Page 47 of The Trust We Broke
The ride to the bakery takes all of ten minutes because I blow through every light and stop sign. I’m not in the mood to play nice with anyone. Take the racing line around every corner.
And by the time Quinn’s bakery appears, I’m as confused as I am angry.
Why here? Why now?
I pull the truck up outside and storm into the bakery. The noise fades, static cracks through the air in a mix of tension and resentment. When I don’t see them downstairs in the store, I march to the stairs at the back of the kitchen and storm up to the apartment.
Smoke’s footsteps tell me he’s right behind me.
In the kitchen, I find Lucy sitting next to Quinn with some papers in front of her, and she catches my eye just as she signs whatever those papers say.
She looks…soft. Sweats. An oversize hoodie. Makes me think of throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her to bed to get in on some of that warmth. My cock has the audacity to stir in my denim, like it’s completely unconnected from the rest of me.
“You can’t stay here,” I say.
She stands. “As we discussed yesterday, you have no say in where I do or don’t stay.”
“Go back to New York, Luce.”
Fuck.
Luce.
I hate the way the word slips out, like it’s itching to be used.
“Do you remember our conversation? We aren’t five. I’m not splitting the town with you. Plus, I just signed the paperwork.”
I lean close. Too close. Catching the scent of her perfume again. “Signing paperwork you shouldn’t seems to be your forte.”
“And interfering in my life seems to be yours. Anyone would think you like me.”
The words come out sharp, but I see the regret in her eyes the moment she says them. And I’m sure she sees the truth in mine.
That I’m conflicted by her return.
“Oh, shit,” Quinn says, moving to Smoke. “Did I do wrong, sweetie?”
Smoke puts his arm over her shoulder. “Nah, sugar. Mommy and Daddy are fighting. That’s all. Come back downstairs and make me a coffee.”
In the hallway at the top of the stairs, I see a camera. And if I look through the large windows with the view out over Main Street, I know I’ll see the cameras that also cover the external door leading up to the apartment.
She’ll be safe here.
“You’re staying?” I ask Lucy, finally.
“Would it be so bad?” Lucy asks in return. There’s something in her tone that’s so wistful, it wraps itself tight around my heart.
If I were a better man, a braver man, I might give her the reassurance she’s looking for. But if I do, I fuck myself.
I feel myself tipping toward her. When she looks at me like she is now, when I can see there is more bothering her than she’s ready to admit, it erases the bad memories for a moment. But I can’t let myself do this again.
“Yeah, Luce. It would be the fucking worst.”
Then, I spin on the heel of my boot and leave the bakery.
13
LUCY
