Truly Madly Deeply: Chapter 25

Staindrop’s library was a redbrick, two-story colonial building with bottle-green shutters and a sage roof to match. Both the American and Maine flags danced in the wind on either side of the white, arched entryway. By the number of cars parked along Main Street, I gathered every single asshole in the town was in attendance.

I slammed the Silverado’s door and trudged my way in, muttering profanity all throughout. I went past security, guessing such a measure had been taken precisely to prevent someone from putting a hole through my head. Thank you, Allison. An unfamiliar guard patted me down with inappropriate gusto. Swore he copped a feel when he reached my nether region.

It was nice to see an unfamiliar face, though. Then he started talking and ruined everything.

“Where are you workin’ out? You’re buff, nice definition.” He tried to make small talk while running his fingers over my biceps and maintaining eye contact. “Just moved up here with the wife from Alabama and lookin’ for a good gym. Not into the CrossFit nonsense and all that jazz. Just need an old-school place.”

“I work out at running a kitchen for sixteen hours a day,” I provided dryly.

He laughed. I didn’t. His smile vanished. “I see what it’s like. Good day, sir.”

“That ship’s sailed.” I shouldered past him, going through the double doors of the conference room, which could easily moonlight as a high school theater. It was stuffy and windowless, with old, creaking floorboards and a stage that had seen better days. Probably during World War II.

Allison was already sitting onstage behind two classroom desks pushed together, her lips pressed against a microphone, wearing a sensible blazer and too much makeup. She looked flustered. Contrary to general belief, I didn’t enjoy seeing people suffer. I just didn’t care much unless they were blood related.

Next to her was her assistant, Lucinda, the council members’ spokesperson, Melinda Finch, and a clerk recording the meeting—old Robbie Smith.

The room was crammed with wooden library chairs, which were occupied by townsfolk who stared at me like I’d just stirred their soup with my dick.

Allison acknowledged my presence by letting out a prissy huff and giving Lucinda a pointed look, jerking her head in my direction.

“Ten minutes late, but at least he made it, ladies and gents.” A sugary grin stretched across the mayor’s face.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I proceeded inside. If I was going down, might as well do it in a fashion. People booed from the crowd. I ambled nonchalantly past them.

“Mr. Casablancas, please join us on the podium to answer questions regarding the impending deal with GS Properties.”

“I’m still not sure where the recording button is…” Robbie, beside her, stabbed his laptop keyboard, recoiling quickly, as if it were going to bite him. He had cotton candy–white hair floating over his head like a halo, suspenders, and thick-framed glasses.

“Go, Rowy! We love you!” My sister pumped her fist in the air from the ocean of wooden chairs, letting loose a loud whistle. “Woot woot.”

I kept my pace even, my posture straight as I shot her a glare. “What’re you doing here? You’re supposed to be on bed rest.” Her beaming face nestled among a hundred scowls in the crowd.

“You’re my beloved big bro. If you’re to be publicly crucified, you know I’ll always be there.”

“To support him?” Mom smiled.

“To livestream the entire thing.”

My mother began huffing and making dissatisfied faces, while Dylan waved me off. “But seriously, don’t worry about me. Mom is here to keep me safe. Dot too. She’s my bitch now!”

Sure enough, I spotted Cal, with her black overalls and white turtleneck and that face that was equally fascinating and painful to look at. My own personal sun, shining too bright and too hot.

She gave me an awkward wave, and I almost tripped, it threw me off so badly.

Then I noticed Kieran. He was sitting next to Cal, wearing a designer peacoat with the collar popped straight like a Succession character. Was he vying for the Douchebag World Championship? If so, he could count on my vote.

Also—why wasn’t Cal at work? Guess it was her day off. I’d made a point of not checking the schedule to prove to myself I didn’t care.

Great job, assface. Very convincing.

I took my place onstage between Robbie and Allison. The old man was still wrestling with his laptop, physically grabbing and shaking it into submission. He whipped his head in my direction. “Got any idea how to record on this thing?”

Scooting my chair closer to his, I peered at the screen and double-clicked the recording software. “Is it connected to the camera on that tripod?”

“Should it be?” The man’s bushy, white eyebrows flew to his forehead. “I’m filling in for Helene. Don’t have the greenest clue how to operate this thing.”

It took me eight more minutes to connect the camera to the computer so that my public crucifixion could be documented in full-color HD. When I retook my seat, Allison announced that she would moderate the town hall meeting, in which the topic at hand would be me signing the GS deal and what it meant for the future of Staindrop.

“Also, just to address the elephant in the room, even though Ambie—I mean, Mr. Casablancas—and I used to be partners, I assure you I will be treating this with the utmost professionalism this town deserves.”

We had never been partners. This shit had gone too far. I turned to look at Cal despite my better judgment. Her face was blank, caged up. What did I expect? To see her bawling into her ridiculous Lego-shaped purse? She’d never wanted me. Even when I had been balls-deep inside her, she’d been doing it so she could fuck off to college hymen-free.

“Thank you, Miss Murray, for being less discreet than a ten-foot dildo,” I drawled, perching back lazily in my seat. People gasped.

“Excuse his unpalatable sense of humor.” Allison sent me a flirtatious smile from across the panel, even though I knew she wanted to kill me for that last comment. “Now, please raise your hand if you have any specific questions regarding the contract with GS or what it might entail.”

A group of elderly women shot up from their seats in the front row.

The Righteous Gang.

I knew them well. They were town hall staples. There to yell when the first Starbucks had opened in town (then closed three months later), when I’d transformed the old train station into Descartes, or when a kid had ridden their bike on the street between two and four in the afternoon. Everything, from the width of the crosswalks to the fucking weather, offended them.

“We made a song of protest.” Agnes, the one with the orange-green sweater and hat made out of leaves, rose to her feet.

“Of course you did.” I slouched back in my chair, folding my arms over my chest.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mildred, clad in a bandana and a peace sign necklace, thundered. “What happened to the lovely boy who used to mow my lawn?”

She referred to me, but that didn’t stop me from answering, “He probably moved down south, where minimum wage is at least five bucks an hour more. This is why you should want me to sell. You need more jobs in this shithole.”

A collective gasp filled the air. I ignored it. I spoke the truth and let everyone squirm and deal with the consequences.

“Perhaps this isn’t the best time for a song.” Allison’s crisp, impatient smile reeked of fury. “Any questions? Concerns? Input?”

“I don’t think this thing is recording.” Robbie squinted at his screen.

“We’re singing our song,” Gertrude, the founding member of The Righteous Gang, declared solemnly, shaking her walking cane in our direction. “Our voices will be heard.”

“Would you mind?” Allison glanced at me, uncertain. “I want to get this thing going.”

Channeling my inner Simon Cowell, I nodded. “Floor’s yours, ladies.”

The three lifted their faces upward and belted out their song in a melody they one hundred percent had ripped off from Eminem’s “Stan.”

Dear Row, we wrote to you, but you didn’t answer

We also left messages in your voicemail, texts, and whatnot—are you even listenin’?

This town ain’t just yours, it’s also mine

You know what ruining it would be? Yeah, you guessed it—a crime

Especially as you haven’t even been around in so long

There’s a word for how you treated all them people on TV—it’s called wrong

Anyway, hey, you know the thing about Maiden Cliff’s old train station?

It’s been there since before your parents were born—it’s one of the founding railways of our nation

We used to be your biggest fans, that’s the saddest part

We even screened your Thanksgiving cooking special in the museum of art

Now you’re nothing to be proud of, just a villain in Staindrop’s story

Mark our words, you’ll be the last one to say you’re sorry

Gertie dropped an invisible mic to the floor, folding her arms over her chest and doing a peace sign with her fingers. Mildred slipped on her shades casually. The entire room stood up and clapped, cheering and whistling. I had to hand it to them—that was pretty neat. I’d have given them my Grammy if I didn’t think they’d use it to maim me.

“Well?” Agnes probed. “What do you say, Mr. Casablancas?”

“While I enjoyed your little stunt—wasted talent, by the way—I like the sound of getting eight million dollars richer next month even better. That’s when I’ll be signing the contract, by the way.”

That caused a little more commotion. And when I say a little, I mean a fuck ton. There was screaming involved. “Bad apple,” “patronizing prick,” and “Satan’s spawn” were all hurled my way, as well as some personal items and one orthopedic shoe.

Randy, forever the overachiever, threw a chair toward the stage but missed by at least three feet. Chaos erupted, with everyone’s wrath focused on me. I just sat there, cool as a cucumber, wondering what to make myself for dinner.

Allison shot up from her seat. “Everybody needs to calm down. There is no need to get physical. This is not the Staindrop way to settle things!”

“Ah, zip it. If it wasn’t for Daddy buying you this job, you’d be glazing donuts at Dahlia’s Diner down the street,” Lyle rumbled into his thermos from my right side.

“I would never have her!” Dahlia proclaimed from the depths of the auditorium. “She’d probably lick them à la Ariana Grande.”

“This is going to change the entire makeup of the town. Business owners are gonna go hungry,” another woman piped up.

“Who’s gonna pay my kid’s college fees? My utility bills once money stops rollin’ in?” Randy barked from the end of the room, ripping his baseball cap from his head and dumping it on the floor. “I run a goddamn food mart. They’re bringin’ in a Hannaford!”

“What about my inn?” Gertie patted her nose with a crumpled tissue. “The one you’re staying in, young man.”

“A mall would stand out here like a sore thumb.” Melinda Fitch sniffed from the other side of the table we were occupying. “I would hate for big, modern eyesores to stain our unique landscape. People come here from all over to admire the quaint view.”

“Too bad they don’t stick around to buy a cup of coffee, pump their gas, and get a souvenir,” I shot back. “You’re running this place into the ground, and just because you don’t like change, doesn’t mean you don’t need it. If you’d see the blueprints—”

“Absolutely not!” Allison shook her head vehemently. “They’ll be overwhelmed and even more upset if you show them what kind of monster you want to build here.”

It wasn’t that I didn’t understand where the townsfolk were coming from. It was that I: (A) thought the pros outweighed the cons in opening up the town, and (B) didn’t give a shit either way. I had come here for vengeance and gotten it. It was time to move on.

Letting out a provocative yawn, I explained, “Folks, I do apologize, but I don’t have time for songs and dances. If you’ve got a specific question, I’ll answer it. I’ve read the plan, studied the blueprints, and know the vision for the hotel and mall they’re planning here. Otherwise, let me go back to the only business in Staindrop that’s currently not losing money.” I spun the ring on my pinky finger. “And while I’ve got your attention—I would refrain from pranking my ass with roadkill and hate mail. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t play so well with others, and when I hit back, it’s much, much harder.”

Randy snorted from the end of the room. “Not as hard as the punch I’ve got saved for you, boy.”

My eyes slowly lifted to his. “I smell a fucking challenge, Randy. Let’s go outside and test it out.”

“No!” Allison yelped. “Stop this nonsense. No one is punching anyone. I don’t need this headline attached to my name.”

The town hall meeting lasted for another forty minutes, in which I got grilled about the details in my as-yet-unsigned contract with GS Properties. I answered questions honestly and to the point, reminding people every now and then that I was volunteering information they had no business asking me for.

By the time the meeting was over, so was my will to live. I had a migraine that threatened to split my head in half and was in no mood to return to Descartes. I waited for the room to empty and helped Robbie with his laptop while people filed out. Mom, Dylan, Cal, and Fuckface loitered near the stage, with the latter helping stack chairs into a tall pile, one on top of the other.

“Man, that was brutal.” Captain Obvious, aka Kieran, wiped invisible sweat from his forehead after pushing a stack of chairs to the far corner of the room. “You okay, bro?”

“Not your bro.” I hopped off the stage. “And not your business. Dylan.” I spun on my heel, facing my sister. “You shouldn’t be on your feet. Let’s go.”

“Is it just me, or does Allison have more plastic on her face than The Container Store?” Dylan chatted happily, ignoring the tension hanging thickly in the air as she rubbed the small of her back. “Did she have a mini facelift? And like, why? She’s younger than some of the cans Mom has in the pantry.”

“Honey, you handled it so well.” Mom laced her arm through mine, smiling sympathetically.

I peered at Cal, but she seemed busy reading something on her phone, determined not to give me the time of day.

Was she pissed about Allison? If so, good.

“He held back on the snark,” Kieran agreed. Why was Fuckface being nice to me? He had nothing to gain from this. Maybe he wasn’t a world-class prick anymore (though I highly doubted it), but there was still no need to suck up to me. Unless he wanted to show Cal he was a good guy. The thought made me want to kill him violently, creatively, and slowly. “He only offended eighty percent of the people in the room, if that.”

“Honestly? Who cares about that train station?” Dylan puffed, rubbing at her belly as she wobbled toward the exit. “Before Row bought it and made it a restaurant, it was straight-up deserted. It smelled of piss, weed, and garbage.”

“People are afraid of change, signorina,” Mom said quietly, a shudder only I noticed moving through her. “That’s why we keep making the same mistakes.”

Only Cal remained curiously silent. Ironically, it was her words I craved more than anyone else’s. I nudged her with my elbow. “Earth to Dot. Now’s your turn to lay into me. Your five minutes start now.”

“Pass.” She took a sip of her coffee. Probably some offensive pumpkin latte bullshit. “What they did to you was brutal, and I believe everyone deserves a bit of grace. Even, and especially, those who don’t give it to others. I will, however, give you a generous piece of my mind tomorrow, when you pick me up for work.” She tried to smile, but I didn’t see any teeth. “That gives me a full twelve minutes, not five.”

“Are you timing our rides together?”

She hitched one dainty shoulder up. “The arctic gusts of wind from your scowls give me chills. Pumpkin spice latte?” She aimed the coffee at me.

“Thanks, I’d rather use Tabasco as eyedrops.”

“Hmm. I’m enjoying that mental image.” She wiped a thin foam mustache off her upper lip, and I wanted to trail the same path with the tip of my tongue before sealing her mouth with mine. “Anyway, I tallied every time you used profanity on my phone.” She raised her ancient iPhone in the air between us. “You should donate a dollar to the local elementary school’s baseball team for every cuss word you used.”

“I’ll go bankrupt.”

“A fitting punishment for your sins.” She smiled happily. “Want to know how many times you cursed?”

“Not really.”

“Forty-four. That’s an average of more than one a minute.”

“That’s bullshit.”

She flipped an invisible notepad open and pretended to cross something off with an imaginary pencil. “Make that forty-five. I see you’re eager to buy Staindrop Elementary another field.”

“Someone is being mouthy these days.” Not that I had any complaints. I’d come for seconds and thirds of that attitude.

“Oh, did you mistake my anxiety for weakness?” Her eyes flared. “Rookie mistake. My tongue is more lethal than any man’s fist.”

I bet so, sweetheart.

I was waiting for her to give me shit about Allison. But she didn’t. Instead, Cal swung her gaze to the ceiling and chewed on her lip, looking thoughtful. “I may or may not have also recorded ‘The Protest Song’ on my phone and put ‘Stan’ in the background.”

“Liar.” I pursed my lips. Dylan, Mom, and Fuckface trailed behind us, though really, they might as well have been on another planet.

“Their beat was something fierce.” She stopped dead in her tracks and swiped her phone screen. The Righteous Gang’s version of “Stan” filled the air.

I couldn’t help it. I let out a chuckle and shook my head. “You’re a nut.”

“When I checked the BPM, I realized Gertie is a straight-up musical genius.” She rose on her tiptoes and plastered the phone closer to my ear. “My favorite part is when they call you a villain. I could listen to it until my ears fall off.”

I was smiling. Why was I smiling? This was ridiculous. She was ridiculous. Besides, I never smiled. Smiling was reserved for other people, who were capable of being happy. The height of positivity I could reach, emotionally, was being not pissed off.

Dylan pushed between us, flinging an arm over each of us. “Aw. Look at you two not even trying to scoop each other’s eyes out.”

“It’s good progress from the time Cal brought you cupcakes.” Mom caught up with our pace, nodding in approval.

“Having everyone home is so much fun.” Dylan sighed.

“Tucker isn’t home, though.” Cal frowned.

“I said what I said.” Dylan rolled her eyes.

Fuckface turned to me, changing the subject. “Hey, didn’t know that you and Allison used to knock boots. I took her to prom, you know.”

“Had no idea she was contaminated. I’ll scrub extra hard today in the shower,” I drawled.

“Be sure to use bleach too. We were drunk that night and some funky things went down.” Kieran tipped an imaginary hat, making my mom choke on her take-out coffee. “Thing is…she doesn’t seem like your type.”

“What’s my type?” I humored him.

Kieran stroked his chin. “Someone who isn’t completely dead inside. Someone cheerful to level out your darkness. You need a yin to your yang.” He gave me a once-over. “Your yang is kind of terrible.”

Glancing quickly at Cal, I noticed not only did she not have any opinion about my short affair with Allison but she didn’t look too bothered by the revelation either. Why did it drive me up the fucking wall that she wasn’t jealous?

Because you still care, and she is still not interested.

I wanted to yell at her, I’m McMonster. I’m your fucking fantasy. Me. The same guy who has always been there, in your periphery, waiting to save the goddamn day and not take any credit for it.

I taught you how to drive. I made your birthday cakes up until your sophomore year. I fucking took your virginity because you asked not so nicely, even though I knew it was going to undo me.

I pushed the exit door open and held it for everyone other than Fuckface—he could hold his own damn door. When I stepped outside into the frosty winter evening, I bumped into my mother’s back. She was standing frozen to the sidewalk, staring at the street. So were Dylan and Cal.

“Mom?” I peered down at her face to find it was pale as a sheet.

“Honey…” Her jaw nearly hit the floor.

I followed her line of sight. My Silverado, which was parked across the street, had all four tires slashed to ribbons. They were so badly ripped, the barrel was completely naked from the tire. A rush of heat climbed up my neck.

“Motherfucker.” I stomped my way to the truck, bending down to take a better look at the prankster’s handiwork. My blood simmered to a dangerous temperature. The dead coyote had been uncalled for. I had let it slide, filing it as a last-ditch effort by some punk before the town hall meeting. There was the mysterious hate mail too, but getting trashed was no news to me. I was used to it from being (A) a celebrity, and (B) a major asshole.

Now this? This was personal. Not to mention inconvenient. I couldn’t go anywhere without my truck. Someone was following me around and making my life hell, and I was going to get to the bottom of it.

I looked around the street for cameras, tugging hard at my overgrown hair.

“Don’t even bother.” Dylan appeared by my side, clutching her lower back with a pout. “None of the cameras work. I tried getting the city to pull out some footage last week because this dumbass gave me a parking ticket for taking a quick nap by the fire hydrant in my car.”

“You’re shitting me.” I gritted my teeth. What kind of Main Street didn’t have one working camera?

“I know, right?” Dylan bristled. “Taking a cat nap is a basic human right when you’re in your third trimester. We should normalize that everywhere.”

Fuckface popped into my periphery, staring at the wheels and scratching the side of his neck. “Shit, man. Those tires are done.”

“Do you ever say things that aren’t fucking obvious?” I ground out.

Kieran shrugged, unmoved by my attitude toward him. “Not usually. I’m fuck-hot and on the brink of becoming a billionaire. I can be as dumb as a rock and people will still be interested.”

“That’s not true. You’re very bright. I’m sure you can tell him something he doesn’t know,” Dylan encouraged with a dreamy grin. “Try it.”

“Before Alex Ferguson took over Man United, Aston Villa was the more successful club. Bet you didn’t know that.”

“I didn’t!” Dylan chirped. “Did you, Cal?”

“Nope.” Cal perked up. “Did you know there was another pilot with Amelia Earhart when she disappeared? His name was Fred Noonan.”

“I knew that!” Dylan snapped her fingers. “He was hot.”

This vandalism bullshit didn’t fly with me. No matter how angry people were.

Who could have done this? Randy. Randy could and would. He was my most outspoken adversary in town with plenty to lose if the deal went through.

“You keep talking about boring shit.” I turned around and marched straight down Main Street. “Be right back.”

“Hey, where are you going?” Dylan called out.

“I have a sucker punch with Randy’s name on it.” He’d be at Dahlia’s Diner, eating his sad, discounted senior meal. Randy and Lyle had a Thursday routine.

“Row, no!” Dylan yelped. “What are you doing? He’s like a thousand years old!”

“You don’t even know that it’s him,” my mother pointed out, her voice becoming fainter as I put some distance between us.

I didn’t care at this point. Someone was targeting me, and I needed my pound of flesh. Once upon a very long time ago, I had been someone’s punching bag.

Never again. Lesson learned. These days, I always hit back, and twice as hard.

They hollered my name as I zipped down the street, past the food mart Randy owned, the auto shop, and the gift shop not one soul had stepped into since 1998. Dahlia’s Diner appeared before me in all its modesty. Neon-red roof, glass bricks, and red door with an open sign nailed into it. Christmas lights adorned its roof, flicking on and off. I spotted Randy through the window, sitting in the corner, digging into his biscuits and gravy. I was about to slap the door open and rearrange the organs in his face when I heard a voice behind me.

“Don’t you dare open that door, Ambrose Rhett Casablancas.”

Cal.

My steps faltered, my hand already on the handle. I didn’t turn around to face her. “Go back to your date,” I hissed out, remembering that she was here with Fuckface.

“You don’t know that it’s Randy. Even if it is him, he’s an elderly gentleman who is dead afraid of losing his family’s only source of income. Have you no conscience?”

I didn’t grace the question with an answer.

She sighed. “All right. What about a beating heart, got one of those?”

Yes, and you need to stay the hell away from it.

Her words washed through me, going in one ear and out the other. But the touch of her fingertips as they fluttered between my shoulder blades did not go unnoticed. There was a jacket and a Henley between us, and still, where we touched, my skin tingled, coming alive. It was a weird sensation. Like being awakened from a long bout of sleep.

I inhaled sharply, clinging desperately to my anger. She thawed me where I wanted to stay iced. The last thing I needed was another complication in my life. And Cal made me feel…she made me feel. That was the main problem.

“I won’t be bullied again.” I ground out the words.

I had always pretended to be untouchable. Athletic, popular, successful, talented. I had been a great student, on the rowing team—letterman jacket, a sports car, and an harem of fangirls. I never showed weakness and didn’t plan on starting now.

“Again?” She tilted her head to the side.

Nice going, asshole. One touch, and you start spilling secrets.

“The coyote,” I mumbled, then scowled, twisting my head to glance at her. “And why do you smell like the apocalypse?” She didn’t smell like her usual green apples and white musk.

“Semus has been peeing in my shoes to make a point ever since I got back.” She sighed, not even a little self-conscious.

“Semus is your cat?” I clarified. Please let it be the fucking cat. If it’s a stalker, I’ll get a life sentence.

“If he were a human, would I be so calm about it?” She pinned me with a look. I stifled a smile, just barely. She made not-smiling impossible. “Anyway, can you give me two minutes to talk you out of making a ginormous mistake?”

“No.”

“Then I quit, and I’m taking my expertise and ten-ton bucket of charm with me.” She was blinking hard, a tic that told me she was nervous. I didn’t have the fucking heart to deny her.

I groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Here’s hoping.” She crossed her fingers. “How would you like me to kill you?”

A chain of three hundred orgasms while buried inside you.

“Let me smoke however much I want and shut up about it.”

“No can do. You mean the world to Dylan, and she means the world to me. So can I have two minutes?”

“You can have one. Make it quick.” We were both looking at an oblivious Randy and Lyle through the diner window. Cal’s profile was a vision. Cute, pert nose. Bee-stung lips. A dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Even the curve of her eyebrow held grace.

“Look, I get it. They don’t understand you.” Her shoulder brushed mine and for one second, I forgot how to fucking breathe. “You’re a mythical creature, Casablancas. Too big for this world. I spent my entire childhood watching you, and I still don’t think I’ve figured you out.” Her voice sounded like it came from the bottom of her soul. “It’s aggravating, seeing someone treat this world like it’s their personal oyster. And it’s frightening when that someone takes something you know so well and decides to turn it into something else entirely. Give them time to adjust. They’re not bad people.”

“Are you fucking Fuckface?” I blurted out. Jesus. Had I caught her verbal diarrhea virus? I knew the answer to that question. But I still needed the reassurance.

She whipped her head toward me. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. It’s a yes or no question.”

“He’s my friend.”

So? I’d had plenty of “friends” who could recognize my dick in a thirty-cock lineup. “That wasn’t what I was asking.”

“Well, that’s the answer you’re getting, so deal with it.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near him. He’s a bad influence.” I recognized that was rich coming from me, a man whose entire existence was deplorable.

“And Allison?” Her eyebrows shot up. “What kind of influence is she?”

It was pathetic, how pleased I was she had fallen into the trap I’d set up for her.

“You knew I disliked her.” Cal’s throat rolled with a swallow. “Yet you still went and dated her.”

“That was a feature, not a bug,” I admitted, my voice coming out harsh and hot.

I had wanted to hurt Cal. Dig under her skin. Team up with her enemy. So long as she hadn’t known it, as long as it was all in my messed-up head, it had felt good. But now that she did know, I couldn’t bear being the one to make her feel bad.

I turned around and walked back to my truck. She trailed behind me.

“Holy shit, did I just manage to talk you out of beating an elderly person?” She giggled, a bounce in her step as she chased me. “Does it mean that I earned my place in heaven?”

“Hope so, for your sake. If we’re neighbors in hell, I’m stealing your trash can.”

“I’ll egg your house,” she retorted, catching up with my step.

“I’ll butter your floor.”

“I’ll send embarrassing deliveries to your doorstep. You’ll be a social pariah.” She evil-laughed before her smile dropped. “Fine, maybe not. You’d probably like that.”

“How come you’re so comfortable around me?” I asked. I always found her no-filter prattling adorable. “You barely have tics. And you don’t mind us standing close together.”

“It’s less prominent when I’m around someone I know,” Cal explained. “When I’m around someone…” She trailed off. “I, uhm, trust.”

“You trust me?” I asked. My heart picked up speed. Probably a minor heart attack. Nothing to worry about.

“Not to kill me, I guess.”

We were headed toward Mom, Dylan, and Kieran, who were still loitering by the Silverado, pointing at faulty street cameras and making some calls. Bystanders were bracketing them, gasping and taking pictures. Great. More humans. Wasn’t I lucky.

“Have you started running again?” I asked.

“Next question.”

I pierced her with a look. She reddened, picking up an orange leaf from the street and twisting it between her fingers by the stem. “Ugh. It’s hard, okay?”

“Anything worth doing is.” I stopped by my truck, fighting the urge to kick it in frustration. I also wanted a cigarette, but I didn’t want another lecture. Cal shoved the leaf into her hair, like it was a feather in a cap.

“So…” Kieran clucked his tongue, looking between us. Uh-huh. What was he going to do next? Tell us that the night was dark? Winter was cold? Cats were superior to dogs? “My car’s parked right here, in case you need a ride.” He motioned toward a gunmetal Maybach.

“My feet thank you, good sir.” Dylan patted his back, already strutting toward his car. Mom followed her, and Kieran unlocked the car so they could slide in and wait in the warmth.

“Thank you, Kieran. How lovely of you to offer.” Mom rearranged the thick, silky scarf on her neck as she slid in.

Cal looked between me and him, and for a moment I had the idiotic hope she was going to choose to stay here with me and figure out my truck shit.

“Row, are you coming?” Cal asked.

“No,” I said stiffly. “You go.”

She tilted her chin up, squinting at the sky. “Gonna rain soon.”

“I ain’t made out of sugar.”

“Don’t I know it.” A tired smile twisted her pink lips. “Cyanide, maybe. Don’t be so stubborn. Come.”

“I’m good.”

She shook her head, throwing me a frustrated look. “I swear, your ego is the most giant thing I’ve seen.”

“That’s not true, and we both know it.”

That made her blush down to her toes. Her face was so pink, she looked sunburned.

“See you at work tomorrow?” She bit at the side of her thumb.

“Unfortunately.” Fuck. No more rides together. I should not feel as disappointed as I did. I hated our rides together. Spent the majority of them lecturing her.

“Okay. So…bye?” she squeaked.

“Bye.”

I kept my back to Kieran’s Maybach as I called my insurance. Maybe the bastard was reformed after all, but it didn’t matter either way.

Nice guys didn’t always finish last.

But if this specific one wasn’t careful, he’d end up in my trunk.