The words were out before I could choke them back. Hayes reared away as I lashed out at him. Frustration bubbled to thesurface as my sweatpants soaked in the snow and my palms pressed against the icy ground. I struggled but managed to get upright. My shirt was filthy, pants wet, and pride severely wounded. All I wanted to do was crawl into a hole and call it quits.
Instead, I brushed the grit from my hands and hobbled toward Hayes’s truck. “Let’s get this over with.”
He was silent the entire ride, and I hated myself even more for it. Hayes didn’t deserve my temper. The guy I used to be wouldn’t have talked to his best friend like that. I wasn’t sure I liked this new version of me very much.
Later that nightI was still stewing over what had happened. It wasn’t the fact I’d fallen in front of my best friend. Hell, I’d done that drunk plenty of times. It was the heaviness Hayes carried in his shoulders the entire rest of the time we were together. I’d ripped his head off, and he’d just taken it.
God, I was such an asshole.
Holing up in my house wasn’t just convenient—it kept everyone safe from the shitty person I had become. If I didn’t go out, I couldn’t snap at anyone. Couldn’t watch their faces go careful and sad. Couldn’t see that look that said they were glad it wasn’t them.
I spent the rest of the day going through invoices. Vaughn Construction was busy, even in the winter months. Thankfully my construction company had grown enough that even after my accident I had plenty of guys on the crew to keep it up and running. We had projects all over town, and I had big plans come spring.
Despite my limitations, I couldn’t stand to not work. Spreadsheets and blueprints didn’t pity me. Lumber didn’t look away. Houses didn’t care how many legs I had as long as I built them right.
Sure the money was great, but a huge part of owning my own construction company was the ability to get in there and still do the work myself. I loved creating and building and giving my customers the home of their dreams. Trouble was, I couldn’t do that if I was sitting at home feeling sorry for myself.
To burn off my stagnant energy, I dropped to the floor and started doing crunches. Sweat burned my eyes, my abs screamed, my shoulders shook, and still I pushed. I couldn’t fix my leg, couldn’t outrun the accident, but I sure as hell could make sure the rest of me didn’t fall apart too.
After I was too sore to go on, I switched to biceps curls and shoulder work. I may only have one leg, but there was plenty I could do to stay focused and fit while I figured the rest of my shit out.
I was dripping sweat and finally tired enough to call it quits when my phone buzzed.
Brody
Drinks at the Lantern. I’ll pick you up in an hour. I’m not asking.
I stared at the message.The temptation to ignore it was strong, but a part of me liked that my friend Brody hadn’t treated me differently after the accident. He also seemed to understand that I may need a little more advanced warning to be ready, but for some reason that felt okay. Maybe it was because he was a copand his no-bullshit attitude followed him home. Maybe it was because he didn’t carry the guilt Hayes did.
Whatever it was, the need to prove to myself that I wasn’t a total hermit won out.
I can drive, you dick. I’ll meet you there.
Brody
Good. Then you can pick me up. See you in sixty.
By the timewe got to the Lady’s Lantern, the place was packed. The bar was equal parts watering hole and local legend. The wooden sign out front was carved in the shape of a lantern and cast a warm glow over the entrance. Inside the bar, it smelled like old wood and cheap whiskey. The walls were plastered with relics of the town’s obsession with our local ghost, the Lady of the Dunes.
The owners had framed newspaper clippings of supposed sightings and grainy black-and-white photographs of the ghostly figure. In the far corner of the bar, they’d even made a glass case housing what was allegedly a piece of her original wedding veil. A dead bride haunting the dunes because her big day didn’t go as planned. Seemed fitting, considering the town was probably still buzzing about our very own runaway Darling.
If it weren’t for the local ghost story, I doubted anyone would have a reason to pass through Star Harbor.
Tension wound its way up my back and settled as a knot between my shoulders as we walked into the Lantern. Crowds meant unintentional bumps and curious eyes. Sure, I was wearing jeans, but my gait was still uneven enough to draw a few stares. Plus, in our small town, my accident was big news.
Brody took the lead, weaving through the crowd, and I walked behind him. When he made it to the table, he stepped aside and I nearly fell over. Standing in front of me was a woman with long, wavy blond hair and eyes that were the strangest shade. In the low lighting of the bar, they looked almost gray. Her smile was bright as she tapped a shot glass with Kit’s and threw it back.
“Woo!” the woman shouted as her fist pumped the air.
I slid onto the chair at the high-top table and tried not to stare.
“Wes Vaughn, as I live and breathe!” Kit wound her arm around my shoulders, and a whisper of tequila wafted off her breath. “I’m drunk.” Her forehead nearly collided with mine.
“I can see that.” I offered a polite smile as my attention slid back to the blonde and I finally realized who she was.
I stared at Clara Darling. She looked nothing like the girl I’d remembered her to be. The last time I’d really clocked Clara Darling, she’d been all limbs and braces and too-big eyes, trailing after her older siblings.
She was all woman now. And absolutely, unequivocally off-limits. Hayes would cut my balls off and hang them from his rearview mirror.
