My Only Reason (Men of Monroe Book 2)

by Rachel Brookes

  “Freckles,” I murmured, running my finger over them gently. “How have I missed these before?”

  As she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes met mine, and they twinkled with mischief. “We have the place to ourselves. Maybe you should get well-acquainted with them.”

  “Freckles, I wouldn’t give a flying fuck if my apartment was full of people. I’d still be getting very acquainted with them. And I’m going to.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath, and her body jerked slightly in my grasp.

  “Freckles?” she asked, her cheeks turning pink as she twisted around and climbed onto the bed to straddle my hips. “Did you just give me a nickname?”

  “Hell yeah, I did.” I grinned, my fingers digging into her hips as I held her tight against me. “You and those sexy as fuck freckles are all mine. Now, how about we get to the business of me getting acquainted with them? You good with that?”

  Her cheeks flushed a deeper pink. “Oh, I am more than good with that. With both.”

  “Time to give me those sweet lips of yours, Freckles.”

  I shook my head and brought myself back to the now, desperate to stop myself from traveling to a place where things were so fucking different to what they were now. Marnie continued to stare at me, her face void of emotion, and she wasn’t saying a word. After sucking in an unsteady breath, she dropped her gaze to the floor beneath us. She hesitated for a second, before moving to the side and inviting me in without having to say a single word. Offering a slight smile, I stepped around her and entered her space, which was washed in warm yellow light and thankfully felt a hell of a lot warmer than outside. I blew air into my hands and rubbed them together to encourage warmth back into my body as I surveyed her shop. Stacked high in the far corner were five or so boxes with images of display cabinets and shelving on them, a half-assembled filing cabinet sat in the middle of the room, and on the workbench was a laptop, a pile of paperwork, a large Styrofoam soda cup, and a half-eaten plate of food. But it was a piece of paper laid next to her laptop that got my attention. It looked like letterhead because on top were the words Luscious Lavender in fancy script font surrounded by a flurry of flowers and below it in simple block letters was, Owner and lead florist: Marnie Lavender.

  Sasha had been the one to tell me that Marnie was re-opening Monroe’s only florist. Ever since she’d learned Marnie and I shared history, she made it her mission to drop Marnie’s name into conversation every chance she got, and then she’d stare at me and wait for my reaction. Lucky for me, I had a younger sister who liked to pull the same shit when we were growing up, and I became a detective who interrogated people regularly, so I had developed a really fucking good poker face over the years. Much to Sasha’s annoyance. I might not have let my face show how the news affected me, but pride swelled in my chest as Sasha went on about the bouquet Marnie had given her. From the day I met Marnie, she’d been obsessed with flowers. My memories were full of the two of us lying together in the meadows, of Marnie sharing her wildest dreams of opening her own flower shop and calling it Luscious Lavender, and her voice growing louder and more excited as she rattled off her favorite flowers. When springtime arrived, she’d wear flowers in her hair, but no matter the season, Marnie Lavender always bloomed like the flowers she loved.

  Luscious Lavender was her dream. And seeing her name in the same sentence as owner and Luscious Lavender meant she had chased her dream and was achieving everything she’d whispered to me during our late night and early morning talks when it was just me and Marnie against the world. The tightness I’d been carrying around in my chest since I broke not just her heart but also my own eased slightly, though it still stung with every breath I took.

  She stood fidgeting with her hands, staring at me like she was afraid of what I might say. She had looked flawless in her curve-hugging purple dress, sky-high heels, and perfectly manicured face and hair at the gala. Tonight, though, with her long dark locks thrown up on the top of her head, her face free of makeup, and wearing ripped skinny jeans with a Monroe Lions T-shirt hanging off her left shoulder, she looked phenomenal.

  “Did you have fun the other night with Sasha and Missy?” I asked casually, wanting to slice the tension between us with an easy topic of conversation.

  “Why are you here?” she replied as she rushed behind the workbench to put the security of distance and an unmovable object between us.

  She crossed her arms across her chest defensively and stared back at me. Her face remained emotionless, but the way she had been twisting her hair and gnawing on her bottom lip since we walked in was a sign she was nervous about being this close to me. I’d seen this exact look from her when I told her I was going to kiss her for the first time, when I shared that I wanted her to be my girlfriend, and when I took her virginity. It was cute as fuck then, and it was as cute as fuck now. The big difference now, though was there was no happiness or heated excitement in her eyes. All that stared back at me was uncertainty.

  She wanted me to get right to the point, and if this was how it had to play out, then I’d give her that. I came here for a reason, and that was the text she sent me.

  “What was behind your message? What did my parents do?”

  She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll handle it.”

  “Marnie, what did they do?”

  I was still trying to figure out what they could have done. They had no reason to contact her, or me, or anyone who had anything to do with me. But here I was with my parents causing shit as per fucking usual. And causing shit for the last person on the planet who would ever deserve it.

  She pulled out her phone, and her fingers ran over the screen. The sound of a screenshot being captured and then the swish of a text being sent hit the air. Seconds later, my phone dinged with a new message.

  “That’s what they did,” she stated, her voice tight and utterly pissed off.

  I clicked into my messages and opened the unread text from Marnie. A picture of a message was all there was on my screen, and as I took in the words, my anger escalated.

  Unknown: You have 24 hours to vacate Shop 45 Main Street, Monroe. You are trespassing on the office of the future mayor of Monroe. Leave immediately, Miss Lavender. I am not afraid to get the police involved. I know you have links with Monroe PD because of your teenage fling with my son, and your dad’s oh so tragic death, but do not test me. I have my own connections.

  Clenching my jaw, I let the words sink in. I recognized the number at the top of the screenshot as my mother’s. Not only did she threaten Marnie and disregard the seriousness of our relationship, but she’d also gone to a place of no return by not only mentioning Marnie’s dad but also mentioning the tragic end of his life in a way that showed not one ounce of empathy or regard.

  I jammed my phone back into my pocket and turned toward the door. I’d barely taken a couple of steps before I heard footsteps behind me. I walked faster.

  “Austin, wait,” Her delicate fingers wrapped around my forearm, halting my escape. “Where are you going?”

  I sucked in a sharp breath. I needed to rein in my anger because I refused to explode in front of Marnie. I’d save that for my mother.

  Through gritted teeth and with fury roaring to life within me, I looked at the woman I’d do anything for, including going head to head yet again with my parents. “I’m going to pay my parents a visit.”

  It took me ten minutes to get from Marnie’s shop to my parents’ house. My knuckles turned stark white from gripping the steering wheel tightly as I weaved through the abandoned roads. Waves of frustration rolled off my shoulders as the words of my mother’s fucked-up text to Marnie replayed in my head.

  This shit needed to end.

  It had been years since I’d stepped foot inside my parents’ house, but that didn’t stop me from bursting through the front door without announcing my arrival. The foyer lights burst bright above me and lit the way as I walked through the house and toward the kitchen where I heard the f
aint noise of a television.

  I found Dad sitting at the breakfast bar, reading the newspaper and sipping on a glass of whiskey. It only took a few seconds for him to realize he was no longer alone. He twisted around on the stool and confusion engulfed his features when his eyes landed on me.

  “Where’s Mom?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  He didn’t have to answer because she appeared through the door that led to the formal dining room. As usual, she was dressed to the nines without a single hair out of place. Looking at her, all I saw was Ashlyn—the same hair color, same face shape, same nose, and eyes—but that’s where the similarities ended. Our mother was nothing like the woman my baby sister had become. Shock registered on her face, her mouth dropped open slightly, and her brows shot up, but she was quick to pull her emotionless expression back into place.

  “Do you want a drink?” Dad asked, pushing back from the stool and moving toward the liquor cupboard. “I’ve got whiskey, bourbon, rum, beer …”

  I wasn’t here for pleasantries, and I didn’t want to be here for any longer than it took to give my parents yet another warning.

  “I thought I made myself clear at the gala, but apparently, I didn’t. Marnie does not exist to you. Do not contact her again. Do not text her. Call her. Visit her. Do not think about her. Back the fuck off.”

  “How dare you come into my house and use such filthy language?”

  “What are you talking about?” Dad asked, turning his attention squarely to me.

  “The text Marnie received with the empty, pointless threats. Yeah, Mom, I know about it. I also know it came from your phone, and I know exactly what you said. How dare you mention her father or our relationship?”

  “Cybil, what the fuck is Austin referring to?”

  I shifted my gaze to Dad. He never cussed, so this was huge. His eyes were firmly locked on Mom, and he looked royally pissed and confused about what I was talking about. Mom didn’t speak. Her expression also didn’t change. She was a fucking robot who clearly didn’t give a shit.

  “Show me the text.” He held out his hand for my phone. It was only then that I heard an audible gasp coming from the direction Mom was standing. I unlocked my phone and scrolled to Marnie’s text before handing my phone across to Dad.

  “Darling, you know this campaign is important to me. I had to take matters into my own hands. Lisa Thompson is looking into this for me and told me that the lease is not valid. That storefront is mine, and it will be mine.”

  Lisa Thompson. Fuck, I hadn’t heard that name in years. Growing up, her parents were the richest people in Monroe, and of course, Mom latched onto them and saw not only dollar signs but also a way to increase her social standing. Our families become tight friends, and she did everything in her power to push Lisa toward me. Yeah, she was pretty, smart, and could make me laugh. But then the Lavenders moved in next to the Hunts, and from that moment on, Marnie was it for me.

  Dad handed me back my phone and glared toward Mom.

  “This will not happen again.”

  “But Baron, darling, it would be perfect for my campaign.”

  “Cybil, stop. It’s not happening.” Dad then turned to me. “Sorry you had to come out of your way tonight.”

  I gave him a chin lift and shoved my phone back in my pocket.

  Then I redirected my attention to my mother’s furious face.

  “This is done. Do not contact her again, and do not contact me. You make threats to her again, and I’ll unleash so much dirty laundry on you, your cushy life and plans to run for mayor will come crashing down around you so fucking hard and fast, you’ll get whiplash.”

  I didn’t stick around. I had nothing more to say, and I wanted to get as far away from that place as I could. I was tired, pissed off, and in desperate need of a shot of whiskey, a hot shower, and my bed. Once I got back in my truck and turned the key, I blasted the heat, then leaned against the headrest and closed my eyes. That was fucked. But something was sticking with me. Seeing Dad use his backbone was something I hadn’t seen in a long time. It was good to see, but there was way too much water under the bridge to latch onto what it could mean.

  Before I headed home, I lifted my ass from the seat and pulled out my phone. It was getting late, but I needed to put Marnie’s mind at ease.

  Austin: They won’t bother you again. Rest easy, Freckles.

  Her response came through once I had settled into bed and had shut down for the night. I wasn’t expecting a response. But there it was, and I’d take whatever she gave me.

  Marnie: Thanks. Dream well, Austin.

  And dream I did.

  Of flowers, whiskey kisses, and Marnie Lavender.

  Eleven

  Marnie

  “Mom, where are you?” I called out after pushing open the solid wood front door of my family’s home and stepping into the brightly lit foyer.

  My day had been a whirlwind of bank and supplier meetings, creating an online presence, and finally, after going back and forth between crisp white and light charcoal gray, deciding on the charcoal gray for the walls of Luscious Lavender. My back screamed at me for a long bubble bath, and my stomach roared with hunger, but more than anything, I just wanted some downtime with Mom. Every time I visited, a sense of ease hit me. I missed Dad’s scent lingering in the air and his gruff voice greeting me, but the memories of love and laughter embedded deep into the walls were astronomically stronger than the sadness of living new days without him, and that was what I held onto.

  “In the kitchen, honey.”

  I unwrapped my thick, woolen scarf, then shrugged off my jacket and hung it over the back of the couch before heading toward Mom’s voice. As soon as I entered the kitchen, I froze because sitting on the counter was Mom’s prized crystal vase brimming with a magnificent arrangement of vibrant colored flowers in pinks, purples, reds, and yellows.

  “Honey, what’s wrong?” Mom asked, worriedly.

  My eyes didn’t budge from the vase. “Where did those flowers come from?”

  “They aren’t from you? I get a delivery every month.”

  Every month?

  I blinked away from the flowers and stared at Mom. “Since when?”

  Sadness filled her turquoise eyes. “Since your daddy left us.”

  The grief in her voice at the mention of Dad had remained the same since that fateful day our lives changed forever. The love they shared was one of true love, and they were each other’s only love. When we lost Dad, Mom lost her soul mate and her other half. I’d never seen a love like the one they shared. It was the kind of love you dreamed of and wanted as your own.

  It was Dad’s thing to give Mom flowers, and for as long as I could remember, he’d come home from work on the third Thursday of every month with an arrangement of flowers that would take pride of place in the same place the vase sat today. It was Dad’s thing. Their thing. His reason for giving her flowers was the reason I believed in love and romance. Mom and Dad’s first date fell on the third Thursday of the month, and Dad arrived at my grandparents’ house with flowers and a shitload of hope that the gorgeous brunette he’d met at the grocery store felt even a little of the heart flutters he’d felt when he first laid eyes on her. From that moment, and for the next twenty-nine years, Mom received flowers every third Thursday of the month.

  “Every third Thursday, flowers arrive.” She swiped under her key before busying herself by filling a plate with freshly baked cookies and sliding the plate toward me. “It’s like your daddy is still with us. It’s a constant reminder of how beautiful he was.”

  My head swung back to the flowers. Whoever created the arrangement knew what they were doing, and the flower choice, the fullness, and the delicate touches told me it would not have been cheap.

  “This has been happening for five years?”

  “Yes, honey.” She nodded before turning her back to me and pulling two cups from high in the cupboard next to the sink and filling them with coffee and creamer. The news that
I hadn’t been the one sending the flowers didn’t seem to faze her at all. It was painfully beautiful to think of Mom holding onto that memory of Dad, and that, in her mind, he was the one still sending them. It was her way of finding peace, and it was romance at an out of this world level. And I loved that for her.

  My mind raced wildly as I tried to work out who was behind the flowers. Could it be Cora or Trent? If it was them, why hadn’t they have told me they were doing this? And if it wasn’t either of them, why hadn’t they asked if it was me?

  I pulled my phone out of my pocket and clicked into my messages.

  Marnie: I’m at Moms. Has either of you been sending her flowers?

  Their responses came through fast.

  Cora: Nope, wasn’t me. I thought it was you.

  Trent: No.

  Well, shit. That put me back at square one. If it wasn’t either of them, then who the hell was it? I stayed with Mom for an hour. We drank coffee, ate homemade chocolate chip cookies, and made plans for the holidays. Throughout it all, I kept stealing glances of the flowers. The unknown was clawing at me, and I needed to know.

  They couldn’t be coming from Monroe because my shop would be the only florist. The next town over had two florists, so that would be where I’d be heading tomorrow.

  “Hi, can I help you?” a petite young girl with tight black curls bouncing on top of her shoulders asked when I entered Petals and Thorns in Scottsville.

  The first florist I visited had no clue what I was talking about when I asked about Mom’s flowers. This place was my last shot before I’d have to think of expanding my search into the next town, which I really didn’t have time to do considering I was already drowning in a to-do list the length of my arm and had my own florist to open.

  She stepped out from behind the counter and made a beeline toward me.