongings and pulling down the wallpaper in the bathroom, but eventually he’s going to start knocking down walls and my sleep, and any sense of quiet, will be gone. I feel like him being here, ruining my chance at peaceful mourning, is the universe kicking me while I’m down. That and the sleep deprivation is making me feel like a cornered animal all the time.
He steps onto the porch at almost six in the evening and glances over at me. His silvery eyes land on my wineglass. “Wine o’clock again, huh?”
I ignore the comment. “Done for the day?”
“Yep. Fair warning. Tomorrow is the last day before demo. Then it’ll start getting loud and dusty in here.” He opens the door and leaves without giving me a chance to respond. He probably assumes I’ll complain, and he’s right.
I sigh and watch him go. When he closes the door of his trailer, I stand up and head inside. I have to eat something. I’m not doing enough of that. Cooking has always been a passion, since I was a little kid. But now it feels like a chore. I head into the kitchen, there are boxes piled up everywhere so my path is a long, meandering one. I open the fridge and stare inside. I could make a grilled cheese. I could whip up a salad. I sigh, sip my wine and give up, grabbing a jar of spicy mustard out of the fridge and reaching for the bag of pretzels on top of it.
I head back to the porch, sit down, dip a pretzel into the mustard and pop it into my mouth. I can hear Holden banging around inside his trailer. He’s playing music—Foo Fighters—and he must have made dinner because the scent of something tomato-y and garlicky wafts through the screens. I glare at my pretzel. “Why can’t you be pasta primavera?”
A car drives slowly up the street and I wonder if he’s expecting company? Having someone over to share that delicious-smelling dinner? A woman? My brain jumps there immediately. I have to be honest with myself, Holden Hendricks is a great-looking man. It would make sense that he has a girlfriend. I mean, some girls like the bad boys. They feel like they can love them into behaving better. I’ve never been that woman.
But when the car door opens, it’s Ty who steps out. The pretzel in my hand drops to the floor. I stand up. He doesn’t know I’m here, I haven’t bothered to turn on the lights and the porch is shrouded in darkness. And for a brief, crazy moment, I ponder ducking down and hiding until he goes away. But he came all the way here from Toronto, I doubt he’ll go away.
