Page 43 of The Bridges I've Burned

“No one’s asking you to forget. Hell, no one is even asking you to forgive. But at the end of the day, you have to weigh your trauma against whatever motivates you now—love, loyalty, the desire to make amends and see what wins.”

I let his words settle for a moment before I replied, but never got the opportunity. Elena and Molly joined us.

“We took matters into our own hands,” she said, handing me a beer. It was the same brand I’d ordered the night before.

“Beauty, brains, and you know what kind of beer I like? You might just be the perfect woman.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you heard about my last few dates.”

The thought of her on a date with another man conjured up irrational thoughts of jealousy, and I instantly shoved them down. “I think that reflects more on them than you, Louie.”

“You’re really sticking with that ridiculous nickname?” She shook her head. “I’m wearing Chanel today.”

I grinned. “Chanel just doesn’t have the same ring to it, you know?” I leaned forward, my lips brushing her ear. “And, yes, I’m keeping the nickname.”

“God, you really are trouble.”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

We stared at each other, and suddenly, the room felt so damn small. And so fucking hot. Just then, someone rang a bell, pulling us out of our trance. I cleared my throat, and she blinked.

Fucking focus.

I kept reminding myself I was leaving in mere hours, and yet somehow, every time I opened my mouth, I indeed got myself into trouble.

This was a disaster.

Everyone began to take their seats like fucking cattle, and I let out a slow breath. As I looked around, I realized how intimate this party was. Considering Macon was now the sheriff, I had expected the whole damn county to be here. But in actuality, there were less than fifty people in attendance.

That didn’t mean all fifty pairs of eyes weren’t staring at me. They definitely were.

“On a scale of one to ten, how awkward do you feel right now?” Elena asked as she leaned over.

She smelled like jasmine and citrus. I inhaled, and I had to stifle a moan. I wouldn’t be surprised if the mere whiff of an orange gave me a damn hard-on for the rest of my godforsaken life.

“Oh, definitely an eleven. Maybe a twelve,” I answered, nervously running my hands through my hair.

“Want me to go get your jacket?” she teased.

Now that you mention it…

I rolled up my sleeves, feeling stifled by the rigid material. But if I was being honest, it wasn’t the shirt.

It was the people.

I’d felt comfortable with Molly and Jake, but this? All the tentative glances and whispered conversations. I felt like I was on display, and all I wanted to do was bolt. I let out a staggering breath as I felt Elena’s hand come to rest on my thigh. My eyes jerked to hers, but before she could say anything, Macon stood, and everyone quieted.

“Oh, good.” He let out a chuckle. “I was really hoping I wouldn’t have to tap a glass to get your attention.”

“Believe me, so were we,” a bearded man next to him muttered, and everyone laughed. “No one wants to clean that up.”

“I—oh, sorry.” Macon hesitated before reaching down to grab Marin’s hand. She looked up at him with such devotion and affection that it made my chest ache. “We were going to do this at the end of the meal, but knowing how all you fuckers drink, I suggested we do it now while you’re all still sober?—”

“Speak for yourself, Green!” someone hollered toward the back.

A chorus of laughter followed.

“I knew I should have uninvited you, Millie.” Macon shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips.

---