Page 34 of Come Break My Heart Again

Tuck clears his throat. “Yeah. She’s, uh, she’s Keira’s maid of honor.”

Not married then, is my first, idiotic thought.

“I was going to ask you to be my best man,” Tuck continues. “But if it’s too weird …”

It won’t just be weird. It will be strange and uncomfortable and awkward.

Elle and I were volatile under perfect circumstances. There’s just too much of … everything between us. And after everything I learned during dinner, I have so many more questions than I thought I would.

But for Tuck, I will get through it. If he wants me up there with him on the happiest day of his life, then that’s exactly where I’ll be.

“I’d be honored, Tuck.”

“Cool.” His nonchalance doesn’t fool me. I can hear the emotion in his voice. “Okay, here’s the place.”

I glance out the window at the house, whistling under my breath as he stops along the curb.

Tuck sighs. “I told you.”

I climb out of the cab and lean back against the door, crossing my arms as I survey the property.

This is one of Fernwood’s oldest and nicest neighborhoods. The only reason Tucker could afford this place was the elderly woman who lived here died in debt with no living family. The house itself is in a total state of disrepair, the land that’s covered with overgrown weeds the most valuable part of the property.

“Come on,” Tuck says, walking toward the brick path with a six-pack in hand. “The inside is worse, but it’ll look better after a beer. Or two.”

I chuckle under my breath, then push away from the door and follow him toward the house.

8

Iglance between Phoenix and the mansion we’re stalled in front of. “This isn’t Malone’s.”

“Pit stop,” Cruz, Phoenix’s older brother, says from his spot in the front seat. He glances back at me. “Know who’s a better customer than rich kids?”

“Drunkrich kids?”

Cruz grins. “Exactly. Sure you don’t want in, man? You’ve got great business sense.”

I rub a hand along my jaw, studying the exterior of the huge house. “I’m sure.”

As tempting as easy cash sounds, I’ve heard too much. Cruz isn’t small-time, selling weed he grew in his basement. He’s part of a huge operation based out of Boston. Dangerous shit that has huge payoffs—if the brand-new car we’re in is any indication—and lots of risk. Something I should stay far away from.

Phoenix and Cruz live a few trailers down with a rotating door of family members. Our paths didn’t cross much when I lived here last, but Phoenix is working at the garage with me. When he suggested we grab a burger tonight, I thought that meant we were actually going to get a burger. Instead, we endedup at the football field, another “pit stop” that lasted twenty minutes.

Cruz shrugs, then turns back around. “Suit yourself.”

Zane, who’s driving, blocks a BMW in. Then, all the doors, except mine, are opening.

I look at Phoenix, who’s halfway out of the car. “Thought this was a pit stop?”

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll get burgers in a bit.”

This was all planned, I realize. Part of a familiar pattern.

“You seriously party withthem?” I ask.

Phoenix spent most of our shift earlier complaining about how snobby and stuck-up most people in this town are.

He shrugs. “They want what Cruz is selling. And the girls might be bitchy at school, but here?” He smirks. “They’re up for anything. Seriously.”

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