Crazy Imperfect Hearts

Chapter One

Lucas

“Bro.” Blake’s eyebrows dip low as he points to the large television hanging over the bar. “Isn’t that your ex?”

I don’t react. I’ve gotten used to the incessant teasing about my four exes. The women I’ve left at—or near—the altar over the past decade. I casually sip my drink. “Not falling for it.”

“No, seriously,” my other brother Dallas says, looking just as puzzled as Blake as he stares behind my head. “She’s on TV.”

I whip around to see the most recent bride I jilted looking as happy as a clam at high tide.

“Hey, Calloway!” a patron in the booth next to us shouts to the guy tending bar. “Turn it up.”

The entire pub goes silent as Cooper sets the TV volume on max. There must be three dozen people here, a lot for this early on a Friday night, but the only sound comes from the television, and more specifically—the host of Entertainment Tonight.

“Senator Edwin McNally of New York has just announced the recent engagement of his twenty-eight-year-old son, Andrew—currently employed at the New York Office of the Attorney General—to twenty-six-year-old Lissa Monroe from Calloway Creek, New York. Miss Monroe is a student at NYU and bartender at a popular New York City club, where the couple apparently met last fall. The wedding date and location haven’t been announced, but my guess is it will be at Senator McNally’s home on Martha’s Vineyard.”

My entire body goes numb as the host continues to talk about the upcoming wedding as if two celebrities are getting hitched. All I can do is stare at the pictures of Lissa and her new fiancé . Did she ever look that happy with me?

“Fuck!”

I kick the leg of the table, pick up my drink and go out on the patio. Pulling a cigarette from my pack, I notice it’s equally as quiet out here. When I glance around, I see everyone staring at me.

“What?” I yell, then light up and walk over to an empty table.

People turn away and talk about me. Calloway Creek is a small town. Everyone knows my story. They all know Lissa. They know my other three exes as well. You can’t fart in this town without everyone smelling it.

Dallas appears at my table with a fresh glass of whiskey. He puts it down and slides it my way before he and Blake sit.

I stare at the glass, head shaking. “She’s been living thirty minutes away all this time.” I flick some ashes and take a drag of the cancer stick. “And she went back to school. She always said she wanted to.”

“Karma’s a bitch, eh, Montana?” Dax Cruz yells from across the patio.

Standing so fast my chair falls over, I turn, ready to throw punches.

Dallas and Blake pop out of their seats and hold me back. “Not worth it,” Blake says.

Dax laughs, raising his drink as if making a toast. “Public humiliation is just the cherry on top.”

“Don’t you have a fucking carburetor to fix?” I yell. “Maybe the car will do us all a favor and fall on your head.”

A dozen pairs of eyes bounce between Dax and me as we continue to lob vocal punches.

“Luke.” Dallas puts a firm hand on my shoulder. “Come on, man. Let’s go back inside.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Cooper Calloway says, leaning in the doorway, likely making sure things don’t get out of control. “Next one’s on me.”

I flick my cigarette across the patio, missing Dax by mere inches, before my brothers escort me inside.

On the way back to our booth, I spot Hunter McQuaid sitting with his wife and kids. I get my wallet out, fish every last dollar from it, and throw the money down in front of him.

He puts down his hamburger and stares at what is probably seven hundred dollars. “What’s this?”

“Down payment.”

“For what exactly?”

“The bet I lost.”

Slowly, realization washes over him. It’s been years since I made the idiotic wager. Seven hundred barely scratches the surface of the fifty grand I bet him that I’d actually go through with marrying Lissa.

Well, he won. Him and all the other people who bet against me.

Fuck him. Fuck all of them.

He pushes the money toward me. “I don’t want your money, Montana.”

“I make good on my bets,” I say, wanting to use stronger language, but refraining in front of his kids.

“I’m really sorry, Lucas,” his wife Willow calls out as I walk away.

I glance at the TV as I slide into the booth, grateful it’s now tuned to a Nighthawks game on ESPN.

“Senator McNally,” Blake muses. “Isn’t he the guy they say might run for president in the next election?”

I close my eyes and shake my head knowing I’m destined to hear about every goddamn detail of my ex’s upcoming nuptials to the son of the next potential president of the United States.

“Holy shit,” Dallas says. “She could be the first daughter-in-law.”

I shoot him a biting glare. “Whose side are you on?”

“Always yours, brother. I’m just saying.”

Cooper makes good on that drink, bringing it to the table to add to the one Dallas bought me. “This must be a real gut punch,” he says, nodding to the TV. “It’ll blow over.”

I laugh, sounding completely unhinged. “In about ten years. You know how people in this town like to gossip.”

“Nah,” Blake adds. “As soon as someone’s teenage kid gets knocked up or anyone is found cheating, this will be old news.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say and toss back one of the drinks.

“You want to get out of here?” Dallas asks. “We could pick up food and go back to my place.”

I shake my head. “We came here to watch the game. Let’s watch the game.”

As Cooper turns to walk away, Blake swirls his hand in the air. “Another round.”

“You got it,” Cooper says.

Hours later, I come back inside after my umpteenth cigarette and notice the crowd has thinned out. Families have long gone. Most of the remaining patrons are young weekend bar-goers.

“The Hawks won five-to-four,” Blake says.

I nod. “I was watching outside.”

Dallas stares at my almost-empty pack of smokes. “I thought you were going to quit smoking.”

“You’re bringing that up now? Today?”

“Remember how hard it was to quit eight years ago?” Blake says. “We all get why you started back up, but maybe this is a sign that it’s time to move on. She’s obviously not coming back. To Cal Creek or to you.”

“Gee, ya think?” I bite, so much rage simmering within, I’m ready to get into it with Blake, Dallas, Dax, or anyone else.

“Lucas Montana?”

“What the fuck is it now?”

I turn to see an attractive woman holding a microphone. A dude with a large television camera is standing behind her.

“Mr. Montana, I’m Sylvia Franco from KXTZ. I’d like to interview you about the engagement of your ex-fiancée, Lissa Monroe.”

“No.”

The word comes out of my mouth faster than I can even wrap my head around how quickly someone found me after the so-called breaking news.

“Mr. Montana, is it true that Miss Monroe was the fourth woman you left at the altar and you’re known as the runaway groom of Calloway Creek?”

My brothers and I stare at her.

“Lady,” Dallas says, coming to my defense, “I don’t know who you paid to find him, but I suggest you get the hell out of here before I escort you out.”

“This is a public place,” Sylvia says. “We have a right to be here.” She turns back to me. “Lucas, this is a chance to tell your side of the story before every media outlet finds out about you and makes you the laughingstock of New York.”

“Get out,” Blake says, standing and blocking me from the camera.

She pokes her head around him. “You wouldn’t want any negative press to affect your family’s prosperous business, would you?”

Dallas stands. “Okay, that’s enough.” I swear he’s going to smash the video camera when Cooper comes over and interrupts.

“I own this private establishment,” Cooper says. He points to a sign next to the door. “See that? We have the right to refuse service to anyone, especially those who are making a scene or disrupting business, which you clearly are. Now leave or I’ll get the police involved. And in case you’re wondering whose side they’d be on, you’d do well to remember this is a small town.”

“Fine.” Sylvia holds up her hands in surrender and does the cut-throat sign to her cameraman. She hands me a business card. “If you change your mind—and I think you should, to get your side of the story out before people make things up—call me.” Then she eyes me up and down, as if she’s just now really seeing me—a rich, attractive, available man. “Even if you don’t change your mind, feel free to call.”

They leave, and once again, you could hear a pin drop as all eyes are on me.

“Dude,” Dallas says. “Did that reporter bitch actually just make a pass at you?”

Cooper clears some empty glasses off our table. “I wouldn’t be surprised if reporters are camped out in front of your building when you go home.”

My head sinks into my hands. “Shit.” I pick up my smokes. “I’m going outside.”

My brothers settle our tab then follow me out. “It’s getting late and we have to head home,” Dallas says. “You want to crash at my place?”

The wind has picked up and it takes me ten tries to light my cigarette. Finally, I get it, and I inhale deeply, the nicotine infusion calming my nerves ever so slightly. “No. I’m going to stay here and get shit faced.”

“It’s a long walk home when you’re fall-down-drunk,” Blake says.

“I think I can manage.”

“Well, if you get there and find reporters, the offer stands to crash at one of our places. Call if you need a ride.”

“Whatever,” I say, noticing the table of ladies staring at me from across the patio. All familiar faces: Maddie, Regan, and Ava—who all own small businesses across the street—and their friends Amber, Dakota, Nikki, and Cooper’s wife, Serenity.

It’s a gut punch to see one empty seat at the table. It’s where Lissa would have been sitting were she here. Or maybe she’d be the one serving them as one of Donovan’s longest-standing employees.

But she’s not at the table. And she hasn’t worked here since the day I crushed her spirit. Her dreams. I spare a glance at the TV—but apparently not her future.

My brothers each clap a hand on my shoulder, seeming reluctant to leave.

“What am I, two? You don’t have to babysit me. Go.”

I watch them leave, envious of each of them for having someone to go home to, knowing it’s my own damn fault that I don’t.

I get Cooper’s attention through the window, and he brings me another drink.

“Keep ‘em coming until you close or I pass out,” I say when it arrives.

And I mean every word.