Page 3 of Crazy Imperfect Hearts

“Mr. Montana, I’m Sylvia Franco from KXTZ. I’d like to interview you about the engagement of your ex-fiancée, Lissa Monroe.”

“No.”

The word comes out of my mouth faster than I can even wrap my head around how quickly someone found me after the so-called breaking news.

“Mr. Montana, is it true that Miss Monroe was the fourth woman you left at the altar and you’re known as the runaway groom of Calloway Creek?”

My brothers and I stare at her.

“Lady,” Dallas says, coming to my defense, “I don’t know who you paid to find him, but I suggest you get the hell out of here before I escort you out.”

“This is a public place,” Sylvia says. “We have a right to be here.” She turns back to me. “Lucas, this is a chance to tell your side of the story before every media outlet finds out about you and makes you the laughingstock of New York.”

“Get out,” Blake says, standing and blocking me from the camera.

She pokes her head around him. “You wouldn’t want any negative press to affect your family’s prosperous business, would you?”

Dallas stands. “Okay, that’s enough.” I swear he’s going to smash the video camera when Cooper comes over and interrupts.

“I own thisprivateestablishment,” Cooper says. He points to a sign next to the door. “See that? We have the right to refuse service to anyone, especially those who are making a scene or disrupting business, which you clearly are. Now leave or I’ll get the police involved. And in case you’re wondering whose side they’d be on, you’d do well to remember this is a small town.”

“Fine.” Sylvia holds up her hands in surrender and does the cut-throat sign to her cameraman. She hands me a business card. “If you change your mind—and I think you should, to get your side of the story out before people make things up—call me.” Then she eyes me up and down, as if she’s just now reallyseeingme—a rich, attractive, available man. “Even if youdon’tchange your mind, feel free to call.”

They leave, and once again, you could hear a pin drop as all eyes are on me.

“Dude,” Dallas says. “Did that reporter bitch actually just make a pass at you?”

Cooper clears some empty glasses off our table. “I wouldn’t be surprised if reporters are camped out in front of your building when you go home.”

My head sinks into my hands. “Shit.” I pick up my smokes. “I’m going outside.”

My brothers settle our tab then follow me out. “It’s getting late and we have to head home,” Dallas says. “You want to crash at my place?”

The wind has picked up and it takes me ten tries to light my cigarette. Finally, I get it, and I inhale deeply, the nicotine infusion calming my nerves ever so slightly. “No. I’m going to stay here and get shit faced.”

“It’s a long walk home when you’re fall-down-drunk,” Blake says.

“I think I can manage.”

“Well, if you get there and find reporters, the offer stands to crash at one of our places. Call if you need a ride.”

“Whatever,” I say, noticing the table of ladies staring at me from across the patio. All familiar faces: Maddie, Regan, and Ava—who all own small businesses across the street—and their friends Amber, Dakota, Nikki, and Cooper’s wife, Serenity.

It’s a gut punch to see one empty seat at the table. It’s where Lissa would have been sitting were she here. Or maybe she’d be the one serving them as one of Donovan’s longest-standing employees.

But she’s not at the table. And she hasn’t worked here since the day I crushed her spirit. Her dreams. I spare a glance at the TV—but apparently not her future.

My brothers each clap a hand on my shoulder, seeming reluctant to leave.

“What am I, two? You don’t have to babysit me. Go.”

I watch them leave, envious of each of them for having someone to go home to, knowing it’s my own damn fault that I don’t.

I get Cooper’s attention through the window, and he brings me another drink.

“Keep ‘em coming until you close or I pass out,” I say when it arrives.

And I mean every word.

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