Three Reckless Words: Chapter 11

There are few things better in life than a homemade meatball sub.

This one has everything. Meatballs, onions, savory red sauce, and a nice dose of gooey cheese. I’m in seventh heaven before I’ve taken a single bite when the phone rings.

The sandwich goes everywhere as I make a grab for it.

It’s so embarrassing how desperate I am for Archer’s attention. Apparently, I’ll move with sandwich-destroying speed.

A human travesty.

Especially when I spent way too long finding the perfect recipe, cooking the meatballs and sauce from scratch, and assembling the whole thing. Now, half of my precious meatballs are on the floor with the other half scattered across the table.

Oh, plus one on my lap.

Fantastic.

The name on the screen isn’t even Archer’s. Disappointment stabs me in the gut until I process the name.

Lyssie, my bestie from Springfield. The disappointment fades into a mix of nerves and cautious excitement as I swipe to answer.

“Hey, girl.”

“Wynne Abigail Emberly, holy shit! Do you know what you’ve done?” Lyssie hisses. Guess it’s serious, then—she would never use my full name otherwise.

“Fled my wedding? Yep, I was there, Lyssie.”

“On the day of.”

“Ah, thanks. I wasn’t aware.”

She laughs awkwardly and then goes stone-cold silent again.

“…was it the dress?” she whispers. “It was gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but it looked like a beast to climb into.”

“It was. That’s why I cut it off. With scissors.”

She gasps. “Winnie! Are you serious?”

“Why not? It’s not like there was a man around to help take it off.”

“Well, no. But where are you? No, wait, don’t tell me…” She pauses dramatically. “I should have a little plausible deniability. I didn’t think you’d actually pick up.”

“So they’ve been hounding you about me? I’m sure they have.”

“Yeah, only about five million times. I’m guessing your dad knows you’re still alive. I’m pretty sure he would’ve sent every State Trooper on payroll after you if he didn’t. They’re kinda furious.”

I wince.

My stomach gurgles, angry because it isn’t full of meatballs and marinara, but I’m a little relieved that’s not the case.

“Tell me something I don’t know, Lyssie.”

“I’ve been worried sick, Win. They’ve been hitting me up about you constantly, which is the only reason why I haven’t called more. I kept hitting you with texts, figuring you’d answer at your own pace. But would it have been so terrible to reply? You still have thumbs, right?”

“How do you know? Maybe that’s why I fled,” I deadpan.

“Pssh, like you’d give up your opposable thumbs. How would you ever deal with bees? Thumbs are the best body parts.”

My nose scrunches.

“Wouldn’t be easy. And the best, huh? Hmm, I don’t know, I can think of a few other—”

“Okay, okay! So we have a few other goodies, but I stand by my claim that opposable thumbs are our greatest asset, and in this case, you could have used them to message me. Just once, a friendly ‘hey, I’m not dead’ message. Just so I knew you weren’t rotting in a ditch somewhere.”

I exhale slowly through my teeth, closing my eyes.

My head dips forward until it touches the table—only to find I’ve put my forehead in a patch of tomato sauce. Beautiful.

I jerk up again.

“I’m sorry. How are things back home?”

“You wanna know the truth?”

That can’t mean anything good.

“Um, yes? I think so… No, maybe not. If you’re talking about Dad cussing me out behind my back, I already guessed that.”

“Oh, no. Publicly, he’s been making all sorts of excuses, surprisingly.” Lyssie’s voice is dry. Of everyone I know, she’s basically the only person who understands how I felt about the wedding and Holden and the entire gross situation.

“And privately?”

“Well, I heard from my mom that your parentals have been seeing Holden every day. Apparently—and take this with a grain of salt—Holden has vowed to hunt you down and bring you home.”

“Holden? What the hell? I can’t imagine that man hunting anything.” I snort and shake my head. “Also, I’m not some sort of deer. But if he wants to come at me with a rifle, I guess I get it.”

My bitter laughter hurts.

Honestly, I didn’t mean to leave him holding the bag in a public humiliation ritual, even if I don’t love him and barely tolerate his existence.

But a big, nasty confrontation with my lame ex feels like the last thing I need to worry about. Holden hasn’t ever shown much passion for anything besides his crypto portfolio or his dad’s mixer events with the rich and famous.

“Well, I imagine he’s bringing his ego, which could be just as dangerous. No one gets why you left, by the way. Like, I think I do, but”—her voice turns deeply sarcastic—“who wouldn’t want to sign away their life to a catch like the glorious Holden Corban?”

“You’ve got me.”

“Anyway,” Lyssie says, and I can hear a microwave ding in the background that makes me smile. She has this gorgeous apartment with a fabulous kitchen, but she prefers instant meals and junk food over real cooking. “Tell me everything that’s happened since you’ve been gone. At least tell me you found a cool hideout?”

Unfortunately, like it’s done a thousand times since he left, my mind jumps back to Archer and the way he pinned me to the wall and kissed my soul out. My toes scrunch up.

“The hideout is really nice. Just a little dull since I haven’t been out much. What makes you think much has happened?”

“Um, your choice. Spill it, girl. Do you already have a rebound dude? Is he hot?”

Oh, God.

“What? No!” Unless Archer Rory decides he wants to be my secret lover. I don’t think I’d mind rebounding with him one bit. “I didn’t run away from the wedding because I’m in love with someone else or dying to hook up with randos, Lyssie.”

“Okay, good. I would’ve been so pissed if you hadn’t told me first.” Her lips smack between words as she chews. Knowing her, it’s probably one of the instant pho cups she heats up or a giant frozen burrito, her usual obsessions. “So what’s going on with you? No rebound man?”

“I’m not that lucky. Things are… kinda complicated.” That’s true enough. “Dad cut me off from my trusts, so it isn’t peachy on the money front.”

“Oh, what! Oh, shit. Winnie, do you need me to send you a little extra? I don’t mind. I know you’ll pay me back. And even if you can’t for a while—”

“No, it’s cool. Actually, the guy who owns this place let me stay here for free. He’s really generous.”

“Guy?” I swear Lyssie has a superhuman antenna for sniffing out entire volumes from words, and she latches on immediately. “Please tell me he’s hot and this is a sexy roommate situation.”

“No flipping way.” But there’s also no way I can effectively lie my way out of this one. I close my eyes. “If you insist, he’s handsome, I guess. So there.”

“You’re totally crushing. I can tell. That’s exciting, Winnie.”

“Liar. You’re just saying that because you want the sexy illicit roommate situation. Me, I’m happy to keep him at a distance.”

“You suck so much,” she says flatly. “So, he’s hot and nice and he’s not staying overnight. Why is he letting you stay there for free? Are you sleeping with him?”

“Lyssie, no. It’s not like that at all.” I inhale slowly. “There are bees here. I’m staying on as their official beekeeper for the time being.”

“…bees.” Dead silence until she speaks again. “Lady, if you were anyone else, I’d know you’re making it up. Ugh.” There’s real disappointment in her voice.

“No, it’s a good thing.” I launch into telling her about the purple honey and what a cool experience this is.

Everything I ever wanted, even if I am leaving a big heap of chaos at home burning in my wake.

“Okay, fine,” she says, amused. “The purple honey sounds cool enough, so I know you’re having fun. Just lay low until I can visit, okay? And whatever you do, keep it light. Maybe your hot landlord guy can help with more than just your glow in the dark honey.”

“Don’t push it, Lyssie.”

She laughs. “Okay, whatevs. I’ll leave you to your hot girl beekeeper life and buzz off. Just remember, older guys can be fun.”

My face heats.

“How did you even know he’s older?”

“Oh, let’s call it intuition.”

I call it freaky.

She’s always been able to do that, reading people between the lines like cards. It’s a skill that makes me jealous.

The call cuts off and I sink back down in my chair, realizing I must have stood up at some point. Back to reality, starting with cleaning up the kitchen and my meatball sub massacre.

I can’t stop smiling, and it’s not just because of Lyssie.

There’s no good reason this exile needs to be torture.

I should have some fun, even if that has nothing to do with the snarling unpredictable man-bear who’s moved into my head full-time.

After another full day of being ghosted by Archer, I’m feeling a lot less smiley and far less confident.

There’s a decent chance he considers The Kiss to End All Kisses the biggest mistake of his life.

A hot mistake, sure, but nothing more.

That’s a sane reaction. It shouldn’t leave me moping around like it does.

The knock at the door comes in the evening when I’m almost ready to curl up and watch some bad reality TV.

I just know it’s him.

Call it intuition or the fact that I know the sound of his vehicle parking or just the way he needs to hit things when he knocks—either way, I know.

I take a second to check my hair in the mirror in the hall before throwing the door open.

Just as I expected, he’s there, tall and broad and filling up the doorway with his imposing size. He’s in his usual formalwear, minus the jacket, a starched white shirt unbuttoned at the collar with a red tie.

Yes, I could eat this man alive.

But he’s been ignoring me for three whole days after our kiss.

Although I’ve been dying to see him, something about the mere sight of him here makes my throat tighten and heat flood my cheeks.

The last time we saw each other, he kissed me like he meant to steal every future breath. I kissed him back like he was oxygen.

When I don’t say anything because I’m lost in the moment, he clears his throat. “Hey, Winnie. How are you?”

“Good.”

His eyes trace over my face before dropping down to where I’ve folded my arms. I’m not sure whether I’m pumped he’s here or annoyed he’s been ghosting me, so I settle for cautious excitement.

It’s an easier emotion to manage.

“It’s been a busy few days,” he says, already making excuses for blowing me off.

“Um, right.”

“You remember Junie at The Sugar Bowl? She wanted to check out that honey and see if there’s any to sample.”

I open the door wider and let him in. “They’re your bees and your property, dude. You don’t really need my permission. Let me grab you a jar.”

Once he’s inside, he feels too big for this space, even if it’s perfectly accommodating. The man just has this way of sprawling into my personal bubble without even noticing.

Does he have to be so tall? So intense? So scowly?

I don’t remember his eyes ever looking so dark before, shifting to blue-tinted coal in the dim, soft light.

“As it happens, I collected a lot of honey the other day, so… give me a sec.” I rush past him before he notices me staring. I’m practically drooling, for God’s sake.

“Take your time. I’m glad I’m getting my money’s worth,” he says, leaning against the kitchen island, his tie hanging crooked over his very large chest.

My toes scrunch. They’re very good at doing that when he’s up in my head.

Or maybe it’s just the thought of why he’s here, armed with so many lame excuses and small talk.

Is he nervous like I am? But why?

He made it crystal clear he isn’t interested.

I open a cabinet over the sink and pull out a jar of purple honey. Every time I see it, I’m amazed just how purple it is. The stuff really glows at night.

Not like that chemical solution inside a glowstick, but it’s there, more like a cozy candle with a dim flame.

“How do you mean? I’m sure you’re still taking a loss on me, no matter how much this stuff brings in long-term.”

“You’re organized. You don’t slack off. That’s a nice start.”

“I’d better not.” I shake my head. “You’re giving me free shelter and letting me mess around with bees. It’s the least I can do when it doesn’t feel like real work.” I tilt my head as I look at the honey. “Did you think more about that lab we mentioned? They can analyze this stuff and pinpoint anything that’d be good for natural supplements or research. Of course, you might need to bring in somebody who knows about that sort of business if that’s the route you decide to go, but stranger things have happened.”

“Good point. I’ll have a sample sent off.” There’s something warm in his eyes as his face relaxes and he gives me a small smile.

“Right. Yes.” I hand him the jar and our fingers brush.

God, it’s like static on steroids.

The shock jolts up my arm so fast I rip my hand back, making a small noise in the back of my throat.

And now he’s staring.

Awesome, awesome.

That means we’ll have to talk about it, the hundredth awkward conversation I never needed with this man. But I figured that was coming because he’s here, all piercing eyes locked on mine and his big hand wrapped around the honey jar.

That’s probably why he decided to show up at all, to clear the air so we won’t suffocate in each other’s presence.

“Archer, look, about last time,” I start, “The kiss was—”

A knock at the door stops me mid-sentence.

Honestly, I’m a little glad. Maybe Colt came along and got tired of sitting in the car.

Or maybe it’s my dad—finally sniffing me out and paying me a visit—ready to roar his demands to come home or wind up forever penniless.

My stomach hurts at the thought. But if I have to face him, I won’t be alone.

“Hang on, I’ll get it,” I say, holding up a hand.

Archer stays silent and watchful as I hurry to the door. I pause and pat my hair again because it tends to frizz when I’m stressed in this midsummer heat, then I throw it open for the second time this evening.

One look turns me to stone. Medusa, eat your heart out.

It’s definitely not Colt or even Dad standing on the front step. I can only wish it was just my father.

It’s Holden.

He’s scowling, his ice-blond hair slightly ruffled in the evening heat and his suit crumpled. His eyes are dark with resentment, deep shadows carved underneath, and something else moving on his face.

…is that sadness? Over us?

I think I’m scared.

“Winnie, thank God,” he growls my name, his voice clipped. Instead of waiting for me to invite him in, he shoves his way inside, brushing past me. “I didn’t think you’d really be here. Do you know what a nightmare it’s been? What a fucking pain… You’ve been impossible to find since you ran off.” He sighs and shakes his head.

“Holden—”

“What the fuck, Win? Tell me one thing.” He steps forward, crowding me back against the wall.

It’s not that I’m truly scared of Holden.

I can’t imagine he has a violent bone in his body, but he looks like he’s holding himself together with the force of a paper clip.

I’ve never seen him like this, bristling with emotion, and I don’t know what to do with that.

And after everything, I don’t need him here.

I don’t want him here.

“Why, Winnie? What the hell were you thinking?”

My breath comes too fast.

How did he find me?

I thought I was safe here, that no one knew if Dad couldn’t figure it out. That was the whole reason I didn’t give it away to Lyssie either, and she knew not to ask.

But she warned me, didn’t she?

She said Holden was hunting me down. I should have known he’d have the money and influence and high-tech crap to find me eventually.

God.

I swallow thickly.

“Isn’t it time to come home?” he demands, rubbing his eyes. “Enough games. Everyone’s worried sick. Your mom thinks you’ve had a mental breakdown. She’s worried, and it’s not fair to just cut her out like this.”

Then it happens.

Holden Corban hugs me with real energy.

Not another one of his awkward cousin-like hugs I’m used to, just a formality for a man who never felt anything for me.

And when he leans in and whispers in my ear, I’m stiff as a board.

“I missed you so much. Come on, Win, let’s go pack your stuff. If we start moving, we can make it home before midnight and—”

Archer appears then, this huge shadow towering over Holden. I use the shock to step out of his arms, forgetting how to breathe.

Archer, though, he hasn’t forgotten anything.

He pushes Holden back with one giant hand, placing himself protectively between us.

“Cool it, little man. Did she say she wants to go with you?” he snarls, an edge to his voice like a sharpened blade. He glances at me, taking in my expression.

I don’t deny it.

What else can I say? Even if this has me sick and confused and stunned, I’m not ready for this conversation with Holden.

I’m definitely not ever going home with him again.

Archer must see the hesitation on my face, and he knows.

His mouth thins into a hard line of judgment.

Holy hell.

I’ve never seen him look so feral before, like he’s perfectly ready to start breaking bones to get his point across.

I want to cry out, to tell Holden to leave and go home without me.

Just go, before he winds up with a broken nose.

But I’m beyond words as Holden stiffens, glowering back at Archer like a mean alley cat, wild fury replacing the shock in his dark eyes.

“Who the hell are you?” he snaps. “Last I checked, this is between my fiancée and me. Nothing to do with you.”

“Ex-fiancée. She’s made that very clear. I’m her landlord,” Archer throws back.

I almost laugh at how he says it.

I want to laugh, or maybe scream. I gave up the fiancée title the moment I left Springfield, and there’s no way I’m taking it back now.

“Oh, her landlord! Excuse me.” Holden gives a cruel, disparaging smile. “Seriously, man, move the fuck over. You’re getting in the way. This is between us.”

Archer tenses in front of me, his back straight and ready for war, harder than a mountain. “The second you threatened her and got in her face, you made it my business.”

“Fuck off. I’m not threatening anyone,” Holden snaps, and tries to sidestep Archer to catch my eye. “Listen to me, Win. You need to come home now. If you just come back, we can still fix it. Everyone gets scared on their wedding day, right? It’s not the end of the world.”

But it is.

That was the day the Winnie Emberly everyone knew died a fiery death.

“I’m not going back, Holden,” I strain out. “Leave.”

“What? For fuck’s sake…” He snarls out a frustrated breath. “Is this because of the tiara? Look, if you want to wear the stupid thing, fine. Just come—”

I don’t let him finish.

My laugh rips out of me, high-pitched and half-insane. “The tiara? The tiara? You honestly think I left you because of a dumb fucking tiara?”

He’s cold, frozen, just watching my eyes spin.

I’m sure I look manic and I don’t care.

“All I know is I texted you about it, then you disappeared.” Holden does his best to barge past Archer, but Archer throws up another hand, and Holden halts in place, scowling. “What the hell is it about if it’s not that? Is this like an actual nervous breakdown? There are pills and doctors for that, you know. Good ones.”

Classic Holden.

Another quick fix he thinks he can solve with money.

For the first time since Archer showed up, I think I can breathe again. Something in my chest relaxes as I look at the man I almost married—the man I despise like nothing else on this planet.

“I said I’m not going back with you,” I say evenly. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

He shakes his head wildly.

“So, what? You’re going to piss your life away here in Kansas City? Away from all your friends and family and your career? Everything that matters? Jesus. Your parents should have dragged you to a shrink the minute you took that leave of absence from my dad’s office. Even he couldn’t believe it.”

Ah yes, the all-powerful, all-knowing, upright senator I don’t work for anymore.

He’s falling back on his gobs of money and influence and legacy back-scratching. But they can’t help him with this.

“And what’s here for you?” he continues, oblivious to the hardening mountain of muscle he lacks between us. “Do you have any clue how much you’ve upset your parents? And mine? Winnie, you’ve freaked out everyone.”

Yes, I knew.

I knew the second I took off that everyone would be livid, and no one would even try to understand except Lyssie.

And I still made my decision despite the avalanche of crap guaranteed to roll over me.

A decision I’m still making, standing my ground, unmovable and determined to put myself first for once.

“I like it here,” I tell him, lifting my chin. “It’s quiet and peaceful and there are bees.”

“Bees?” He laughs bitterly. “Seriously? Again with the fucking bees. I hoped you’d grow up when we got engaged.”

“Funny. I thought you’d be less of an asshole.”

His face hardens. I’m ready for him to come at me, barking empty threats, cursing my riches to rags.

But Archer moves faster than either of us.

One second, he’s immobile.

The next, he has Holden by the arm and he’s throwing him out the still-open front door.

“Time to leave, you yappy goddamned prick. You don’t get to insult her on my property,” he growls. “Leave. Right the hell now before I call the police.”

“The police? For what?” To my surprise, Holden holds his ground. The porch light outside gilds his hair, casting sharp shadows on his face from his tormented grimace. “She’s my fiancée, you asshole. I should call them on you.”

“I’m not your anything, Holden. Not anymore.” My voice is amazingly steady. “I left you the ring. It’s over.”

His face wrinkles.

It’s like he’s on a spring when he jumps up and lunges forward, but Archer steps up and catches him with ease, slamming a hand into Holden’s chest that spins him off-kilter again.

“Off my property. Final warning before I get you booked for criminal harassment and trespassing.”

“Fuck you, man. You don’t threaten me with cops. Do you even know who I am?”

I can’t see Archer’s face with his back to me, but I can imagine the expression—cold, unyielding, terrifying, lethal.

I saw it when he jumped between us, and it made my blood run cold.

“Why the fuck do you think I care?” Archer spits.

“I’m Holden Corb—”

In one smooth motion—almost too fast to even see—Archer takes Holden’s arm, twists it behind his back, and shoves him violently toward his car. The movement throws Holden off-balance, leaving him face down in the dirt.

“You’re leaving. End of discussion,” Archer finishes.

Without hesitation, he marches forward, rips Holden up, and perp walks him to the sleek black car he drove here before he releases him again.

“Are you insane?” Holden whispers.

I run outside, sharp gravel dragging against my feet.

“Archer, no, it’s not worth it! Don’t get yourself in trouble. Not for him,” I whisper loudly before raising my voice. “Holden, just go. Stop fighting. Go home and tell Dad—tell him I’m not coming home.”

Crap, I’m going to cry again.

Why is my defense mechanism crying?

And why does it always have to happen around Archer of all people?

Looking back, Holden glowers at us both, his gaze fixed on Archer and his fists balled up for a second too long before he finally slides into the driver’s seat.

I want to run up and start pelting his car with rocks, but none of my limbs are working.

If he found me, Dad will be right behind him, I’m sure. Especially when Holden delivers my message back home.

I know he will. He’s never been the subtle type.

Just not the part where I said I’d never go back.

Not the part where I gushed about the bees.

Certainly not the part where Archer gave him a sorely needed ass kicking for my sake.

He might just claim Archer assaulted him. Another lie, of course.

Nothing about the way angry, bitter Holden tried to box me in that caused this scuffle.

But that wouldn’t stop him from bending the facts to fit his narrative. When you grow up in politics and big money, it’s hard not to master that skill.

As Holden’s car disappears down the road, Archer turns back to me. His face is angular, cheekbones sharper in his rage, and when his gaze drops to my bare feet, he curses, low and harsh.

“Fuck, Winnie. Your feet. Get back inside before you step on something sharp.”

“I’m… I’m so sorry.” I think I’m trembling. Or maybe we’re having an earthquake. That would explain my irrational reaction and the way I think I’m shaking. “I’m terribly sorry about this, Archer. I never thought he’d come here and stir the pot like this. I thought maybe—”

“Winnie, enough.”

Even my chin trembles, but I do my best to clamp my teeth together and face him.

Here it comes.

“You can’t stay here another second with assholes like him prowling around. Not one more second,” he says, plunging daggers ringing in his voice. Rage burns his eyes, a hot blue flame that threatens to consume me.

I nod limply like I knew this would be the response.

“I get it. I know. I’m sorry and I’ll go.”

He glances away with his lip curled, staring into the night where Holden’s car vanished, even though we can’t even hear it anymore.

“Go? No. I’m taking you somewhere safe, Sugarbee. No arguments. Somewhere you won’t be harassed by that sorry shitlicker.” He raises his fist, brandishing it like the fearsome weapon it is. “He’s lucky I let him limp home.”

“Archer… what? I don’t understand.”

He sighs, low and torn. “Winnie, I said I’m taking you home. My house.”

Oh.

Oh, crap.