With a frown, Violet tears her attention from the road and looks at me.“Hmm?”
“I never apologized.”
“For what?”
“For being a dick when you first showed up.”It’s something I’ve wanted to say for weeks.Something I’ve held back, but after everything my family’s been through—after everything I’ve been through with June—it feels like a weight is sitting on my chest and it won’t go away until I rip the thing off like a Band-Aid.
Confused, Violet shakes her head.“Ford, you were never a?—”
“Nah, we’re past lying, don’t you think?”
Her lips purse as I pull into the apartment complex, though she doesn’t bother taking in the familiar building.No, she’s too busy watching me.“Okay,” she finally caves, “you were a dick, but I understood why.”
My brow quirks.
“You love your brother, and you loved the way your life was set up.Or at least, you thought you did,” she clarifies.“Then, in walked a random girl from the wrong side of the tracks who not only knocked your brother on his ass, but threw your entire business for a loop.”Her shoulder lifts.“Of course, you wanted me out of the picture.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I argue.The engine cuts, but neither of us reaches for the door handle.“I didn’t necessarily want you out of the picture.I just didn’t want my brother to sacrifice everything in his life for a girl who wouldn’t be around in the long run.”
She flinches back as if I’ve slapped her.“Ouch.”
“What I failed to see were two things,” I continue.“One, us Hardens don’t fall easily, but when we do, it’s game over.”
“Game over, huh?”she repeats.
“Yeah.”I smile.“Game over.That’s that.We’re like putty in your hand.”
Her mouth twitches.“What’s the second thing?”
“Two, not everyone worth keeping around leaves.”I hesitate.“I was convinced that even if Jagger really did love you, it was only a matter of time before you ruined him.Whether it was taking advantage or growing bored.You were gonna have your fill, then get the hell out of Dodge.”
The confession leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, no matter how true it is.I was scared.Scared Violet Reeves would barge into our lives, blow everything up, then leave Jagger—and subsequently me—to pick up the pieces.I had no idea how wrong I was.And putting that kind of pressure on Violet wasn’t fair.Plain and simple.
“Not going anywhere, Ford.”Violet reaches over and squeezes my knee.“And neither is June.”
“I know.”Or at least, I hope I know.It doesn’t matter that I’ve already talked to June.That we’ve already discussed everything that happened with Bryan.That she already did more for my family and me than I ever could’ve requested from someone.The possibility of her leaving is like a boulder on my chest.Hell, it makes it hard to breathe.To fathom a life without her, even if I don’t have to.Even if she’s waiting for me upstairs.Guess that’s the thing about love.There’s a necessary trust element that comes with it.One that’s scary and leaves the other more vulnerable than they’d like to be, but fuck, is it worth it.Or at least, I hope it is.
“You’re a good guy, Ford,” Violet murmurs.“And if I can see it, then I know June can, too.”
“Thanks, Vi,” I murmur.
“Thank you,” Violet emphasizes.“For the ride and the apology.”With a smile, she reaches for the door handle.“You really are the best.Now, get up there and get your girl because clearly, you’re missing her.”
Nowthatsounds like a genius idea.
54
JUNE
After drinks with Bryan, I asked Roman to take me home.I could’ve probably asked him to take me back to Ford’s, but considering all the baggage and information I’d laid on him during our conversation, I figured it might be best to give him some time to do what he needs to do without worrying about his girlfriend.After all, if I’ve learned anything from being with the man, it’s that he likes his space to process things, and finding out his baby sister set his house on fire?Yup.That one’s a doozy.
I grab Quasimodough from the fridge and a scale from the cupboard.Might as well make some sourdough to pass the time.Using a glass bowl, I measure out some of the starter, mixing one part flour to two parts water, along with a few other ingredients, forming a lumpy paste.Perfect.I roll up my pajama sleeves and begin kneading the mess until I’m able to make a less-lumpy ball and all the flour is incorporated.I’ve always loved baking.The comfortable distraction.The peaceful monotony.It’s like a scratch to my brain and a sensory high all at once.The smell, the feel of the dough, and the delicious payoff afterward?What’s not to love?Satisfied with the dough’s texture, I oil the bowl, then plop the dough into it and grab some plastic wrap to tuck Quasimodough in for the evening.As I slip the wrap over the top, the hinges squeak on my door, and I look up.
Disappointment fills my gut, but I paste on a fake smile.“Hey, Vi?—”
She waves me off.“Don’t look so happy to see me.”
“Of course, I’m happy to see you,” I rush out, drying my hands on a dishtowel hanging from the hook beside the sink.“Are you staying or?—”
