Page 94 of Hard to Love
“Hey there, Gr…” He swung around to face her and took in what had to be her best Medusa look since she hadn’t bothered to control her hair with a brush after her early morning call. “What’s wrong?”
She held up her phone, displaying the picture she’d taken of Alex’s competition project. “I need to raffle this off.”
“Does Alex know you’re pimping his leatherwork?”
“It’s damn well not up to him!”
Sawyer’s eyebrows went up, but he nodded. “Okay. What do you need from me?”
She pulled raffle tickets from her bag. “Ten bucks a piece. How many can I tear off for you?”
“What’s going on? What do you need money for and why are you getting it this way?”
“Ten thousand.”
“Oh, if that’s all,” he said, “I’ll just write you a check.”
What? A few months ago, wasn’t he one of the business owners concerned about Prophecy’s sad economic state? Didn’t matter. Right now, she didn’t have time to probe him about the “that’s all” comment. “It won’t work that way. He has to understand that people in this town accept him, want him here.”
“Alex doesn’t seem like a prom king kinda guy to me. More like a fuck-off man, if I had to guess.”
“Which is why this is so important.”
“And raffle tickets are somehow going to make him feel the love?”
“I don’t have time to explain, and even if I did, I can’t. This is Alex’s business, and I know he doesn’t want it open to public consumption. Can you just trust me and buy some damn tickets?”
“Will you sell me a hundred?”
She stared at Sawyer, considering. Few other people in Prophecy could make that kind of easy commitment with their money. And time was precious. “Deal. Get your checkbook.” She quickly counted off the tickets and rippedthem from the roll.
But rather than pulling out his checkbook, Sawyer reached beneath the counter and came up with a wad full of hundreds. “You sure you won’t take more than a thousand?”
It could be that easy—just take the money from Sawyer and tell Alex…tell Alex a big fat lie about how this town had supported him even when they didn’t know why. No, this wasn’t just about money. This was about giving acceptance. And about Alex accepting forgiveness. “If I’m short in two hours, expect me back here.”
“You know where to find me.”
But two hours later, she, Delaney, and Cal all met at the boot shop. Delaney pulled a crumpled ball of tens and twenties from her wristlet. A surprise the tiny purple purse hadn’t burst with all that in it.
Cal, of course, produced a stack of perfectly aligned bills, the presidents all facing the same direction. “I’ve got twenty-seven hundred.”
Greer scooped Delaney’s mess toward her and started counting. “Thirty-four.”
And with her forty-one hundred, they’d done it. Lord, if the band boosters ever discovered how quickly three people had raised close to ten thousand dollars, they’d have a fit. Then again, as soon as people had heard that Alex had afamily issueand the raffle would help him out of a tight spot, they pulled out their wallets.
Greer stacked the bills in thousand-dollar bundles and snapped rubber bands around them.
“You gonna tell us what this family thing is that Alex needs all this cash for?” Cal asked, eyeing Greer rather than the money.
“I can’t. It’s…it’s his story to tell.”
“Dammit, you jerk us out of bed and then you won’t—”
“Cal—” Delaney wrapped a hand around his wrist. “Don’t. We all have our secrets. All have shames we carry around inside us. I have a feeling this has something to do with Alex’s.”
Thank God for Delaney.
Greer placed the money in a plastic shopping bag and doubled-tied it.
