by Meghan March
Like I want to do.
Everything that had happened with Lincoln tonight and all his accusations about Ricky came rushing back.
I did send the letter. I couldn’t deny that, but Lincoln wouldn’t even give me the chance to explain that it wasn’t a love note in disguise. It was my way of telling Ricky he was still a shitty songwriter and the only reason he was able to get his big break was because of me. Ricky clearly hadn’t seen it that way. He’d probably been drunk while he read it, with some bimbo on his lap.
Whatever else he told Lincoln, I had no idea, but it didn’t matter.
Lincoln thought I was a cheating whore. Like mother, like daughter.
Tears burned the back of my eyes, and I tried to blink them away. I didn’t want to cry for him ever again. But just like everything else, I failed at that too. I lifted my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, rocking back and forth as one by one, tears rolled down my face.
When my phone rang in my purse, I didn’t budge. I wasn’t answering that thing ever again. There was absolutely no one I wanted to talk to.
Then it rang again. And again. And again.
I finally pulled it out and stared at the screen.
Ricky.
My finger hovered over the button to end the call, but for some stupid reason, I answered.
“What did you tell him?”
“What the hell have you been doing up there, Whit? A Riscoff? Really? They fucking hate your family.”
“You no longer have the right to ask me questions like that.”
“But, baby, I’m—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
I hung up the phone and turned it off. I was done with tonight. Done with everything.
I fell asleep on my bed and didn’t wake up until someone pounded on the front door.
45
Lincoln
Present day
“What are you doing here, man?”
Hunter rolls down the window of his truck when I pull up and park beside him at Mo’s. I’m not too proud to admit that I followed my friend and did a good enough job at it so he wouldn’t realize I was tailing him. I just didn’t expect to be following him here. Back to where it all fucking started. Maybe there’s something poetic about that, but I’m certainly not feeling that way right now.
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m here to fix things.”
“Look, I get it. You want another shot with the one that got away. Hell, I even respect it. But you gotta back off for now.”
“Whitney’s aunt has a job at The Gables, if she’ll take it. An even better one than she had before.”
Hunter’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “For real?”
“I’ve also got an apology from my mother, in writing. If Jackie will accept my mother’s apology, McKinley is going to promote her.”
“Holy shit. You didn’t waste time working that miracle.” Hunter leans back in the seat and smiles ruefully. “I should’ve figured you’d find a way to turn this into a windfall. That’s what you do.”
“We good?”
“Yeah.” He nods. “We’re solid.”
We climb out of our vehicles and I follow Hunter. I’m glad he’s over the idea of kicking my ass—and not just because I don’t have many friends I can trust like I trust him.
The tall bastard’s head damn near touches the doorway as we walk into the bar. He’s built like a brute, even though his mother would like to pretend that their family has never done a day’s worth of physical labor. He’s got at least a couple of inches and thirty pounds on me, and I’m not small at six feet and two twenty.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve been here,” I say as my shoes crush peanut shells on the cement floor.
“It’s Cricket’s favorite. For what reason, I’ll never know.”
Mo’s hasn’t changed at all since the one and only other time I’ve been here. It’s crazy how sometimes it only takes doing something different once to change the entire course of your life.
All I can hope is that tonight changes it for the better.
My eyes adjust to the dim lighting, and it takes me all of three seconds to spot Whitney. Her dark hair swings over her shoulder the moment Cricket squeals when she sees Hunter, jumping up and dodging tall tables and the people sitting at them to get to him.
Whitney’s blue gaze lands on me, and everyone else in the room may as well have gone up in smoke. She stares at me for long moments without blinking, and I’d give anything to know what the hell she’s thinking.
Is she remembering that night we met? I would give just about any fucking thing to have tonight end the same way that one did.
I study Whitney’s face as she takes her time looking me over. Her expression isn’t angry. She isn’t running in the other direction.
Maybe . . . maybe I do have a chance to fix this.
Cricket rushes past me, probably to throw herself at Hunter, and I walk toward Whitney slowly, as if she’s an animal I’m trying not to spook. She doesn’t run. She doesn’t even break eye contact.
When I stop in front of her, an apology is the first thing out of my mouth. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
Her reply stuns me. “For what?”
“Because tomorrow . . .”
When she pauses, a pang stabs me in the chest because I know exactly what she’s going to say. I can’t believe I managed to forget this year. Whitney opens her mouth to keep speaking, but a redheaded biker chick stops beside her.
“I know who you are. Thought I was dreaming. But you’re the bitch who killed Ricky Rango.” She waves to a guy in a black leather vest. “Bruno. It’s her! Whitney Rango!”
For fuck’s sake.
The woman gets in Whitney’s face, and I step around her and move Whitney behind me without touching the woman.
“I’m going to ask you once to leave her alone—”
Bruno barrels toward me. “Don’t you get in her face, motherfucker. That’s my sister.”
Fucking hell.
The last thing I want to do is get into a bar fight with a biker, but apparently fights are the only reason I come to Mo’s. That, and to see Whitney Gable.
The woman jabs her finger into my chest. “I don’t give a shit about you, asshole. My beef’s with her. She killed the legend. She should be in jail for what she did to him. So, get the fuck out of my way because I’m gonna kick her fucking ass.”
Whitney moves back, and I step away from the woman. “We’re leaving.”
Bruno shoves his sister behind him. “I got this.”
His fist comes flying toward my face. I block the first punch, conscious of the press of Whitney’s body against my back.
The woman comes charging toward my side, no doubt to get to Whitney, but Cricket grabs her arm and spins her around.
“Not today, bitch. That’s my cousin.”
Glancing at Cricket costs me. Knuckles connect with my chin, and my head snaps sideways.
Instinct kicks in as adrenaline dumps into my system. I retaliate with a combination. The biker’s head rocks back and he crashes into a tall table. The two women sitting at it screech as their drinks go flying, and he hits the floor.
Hunter lifts Cricket away from the woman who started this shit show, and Cricket uses the leverage to kick out and catch the redhead in the chest. Bruno’s sister flies backward to land on her ass in front of a group of bikers before Hunter carries Cricket out the front. The bikers stand, their attention split between Hunter and me, and it’s time to go.
I throw an arm around Whitney and hustle her out the back door just like I did last time.
46
Whitney
I trip on the step behind Mo’s, and Lincoln picks me up and jogs toward a Range Rover parked around the side. The lights flash, and he sets me down next to the passenger door before yanking it open.
“Get in.”
I scramble into the SUV and slam the door shut as he rounds
the hood. Out the window, Hunter has Cricket over his shoulder as he heads for his truck. Cricket smacks his ass with every step.
Even that comical sight can’t stop reality from intruding and killing every hint of my buzz.
I’ll never get past what happened. Never. I’ll always be the woman who killed Ricky Rango, even though I didn’t do it.
All I wanted was a divorce.
Bikers spill out around the side of the bar as Lincoln throws the Range Rover into reverse.
“As much as I don’t mind defending your honor, we’re not coming back to Mo’s. That place is—”
“Cursed? Like me?” I laugh, but there’s not a bit of humor in it.
“You’re not cursed.”
A beer bottle hits the back window of the SUV, and I flinch before jerking around to watch as Lincoln floors it. Hunter does the same, and his spinning tires shower the bikers with gravel. As they take cover, we haul ass out of the parking lot.
“I’m so sorry. I’d offer to pay for the damage, but I don’t know if I can afford to fix a Range Rover.”
My words bring forth a wave of humiliation. My life is a joke. I’ll never outrun my past. I’m destined to repeat it over and over.
I stare out the side mirror as the lights of Mo’s disappear behind us.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Lincoln checks the rearview mirror, and I’m hoping no one is coming after us. I don’t see headlights, so maybe they aren’t going to try to track us down.
When we’re safely away, he looks to me. “Are you okay?”
I swallow and nod. Physically, anyway. Emotionally, I’m a hot freaking mess.
It doesn’t matter where I go or what I do, everything I touch turns to shit. I can’t do anything without everything going wrong.
The voices in my head won’t let me forget how much of a complete and utter failure I am on every level. A bad daughter. A worthless sister. A terrible cousin. A shitty niece. A crappy wife. I’ll never escape it.
“It’ll never stop. Ever,” I whisper, wanting to close myself off and wallow in self-pity. “I just need to go somewhere no one knows my name and become a hermit.”
“That’s not going to happen. You’re not running again. This is your home. Stand your ground.”
I choke out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, like it’s that easy.”
Lincoln turns onto a road that I know damn well doesn’t go back to Gable.
“Where are we going?”
“My place.”
My shoulders slump in the seat, and the feeling of defeat is overwhelming. “I can’t take another round of the past repeating itself tonight. It’d be better if you just take me back to Jackie’s.”
Lincoln glances at me. “Do you really want to go sleep in a shed tonight and tear yourself to pieces about what happened at the bar?”
He has a point. I also hate that he knows me well enough to predict what I would do.
“No,” I whisper. “I just want to forget all of it.”
“Then leave it all behind for a few hours.”
His offer is tempting.
“And what do you expect in return?” I ask because in my world, nothing comes without strings attached.
Lincoln slows down and pulls over to the side of the road. He throws the Range Rover into park. “Are you really asking me that?”
I swallow. Based on the ticking of his jaw, it’s clear I’ve pissed him off. “You know what I mean. You want things from me that I don’t know if I can give.”
“You have my word that absolutely nothing happens tonight, or ever, between us that you don’t want just as much as I do. You know me better than that.”
I hate that I know this man and yet feel like I don’t know him all at the same time.
He squeezes the steering wheel and turns to face me. “I need to tell you something else. Full disclosure, but not because I’m trying to sway your decision.”
Apprehensive chills work their way through my body. “What?”
“Your aunt is getting an apology from my mother and a promotion from my sister, if she’ll accept them.”
I stare at him, my mouth dropping open. “Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
I turn to look out the windshield into the dark of night. He’s already fixed one of the biggest things that has been weighing on me. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know, but also . . . there are no strings. You can tell me to turn around right now and take you home, and the offer still stands. Whatever happens between you and me has absolutely nothing to do with that.”
“And yet your timing of telling me is so convenient.” The skepticism in my voice is clear.
Lincoln’s brows dive together. “Yeah, it is. I didn’t want you to spend the rest of the night thinking you fucked up your aunt’s life by coming home.”
“Oh.” My reply is quiet.
“You can think I’m the bad guy all you want, Blue. Sometimes I am. There are plenty of things I won’t hesitate to use to my advantage to get what I want from you, but I won’t manipulate you through your family. I’m above that.”
For some reason, I actually believe him. Maybe because he’s being honest about his intentions.
“Then I guess I should thank you.” It feels strange to say the words, but I mean them.
“You don’t need to thank me. It was my mother’s fault to begin with. She never should’ve said those things to you.”
“She’ll always hate me.” I look out the window as shame pools in my belly about what happened ten years ago. Even if it wasn’t my fault, I still carry the burden of it on my soul. “You should hate me too.”
Lincoln waits until I turn back toward him to speak. His expression is completely solemn. “I don’t hate you. I never have. I never could. You didn’t do it, and neither did I. I’ve moved on. I think it’s time for you to let go too.”
47
Lincoln
The past
As soon as I pulled my head out of my ass and realized what the fuck I’d done, I ran outside. Whitney was gone. I ran barefoot down the gravel drive, but there was no sign of her.
Fuck.
She’d run off once before and hitched a ride, but that was daylight. Now it was fucking raining, pitch black, and anyone could have picked her up.
“Fuck!” I roared at the storming sky, cursing my temper and how I let Rango get to me.
Regardless of whether Whitney actually did what he said, I shouldn’t have thrown her out. I regretted it almost as soon as she walked out the door.
But not soon enough.
I ran back up the driveway, gravel biting at the soles of my feet as the rain soaked me through.
What kind of piece of shit throws a woman out in the middle of the night in the rain? Me.
I had to make sure she got home okay. I’d never be able to live with myself if something happened to her.
I grabbed my phone, dialing her number, but it went to voice mail with no answer. Palming my keys, I rushed back out of the cabin, the door slamming behind me.
I have to get to her.
I fishtailed out of the driveway, my tires breaking loose on the slick road. I almost lost control of the truck, but I wrenched it back in the direction I needed to go.
Branches swayed as the wind picked up and I navigated down the winding mountain roads. I hadn’t caught up to any taillights, and I searched the sides of the road for a lone woman walking.
I found nothing. I called her again and again, but it kept going to voice mail.
It took me almost thirty minutes to pull up in front of Whitney’s parents’ house, but it was completely dark.
Headlights blinded me as another car flew down the street and whipped into the driveway. Whitney’s aunt, the one who my mother fired, jumped out of a car and ran to the door, soaking wet. She pounded on it like a crazy woman.
Fuck. In the pit of my stomach, I knew something wasn
’t right.
I climbed out of my car, and Jackie turned when I slammed my door.
“Get the hell out of here, kid.”
“No, I need to see Whitney. I need to make sure she’s all right.”
“She’s never going to be all right again.” Jackie’s voice was ragged. “You shouldn’t be here.” She turned and pounded on the door again as her shoulders shook.
Something unsettling twisted in the pit of my stomach.
My phone vibrated, and I looked down. Mother.
“What the fuck is going on?”
Jackie glanced over her shoulder and looked down at my phone. “You should answer that.”
48
Whitney
Present day
We pass the resort, and then the estate. Another mile beyond it, Lincoln approaches a third gate that I’ve never seen before. It’s not as ornate as the black wrought iron and gold accents of the resort and the estate. It’s more understated, but every bit as forbidding.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that this is Lincoln’s house, and my decision to come here already feels like the wrong one.
“I should’ve had you take me home,” I whisper as the gates swing open.
“I want you here,” he replies as he drives through them. “But if you want me to take you back to your aunt’s, I will.”
As he navigates the Range Rover up the long driveway, we disappear into dense forest dotted with lights. A brighter glow comes from farther beyond, and when we round the last bend, I finally see the house.
It’s not a gargantuan mansion or an over-the-top monstrosity.
No, of course not. Because this is Lincoln we’re talking about. Instead, it’s just fucking perfect.
