Love On Tap : A Wounded Hearts Second Chance Romance (Love By Design Book 8)

by M. C. Cerny

  I hated her.

  I spent the last decade exorcising her from my soul with booze I didn’t drink and women I didn’t fuck.

  I loved my firefly still.

  I wanted to tear her clothes off, maybe hate fuck her tiny little body over the bar countertop pressing her into the hard polished wood. I’d make her bruise the way she always begged me to when all I ever gave her was tenderness. Little did I know, she wasn’t wired for comfort, and I wasn’t wired to be an asshole. I guessed it was just dumb luck that polar opposites attracted like summer lightening. She was chaos wrapped in silk and deceptive the way oatmeal raisin cookies break your trust with steadfast chocolate chip. She was my hail and thunder shipwrecking my heart. I couldn’t be what she so obviously needed, and I had neglected the truth. Fireflies only came out in the summer heat illuminated for a brief spell and ours flickered out before I learned the hard truth that I had no power in winning that age old argument.

  My love for Sierra was an unconditional commitment to an imperfect person. I spent years numbing myself with work because I couldn’t get it up for another woman. She left me an impotent mess and I hated myself for letting her have that kind of power over me. I had accepted her for who she was from the moment I met her, but she had been unable to accept herself, and that was what destroyed us before we began.

  I wanted to scream at her for leaving me. I wanted to scream at her to stay. I wanted to fuck her until I forgot why I was so angry at the world for keeping us apart.

  So now, I needed to protect my heart, I needed that hate to build a fortified wall around me from anything she might say or do that twisted me up in a dirty rag of alcohol and lies. She was my kryptonite and along the way I had learned to choose self-preservation over internal destruction for someone who I didn’t think could ever love me back.

  “Andrew.” She placed her small backpack on the bar and no matter what I told myself, her money was no good here. I spied the envelope peeking out of her bag with my return address and knew exactly why she was here. All it took was one word from her, my name on her treacherous coral lips, and she molotove cocktailed her way back in. She was a full-on sucker punch, and I was helpless to resist her despite the festering wound she’d left last time she blew through town.

  “Sierra.” Curtly, I nodded and wondered what made her return to rural New York state after all these years besides a letter demanding a dissolution of a will, of us, of our sordid history. Ten fucking long years when my life should have gone on instead of staying stagnate and waiting for her return. I doubted she came back for the mountain views or the winery, and I held my tongue, letting it cement in my mouth.

  From the far end of the bar, my brother stepped in to save me, “So you’re back, what brings you here?”

  Obviously, David was planning on carrying the conversation since I was silently stewing in my corner gathering my thoughts. He had no idea I had invited this hurricane. I waited years for Firefly to return home. What were the odds on the night she walked back into my bar, my life–I’d made my vow to finally let her go–fucking Murphy’s Law–but it didn’t mean I had to make this easy on her either. David glanced at me, his eyes asking if I was okay. I didn’t know what to say and I shrugged trying to resume some form of normalcy in the wiping down of the already immaculate bar. My brother was good like that picking up the pieces when I clearly couldn’t.

  “A few things, David.” She smiled with shark teeth and her acid tone, a mix of sweet and sour which nearly took a bite from my brother. David didn’t deserve her ire, though I couldn’t say those two had a good history between them. Much like of all of her connections, she burned a lot of bridges on her way out. For me, if anything, maybe Sierra’s return would be a good experiment in exposure therapy, get it all out and done with for once and all. I didn’t have a clue, but I knew this was going to fucking hurt. She was my terminal infection, a cancer on the idea of love.

  David, not one to let anything go bit back hard, “I hardly think you’ll find what you’re looking for here. Everything you touch turns to dust, darling.” David grunted.

  Ouch. I couldn’t expect David to have the soft spot for Sierra that I did once upon a time. I’m only intervening to save them both and stop a scene from blowing up in the bar. At least that was what I convinced myself by stepping around the bar between them. Why did it always feel like I was intervening on her behalf? Hadn’t I learned by now that she was a tough girl? After all, she did the leaving while I spent years wallowing in misery for something that was never mine. A beautiful butterfly, she flitted away and our spring had come and gone leaving me in a harsh state of winter.

  And here I thought Jon Snow knew nothing.

  It was I, who knew nothing while the dragon girl burned the world.

  I put my hand on David’s chest pushing him back a little. He could have resisted, but he backed off with my request.

  “Easy you two.” I glanced back at my ex. “Put your money away, Sierra. You know it’s not necessary.”

  “Because you feel sorry for me?” Her coral lips were glossed and pouty stunning me for a moment before I cleared my throat and approach this situation from a different angle.

  I sighed.

  She was damn exhausting and I was getting sucked back in.

  “Because we have history.” I said examining her pinched defensive expression. Again, I had to quell the auto-pilot response of tapping into my well of sympathy. I kept telling myself the well was bone dry and not worth the expense of my sanity.

  “History.” Her tone made it sound like a question.

  I answered. “Be careful, the doors you slam today won’t be open tomorrow.” I pushed the glass of whiskey down the bar. Her favorite and something she drank even as a hellfire underaged brat. I never knew where she got the whiskey, but I knew it made her braver and reckless, a dangerous combination in a woman who looked like she was barely hanging on.

  I didn’t want to know what happened to her over the past decade. Mostly because it hadn’t included me and that hurt worst of all. I wasn’t a part of that history. I was a part of the long-forgotten past she walked away from. Where had she been hiding all these years besides Vegas? And yes, I knew that much. I hired a private investigator to find my wife when her grandparents died and saddled me with her inheritance and the winery.

  Was she involved? Kids? The questions rounded my head over and over cutting tiny bits of flesh from my body pouring salt into the wounds. Sierra Occho destroyed me once. I spent the last decade reorganizing my soul without her and coming back from the shell of a man I had become in her absence. I couldn’t go back to living like a ghost all over again. If anything, I needed to exercise her from my mind so I could start living.

  But seeing her here in the flesh did something to me, and I knew this could only end one of two ways.

  3

  Sierra

  Andrew Easton would always be the one that got away, my North Star in the storm. The one statistical outlier I didn’t account for when I made my break with small town life. Handsome like his brother, but without the covert hero complex David always carried even as he joined the military. The Easton brothers were something special. Andrew was a different kind of hero. Patient. Tolerant. Accepting when he should have run like the hills meeting me. I bet their mother didn’t realize how lucky she had become getting two sons as near perfect as these two were. No one compared to them and I knew even then I wasn’t good enough to stay with him forever. He was my foolish indiscretion, a rest stop on my journey to hell, and my one allowance at temporary happiness.

  Good looking and friendly was how I remembered them on my fast track out of town. I was a scared little girl who turned into a washed-up stripper just like Nona said I would. I had lofty goals of being a world class poker player, but no capital to get in the game unless I sold my one remaining asset now that the inheritance clause had run out, but that damn winery was filled with haunting memories.

  Andrew and David taught me car
ds in the beginning when we would meet up in the backroom of the bar waiting on one of their parents to finish up the books for the night. As we got older both brothers would bike the mile and a half outside of town to the vineyard making sure I got home. Years would pass, David would join the football team and then it was only Andrew who followed me home. Those days pushing pedals over the hot summer asphalt with flies biting our ankles were some of my most treasured memories.

  I knew Andrew wouldn’t like my return to New Paltz, but I didn’t expect his semi-frosty welcome either. Afterall, he was the one who summoned me to this godforsaken place. Suffice it to say, I had no idea what to expect. He always had a special softness for me, one I selfishly exploited from the beginning. From the day we meet, I couldn’t understand why he continued to give me his forgiveness and love when I deserved it least of all. Despite all of it though, meeting him was both the happiest day and the worst of my life. Fast forward to being eighteen when we had broken up.

  Correction, I broke up with him on bad terms putting it delicately, my fault, and I left him without a backwards glance cutting the ties cleanly and efficiently like a razor blade to spare us both any unsolicited amount of heart break. In the years since, I got accustomed to those exacting slices. Sharp and precise the scars remained. I guessed I was wrong. Really wrong.

  “So?” This time the question about my return came from Andrew. I picked up the tumbler of whiskey focusing on not having my hand shake and took a fortifying sip shunning my past.

  I smiled, shaking my head watching him clean the bar with a bit more gusto than he needed. My eyes transfixed on the ropey muscles winding up his thick arms. They flexed under his t-shirt and I sighed remembering those arms, a younger version, embracing me and free of the ink that peeked out from the bottom edge of his shirt sleeves now. I wondered what story that ink would tell. Andrew was warm, hot like a heater when our bodies joined together. I had been so cold since I left New York and it was more than just a bone deep chill the hot Vegas sun had no control over, it was a hollowness that filled my heart.

  I didn’t think I could tell Andrew the real reason behind my return. My selfish need to see him again. So I gave the next best thing.

  “I came back to figure out what to do with the winery.” A half-truth which had Andrew cease wiping the bar, throwing the rag down. The movement was quick, and jerked me back on my seat. A half-truth which had Andrew cease wiping the bar, throwing the rag down. The movement was quick, and jerked me back on my seat. It wasn’t like him to be violent, but the motion startled me. He wasn’t that guy. He wasn’t the immediate past and I wouldn’t have to worry about him finding me or the money I lifted from him which was my share from the club anyway. I was good at disappearing. I had perfected my ability to blend in and vanish from a young age.

  “Crushing grapes by hand or just hearts this time.” He leaned over the bar. The words gritted between his teeth. I shook looking into his eyes and seeing the pain and hate coming from their depths.

  “I want to apologize.” I fisted my hands under the lip of the bar, hidden, letting my nails pinch the skin.

  “You know what, it doesn’t matter what you want. What I want is for you to get out of my bar. We have an appointment with the lawyer, that’s all you needed to show up for.” Andrew turned and walked away leaving me in silence. A few patrons watched our awkward exchange. The door to the kitchen swung open and close on its hinges in time to my beating heart.

  “Well, that went surprisingly well.” David put a shot of tequila this time in front of me and I slung it back without flinching at the bitter taste.

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah, he didn’t come around the bar and cart you off over his shoulder rekindling whatever hot mess you’ve decided to lay at his feet.” David had a point. I mused what an Andrew like that would be like. I would know what to do with that far better than this cold and distant one with his walls far too high to scale.

  “I’m back David.” The words surprised even me coming from my mouth full of conviction.

  “To stay?” I looked up at the bulkier version of Andrew’s genetic code. I sharp pang pierced my heart and I wondered what if… but pushed it back down as quickly. I had done plenty of self-harm in the past and needed to let go in order to move forward.

  “I don’t honestly know.” But I did know, and David sensed it too.

  “Get that look off your face.” He pointed at me. “I have a girl,” he said.

  Well, that answered that question.

  “You’re kind of the last mistake I’d ever make.” I taunted him over the rim of another tequila shot.

  “Then don’t bring my brother down with you. I was just starting to get him back.” He stalked away leaving me shocked.

  “David.” I pleaded, but he walked away clicking the remote on the radio jukeboxes that filled the bar. A familiar song played and made me smile. ELO’s Evil Woman filled the silence in my head. Good to know David developed a sense of humor over the years he likely spent hating me. Either that or a head injury finally knocked his funny side out.

  “Cute David.” I called out as he waved me on. I slipped from the stool and made my way to the sidewalk. I didn’t have a vehicle here unless I counted my grandfather’s boat. He kept his 1990 Chevrolet Celebrity laid up at the house and if my Nona hadn’t sold it when he died chances were pretty good it was still there. For now, I’d walk the three blocks to the student hostel that still operated for hikers, and international students in town. In the morning, I’d figure out what I needed to tackle next. The prodigal wine heiress returned, but the prince had given up his kingdom for peasants and pints of beer.

  4

  Andy

  A day I would never forget. The first time I saw firefly eyes…

  “Damn it boys, what the hell am I going to say to your mother?” Our heads hung down in shame, but also because we couldn’t stop the grin from cutting across our faces. Dad was trying to hold it together, but failing miserably attempting to yell at us between chuckles.

  Dad punished us for breaking the window during our touch football game in the backyard. Since neither of us had the money to pay for the window outright, he was making us haul the shipment of wine crates inside the bar. The two of us could get the job done quicker than Dad’s staff and the punishment wasn’t as bad as the alternative. Mom was more upset about the window than Dad. We saw him trying to hide his smile as he dragged us both to the garage where he proceeded to fake yell at us and then told us to act apologetic to mom the rest of the week while he came up with extra chores for us to do while we were grounded. David griped a bit because it meant missing out on football practice, but we were polar opposites in that David loved the game while I could take it or leave it. For me, it had become about spending time with friends goofing around and watching cheerleaders.

  The bar was empty this time of day with just one guy sitting at the end of the bar nursing a whiskey neat in his rumpled suit and dark tie. The main waitress, Janice, who ran the appetizers and drinks from the bar to the few tables wiped down the old shinny tables and filled the salt and peppers for the week. It smelled like lemon cleaner and nips of spilled vodka and I loved how it permeated the wood of the floor and walls for as long as I could remember.

  Easton’s had been in the family for decades. If we were counting, David and I were the third generation to earn our allowances here afterschool and on weekends. If you looked closely at some of the black and white photos that lined the wall behind the bar you would find baby pictures of David and me sitting on our grandfather and dad’s shoulders while our mom and grandmother held up wine glasses in a toast. It was nostalgia that had no price tag and love that ran deep in the genes. Someday this was going to be ours, but for now it felt like a prison carting these boxes of wine from the delivery truck into the cellar downstairs.

  “Hey, who are you?” I looked up to find a pair of skinny tan legs standing in front of me as I picked up the box. My eyes followed the n
atural course of things and found defiant hands perched on boney hips that barely held up a pair of ratty blue denim shorts. Her t-shirt was knotted tight to the side and her face was sharp. Her barely filled out cheek bones and slightly sunken in eyes reminded me of toffee or caramel, and stared right back. Freckles dotted her skin and my fingers itched to touch them connecting what looked like thousands of stars against a pale morning sky.

  “You know if you take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Her voice lilted sounding foreign and unexpected in a body so small and hair so shaggy. She looked ill groomed, my mother would say, and a little scrappy. Those arms crossed around her middle and she tapped her foot angrily. Her lips parted in a half smile showing her front teeth were slightly crooked giving her the perfect imperfection because it left me staring slack jawed until she cleared her throat reminding me how rude I was being.

  I stepped forward extending my hand.

  “I’m Andy. My dad owns the bar. Who are you?” She made a harrumphing sound and blew out air from her mouth that made her limp hair lift and fall back over her face. She ignored my hand and took a while to answer me. I wondered if she was mentally translating what she was going to say next.

  “Sierra. My grandpa owns this wine.” Ah, that explained the mystery girl. I knew we were getting a new wine shipment and it looked like we got a free gift of a pain in the ass girl with it. I was glad I didn’t have a sister if this was how girls reacted.