Pop The Clutch: A Second Gear Romance

by Kristin Harte

  “But that was years ago,” Gracie said. “What does that have to do with now?”

  With a gut weighted down by dread and a throat tightened by rage at a situation I couldn’t control, I let the pieces fall together. “Yearly rodeos.”

  Gracie still looked confused. “Not finding the connection.”

  “Cowgirl Vee,” I spat, the words foul. “Lacey hosts yearly rodeo parties.”

  Gracie’s eyes went wide, and her mouth fell open. “Oh my God, those sick bastards still watch the video together.”

  “Motherfuckers.” I kicked a garbage can, not taking pleasure in the crash as it went rolling across the lot. I plopped my ass onto the concrete, leaning against the wall and putting my head in my hands. Colton sat down beside me, followed closely by Brogan and then Dalton. Even Gracie slid down the wall, the five of us sitting beside each other on the concrete. For a good few minutes, there was nothing but the sounds of music from inside and the traffic rolling by out on Telegraph. Nothing but the swirling thoughts in my head and the suffocating sense of failure blanketing me. I’d lost her. And I had no idea how to get her back.

  Finally, Colton sighed and pulled his phone from his pocket. “You heard from her yet?”

  I grabbed my own phone, sinking deeper into that failure as the screen showed no new messages or calls. “Nope.”

  Colton sent a quick text to someone, then pocketed his phone again. “Given up yet?”

  I thought about it, flipping my phone from one hand to the other. Had I given up? Was I ready to? Was finding solace again worth more than having Violet in my life?

  The answer was a lot easier to come to than I would have thought. “Nope.”

  “Good.” Colton bumped my shoulder. “Don’t give up on the right one, man. You’ll always regret it.”

  “I don’t plan on giving up, but she might. It’s just such a mess.” The alcohol in my stomach burned, my gut twisting at the thought of those fuckers watching that…still. “I’m sorry I hit you.”

  “Yeah, well—you’re missing your girl. That shit makes us all do crazy things.”

  But his words hit me in a way he probably hadn’t meant, and as much as I hated to admit it, I had to. “She’s not my girl anymore.”

  Colton shrugged before hopping up to his feet. “You’ll get her back.”

  “How?”

  Brogan stood, helping Gracie to her feet and dragging Dalton with them. The four of them stared down at me, waiting. Watching.

  Finally, Colton shrugged. “Fuck if I know, man, but you gotta have some sort of faith.”

  I practically snorted as they watched me lumber to my feet. “I’m gonna need more than just faith. I think I’m going to need a miracle.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  VIOLET

  Michigan Avenue on a warm, summer day was a level of hell I sincerely despised. Why were there always so many people? And how could they think it was okay to stop in the middle of the sidewalk to look up at a building? Every delay, every tourist more attentive to the latest overpriced fashion accessory in some store window instead of the hundreds of locals trying to get to and from work, only made my blood boil hotter.

  Or maybe I was just in a rotten mood.

  I pushed my way through the crowds and headed south. My feet ached from standing all day, and my hands were raw from all the time spent washing fruit, but my shift was over. It was still sunny out, which was why even the stretch south of the Magnificent Mile was so busy. Chicago in late summer was never quiet or peaceful, that was for sure. Too many people visiting from all over the world, too many street performers out to make a quick buck, too many locals soaking up the summer sun. And then there were those of us who worked all day, just trying to get home at a decent hour so we could take off our pants, curl up on the couch, and pretend our heart wasn’t still broken in a million pieces.

  As I turned west at Grant Park, my phone rang with an actual call. Something that made my heart jump. For a split second, I hoped it was him. That Easton was reaching out to me again. Not that I actually expected him to. After I’d received—and left unanswered—about fifty texts and ten voice mails, I’d blocked his number, no longer wanting to see his name on my screen. A decision I’d been regretting more and more as the days passed.

  But he wasn’t the only person important to me. I smiled when I saw who was calling and swiped to accept. “Hey, Grandma.”

  “Let me get this straight. You’ll only talk to me over the phone. What…do I smell?”

  I laughed, the first real laugh I’d had since I’d torn out of Downriver and headed west. “Sorry, I know it’s crazy, but I really needed to go after the whole…thing.”

  She hummed, probably not buying my line of bullshit. “Whatcha running from this time?”

  Yep, totally not buying it.

  “I’m not running,” I said, my voice too soft to be convincing, even to my own ears.

  “Sure seems like it. You disappear for days to your secret zombie-proof lair in Chicago when you weren’t supposed to leave yet. And now you’re not coming back when you said you were. Why? This can’t be because I’m dying—we’re all dying eventually.”

  How she could be so morbid, I had no idea. I eyed the traffic as I entered the Loop, looking for a way across the street without having to be trampled by the crowds of tourists on every corner. “It’s complicated.”

  “Well, uncomplicate it. Tell me what’s going on with you and Easton.”

  God, just the sound of his name sent pain shooting through my chest. I rushed across State Street, swallowing down the tears I knew would eventually come. “What do you know about me and Easton?”

  “I know he’s about as handsome as a heartbroken guy can be. I know he showed up here last night hoping to find out how to reach you since you won’t even talk to him. And I know Dahlia seems almost as sad as he does.”

  Well…that hurt. He was still looking for me? I came to a stop, tucking myself into a doorway to avoid getting run over by foot traffic. “That’s not fair.”

  “Oh, it’s fair,” Grandma said, sounding angrier than I thought possible. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

  “Nothing,” I lied, closing my eyes against the need to lay everything out for her to dissect. Wishing she could solve all my problems and tell me what to do, but not willing to let her try. “Honest, there’s nothing going on.”

  But Grandma wasn’t stupid, especially when it came to me. “Lies.”

  “Look, I just got…swept up,” I said, once more on the street and heading home. “I needed a few days to get my feet back underneath me, but the restaurant is busier than I’d expected, and my dessert offerings are flying out the door. I’ll be here a couple more weeks—probably until the tourist season slows down—then I can come home for a bit to see you and Dahlia.”

  Grandma didn’t reply, probably noticing how I’d said nothing of seeing Easton. Because I wouldn’t, couldn’t. If I saw him again, I’d fall right back into his arms—assuming he’d let me. That wouldn’t be good for either one of us in the long run. No, separate was better. The pain would fade with time. The need to be close to him would disappear eventually.

  I hoped.

  But Grandma always knew more than she let on. She sighed heavily over the phone, her voice soft and almost tired-sounding as she said, “He seems like a really nice guy, Violet.”

  I nearly buckled over, the pain of that truth hard to fight against. “He is. But he deserves so much more than I can give him.”

  Silence came through the line, and when Grandma spoke again, her voice was far angrier than before. “You are the most stubborn child.”

  “I…” Okay, she wasn’t lying, and I had no rebuttal for that. I took a deep breath, turning south for the final few blocks of my walk home. “I’m not trying to be. I want what’s best for him, and that’s obviously not being involved with me.”

  Grandma’s voice was calm and soothing but sure when she finally spoke. “Maybe what’s b
est for him is being able to make his own decisions.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “You just did the same thing to him that’s been done to you for years. You took away his right to decide how his life should go without consulting him. Seems a little hypocritical, doesn’t it? Did you even ask him for his opinion on what might be best for him?”

  “No,” I said, my voice quiet.

  “Shouldn’t you?” she asked just as I reached my building on Printer’s Row. I stood in the doorway, watching the cars go by as I turned her words over and over again in my mind.

  “I don’t know,” I finally said, a sense of uncertainty making me itch to do something. To reach out. I sat down on the stoop and leaned against the brick wall, watching as the sun began to disappear behind the buildings to the west of me. “What does it matter?” I asked, a sense of hopelessness coloring my words. “It’s not like he’d be willing to move to Chicago for me. He has his business there, and I won’t ask him to give that up.”

  “Maybe meeting Easton again was fate’s way of telling you to get your ass back home.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Doubt it.”

  “That’s your problem, Violet,” she said. “You’re always too full of doubt.”

  Hours later, as I lay in bed staring at my phone, Grandma’s words played back again and again. I hadn’t really given Easton a chance to talk to me. To tell me how he felt about me and a possible future—not once I realized we were definitely more than just friends. I’d barged into his life and made demands without giving him a single reason to meet them. I’d assumed things from the very start, never really talking about them with him. Never telling him the whole story so he could make decisions on his own. Or so we could make decisions together.

  I’d acted in the worst ways.

  Surrendering to my need to reach out at least a little, I unblocked his number. The hopeful side of me wanted to see that screen light up, to see a message come through right away. To know that he was still thinking of me just as much as I was thinking of him. But nothing happened. The phone sat quiet and still in my hand long after I gave up hoping.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  EASTON

  Weeks. I spent weeks sending daily texts to Violet, wishing every time for some sort of response. I got nothing. Over a month of me laying my heart bare to her and getting absolute zilch in response. I was the losingest loser who’d ever lost, and my so-called friends refused to let me forget it. Which was why I was spending a quiet Sunday evening at my trailer instead of at the shop or the bar. If I had to hear them ribbing me one more time, I’d snap.

  People already thought I was trash—no use proving them right by going to jail at this point in my life.

  “C’mon, Dolly. Let’s have a snack.” The orange ball of fluff followed me into the kitchen, weaving between my feet as I opened the cabinet where I kept her food and treats. “You hungry, girl?”

  Her responding meow might as well have been a rebuke for starving her for the past—I looked at the clock—four hours. Greedy little thing.

  I tossed a few treats her way and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. I should probably do some laundry or go cut the grass. Maybe run the street sweeper for the park before the sun went down completely. Something to keep myself busy and stop my mind from wandering to green eyes and dark hair, to healthy curves and a smile that made my heart ache.

  Dolly certainly helped, wrapping herself around my ankles again and meowing for more treats and attention.

  “Whipped,” I said, leaning down to pat Dolly’s head and give her an extra morsel or two. “I am definitely whipped by the women in my life.”

  I got a full stretch and a few claws in my jeans for that one. The purr when I rubbed those orange ears was worth it, though.

  A knock sounded at my door, so I left Dolly behind with a couple more treats and made my way across the trailer. It was too late for a random visitor or salesman—not that many came into the park—so it had to be someone I knew. That didn’t bode well for me.

  I didn’t even get the door all the way open before the attack began.

  “You’d better have a good reason for ignoring me, Easton Cole.” My mother swept in, some sort of casserole dish in her arms and a heavy frown on her face. I knew the woman well enough to know exactly what was coming and how much I was going to have to hear from her before she’d feel she’d made her point. Great. Dinner and a show, apparently.

  “I haven’t been ignoring you, Mom.”

  “Bullshit. I call, and you do everything you can to get off the phone. I stop by, and you basically kick me out. You don’t come over, you work ridiculous hours, you hole up in this trailer whenever you do take some time off, and you’re avoiding the entire neighborhood. You don’t even stop by to torment Gracie anymore. I can’t do that job myself—it’s hard work to keep that girl’s ego in check. Why do you forsake me, child?”

  If I hadn’t been afraid of getting a wooden spoon upside the head, I’d have rolled my eyes. “You’re being way too dramatic.”

  “No, I’m being honest. And maybe a little dramatic. I’ve spent the past few weeks with Gracie instead of my son. It was bound to happen.” She scowled my way, sighing when that look didn’t break me. “I made goulash for dinner. Eat with an old lady.”

  “You’re not old.”

  “I’m older than you.”

  “Well…yeah.”

  “That makes me an old lady. You should get some bowls and spoons out. Napkins would be nice too.”

  It sucked to feel sixteen all over again while standing in your own home. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Two bowls, two spoons, and two healthy servings of goulash later, we sat side by side at the kitchen counter. Both quiet. Both eating dinner not alone. A definite change for me over the past few weeks.

  “This is nice,” I said as I scooped another spoonful. “Thanks for forcing your way into my place to feed me.”

  “You’re welcome. I worry about you, son.”

  “No need to.”

  She sat silent for a few minutes, still eating. Her shoulders stiffening with every bite until she finally got to the point of this visit. Attack mounted.

  “Heard from Violet yet?”

  Direct hit. I tossed my napkin over my bowl, appetite gone. “Not yet, no.”

  “Still trying to get in touch with her?”

  “Yeah, though I don’t really know why.”

  She hummed, grabbing our empty bowls and heading for the sink. “A broken heart is a hard thing to get over. Trust me—I know.”

  I’d never really thought much about my mom’s love life after my dad left us. Never wanted to think of her like that, I guess, but I suddenly found myself curious. Wondering if I’d missed something along the way.

  “Did you ever date anyone after Dad?”

  “Wow, way to pay attention to your old mom there, Easton.”

  Seriously, eye rolls were getting harder to resist. “I pay attention to you, but you’re wily like Gracie. You keep a lot close to your vest. I don’t remember you having a boyfriend…or girlfriend.”

  “If you’re fishing, my preference is for the male of the species.” She chuckled as I groaned. “But to answer your question, no. I’ve not gone on a single date since your dad walked out on us.”

  Huh. “Why the hell not? I mean, not to be creepy, but you’re sort of hot.”

  “Sort of?”

  “In that mom way.” I huffed and scowled. “Don’t make me think of you in that way, woman.”

  “But it’s so much fun to see you this uncomfortable. I like it.” She laughed and shrugged, turning on the water and soaping up my dish sponge as I moved in beside her with a towel to dry. Growing serious quickly. “Are you ready to date again?”

  “No.” The answer almost exploded out of me, my chest tightening to a level close to torturous at the very idea. “I’m not giving up on the idea of us yet.”

  “Well, there you go.” />
  Oh. “You still love him.”

  She shot me a look and took a deep breath, rinsing the bowl in her hands. “Sometimes. There are days when I remember the good times and miss the friendship we had, the partnership we grew. Others, I think about how hard those first couple of years without him were, and I want to find him so I can wring his neck.” She held out the now clean bowl. “Emotions are weird like that.”

  I took the wet bowl from her hands, wiping it with my towel as I let my mind wander back to a time I tried really fucking hard to forget more often than not. “He left us without a word of goodbye or good luck or…anything. Not a single reason for packing up and disappearing.”

  She nodded. “He did.”

  “With nothing. He literally left us with nothing.”

  “Yup.” She turned off the water and handed me the second bowl, drying the spoons on the end of my towel. “I’ll never forgive him for putting us through what he did when he left, especially not because of how it affected you and your sister. But there were a lot of good times before the bad came. Those, I miss.” She shot me a crooked, sad little smile. “Besides, my heart doesn’t care about the details. It wants what it wants.”

  “That’s…” Green eyes. Dark hair. Curves. The sad look in her eyes. The way she trembled in fright at times. The way a single text from her made my heart race that much faster. I couldn’t help but take a deep breath and blow it out. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

  “I figured.” She took the towel from my hands and hung it up. Taking care of me as always. “Your heart is just like mine.”

  “Stupid?”

  “Pretty much.” With a laugh and a true, wide grin she rose onto the balls of her feet and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “She seems like a really nice girl.”

  “She is.” The goulash turned to lead in my stomach, the words I’d already said coming back to force their way out. “And I’m not ready to give up on her yet.”

  Her eyes sharpened, pinning me in place. “I hear that, but what are you going to do if she does come back?”