Hometown Troublemaker

by Brighton Walsh

  Even all alone inside, she closed her bedroom door, giving her an extra layer of security. She didn’t want anyone else witnessing another failure, and she wasn’t all that optimistic it’d be anything but. She cued up Nat’s name, pressed the call button, and closed her eyes, saying a little prayer that her sister would finally answer.

  It rang twice before clicking over to voice mail. Super. So Nat had moved on from screening her calls and gone straight to seeing Rory’s name on the screen and downright ignoring. That was just great.

  After the beep, she said, “Nat, this is your sister. Again. I’m sure you’re incredibly busy, but if you wouldn’t mind returning one of my dozen voice mails or texts, it’d be much appreciated.”

  Somehow, she managed to stop before tacking on, you no-good, ungrateful, selfish bitch to the end of the message. As soon as she hung up, she tossed her phone on the bed. When that didn’t ease her frustration, she threw a pillow, then a book, all the while cursing a blue streak. Didn’t matter. None of it made her feel any better.

  She tugged her hair up into a ponytail, stuffed her phone into her back pocket, and stormed out of her room and toward the back door. If she couldn’t take out her irritation by throwing things, she’d find something outside to use as an outlet for her anger. The lawn needed mowing, and there was no one to do it but her.

  This was, without a doubt, her least favorite job, and one she’d only had to start doing since the divorce. Her whole life, she’d always had other people to do it for her. In fact, her daddy had offered more than once to have their landscaper take care of it since their properties butted up to each other. But her stubborn ass had refused. She was thirty-three years old, and she could mow her own lawn.

  Except maybe she couldn’t, because seven minutes later, she was still trying to get the damn mower started. Apparently, that would take an act of God.

  Why the hell did things have to be so difficult? She could’ve taken the easy way out and said yes when her daddy’d offered to take care of it for her, but she wanted to do it on her own—she wanted to do all of it on her own. Wanted to prove to not only herself but to everyone in Havenbrook that she could. That she was more than the ex-wife and daughter and momma everyone saw her as.

  But she was so tired. So fucking tired. She was trying her best, dammit, and she was getting sick of it not being enough.

  “Why—won’t—you—start—you—piece—of—shit!” She grunted every word through clenched teeth as she yanked the pull cord.

  She had no doubt Nash could hear every bit of her commotion, which only frustrated her more. She didn’t want the help, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t have been nice to be asked. He’d have been able to get the lawn mower started in ten seconds flat, with his huge arms and his thick, stupid boy muscles. The thought only pissed her off more, which made her yank extra hard.

  The lawn mower finally rumbled to life, and she sagged in relief. At least now she didn’t have to worry about her cussing being heard over the noise.

  By the time she finished mowing their large yard, strands of her hair stuck to her forehead and neck, her shirt was plastered to her back, and she smelled like a locker room full of teenage boys who hadn’t bathed in a week. All she wanted was an ice-cold shower followed by a glass of wine to help her forget this day had ever happened.

  Knowing she shouldn’t do it, but unable to help herself, she pulled her phone from her pocket and glanced at the screen. No missed calls. No texts. Nothing.

  Fucking Natalie. If she ruined Gran’s birthday with her pigheadedness and misplaced hatred of Rory, Rory’d kill her and give Nat something to really hate her for.

  She shoved the mower back in the shed and slammed the door. Then she stomped around to the front of the house. In the time it had taken her to do some quick touch-up painting inside, then her whole fiasco with the yard, Nash had managed to repair her entire front porch.

  And it looked fantastic, dammit.

  Ella sat next to him, rummaging through his toolbox. She’d grab a tool, hold it up to him, and he’d tell her the name. Rinse and repeat. Even looking after and engaging with a rambunctious and overly curious seven-year-old came easy to him. Rory was starting to believe everything did.

  He didn’t have to worry about the ever-watchful, judgmental eyes of the town, or maintaining the status quo of her family name, or about fights with preteen daughters, or about a sister who didn’t want to talk at all, ever.

  And even though she knew she shouldn’t, even though she knew none of that was his fault, she couldn’t help but hate him just a little bit because of it.

  She should’ve thanked him for his work on the porch and for hanging out with Ella while she wrangled everything else. Instead, hands on hips, she snapped, “You didn’t once come out back and offer to help me.”

  He replaced the monkey wrench he’d just finished telling Ella about and looked over at her. Let his eyes roam up and down her body so long, she started to squirm. How could he make her feel desirable when she was positive she was one step up from swamp ass?

  “Now why would I do that when I knew you had it taken care of all on your own?”

  Her mouth dropped open to respond, but nothing would come out, so she snapped it shut and simply held his gaze.

  “Isn’t that right, Miss Ella?” he asked, eyes still locked on Rory.

  “Yes, sir!” She nodded enthusiastically.

  “What’d I tell you while you were helpin’ me?”

  “That I’m the best helper you’ve ever had.”

  “What else?”

  “Girls can do whatever they want, and they don’t need a boy helpin’ ’em!”

  “That’s right. Think we should tell your momma that?”

  “Better listen to him, Momma,” she said seriously. “He knows what he’s talkin’ about.”

  What should’ve been a proud moment only managed to be another chip piled high on Rory’s shoulders. She should’ve taught her daughters that. She should’ve been the one reminding them of that, but she’d thought she’d show them through actions instead of words. By going out on her own and fixing up their house and making a life for the three of them without anyone’s help. And then she’d undermined it all by storming up here, demanding to know why Nash hadn’t helped her when she’d been perfectly capable of helping herself.

  Apparently, Nash had more faith in her abilities than she did.

  “Nash is right,” Rory said. “You ca—”

  Ava’s ringtone interrupted Rory’s words, and she pulled her phone from her back pocket, her brow furrowing as she accepted the call. “Hey, baby.”

  “Momma.” Ava’s hushed voice caught on the single word.

  Two little syllables from her daughter and Rory’s entire body went tight with worry. “What’s wrong?”

  “I dunno,” she whispered. “I’m—I think… I went to the bathroom and…”

  “And what? Why are you whisperin’? Are you hurt? Where’s your father?”

  “He’s downstairs, but I don’t want to tell him about this!” she hissed. “And not Kelsey or Sarah Beth either. Please, Momma. Can you come get me?”

  “Get you? Ava, you wanted to stay the night so bad. Why can’t you tell—” Rory cut off then, the pieces suddenly clicking into place.

  Ava was only ten, but that didn’t mean anything. Rory had barely been eleven when she’d first gotten her period. She’d been nervous and worried and scared…and she hadn’t told a single person. She’d snuck into her momma’s cabinet and gotten what she needed. Taken care of it all on her own without telling a soul.

  But Ava had come straight to her.

  “All right, baby. Are you in the bathroom now?”

  “Yes, should I stay in here? My underwear—”

  “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’m comin’ right now, okay?”

  “Okay,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “But hurry, Momma.”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes.” She hung up the phone
, spun in a circle as if her body was ready to move before her brain had caught up, and then dashed up the front steps and into the house.

  Without much thought to what she was grabbing, she gathered a set of clean clothes and a pad for Ava, plucked her car keys from the table, and flew out the door.

  “Ella! C’mon, baby, I need to drop you at Mimi’s while I help your sister with something.” If Ava didn’t want to confide in her dad or her best friend, Rory was certain she wouldn’t want her younger sister to witness it either.

  “But, Momma! Nash just asked me to check over his work and make sure everything was tightened. I can’t leave before I do my job!”

  “I don’t have time to argue with you, Ella Jane. In the car, now.”

  Nash stepped up to Rory, brushed a strand of hair away from her face, and rested his hands on her shoulders, his forehead creased in concern. “Everything okay?”

  “It’s fine, Ava just—”

  “Needs you.”

  Rory’s throat clogged at the sudden emotion flooding her insides, and she could only nod, knowing if she spoke, her voice would crack.

  “Go on, then. Ella and I can hang out and finish our project.”

  “Yes.” Ella fist-pumped before dropping to her knees to rummage through Nash’s toolbox. She waved at Rory without looking up. “Bye, Momma!”

  “I’m sure you’ve got other things to do,” Rory said.

  “Nope.”

  “Are you sure? I can—” Rory’s phone chirped, indicating a text from Ava, and Nash bent until they were eye level.

  “Go on,” he said, tapping her bottom and placing a quick, chaste kiss on her lips. “We won’t set the house on fire while you’re gone. Probably.”

  “That’s not helpin’!” she yelled as she ran down the steps to her car.

  Except, somehow, it did. His teasing words and subtle reassurance kept her mind off everything until she suddenly found herself on her old front porch, her finger ringing the doorbell.

  Sarah Beth answered, blinking in surprise. “Rory, what—” She halted, her eyes growing wide as they ping-ponged over Rory’s state of dress.

  It was only then that she remembered what she must look like—ragged, cutoff shorts, a sweat-soaked tank top, hair plastered to her head, and her mascara probably somewhere in the vicinity of her chin. In the time since she’d walked up to this door after she’d found out Sarah Beth had moved in, she’d gone from the always put-together perfectionist who couldn’t leave the house without a full face of makeup and church clothes to the woman who bolted without a second thought when her daughter needed her.

  And she sort of…loved it.

  She didn’t care that she smelled, that the only bit of makeup she wore had no doubt melted off long ago. She didn’t care that her legs had too much cellulite to wear these shorts anywhere but in the privacy of her own home. She just…didn’t care. She had bad days—and she’d had a hell of a bad day—and she was certain she was screwing up this whole thing, but she was doing it, dammit, and that had to count for something.

  Rolling back her shoulders, she met Sarah Beth’s gaze straight on and refused to look away. She might not belong here anymore, but for the first time in as long as she could remember, she realized…she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was pick up Ava and bring her back to their house…the one that had somehow become a home.

  “I’m here to get my daughter.”

  After stopping at the store to pick up some double fudge brownie ice cream and age-appropriate female necessities for Ava, Rory drove them home, sneaking peeks at her the entire way. When Rory had knocked on the door to the upstairs bathroom—the one still done in white and aqua from when she’d remodeled it last year—Ava had peered out through a crack, then whipped open the door and thrown her arms around Rory.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten a fierce hug like that from Ava, and while she hated that her daughter had been scared—hated even more that she was growing up so fast—Rory couldn’t deny loving that Ava’d only wanted her momma.

  Evening had settled since Rory’d been gone, and her headlights swept over the front of the house and Nash’s truck sitting in the driveway. She put her car in park, then reached over and brushed Ava’s hair back from her face. “I’ll run you a bath, and then we can sit on the couch, eat ice cream, and watch whatever you want. How’s that sound?”

  “Really?” Ava asked, her eyes bright and hopeful.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll get Ella to bed, and then it’s just us big girls, okay?”

  She smiled—the first true smile directed at Rory in way too long—and nodded. Pausing as she reached for the door handle, she seemed to finally notice the other car in the driveway. “How come Nash’s truck is here?”

  Rory shrugged. “I didn’t figure you wanted your sister along for all that. Nash was here workin’ on the porch and offered to stay with her until we got back.”

  “Did you tell him?” she asked, her voice tinged with horror.

  “Course not, baby. He just knew you needed me, that’s all.”

  “You…you won’t tell him, right? Why you had to leave, I mean?”

  “You know gettin’ your period is nothing to be embarrassed about—”

  “Momma!”

  “—but I won’t say a word.”

  Ava exhaled a deep sigh. “Thank you.”

  Once Rory let them both inside, Ava barely squeaked out a hello to Nash before darting down the hall to her bedroom. And, to be perfectly honest, Rory wasn’t faring much better than her eldest daughter. She stood just inside the doorway, feeling stupefied.

  Nash and Ella sat on the couch. Or rather, Nash sat and Ella sprawled—as was her way—one little foot in Nash’s lap, the other up on his shoulder, nearly touching his face. Her arms were this way and that, her head hung off the cushion, and she was fast asleep.

  And there he was, in the middle of all that chaos, quietly enjoying some Sid the Science Kid. Her stomach somersaulted—something she’d come to expect around him. But this time it was different because her heart flipped right along with it.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice a low rumble, eyes darting over to Ella, no doubt to make sure she was still asleep. “Everything okay now?”

  Had he asked her that a couple hours before, she’d have had a completely different answer for him. And even though her sister still wasn’t speaking to her and she was exhausted and feeling like she was failing left and right…yeah. Everything was okay now.

  If Nash didn’t love his best friend so much, he’d want to kill Nat. Scratch that, he still wanted to kill her no matter what kind of history they had. It’d been hell watching Rory sneaking glances at her phone all week, her agitation growing more and more with each passing day she obviously didn’t get a response from her sister.

  The thing that really pissed him off was that he knew if he called Nat, she’d pick up. She was crazy and fun and loyal and would come running if something was wrong. But for all her good qualities, she had a glaringly negative one—she was a stubborn ass who refused to admit when she was wrong. And after spending so much time with Rory, he knew, without a doubt, Nat was wrong about her sister.

  The trouble was, he couldn’t exactly tell her that. Hey, Nat, remember how you told me working with your sister was a bad idea and I shouldn’t do it? Rather than listen to you, I decided to fuck her instead…

  Sitting on his couch, he flipped his phone end over end and stared blankly at the TV. He needed to get Nat back to Havenbrook, but he had no idea how he was going to do it.

  Sighing, he called up his contacts and pressed Asher’s name. If anyone could come up with something, it’d be the third musketeer in their trio.

  After four rings, Asher answered in a groggy voice. “’Lo?”

  Brow furrowed, Nash glanced at the clock. “Did I seriously wake you up? Dude, it’s two in the afternoon.”

  “Fuck off,” he mumbled. “Had a late show last night. Didn’t get outta there
till after four.”

  Nash shook his head. He couldn’t fathom Asher’s life, especially now that things had started picking up for him and his career. He’d even managed to get one of his songs on the radio. After that, things blew up, and now he was on a multicity tour in the southeast US. “How many girls you got in your bed right now?”

  Asher chuckled. “I know you didn’t call to ask about my sex life. What’s up?”

  Now came the tricky part. Nash trusted Asher with his life, but could he trust him with this secret? Even though Asher was hundreds of miles away, Nash didn’t doubt how quickly his news could travel back to Havenbrook. Then not only would Rory pitch a fit and have to deal with the whispers and pointing from the townspeople after they’d just moved on from her divorce, but all his diligence at keeping his dating life out of Havenbrook would go to hell.

  “Nash, much as I love listenin’ to you breathe, can we get on with it?”

  “Sorry, just…” He scrubbed a hand down his face and groaned, deciding to go all in. If he told Asher to keep his mouth shut, he would. “I’m fucked.”

  “I hope not literally, because I love you, man, but I don’t need to know that.”

  “Not right now, but…”

  Rustling came through the line as if Asher had shifted to a sitting position. “Enough cryptic bullshit. What’s goin’ on?”

  “The short version is I need to get Nat back home, and I don’t know how.”

  “Wait—you and Nat? Didn’t y’all learn your lesson in high school? It was a terrible idea back then, and it’s a terrible idea now.”

  “Nat? Shit, no.” Christ, the thought nearly made him shudder. The kiss they’d shared years ago had been like kissing a cousin. Not only that, it’d nearly torn their threesome apart. They’d vowed never again.