He might think that, but I did what anyone would do when someone threatened the people they loved.
When his eyes finally opened, I could see he had a handle on his emotions. Like I said, he was a proud man.
“C’mere, girl.”
With a watery smile, I climbed out of my chair and let my grandfather wrap me up in the safety of his arms. This was home. This was my safe space. Nothing and nobody could hurt me here.
Well, except for that one time.
And just like that, despite my best efforts not to think about him, my mind drifted to Weston.
Chapter Four
Bash
The sun was alreadyhigh in the sky by the time Gator and I were rolling down the dirt road that led to Pistol Pete’s farm.
Rain or shine, I showed up every Sunday no matter what. Pete was getting older, and there was always something that needed to be fixed around the property.
Today it was the fence line thanks to the Coastal-Bridge Development Corporation assholes.
Pete had no intention of selling, but that didn’t stop them. Every week they’d show up pulling more shit. This time they’d bulldozed right up to property line on the east side and fucked up the fences.
I was starting to wonder if their goal was to be such a drain on the old timer’s resources that he didn't have any choice but to give in.
Cyber and Frankie were digging into them, but unfortunately, Coastal Bridge was a big fucking company withdeep pockets and political connections. So far, all our attempts to reason with them had failed.
As we rounded the final curve, the white farmhouse came into view. Gator revved his engine behind me and I glanced over at him, my brows pulling in.
“What the fuck?” I yelled over the rumble.
He couldn’t hear me, but that didn’t stop him from nodding ahead of us.
And that’s when I saw her.
For the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe.
There she was. Sitting in that old porch swing like she’d never left.
“Hattie.” Her name rolled off my lips like a prayer to the gods.
My eyes raked across every inch of her.
Long honey-brown hair catching the light just right, those impossibly long tan legs tucked up underneath her. She was wearing cut-off denim shorts and a soft pink tank top, and she had a mason jar of what I knew was Jean’s sweet tea clutched in her hands.
Pain I’d buried deep cut through me like a knife.
It’d been so damn long, but fuck me if she wasn’t a sight for sore eyes.
I’d seen the rumors on the television about her engagement being called off, but I hadn’t expected her to come back here.
Gator and I cut our engines at the same time, the sudden silence deafening. I pulled off my brain bucket and tried to get my shit together. But Christ, she was more beautiful than I remembered, and I remembered every goddamn thing about Hattie Lynn Jackson.
Eight years of trying to forget her and failing.
Eight years of telling myself I’d done the right thing.
Eight years of missing her so much it felt like I wouldn’t make it through another day without her—all of it disappeared with just one look at her in the flesh.
