Page 47 of Barbed Wire Fences
A wicked smile of realization crosses his lips as he grins back at me. “I always knew you had a thing for your little trailer trash buddy. You were always mad that I'd fucked her first before she could spread her pretty legs for you, huh? Well based on our date last week, she’s clearly still hung up on me and always will be.”
That’s it. I lose it. This wasn’t the plan when I came here, but before I can think it through, my fist is slamming into Owen’s face, releasing over ten years of fury in a single blow.
The hit catches him off guard, and he stumbles back, his hands clutching his nose as blood pours out in a rush, like a damn geyser. It’s satisfying in a way that I can’t describe and poetic that it reminds me of the last I did this.
“You’re going to pay for that,” he roars, wiping the blood from his face as he takes a swing at me.
But I’m ready. I dodge the first punch with ease, but the second one, a left hook, catches me hard on the cheek, and the sickening crack of bone sends a jolt of pain through my skull.
The world tilts for a moment, but I don’t back down, lunging at him until I take him down.
We’re on the gravel, fists flying, anger tearing through us like a storm until the worksite manager Smythe and Cash Marshall who must have seen the whole thing go down from the coffee shop next door, rushes in, pulling us apart with force.
“Rhett, if you don’t get off my work site right now, I’ll call the Sheriff,” Smythe warns with a loud, smokers cough, his finger jabbing in my direction as I spit blood onto the ground.
“Call him. Maybe Molly Marshall will show up. She never liked the way you treated Jael either,” I spit out.
Cash places a firm hand on my shoulder. “Come on, Rhett. Let’s go cool off.” His eyes are urging me and if it wasn’t for him being technically family, I’d probably tell him to fuck all the way off too.
Smythe shakes his head exhausted. “Owen, go home and don’t come back today. Fix the attitude and your face. Rhett, just get the hell out of here. Please. Now.”
Owen’s eyes narrow at me as he grabs his hard hat from the gravel and heads toward his truck. He yanks open the door but before he’s inside, he shouts out over the pavement.
“Don’t think this is over, Rhett. If I want Jael, I can have Jael at any time!”
And that has me lunging out of Cash’s grip before his truck peels away in a spray of stones and gravel.
Chapter 14 – Jael
My alarm blares obnoxiously from the nightstand, yanking me out of a half-sleep haze and reminding me that I need to haul myself out of bed to meet Molly at the Marshall’s new restaurant for our late lunch plans.
I’ve got work tonight, and that’s the only thing that has me dragging my sorry, hung over ass out of bed. And it’s not just a physical hangover that I feel from the drinks, but it’s an emotional one. From game night, seeing our old friends, and everything that happened with Rhett in the basement.
I drop my head into my hands, shaking it back and forth.What the hell was I thinking? But deep down, I know exactly what happened last night.
It’s this town. It’s like the place has seeped into my bones, dismantling every defense that I’ve worked so hard to build. When I left Whitewood Creek, I’d wrapped my heart in barbed wire, determined to keep the past, and any chance of experiencing more pain, out for good. I never wanted to let myself feel like this again.
And yet, here I am. Lying in bed. Thinking about the past and all the mistakes that I’ve made. Thinking abouthim. Thinking aboutus.
Regret claws at me, dragging up all the different ways that I could’ve handled things differently back then and last night, but I shove it aside, forcing myself to get up and face the day. Because I learned years ago that living in the past will destroy me.
Thirty minutes and a shower later, I’m across town, sliding into a small table at the Marshall family’s restaurant and brewery with Molly sitting across from me, smiling wide.
“You look good.”
I laugh. “Are you saying that because of how bad I looked last night?”
She grins but doesn’t say anything more. "So, how has your first week back in Whitewood Creek gone?” She pops a handful of fresh berries into her mouth and adjusts her badge. She’s wearing her Whitewood Creek police uniform and looks adorable with her long, dark black hair slicked into a tight, no-nonsense bun plus cargo pants and a button up shirt.
We’re at the Marshalls family's latest project—a brand-new restaurant and brewery that’s poised to rival the flagship location they opened two springs ago in Charlotte. It’s been open for over a year now Molly said, but she shared last night they are constantly making changes to the menu and layout of the place which is why we’re looking at a new autumn menu for our late lunch today.
“It’s been good so far,” I reply, just as our server comes to the table and we give our orders. When she walks away, I turn back to Molly. “I feel like I’ve finally gotten the layout of the hospitalfigured out and am in a good routine. It’s changed a lot since I was a senior in high school, trying to rack up volunteer hours.”
Molly nods, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah, the hospital has expanded as the town’s grown. Hayes said that they’re working on opening an ICU, so patients don’t have to be airlifted to Charlotte anymore. Is that true?”
I nod. “That’s right. That’s the reason for the contract that I’m on currently. I’m training some of the existing nurses.”
Our server returns to the table with two coffees and a stack of sweet potato pancakes. “We’re trialing these for the upcoming season. Regan said to send them out.”
