Page 10 of Sugar
At least that part is true.
Later, after inhaling a brownieanda strawberry cupcake, I feel utterly exhausted. I’m not sure if it’s the humidity from the storm or the overcast sky, but all I want is to crawl into bed and close my eyes for a nap. I give Luna another tight squeeze and stuff cash in her cupcake-shaped tip jar before trudging back out to my SUV to finally head home.
It only takes me six minutes to get back to the house I grew up in. I park along the curb in the front and turn off the ignition, looking up at it through my wet windshield. It looks like it always has: pristine and unaltered outside of the fresh paint that looks to be only a few months old. It’s the same color green though, like the leaves of the black walnut trees growing in the backyard. The trim is a startling white caught in this gray afternoon, thetips of the gabled roof pointed high in the storm-filled sky. Red rosebushes line the front walkway, pruned and manicured.
I remember being nine or ten and losing control on my roller skates down that walkway, falling so deep in the bushes my dad’s new wife had to pull thorns out from my skin and clothes in the bathroom. It looked like I’d been attacked by a feral cat. Dad was more upset I hadn’t minded the flowers, that I’d broken half a dozen branches during the tumble.
They were Gloria’s pride and joy, after all. And Dad workedreallyhard to keep Gloria happy.
I’ve only been back a week and I already want to run away again, hightail it out of here in the middle of the night. I used to consider it a work of art, the way I’d silently pop the screen out of my bedroom window and climb out onto the roof before using the trash bins to hold my weight as I carefully shimmied down the gutter’s downspout. It’s a shame I have nowhere to go—no teenage boys in idling cars with the headlights turned off, waiting for me to jump into the passenger seat so we can jet off to some party, or to a quiet creek in the woods.
Now I’m just a grown woman who ran back home to escape her problems out in the real world, where she swore she’d make it. Where shesworeshe’d create a life for herself that she could be proud of, standing on her own two feet.
My car chimes to signal another text message. I shut off the ignition to cut off announcement, but the words still come: “New text from Tobias?—”
Fucking car. I pull the phone off the mount and grab my purse, pretending I can’t hear the words of Tobias’s latest text. I can’t wait to get up to my room so I can shove the phone beneath my mattress and forget about it for at least the rest of the day.
Dad’s cruiser isn’t parked in the driveway, but I know Gloria’s home—she’s always home. I’m hoping she’s too busy organizing her china to notice me coming in. I’m almost thirtyyears old, and I refuse to explain myself or my whereabouts to anyone ever again.
I hadn’t even planned on staying back at this house when I got here, but Abbott from the inn tipped my father off that I was back in town as soon as I checked in to the room I booked, which led to the good sheriff showing up to escort me home after shaking the innkeeper’s hand in the lobby.
So fucking embarrassing.
Being treated like a kid again isn’t worth the money saved on accommodations, that’s for damn sure. But it’s not a battle worth fighting right now. The real fight has been getting Kasey on board with this marriage, and based on the way we left things this morning, I think I might finally have him.
I have to admit, this ruse was not something I originally planned. But after overhearing Georgia Moore whispering in the supermarket about Brooks Bennett losing his wife and it being all her husband’sgood friendneeded to gain access to the land and finally boot out the Bennetts, I knew it was an opportunity laid at my feet. A means to an end that will hopefully help us both out with the shitty hands we’ve been dealt.
The front door to the house opens quietly, its hinges likely recently oiled—a big win for me. I can see all the way through the kitchen window at the back of the house thanks to its open floorplan, and there’s Gloria’s pinned-up curls bobbing in and out of view. She must be covering her plants from the rain—I don’t know and certainly don’t care. She’s always babied the hell out of her garden.
I smile in relief, closing the door behind me before hurrying up the stairs on silent feet into the safety of my room.
CHAPTER FOUR
KASEY
“Whoa, boy . . .” The chestnut stallion beneath me bucks harder, the power in his massive thighs shooting me up into the air. My stomach plummets as we both drop back down.
“Easy!” Rhett calls from outside the corral.
“Trying,” I grit out. The horse twists hard to the left and bucks again, and it’s enough to shake me loose from the saddle. I fly through the air, tucking my chin into my chest as I try to roll into the fall. I land on my shoulder though, pain exploding from my collarbone to my shoulder blade. “Fuck!” I shout, frustration cutting deep. I haven’t been thrown from a horse in years.
“Shit,” Rhett mutters.
“You okay?” Wells asks.
I stare up at the sky as my brothers hop over the fence. Rhett jogs toward the horse to catch his lead before he has a chance to finish what he started and trample over me. Wells comes straight to me, his head flooding my field of vision and blocking out the blue of the sky. His eyes scan over me, settling on the shoulder I’m clutching with a death grip.
“Dislocated?” he asks.
I sigh out an irritated breath, squeezing my eyes shut. “I fucking hope not.”
“Can you stand?” He scratches at his brow, his dirty ball cap pushed high on his forehead.
“My legs are fine, Wellsy boy.”
He frowns. “Let’s see you use them then.”
I almost chuckle. Rolling toward my uninjured shoulder, I get my legs underneath me and work to stand. As I straighten, I try pushing my chest out to bring my shoulder blades together and my left one screams. “Fuck,” I say again, wincing.
