Rebel Heart: (Rebel Series Book 2) ((Rebel Series))

by J. C. Hannigan

  I parked my truck, letting the memories of this place wash over me like rain. Once upon time, Chuck had been the only person in town willing to take a chance on the youngest son of the town drunk. My reputation for trouble and chaos was a well told story around these parts, but he'd seen something in me.

  I was fifteen years old, and I needed a job. Bad. Debt collectors were knocking on our door every single day, and Mom was only making enough to cover our basic needs. Becky had just gone through a traumatizing time, Brock was in jail and our family was still trying to pick up the pieces. I figured if I got a job, I could help minimize some of the stress.

  I'd always loved working on cars with my grandpa, and I had a natural inclination to do so. Hell, I'd done most of the labor under the careful instruction of Grandpa. I could understand the mechanics of an engine, how everything worked, with far more ease than I could understand anything academic.

  Chuck's seemed like the natural choice—especially after every other place in town turned me away the moment I walked in with my resume. Chuck was the only person who didn't tell me they weren't hiring the moment I walked in.

  He stared at me for several long minutes after I'd stomped into the garage and told him I wanted a job. “Why should I hire you, boy?” he asked, the amusement dancing behind his tired brown eyes.

  “Because I know my way around an engine. I restored a 1969 Dodge Charger with my Grandpa when I was seven.” I told him confidently. Chuck's busy eyebrows rose, impressed. “I'm a hard worker, and you could use some help around the shop from the looks of it,” I added. I didn't need to look in the direction of the disorganized tools and mess of parts to know this much was true.

  He continued to stare at me for several long beats before sighing. “Tell you what kid,” he said gruffly, scratching at his chin with grease covered hands. “If you can figure out the problem with that Caravan, and fix it yourself...I'll give you a job.”

  “Is that supposed to be a challenge?” I'd asked as I rolled up my sleeves.

  Three hours later, I had the Caravan fixed and a job.

  I shook my head, trying to clear the memories away and get on with the task at hand: seeing if Chuck would give me my job back. I slammed the truck door behind me, heading straight inside the open garage.

  At first glance, it was empty except for a Subaru Forester in the bay and a mess of parts and tools all over the place. Chuck had never been the organized type. I breathed in deeply, the smell of grease and oil and metal working to ease my nerves. I'd spent a lot of time here, found a purpose here.

  “You're back,” Chuck's raspy voice came from behind me—the office. I turned around, my hands still in my jean pockets. He looked exhausted and older than his 55 years. His skin had a slight grey tinge to it, and he'd lost weight. Chuck's outward appearance concerned me; working too hard for too long had taken its toll on him, and guilt over my departure nagged at me. But Chuck would sooner kick my ass than talk about his health, so I pushed my concerns aside.

  “Hey, Chuck,” I said, the right corner of my lips lifting up. “Need any help around here?”

  “You can get started on the Subaru. Transmission's shot.”

  Elle

  Seeing him again had drudged up everything—and I mean everything. The way he’d looked at me from across the table, his blue eyes practically burning with intensity—as if he wanted to devour me. My old reactions were still the same—the jump in my heart rate, the flutters in my lower abdomen. I’d wanted him to act on the desire rolling off him in waves.

  I felt utterly stripped bare in his presence, like he could read every thrum of my heartbeat. And the traitorous way my body responded to his presence didn’t help, it was as if it had forgotten how completely he’d devastated me. It was the most peculiar thing; even though he’d shattered my heart, it still sped up in his presence…it still craved him. I could so easily fall back into that old habit; into him.

  Mom and I left the moment dinner was over. I couldn’t put myself through sitting there any longer. My heart was twisting and my blood was on fire in my veins. I wanted to cry and scream and rage at him—and that wasn’t my style. Not anymore, I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me hurt over him.

  A lone tear trailed down my face, and I wiped it away furiously. When it all happened, when he’d broken my heart in front of an entire room full of people, I honestly hadn’t thought it was over. I couldn’t believe it—our love was supposed to be forever. How else could one explain the fireworks between us? But he didn’t come after me. He never tried to call or even text. He just disappeared, he let me leave for college without so much as a goodbye—like I’d never mattered at all.

  I believed it. I believed that I hadn’t mattered to him. It was easy to, with the hostile look in his eyes when he’d nailed the coffin shut on our relationship.

  But now…I didn’t know what to think. Sparks still flew between us, the fire in the pit of my stomach still burned for him, and the way he looked at me made me feel…

  Well, it made me feel things. It made me feel alive.

  “Are you okay honey?” Mom asked, drawing me back out of my head. I turned to look at her. Her eyes were focused on the road, but she kept glancing at me with worry lining her face.

  “Define okay,” I sighed, turning my head to look back out the window again.

  “It wasn’t easy seeing him tonight, huh?”

  “I don’t get it,” I seethed, my arms folding protectively across my chest. “Why can’t I just get over him?”

  “He was your first love,” Mom answered, turning up our driveway. “First loves don’t die quick. Hell, I don’t think they ever really die. You carry the memories of it throughout your life.”

  “I really hope that isn’t true,” I sighed, opening the car door and stepping out. “Otherwise this wedding is going to really suck for me.”

  “Who knows.” Mom grinned at me as we walked up the front porch. “Maybe the reason why you can’t let go is because your story isn’t finished yet.”

  I scoffed at her words, because there was no way in hell I was going to go down that road a second time. I’d sooner cut my heart clean out of my chest than give it to Braden Miller again. “Or, maybe he just screwed me up for everyone else. Kind of like what Dad did to you.” I said, voicing my deepest fear. Mom paused, my words hitting her where it hurt. “I didn’t mean it like that Mom.”

  “Do you really think that, Elle?” Mom asked me, her brow furrowing. She unlocked the door, holding it open for me.

  “What else am I supposed to think?” I responded with a question of my own as we walked into the house. I dropped my purse down on the bench by the door and turned to face her. “You never moved on after he left. I’ve never seen you date anybody, ever,” I added, my eyes never leaving her face.

  “I didn’t have time to date when you were little,” Mom answered. She turned and started for the kitchen, flicking on the light as she went. “Tea?” She asked me. I nodded and she grabbed the kettle off the stove, filling it with water from the tap. She brought it back to the stove and flicked the gas burner on.

  “Okay, I get that…but I’m all grown up now. You don’t have the excuse of being a full-time parent. Why don’t you get out into the dating pool again?” I pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and sat down, angling my body to face her.

  “Oh honey, I’m too old for that,” Mom shook her head with a small smile as she leaned against the counter. “I’ve spent over two decades on my own. I like my life the way it is.”

  “You never get lonely?” I pressed, thinking about how alone I often felt. I knew I should try dating again, but it was hard.

  “Everybody gets lonely from time to time,” Mom shrugged. “I keep busy though, I’m not sure I’d want to rearrange my life and how I’ve been living it for someone else. Plus, pickings are slim in this town,” she winked.

  “Online dating, Mom,” I told her.

  She wrinkled her nose in response and sho
ok her head.

  * * *

  “I’m really clueless about this whole wedding thing,” Tessa sighed a week later as she stared at the overwhelming pile of bridal magazines on our coffee table. “I mean, it says right here that you need at least a year to plan a wedding.”

  “That’s why we’re getting started right now,” I told her. “The most important thing is picking the day, which you’ve already done, I think?” I looked at her for clarification.

  “July twenty-third,” she answered with a sad smile on her lips. I froze. July twenty-third was the day that Deanna Miller had died four years ago. “Brock wanted the twenty-third. He wanted to make something beautiful out of that day, because he knows it stings for his family. He also thought it would be a good way to honor her memory.”

  “It is a good way to honor her memory,” I agreed. The words seemed to get stuck in my throat, so I cleared it and went back to my list. “Now, we’re working out the details. We need to send out save the dates, especially because it’s a summer wedding. People’s summer schedules fill up quickly, so we’ll want to pick dates for the other events too. Have you talked to Brock yet about doing a Stag and Doe?”

  “He’s not into that,” Tessa made a face. “Besides, it says right there that getting people to crowdfund your wedding is cheap.”

  “True,” I shrugged. “That’s one less thing we have to do then.” I crossed out Stag and Doe on our to-do list and moved on to the third item. “Bachelor/bachelorette parties, yay or nay?”

  “Obviously yay,” Tessa grinned. “I don’t care if I have to twist Brock’s arm to get him to have a bachelor’s party. You only get married once!”

  I resisted the urge to make a smart comment about that—I was trying to keep my jaded, bitter feelings about relationships and love on the down low so that I wouldn’t ruin Tessa’s wedding bliss with my own shortcomings. The key was focusing on all the tasks on the wedding to-do list and treating it more like a party event. I was good at organizing parties; I’d thrown a lot of them in high school.

  “I’ve reserved July ninth for the bachelorette party. The best man is going to have to figure out when to host the bachelor party, because that’s his job,” I said, purposely avoiding speaking Braden’s name out loud. I paused to take a sip of red wine.

  “Or we could do a combined one, maybe like a camping trip or something,” Tessa suggested.

  I nearly spat my wine out. “No combined party,” I said, glowering at her. “I’ve planned out your bachelorette party in my mind years ago and trust me, it does not include the guys. We’re doing a traditional night on the town in Toronto. I’ve already been in contact with Cheyenne.”

  “Alright, alright! I’ll pass the message on,” Tessa picked her cell phone up and fired out a text. I didn’t bother asking her who she was sending it to, because I already knew.

  “Now we have to talk about the bridal shower. How does June sound? It gives us a couple of weeks to get the invitations for that out.”

  “Can we skip the bridal shower?” Tessa asked softly, her eyes distant. “I mean, that’s kind of a family thing right? Your mom, your grandma, and all your female relatives and close friends sit around eating fancy sandwiches and what not. Aside from my bridesmaids and your mom, there’s really nobody I’d want to invite and everyone is already going to be doing enough and spending enough.”

  My heart squeezed at Tessa’s words, and I knew she was thinking about her mother. Tessa’s mom had died when she was very young. Aside from her cousin Cheyenne and her father’s sister, Cheyenne’s mom, she didn’t have any female relatives. Her grandparents on both sides had also passed on.

  “Okay, no bridal shower,” I amended, crossing it off our to-do list while now feeling guilty for nixing her combined bachelor/bachelorette party idea. “So, let’s talk more about the save-the-dates. Did you want to do a cute little magnet? Or maybe a coaster?”

  “Why would we do a coaster?” Tessa giggled. “Nobody uses coasters anymore. I think a magnet is more practical.”

  “Magnet it is.” I leaned forward and picked my open laptop up, bringing up a website I’d found that we could use to make and print magnets. I fiddled with it for a bit, finding a template I thought she’d like. “How’s this?” I asked, showing her the sample.

  “Oh! I like that!” Tessa said eagerly, her eyes sweeping across the screen to read the script. “’Brock Miller and Tessa Armstrong are getting hitched: save the date. July 23rd, 2017’.” She read with a smile on her face. “The horseshoe is cute,” she added with a smile.

  “Okay, I can place an order for these as soon as we narrow down your guest list.”

  Tessa leaned forward and grabbed a worn piece of paper she’d tucked inside one of the magazines. “Already done. Brock and I discussed it on the weekend. He said he doesn’t care how many people are there, so long as I make sure his friend Grayson gets an invite too, with a plus one. We’ve capped it at fifty.”

  “Fifty?” I arched a brow, impressed. “That’s really intimate.”

  “I know,” Tessa grinned. “I don’t want the whole town and their cousins invited, I just want the people I care about there.”

  “Makes sense,” I told her. I triple checked that everything on the magnet was spelt right and that I hadn’t screwed up on the date. “Your turn—check that this is right.” Once I had Tessa’s approval, I ordered a package of eighty magnets. I closed my laptop when I received an email with the order confirmation.

  “Alright, wedding planning duties are officially adjourned for tonight,” Tessa declared, topping up my glass of wine. “Now let’s get to the girl talk part of the evening. Tell me…how are you feeling after seeing Braden last weekend?”

  “Irritated,” I admitted. “Why’d he have to go and get even hotter?” I grumbled, thinking about how he’d grown up.

  I’d only seen him in jeans and a t-shirt, but he had definitely increased his muscle mass since the last time I had seen him. The scruff along his chiselled jaw only added to the appeal. He also had bloody tattoos! He was irresistible before, but now…I was having a hard time fighting the deep attraction I felt for him, even after everything he’d put me through. Which is exactly why I insisted on keeping our contact to a minimal.

  Tessa laughed. “I saw the sparks flying between you two. Seems like the old chemistry is still hot.”

  “Ugh,” I rolled my eyes. “Maybe you felt sparks—sparks of my anger. Regardless, I’m not entertaining the thought. I’ve moved on, remember?”

  “Sure, sure,” Tessa waved her hand, her wine sloshing over her lap. “Damnit,” she muttered, trying to blot it away with her sleeve.

  “I’m serious,” I told her. “I’m moving on. I’ll be bringing a date to the wedding, and it won’t be Braden.”

  “Who will it be?” Tessa’s curiosity was piqued.

  “Alex,” I said quickly, taking a sip of my wine. I hadn’t decided until that moment, really. The name just flew out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  “Alex as in sexy paramedic Alex? I thought you didn’t want to jeopardize your working relationship?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know my rule,” I sighed. “But he’s the only sane person I’ve met in Barrie, and I don’t mind his company. He’s cute, he’s obviously got a job, he’s into me and I’m attracted to him, too,” I told her.

  It was true—I did find Alex attractive. Especially lately. I had an inch that needed to be scratched, and Alex fit the bill. All I had to do was give him a fair shot and stop comparing every single person I considered dating to Braden. Apples and oranges.

  Braden

  “I heard he’s been in rehab.”

  “It’s only a matter of time before he falls off the wagon again.”

  “Mmhmm. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, that’s for sure. I’d expect no less after being raised by a man like Brent Miller.”

  “It’s sad really, when you think about it.”

  “It is, but it’s still no excu
se for that kind of behaviour. Remember how he broke Sue Thompson’s little girl’s heart? That girl could have been his redemption. She was so sweet, he never deserved her.”

  My heart dropped, and anger surged through my veins. I couldn’t explain why I was so pissed off, it’s not like they weren’t saying anything inaccurate. I was dangerously like my father—I knew that, and I didn’t deserve Elle Thompson when I had her—I knew that too. I wasn’t even sure if I deserved her now.

  Even though there was some truth to it, gossip still pissed me off. I was accustomed to it, I’d practically grown up with my every move watched, dissected, and judged. Even when I was a little kid, I’d feel their whispers and their stares. Now that I was twenty-three, I’d grown tired of playing nice and ignoring their rudeness.

  I wanted to stomp over there and give those catty old ladies a piece of my mind, but I had my seven-year old nephew with me, and even though I was sick and tired of the witch hunt, I was trying to turn over a new leaf. Yelling at some old ladies in the middle of the grocery store at six o’clock at night probably wasn’t going to help.

  “Can we get chips, Uncle Braden?” Aiden asked, dragging my attention away from the miserable old ladies. His blue eyes were wide as he pleaded with me silently. I probably should have said no, Becky hated buying junk food for him, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “Yeah bud, why don’t you go grab a bag?” I suggested. Aiden grinned and took off before I could tell him not to run. Smiling, I shook my head with amusement at my nephew as I followed him.

  Becky had called me and asked me to pick up Aiden from his friend’s house and grab some groceries on my way home from work. The nurse that was supposed to take over her patients never showed up, and Becky was stuck at the hospital until the on-call nurse could come.

  The three whispering elderly ladies clammed up when they caught sight of me walking past them. “Good evening, Mrs. Anderson, Mrs. Stovin, Mrs. Reece,” I flashed a smile at them that was anything but friendly. “Hope you’re all doing well.” My words may have been polite, but the hidden message wasn’t. I practically said fuck you with my eyes and they knew it.