Page 19 of Sweet Southern Heat

The wreck was Lyle’s fault.

It was absolute bullshit.

Right?

She was just trying to get under my skin and make me second guess my own flesh and blood. Lyle told me all about how Olivia had acted that night, about how she’d insisted they get more booze even though she’d already been drinking. He’d tried to stop her, but she was determined. So he left with her in the hopes he could keep her safe, even though he’d had a couple beers himself. We all saw how that turned out. His side of the car took the brunt of the impact when she’d run off the road and crashed into a tree. He suffered from a concussion and a shattered leg, effectively ending any prospects of him ever playing football again. To this day, he still walked with a slight limp. He would never be right again, and Olivia didn’t even havethe decency to take accountability for her actions. Instead, she tried to blame my brother.

My hands tightened around the steering wheel, my knuckles blanching as I turned onto the road leading to the bakery. I pulled up to the back entrance, breathing a sigh of relief that Olivia wasn’t here yet and let myself in. Since I started work so early, I’d been given a key, so I didn’t have to wait for Olivia to arrive to get started for the day. I was surprised she'd trusted me enough to have a key. After last night, though, she would probably insist I give it back.

To say I’d been shocked to see her was an understatement. I never expected her to find out I’d given all her baked goods away. Someone at the garage must’ve told her. Maybe it was for the best. Now that she knew, she would surely stop trying to win me over. It would never happen.

In a daze, I slipped through the kitchen and entered the front of the shop, flipping on the lights as I let out a yawn. My eyes blinked open, and I froze. Glass covered the floor in jagged shards. The front window was smashed clear through, letting in the cool morning air. My boots crunched over the broken glass as I slowly made my way toward the shattered window. There was something lying in the middle of the floor, an object wrapped in paper. Before I could pick it up to inspect it, a shrill cry sounded from behind me.

I turned to find Olivia standing in the doorway, a hand covering her mouth in shock and dismay. Her wide brown eyes darted around the space, taking in the destruction. Finally, they landed on me, and I flinched at the hurt and accusation that flashed in her gaze.

“Olivia,” I croaked, holding out my hand in a placating gesture. Her eyes welled, and her chin quivered.

“Did-did you do this?” Her voice shook as she took first one step toward me, then another. Devastation turned to fury in her gaze. What the hell?

“Is that what you really think of me? That I’d vandalize your bakery?” I ground out, trying to tamp down my annoyance. This probably looked bad from her vantage point, but surely she realized I gained nothing from sabotaging her business.

“You seemed awfully upset last night. It’s not too much of a stretch to think you might want to retaliate, especially since you’ve been harboring misguidedly ill feelings toward me for nearly six years.” I gritted my teeth and squared my shoulders.

“There was nothing misguided about my feelings toward you. You can blame my brother all you want, but you were the one driving that night. You were the one who had too much to drink, and you’re the one who’s at fault for causing that wreck. Grow up, and take some accountability for your poor choices and actions.” The words poured from my lips like venom from a cottonmouth’s teeth. There was no holding back. The floodgates had been opened.

Her eyes, which were usually wide open and blinking innocently, narrowed into slits. Fury blazed in her expression, and her chest heaved. I’d never seen her this angry.

“Your brother tried to kill me that night!” she exclaimed, and I recoiled. What the fuck was she talking about? Lyle loved her. She was his everything.

“Bullshit,” I refuted. She let out a humorless laugh and placed her hands on her hips. She glanced away briefly and shook her head in disbelief before turning her searing gaze on me again.

“Despite what you may believe, I wasn’t drinking that night, and I had the bloodwork to prove it,” she claimed, and surprise rocked through me. That was news to me. I’d heard through the grapevine that the officers at the scene didn’t perform a fieldsobriety test or a breathalyzer on her, but instead rushed her straight to the hospital despite her only having minor injuries. Nobody said anything about her blood alcohol level. Then again, what happened in a hospital outside of town limits was less likely to be shared.

“But your brother,” she continued, her voice shaking, “was already well past tipsy. And when I refused to take him to get more alcohol, he got angry.” She took another step toward me, all pretenses of civility vanishing. This version of her was raw and real, no sunshiny smile to hide behind. “So angry, in fact, that he took my keys and shoved me, causing me to fall and sprain my wrist.”

The blood drained from my face as bile rose in my stomach. He didn’t. Hewouldn’t. Lyle worshipped the ground she walked on. He never would have hurt her. Disbelief roared to life inside my chest as I watched her for any signs of deceit.

“Everyone thought that injury had come from the wreck,” she said, her voice dropping almost to whisper, “but it didn’t.” A look of utter heartbreak and betrayal swirled in her amber gaze.

“Then why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you tell anybody what really happened?” I challenged. She pinched her eyes shut and drew in a deep breath to settle herself.

“Your brother had already lost enough. His dreams were shot all to hell. I didn’t want anyone to turn on him for hurting me.” I swallowed hard before asking her to continue.

“Then what happened? If he took your keys, how did you end up driving?”

“I begged him to let me have my keys back,” she claimed, her voice trembling as tears glistened in her eyes, “and agreed to take him to get more beer. He was acting very erratic and stumbling all over the place. I didn’t want him behind the wheel. I was afraid he would hurt himself or someone else.” Her voicecracked on the last word. “He’d already taken something earlier in the night, and the alcohol?—”

“Wait,” I snapped, cutting her off. “Are you saying he was high?” She winced, and her expression grew somber.

“I don’t know if it was a pill, or he snorted something or… I-I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head in dismay.

“I don’t believe you,” I growled, my nostrils flaring as I tried to tamp down my anger. “He didn’t start doing drugs untilafterthe accident.” She shot me a sympathetic look, and I wanted to make her take it back.

“I wish that were true.” Genuine sorrow filled her gaze, and I stumbled back a step. Was she telling the truth? “He’d already been using for a while when the accident happened.” Her declaration felt like a kick to the chest. This whole time, I’d blamed the accident—and his subsequent injuries—for him developing a dependence on opiates, but if Olivia was to be believed, it started well before then. My heart momentarily stopped before returning to a gallop.

“It was only at parties at first. He said he was ‘dabbling’ before he got to college and had to keep his nose clean. I begged him to stop, and he promised that the graduation party would be the last time.” Sadness washed over her features, and I tried to catch my breath. My mind reeled from the revelation. Lyle was already using before the accident.

“What happened next?” I demanded, desperately needing the full story.

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