Page 10 of New Hope, Old Grudges

My heart stuttered as my wandering gaze found another one, one that looked like it had been zeroed in on me for a long time. That made my spine prickle. And not entirely in a bad way.

Brody Adams.

He was here.

Sitting at the bar. Thankfully, the other end of it, and it was a long bar, but still, in relatively close proximity.

He wasn’t in uniform. Obviously.

A leather jacket hung on the back of his stool, and he was wearing a long-sleeved Henley. It molded over his broad shoulders, clung tight to his muscular arms. Jeans not entirely visible from my perch, but I bet the asshole looked great in them too.

It was then I realized that I’d been staring at him for a long time, and he was still staring at me. There was a knit to his brow, like he was trying to figure me out. Remember me.

Oh yeah, because he forgot who I was.

My grip tightened on my glass, and my eyes narrowed, flickering to the man beside him.

He was fatter, older and generally worse for the wear, but I recognized him too. Sam Norton. Another one of my tormentors. He had been particularly cruel.

And he was leering at me in a way that made me want a shower.

My furious gaze found Brody’s.

His choice of drinking buddy told me what I already knew: people didn’t change. Brody Adams was still an asshole.

And unlike his buddy, he hadn’t received karmic justice in the form of a bald spot and a beer gut.

He deserved to pay for his sins. If karma wouldn’t do it, then I’d just have to figure out a way.

ChapterFour

WILLOW

It wasn’tmy best idea. Not even close. In fact, it was my worst idea. But I had a thirst for vengeance. That and I’d drank quite a lot of whiskey. It turned out whiskey made me mad. And confident.

Revenge was a dish best served cold, and it was winter in Colorado; it was always cold.

Plus, I was drunk.

I made a snap decision when I saw Brody get up and head toward the restroom. My heart had thundered for a moment when he got up, his eyes on me. I had the wild thought he was going to walk up to me. There was a certain kind of intensity in his eyes that made my stomach pitch.

But no, he was Brody Adams, I was Weird Willow Watson. He wasn’t going to come talk to me in front of all these people, especially with his old buddy perched beside him.

Hence my plan.

I got up and followed him.

The bar was busy, and usually, that meant that the restroom lines would be out the door—the women’s, not the men’s, of course, because men had it easier in almost every way, down to not having to wait in line to pee—but for whatever reason, at that specific point in the night, I was the only one in the narrow hall that led toward the separate bathrooms.

I waited for Brody to come back, not meeting the eye of the couple of men who walked past me back into the bar.

I almost backed out. It was a stupid plan. But I felt I had to do something, have some agency over my past, have a victory somewhere.

Before I could lose my nerve, Brody rounded the corner. He stopped in his tracks when he saw me leaning against the wall. I pushed off, swaying my hips as I walked toward him.

“Willow,” he drawled my name, his voice deep and throaty. No friendly small-town cop to be seen. No, this was a different man.

“Oh, you remember menow.” I tried to sound teasing and flirty, but it came across as irritated.

---