CHAPTER TWO
Aspen
I plop down into the driver’s seat of my black Honda Accord. It was bought for me brand new as a high school graduation present nine years ago. A graduation present that I thought came from my mom, but now that the lies and secrets have come tumbling out, I’m beginning to believe this car is yet another gift she didn’t pay for. It seems as though most of the luxuries in my life actually came from the man who I thought was a “deadbeat dad.” I bet this car was bought and paid for in cash by that man too. Releasing a deep breath, I decide it’s time to adjust my perspective and attitude toward the turn my life has unexpectedly taken. This is a new beginning, Aspen. Try to make the most of it.
I glance at my cute little house that we just moved into last week. White planters hang from under the windows waiting to be decorated with pretty flowers. The morning sun beams against the second-story window, causing a glare to hit my eyes and me to squint. We’re renting this place temporarily until everything is sorted and settled, but it’s ours for now. Plus, it’s the nicest home we’ve ever lived in.
When I called the property management company, the realtor told me this little house had just become available to rent for the next nine months, which should be long enough for me to sort out my affairs and find a permanent place. I say little because it’s the smallest one in the neighborhood. Even so, the house is still generous in size. With it being a two-story home with four bedrooms, not to mention the addition of it being fully furnished and in a gated community with a security booth, the rent was almost too good to be true. It’s not as though we’ve ever lived in a dump or an old run-down shack at any point in our lives. Back home was just . . . different . . . simple. This new life is certainly going to take time to adjust to after living on a farm back in Oklahoma.
I start my car, round the driveway and admire the houses in the neighborhood. Our new home looks so out of place compared to the rest of these. It’s one of the oldest in the estate, but I think it possesses a unique charm because of its age. As I focus on the enormous house in front of me, I think back to Saturday.
My plan was to meet the neighbor across the street once I was done introducing myself to the little old lady next door, Ms. Tillman. But, when people started showing up and lingering in the yard, it became evident they were throwing a huge party. So, I decided not to impose. That didn’t stop Tucker from being a little party crasher. I should probably drop by this evening and apologize for my son’s intrusion. Pulling up the notes app on my phone, I add a few things to my grocery list so we can make cookies for them as an apology, then head out of the estate.
I’m pulling out of the store’s parking lot and making my way back home when fumes from the exhaust begin to permeate the air and fill the cabin of my car. I scrunch my nose. Leaning forward, I sniff the air vent and groan. No. No. No. No. No. I slam my hand against the steering wheel, then roll down the window. This damn car is falling apart. Nine years of driving on gravel and dirt roads will do that to you, I guess. The never-ending list of car repairs continues to grow: new belts, air conditioning, tires, brake pads, and now possibly an exhaust leak. It’s time to retire this old thing and trade it in for something new.
I’m doing everything within my power to avoid relying on my father’s money, but my resolve and bank account are dwindling. I can’t very well drive my ten-year-old son around in a car that has an exhaust problem. Thoughts about my to-do list are interrupted by the ringing of my cell phone. I pluck the device from the top of my purse and cast a glance at the screen to find my mom calling again. That’s call number one hundred and thirty-seven since I’ve been in New York the past week.
It’s totally out of character for us to be at odds. She’s always been a wonderful mom. However, that doesn’t mean she isn’t flawed, no matter how perfect she is on paper. Up until a month ago we were extremely close. I would even say as I became an adult, we’ve become best friends. As a single mom, I’ve always wondered how she took care of my needs and our finances while working a part-time job; now I know.
Just as I thought I knew her better than anyone, the skeletons in her closet came tumbling out, leaving my life in utter chaos. I was pissed to learn that my deadbeat dad wasn’t a deadbeat after all. Feeling abandoned by him my entire life made it damn near impossible for me to connect with men. His absence fucked with my head. I’ve always felt as though I wasn’t good enough for someone to stick around. I mean, if the person who had a hand in creating me didn’t want me, why would anyone else? A point my ex-boyfriend certainly drove home. So, since that breakup, I just never really gave anyone else a chance. I spent my time focusing on improving my life and taking care of my son.
I don’t believe my parents considered the ramifications of their choices. The lies and major secrets they’ve kept hidden from me my entire life now have an impact on Tucker. I’m not one to easily forgive, and hell, even if I were, this would still be too much. If it’s forgiveness she wants for her and my father, I’m going to need time . . . a lot of time.
Turning down the radio, I take several deep, calming breaths of not-so-fresh air to attempt centering myself before answering her call. Before shit hit the fan, she and I wouldn’t go even one day without speaking. Now I can’t even stand the thought of her. I’m beyond livid.
With a huff, I pressed the green button to accept her call.
Mom speaks before I have a chance to say anything. “Hello? Hello? Aspen?”
“Yup. I’m here.”
“Oh, thank God! I’ve been trying to call you for a week. I’ve been worried sick.”
“Mom, there’s no need for dramatics. I overheard River talking on the phone with you the other day; she gave you an update on our well-being.”
I roll up my window so we can hear each other, praying I don’t pass out from the fumes coming through my vent.
“I’m so sorry, Aspen. You were absolutely right. I should have told you everything a long time ago.”
I put my turn signal on and look over my shoulder before moving into the right lane to turn. “Yes, you should have,” I snap.
“We wanted to protect you . . .” Mom blathers on, but I’m barely listening—still entirely too upset to have this conversation.
“So, let me make sure I have this straight . . .” I take a right onto the street leading to my neighborhood. “Y’all thought it would be a good idea to throw Tucker into the exact same situation you were protecting me from all these years? Warning me at some point would have been nice, you know. Now, I’m thrust into this new life that I wasn’t even prepared for, with a child no less. This is complete bullshit, Mom. That’s my kid’s life you two have messed with.” My voice cracks, and I sniff. My nose burns as my eyes fill with tears. The weight of everything coming down on me is too overwhelming. I’m so angry that the only outlet I have at this point is crying, and I hate it. There is only so much a person can take, and after a month, I’m finally breaking down.
“I think he will be—” She is cut off when my phone tumbles out of my hand.
“Shit! Hold on, Mom. I dropped my phone.” Reaching for it, I bend over; my fingertips brush the screen. I swerve—look up—swerve again—then reach for my phone in one last-ditch effort. Feeling the sides of the protective case with my fingertips, I glance down for a brief second and snatch up the device. When my eyes focus back on the road, all the blood rushes to my head, tingles shoot up my body, and it’s possible my heart literally stops beating.
“Oh my God!” I shriek. Swerving to the correct side of the road, I overcorrect before straightening up. No cars were approaching, thank God, but if they had been, that could have been a disaster.
“Are you okay?” There’s panic in her voice.
“Give me a minute. I need to collect my heart from the floor.” I take a deep breath, trying to regain control of my breathing. A lone tear trickles down my cheek. I swipe it away with the back of my hand before another one falls. Fuck!
“Maybe you should call me back when you’re home. I would really like to talk this out with no distractions.”
“Actually, I need you to respect my boundaries and back off a little. Please, just let me sort through these emotions. Okay? I appreciate your apology—and I’m not trying to hurt your feelings—but this mess you both have created for us is too much.”
“Aspen, please,” she begs.
“Mom,” I choke out. “I’ll call you when I’m ready.” I glance down, then press the red end button.
Just as I look up, a ball of fur runs directly in my path, causing me to slam on my brakes.
My head and body jerk as my car jolts forward. My heart accelerates. I’m stunned, and for a brief second, I’m also confused why I stopped. Remembering the animal I almost hit, I put the car in park, jump out, and run to the front of my car. I look down into a pair of pleading blue eyes staring up at me. Bending down, I pick up the little guy.
“Oh my goodness, what are you doing in the middle of the road? You could have been run over,” I coo.
He’s so tiny, and I can’t imagine that someone isn’t missing him. I cuddle him up to my chest and pet his sweet little head. “What you did was very dangerous. Yes, it was,” I scold, then hold him up at eye level. He licks my face, and my nose scrunches up in response. Movement catches my eyes when I bring him back to my chest.
An extremely attractive man stands beside my car. Our eyes lock. My heart beats rapidly, my cheeks heat, and my stomach dips as if I were on a roller coaster. Muscular forearms are crossed tight against his chest. His charcoal henley taut—the fabric straining around his big muscular biceps. My eyes map the sleeve tattoo on his left arm, then travel up to his pretty hazel eyes as I take him in. His dark brown hair is mussed and sexy, short on the sides, a little longer on top. I wonder what it would be like to run my finger through it. I’m momentarily mute, at a complete loss for words, as I stand in the middle of the road taking in the sight of this gorgeous man in front of me.
A car slows down and moves around us, shaking me from my lust-filled haze. I realize I’ve been staring at him as we stand in the street, blocking traffic. I wipe the lingering tears from my face and take a deep, calming breath, then stride to the back of my car to assess the damage. As if it matters at this point. He moves closer to assess the damage to his own car. Tingles shoot through my body at his close proximity.
“Has anyone ever told you that you can’t drive for shit?” He barks out in a clipped tone.
My head rears back from the man’s rudeness. Welcome to New York. I’m quickly learning that people aren’t quite like they are back home. If someone were to rear-end me in Oklahoma, they’d probably be fussin’ all over me to make sure I was alright, but this man is making it appear as if I’m at fault.
“Well, isn’t he just a ray of sunshine?” I say to the pup as I cuddle him closer in my arms, as if he—all two pounds of him—could become a barrier to protect me from all these foreign feelings this man is conjuring up within me.
I don’t know what to feel right now: attraction or disdain. The man steps into my space; his head bends down close to mine, so close, in fact, that we are almost nose to nose. Based on my rapid breathing and the butterflies taking flight in my stomach, it’s definitely attraction that I feel.
“Do you know how many times you swerved?”
In a trance-like state, I look down at his lips as he speaks. They’re full. Perfect for kissing. I imagine giving him a reason for those lips to be moving, and it has nothing to do with any words coming out of his mouth. What the fuck am I thinking? I was just in a wreck! This asshole hit my car, and I nearly hit a puppy for Pete’s sake. Yet here I am standing in the middle of the street salivating over this . . . this beautiful man. Something is very wrong with me. My eyes flick back up to his.
His fingers snap in my face. “Are you drunk?” He leans in and sniffs me. “God, you reek of fumes. Have you been huffing something?”
And now I’m back to disdain.
I break out of my wordless stupor. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I jerk back, swatting him away with one hand. “Look . . .” I blow out a breath of exhaustion. “It’s been a terrible week. A terrible month, actually—”
“Did I ask about your terrible week or month? No. Now, answer the question. Are. You. Drunk?” Hazel eyes lock on mine, gauging whether the next few words out of my mouth are true or not.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not drunk.”
“Are you high?”
“God, no!” Ugh, this guy is insufferable. “I was talking to my mom, and the phone slipped from my hand. Like I said, it’s been—”
“So, not only can you not drive for shit, but you’re irresponsible too.”
I point my pretty, pink-manicured fingernail in his face and scoff. “Oh, like you never talk on the phone while you’re driving.”
“Of course I do. But I do it hands-free. I pay attention to the road. You could have gotten yourself or someone else killed.”
“Mr.—” I trail off, waiting for a name that never comes. Rude ass! I pinch the bridge of my nose, then drop my hand and focus back on him. “Whatever your name is . . . we can’t very well stand here in the middle of the street arguing.” His jaw ticks in response, but he stays silent.
“You know what? Maybe we should call the police.” I thrust the puppy into his arms. He cradles the pup with confusion marring his brows as he stalks behind me. I lean into my car, grab my phone off the seat, and pick up my purse. Riffling through the old worn-out thing, I grab my insurance card and license. I toss my purse back into the seat, focus on the screen, and unlock my device. I hit the phone icon to type in the number.
“No police!” His tone is in a panic as I forcefully punch 9-1-1 into my phone.
Long, strong fingers wrap around my small, delicate hand. I tilt my head up and raise a brow at him in question. His grip is strong, his touch rough, and his palms calloused as though maybe he works with his hands. My eyes land back on his hand engulfing mine. Big, prominent veins trail their way from his hand up to his muscled forearm. I allow my eyes to map the green lines. An electric current shoots through me. He jerks his hand away.
“Okay. Let’s just get this out of the way then. I’m going to need your license, insurance card, and your phone number.”
“What do you need my phone number for?” He frowns.
“In case my insurance agent or I need to get in touch with you. You know? Ask you questions.”
“If anyone is getting a number here, it’s me.”
“Well, Hotshot, if you wanted my number, you could have asked for it; you didn’t have to hit my car.” Okay, so I know that was lame and completely cliché, but at this point it’s either I make a joke or I cry, and I refuse to shed another damn tear today.
“Of course, I would have to go and hit a puck bunny’s car,” he mumbles under his breath.
“Excuse me? A what bunny?”
He doesn’t respond, and I’m left questioning what the hell this guy is talking about. Maybe he’s the one who’s drunk. He is the one who hit my car, not the other way around. Also, he’s rambling nonsense like a crazy person. Shaking my head, I hand him my license and insurance verification, then take his. I look at his picture, then back at him, making sure it’s the same person, then glance at his name and take a picture of both items. Callan Miles, such a nice name for a pretentious asshole. I realize he’s still holding the puppy and fumbling to get pictures of my information, so I take the little guy out of his arms.
He inspects my license. “Aspen R. Taylor, from . . . Stroud, Oklahoma. You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?” He reaches out a hand to give my items back.
I pluck them from his hand, a little more forceful than necessary, then toss the items into my purse. When I turn around, I find him staring at my legs. I smirk. His jaw ticks. I raise a brow. He frowns. Finally, I answer his question. “This is my home now . . . new home, new job, new life.”
“It was a rhetorical question.”
“This is exhausting,” I snap, massaging my forehead before peering back up at him. “I want to be an asshole right now because clearly you’re being one to me. I wasn’t raised to be rude and hateful, but you’re quickly pushing me to the point of showing a side of myself that not even I have seen. You’re the one who hit me! Remember?” I point my finger at him. “If you weren’t being a bumper humper, then maybe you would’ve had plenty of time to stop.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Just give me your number so we can get out of the street.”
I roll my eyes. “Nope. I’m good, Hotshot!”
“Why not?” He asks.
I place a hand on my hip. “Because you don’t need it. You have my insurance agent’s number. File a claim or don’t. I really don’t give a shit. Do whatever you feel you need to do for yourself—that’s on you. I’ve decided I’m not filing a claim. I’m getting rid of this beat-up thing anyway.”
“Why is it beat up? Oh, that’s right, because you drive like shit?” He smirks.
“No, that’s not why it’s beat up, you fucking moron. And just so you know, not that you’re entitled to shit, but I changed my mind on filing a claim because the less I have to deal with you, the better. You know, people live frugal lives and drive old cars. I don’t think I’ve ever met a single fucking person who needed a Lamborghini to overcompensate for anything they may be lacking . . . well . . . until I met you.” I glance down at his crotch, then back at him and smirk. He lets out a grunt, then smirks right back. Ugh! He’s excruciating. “I don’t have to stand here and explain my decisions to anyone, least of all to you.”
I turn around and throw one arm up in the air in exasperation. Spinning back around to face him, I point my finger at his face. “You really bring out the worst in people. You know that?”
Turning back to my Honda, I lean in and place the puppy on the passenger seat. I close my eyes and let air fill my lungs in a futile attempt to calm down.
Before I leave him stranded in the middle of the road, I should at least try to be the bigger person and do the right thing. “If you have everything, I’m going to head home. Do you need me to call you a tow truck?”
I tilt my head at his silence as he raises one eyebrow at me like I’m stupid. “Oh right, you have your phone that you use with ‘hands-free calling.’ I use air quotes and mimic him like an immature teenage girl.
I can’t help it! He has seriously turned me into a fucking psycho.
“Alright, are we good here then?”
He nods with a smirk, obviously enjoying my tantrum. Prick!
“Okay, well, thanks . . . I mean . . . you know what I fucking mean.” I wave my hand around in the air. He chuckles, and the sound of it would be like music to my ears if he didn’t just turn me into Satan. Also, did I just thank him for hitting my car? Yes. Yes, I fucking did. I just made myself look like a complete idiot!
My head bangs twice against the steering wheel. I start my engine and take off, leaving the asshole behind. A few minutes later, I glance in the rearview mirror, finding Callan’s car following mine. I turn into my neighborhood and stop at the security booth. The jerk-face pulls in behind me. Of course he would live in my neighborhood. That just seems to be the luck I have today. The security guard on duty, who appears to be in his mid-thirties, approaches my car; his brown eyes assessing.
“Hi. You have your driver’s license on you?”
Smiling politely, I take a quick peek at his name. “I sure do, Leo.”
I grab my purse out of the passenger seat, place the bag on my lap, and rummage through it. Where the fuck did my license go? If I had just put the damn thing back in my wallet instead of carelessly throwing it into my purse, I wouldn’t be sitting here . . . holding up the asshole behind me. Glancing up into my rearview mirror, I find Callan impatiently tapping his thumb against the steering wheel. I spot my license at the bottom of my purse, but I’m not handing it over quite yet. I chuckle to myself and glance up at Leo. “Sorry. Just one more second. I know it’s in here somewhere.”
Callan bangs the back of his head against his headrest a few times. I snort. Hope you have somewhere you need to be, fucker.
I internally—and very slowly—count to thirty.
“Aha!” I mock surprise. “Here you go, sir.” I hand over my license.
Leo looks at his clipboard. “Oh, you’re the new girl over on Bennett.” His left forearm rests on top of my car as he leans in to talk to me.
“Yep, that’s me.”
Leo nods his head to the passenger seat, where the puppy is resting comfortably. “And who is this little guy?”
“Oh, I found him in the middle of the road about a mile back. If anyone is looking for him, please let them know I have him.”
“Will do.” He hands my license back to me with a bright white smile; his dimples make an appearance. “It’s nice to meet you, Aspen,” he says to me with a wink, then taps the top of my car. “You have a good day.”
“You too,” I call out.
Leo opens the gate for me. Then, to my annoyance, he waves Callan on through without stopping him. I know it’s bitchy, but I was hoping for him to be further inconvenienced. I should have counted to one hundred.
I round the curvy road throughout the beautifully landscaped neighborhood leading to my house. Peeking in the rearview mirror, I see Callan still following behind me. Finally, my sight sets on my house up ahead. Relief that I’m home settles over me. Maybe I’ll never have to see this asshole’s face again. One could only hope.
I pull into my driveway.
He pulls into the driveway across the street.
I turn off my car, grab the pup, and step out.
He steps out.