Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 499(@200wpm)___ 399(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
“No shit, Sherlock. But she thinks you bailed on her, said something about you not wanting to be seen with her? And had no idea that you’ve basically told the whole town that if anyone fucks with her, you’ll destroy them. When Grandpa Joe said you’re in love with her, she laughed. A lot. She has no idea.”
Every word is a bullet straight into my heart, shredding it to pieces as I try to make sense of what Hazel’s saying.
How could Wren not know that I’m fucking gone for her and have been for ages? She seriously laughed at me?
I snort bitterly. “Yeah, I know. I’m not worthy of the Wren Ford, but a little respect would be fucking nice.”
Hopefully, the anger in my voice covers the hurt I’ve been stockpiling away for a year. Hazel knows me too well, though, and can see through my bullshit any day, any time. “Pull your head out of your ass. I don’t know what happened, but she laughed—” I try to interrupt again, but she gives me a glare reminiscent of Mom’s and I shut up. “And then her eyes went all hazy like she was somewhere else. Before we could ask what she was thinking, she ran out so we wouldn’t see her cry.”
That stops me short. “Wren was crying? Why?”
Hazel almost slaps my head again, but Avery answers first. “Because of you, Jesse. I know you’re hurt, but so is she.”
I think I would’ve preferred the smack, because Avery’s gentle words are a punch to my gut. Wren’s hurting? Because of me? I’ve done everything I can think of to make this easier on her. I’ve stayed away, I haven’t put pressure on her. And I’ve been doing my best to get better for her, hoping that eventually, I’ll be a man she could be proud of.
Wyatt puts his arm around Hazel’s shoulder, backing her up or holding her back, I’m not sure which. But his voice is threaded with a promise of his own. “Fix this. Wren’s been through some shit and deserves to be happy. And she’s better than all of us put together—no offense, Avery—and if you fuck her over, I will feed your body to my wood chipper.” It’s his version of a brotherly love threat.
“None taken,” Avery answers, lost in little Joe’s baby coos as he realizes his mama’s here. “Auntie Wren’s the best, isn’t she? Oh, yes she is. Not as cute as you, though, Joe-baby.”
Avery’s baby talk is much more tolerable, but I still need to get out of here. I have a lot to think about.
I am so fucking confused.
This whole day has sucked ass. And not in the good way. I can’t do anything about Jed’s asshattery, but Wren and me? Yeah, I can do something about that shit.
Chapter 13
WREN
I hear Jesse’s truck pull up out front, the door slam, and his boots crunch through the gravel before clopping on the steps outside. The doorbell rings at the same time he knocks, and I admit to myself that I’m hiding from him when I seriously consider not answering the door.
He knocks again and yells through the door, “Wren. Open the door. I know you’re here.”
Of course he does. My car’s right out front, and the lights are on. But I can play possum, and maybe he’ll think I’m already asleep.
No, that’s useless. He’d probably show up at work tomorrow and I’d have to deal with it then.
Resigned, I blindly fluff my hair and rub under my eyes to make sure there are no mascara smears before going to the door. I open it a crack, standing behind it. I’m wearing a huge forest-green T-shirt that I hope he doesn’t recognize because I totally swiped it from his place and sleep in it more often than I’d care to admit.
“We need to talk,” he grits out.
I’m shaking my head before he gets the words out. “Not tonight, Jesse. It’s been a long day, and I want to go to bed.”
“Get in the truck.” He points at the jacked-up monstrosity behind him like I don’t hear it glub-glub-glubbing ten feet away. I know from experience that you can hear it from a half mile away when he really winds it up.
I dig my bare feet into the floor as I huff out a disbelieving laugh. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Remember, I tried to play nice,” he warns. Confused, I stare at him blankly one second too long, and he nudges the door the rest of the way open, bends down, plants his shoulder at my waist, and scoops me into the air over his shoulder.
In shock, I scream while simultaneously pounding on his back and flailing my legs, but he holds me securely. “Put me down! This is kidnapping!”
He spanks my ass, his hand hitting half bare butt and half T-shirt where it’s ridden up. And then I’m wiggling to try to keep the whole world from seeing that my panties have shifted up my crack. And I’m not a thong girl. I invest in good-quality undies that stay where you put them and don’t crawl into places they shouldn’t be.