Page 176 of Heart’s Cove Hunks

I stand, turning for the door, then pause. This guy sent people to Heart’s Cove to look for me. They creeped through the woods, watched me with Jen, went through her stuff. I played it off at the time, but I know someone messed with her clothes when we were in the guesthouse. If that happens again, I won’t hesitate to go on the offensive.

“One more thing.” I face him. “If you ever send anyone to my home again, I’ll make sure they know they’re not welcome. Stay away from my sister. Stay away from my woman. Stay out of my life, Slim. I’m not your fucking brother.”

Slim’s brows arch for a moment, then lower over narrowed eyes. “Understood.” I make it to the front door before Slim calls out again, standing at the other end of the hallway. “I’ll admit I asked Nora to contact you, Fallon. But I never sent anyone after your woman. Shit, I didn’t even know you had one.” He holds my gaze until I open the door and walk out.

My mind is spinning so much that I don’t even realize I’ve driven all the way back to Nora's place. I park outside, then realize I never picked up any dinner. Sighing, I lean against the headrest and close my eyes, replaying my conversation with Slim from beginning to end.

I’m nothing like him. I’m not sure I ever was.

A weight lifts off my shoulders, and for the first time in decades I feel like I can breathe.

One thing bothers me, though. If Slim didn’t send anyone to Heart’s Cove, then who was creeping around our guesthouse?

I jump when someone knocks on the car window. Nora opens the passenger door, then makes an exaggerated show of looking around the car. “Where’s dinner?”

I grimace. “Didn’t know what you wanted to eat.”

She frowns. “So you came back? Ever heard of a phone?”

“Shut up, Snotface.”

Her smile lights her face. “And he’s back! Did you do some soul-searching in the two hours you were gone?”

I nod. “Yeah. I realized you were right. I shouldn’t punish myself for my criminal record.”

Nora rolls her eyes. “What a revelation,” she says sarcastically, then climbs into the car. “Come on. I know a good Thai place not far from here.”

When her door slams shut, I turn the key in the ignition and let my lips slide into a smile. If I can forgive myself for my mistakes, is it possible that Jen would understand, too? That she would see me as more than my criminal record? Is it possible that her father is wrong about me…and maybe I am worthy of a woman like her?

Nora tells me of her plans to pick up some boxes tomorrow. She says she’s rented a trailer that we can hitch to the jeep for the drive back, and I’m to pick it up in the morning.

“How long do you think it’ll take to pack up your apartment? Have you spoken to your landlord?”

“All sorted. My lease ends in a month anyway, and he was giving me stink so I just said to keep the last month’s rent and not bother me. Couple hundred bucks is worth it to start over.” She hums, then arches a brow. “If you stop driving around aimlessly and actually help me pack, I think we could be on the road by the end of the week.”

Less than a week. I can do a week. It’ll feel like an eternity, but I can do it. By next Sunday evening I could have Jen in my arms, begging her to forgive me for taking off.

I nod. “Sure. But there’s something I need to do tomorrow first. Need a few hours to head to Truckee.”

Nora's eyes glimmer at the sound of the city just on the other side of the Nevada-California border. My little sister gives me a proud nod. “That, I’ll allow.”

CHAPTER 31

Fallon

The sun is already promising a scorching day by the time I enter the retirement village located in Truckee, California. Small, single-story houses line the street, all with accessible ramps and handrails as far as the eye can see.

I scan the house numbers, my stomach clenching when I find my destination. It’s the first time I’ve been here.

Glancing at the time, I suck in a long breath. It’s just after nine o’clock in the morning, which means my mother will definitely be awake. She’s always been an early riser.

So, before I can chicken out, I exit my car and make my way up the gently sloping path to the front door. The seconds that pass between my ringing the doorbell and the door actually opening are excruciating—but within moments, my mother’s shocked face appears on the other side of the threshold.

My mother is seventy-two, but she looks ten years younger. Her waist-length hair is mostly white now, although streaked with black, and knotted in her customary single, thick braid. She’s wearing an old sweatshirt with my high school’s name on it, furry slippers, and tan shorts.

Her mouth opens, then closes. She gapes.

Oh, God. This was a bad idea. I haven’t seen my mother in person in nearly a decade. Ever since I got out of prison, our relationship has been hanging on by a thread. If I’m honest, once she gave me that ultimatum and I walked out of her house, I was too ashamed to ask for forgiveness.

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