Chapter 6
PRESLEY
Two people were whispering in the ice cream aisle. Maybe it had nothing to do with me, but I abandoned my quest for chocolate chip cookie dough and turned the other way.
This was not my day.
Today had been long, and I didn’t have the courage to suffer through gossip with my chin held high.
The garage had been packed. I’d come in, expecting a nice steady stream of Tuesday oil changes, and it had become chaos.
Tyler had called in sick. Leo had decided this particular Tuesday wasn’t one he’d felt like working.
He and Dash had gotten into a fight over the phone.
And we’d had more walk-ins in one morning than we’d had combined for the past two weeks.
But as Draven had taught me, we didn’t turn walk-ins away.
So the guys had hustled. I had hustled, grateful that Shaw hadn’t stopped in for one of his random visits, and by the time I’d left at six o’clock, I’d just wanted some ice cream.
But there was no way I was waiting for those people to stop talking about me. Okay, maybe they weren’t talking about me, but maybe they were. I wasn’t risking it.
My paranoia that the town was talking about me, pitying me, was as strong as it had been the day after the wedding. Maybe in a year or two, I wouldn’t be that girl who’d been dumped at the altar. Maybe they’d see me as the woman who stood on her own two feet.
Sometimes small towns sucked.
The gossip mill in Clifton Forge wasn’t particularly interesting, but I’d always kept my ear to the wind.
I’d stayed on the fringe. I knew who was cheating on whom.
I knew who had hooked up with whom at The Betsy.
My source was almost always my stylist at the salon.
I might be on the outer edge of the circle, but the women who worked at the salon were in the thick of it.
Since I got my hair done every two weeks—it grew fast and the short style required maintenance—I usually knew what was happening.
Plus, I’d overhear things at the garage while waiting customers talked about folks around town.
Since the wedding, I’d vowed no more.
Call it ignorance, but now that I knew how it felt when people were talking about me behind my back, I’d never spread a lick of gossip again. If I could avoid hearing it, I would. Even if that meant I had to grow my hair out and drive the two hours to Bozeman for a new stylist.
I pushed my cart to the checkout line and loaded my things onto the conveyor belt. My eyes stayed fixed on the items in the cart, not wanting to make eye contact with the cashier until the last possible second.
When I did, she gave me a sad smile—all the smiles aimed my way were sad—and I turned to the candy display to hide an eye roll. As the last items beeped through, I plastered on a smile and went through the motions of checking out.
My groceries were loaded and I was pulling out of the parking lot when the phone rang. I almost answered Jeremiah’s call like I had a thousand times before. Hey, babe.
He wasn’t mine anymore. And I wasn’t his. So why was he calling me?
It rang, twice, three times, as my heart raced. Should I answer? What did he want? Why was he calling me now?
It rang a fourth time, then the noise stopped. I blinked, placing my hands on the wheel as I focused on the road.
I didn’t need to talk to him. I didn’t need to hear his voice, and nothing good would come of this. Maybe he’d called me accidentally, an old habit.
“I’m not calling him back,” I muttered.
I didn’t need to. The phone rang again and his name came up on the display.
“Grr. What do you want?” I spat.
He had to know we were over. I wasn’t taking him back after this. Never. But what if something was wrong? Was he sick? Or hurt? Maybe he’d gotten into some trouble with the club.
I gritted my teeth as the phone kept ringing. The leather wrapping the steering wheel squeaked as I strangled it beneath my palms. Every ring seemed louder than the last, jolting me in my seat.
Then, silence descended—blissful silence—and I could breathe again. I blew out the air in my lungs and relaxed my spine.
My heart had climbed down out of my throat by the time I turned off Central to take the residential streets home. I was five blocks away when my phone rang again.
Jeremiah.
“Ugh.” Was he going to keep calling all night? Should I get it over with? Tell him goodbye, get that closure for myself, then hang up and move on with my life? My thumb made the decision for me, pressing the button to answer. “What?”
“Hey, Pres.”
I gritted my teeth.
His voice sounded soft and kind. Apologetic. I hated Sorry Jeremiah. He was pathetic in all the ways that made me forgive him. But not this time. The line had been drawn and if I crossed it, I’d only be that much closer to becoming my mother again. I’d die before that happened.
With my foot on the brake, I slowed down and steered the Jeep to the curb, putting it in park. “What do you want?”
“I just wanted to hear your voice.”
To hear my voice? Wrong answer. How about to fucking apologize? “I’m busy.”
My voice was flat. Was that the voice he’d wanted to hear?
“Oh.” The silence dragged on, itchy and uncomfortable. But he’d called me. If there was something he wanted, he could speak up. “You’re mad.”
My mouth fell open. Seriously? This was the guy I’d chosen to marry? I was so dumb. “Mad doesn’t begin to cover it.”
The silence returned.
Why hadn’t I listened to the guys? Why? Draven, Dash, Emmett and Leo had all badmouthed Jeremiah.
For years, they’d muttered words like loser, dumb fuck and piece of shit under their breaths whenever I brought him up.
Each time, it would start a fight. I’d defend Jeremiah while they’d rake him over the coals. Fight after fight.
I’d gotten so sick of their commentary that I’d eventually flown off the handle. I’d scolded them for not being supportive and told them to mind their own business. At that time, none of them had been in relationships and none of them had been in a position to tell me how to conduct my love life.
My stubborn streak had reared its ugly head.
They’d only been trying to help.
Draven had gone so far as to try and warn Jeremiah off.
It had been right before he was supposed to receive his verdict in Amina’s murder trial.
We’d all known he was going to be pronounced guilty, and he’d spent weeks putting his affairs in order, which included actually retiring from the garage and deeming me the office manager.
That was when there’d been a lot of animosity between the former Tin Kings and the Arrowhead Warriors.
I’d stayed on the cusp, careful not to get involved, but I’d heeded warnings and kept a close watch out for Warriors in town.
Draven and Dash had suspected they were lurking and might try to hurt one of us.
Yeah, they’d been lurking.
In my house.
Jeremiah had brought over some friends he’d met at the poker table. He’d play cards two or three times a week. Some days, he’d win. Sometimes, he’d lose. But it made him happy so I’d kept my mouth shut.
I’d been so scared of losing him that I’d walked on eggshells about his lack of a job and lack of money and lack of . . . love.
Jeremiah’s friends had actually been Warriors. I hadn’t known, obviously. Unless they were wearing their cuts, making a statement with those leather vests, they’d just been Jeremiah’s friends.
When I’d learned who they were and that they’d been trying to glean information from me about Draven and Dash, I’d been floored. I’d told Jeremiah they weren’t welcome in our home, hoping he’d cut ties. Nope. Instead, he’d decided to join their club.
To be part of a brotherhood.
You know my family, Presley. This is a good thing for me.
Draven had gone to Jeremiah and encouraged him to prospect for the Warriors. He’d been sure that if Jeremiah moved to Ashton, that would be the end of our engagement.
But then Draven had killed himself.
He’d left me.
And I’d clung to the one man who, for better or worse, had never abandoned me.
Until the day he had.
“Pres, you there?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you gonna talk?”
“No.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry.”
The wound he’d slashed in me in June ripped wide open. “You humiliated me.”
“I forgot.”
“Our wedding?” My voice cracked and my temper spiked. “After everything, all we’d been through, you forgot? Fuck you.” Now that felt good. Too good.
“I didn’t want to get married.”
“Uh, I gathered that,” I seethed. “But why not tell me sooner? You sat by and watched me plan the wedding. I bought a dress. And you never said a word.”
“I was confused. I didn’t—”
“Oh, shut the fuck up. I don’t care about your reasons. It was wrong and you know it.” No matter what his excuse, it would never erase what he’d done.
“Pres.” He paused. “Look, I need something.”
I scoffed. So that was what this phone call was about. Jeremiah always needed something and I was sick and tired of being the one to give it to him. “No.”
“Hear me out.”
“No.”
It was like talking to Shaw. Except saying no to Shaw felt like foreplay, a battle of wills to see if I could hold up my stone heart against his persuasive smile. Saying no to Jeremiah just felt overdue.
“Was there anything else? I’m busy.” My eyes were aimed down the road as I waited. I was giving him five seconds, then I was hanging up.
Five. Four. Three.
“I need Scarlett’s phone number. I lost it and I just . . . I need it.”
My stomach dropped. The elation I’d had, the pride in my backbone, was gone. “Why?”
“Because I do. Can you give it to me?”
“No.”
“Presley.” The pitiful tone to his voice disappeared, replaced by a thread of frustration. “I need Scarlett’s number.”
“Why?” I repeated.
“Do you really want to know?”
I closed my eyes, my heart breaking all over again like it had at the altar when I’d told people to take their gifts home. “No. I guess not.”
“Then give it to me.”