Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
D eb stifled a yawn as she made her way toward the Feed Store, balancing a full plate of warm chocolate chip cookies in her hands. She had no idea what the hell had possessed her to bake in the middle of the night, but after Brock walked her home, she’d showered, changed for bed, and then spent the next hour tossing and turning like a crazy person.
Sleep had never come. Instead, she’d given up and spent the rest of the night making and eating an obscene amount of cookies.
Now, with exhaustion creeping into her bones and a long day ahead of her, she was already regretting her life choices.
The walk home with Brock had been mostly quiet. His presence alone had been enough to rattle her. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way he smelled like leather, pine, and something uniquely him —or the way his strong, chiseled profile looked in the glow of the streetlights.
Lord help her, she was losing her damn mind.
She wasn’t the kind of woman who got twisted up over a man...anymore. Once was enough for her, and yet, here she was, functioning on no sleep, carrying cookies like some damn offering, and all because she couldn’t shake the way his voice had sounded when he told her goodnight and to lock her door.
The fear of becoming that woman again coiled sharply and nauseatingly in her stomach. She swallowed hard, willing the memories back into the darkness where they belonged. But they came anyway—uninvited, relentless.
Betrayal had a way of carving itself into a person, reshaping them from the inside out. The man who had once whispered sweet lies in her ear had gutted her instead, stripping away every bit of softness until all that remained were jagged edges and raw wounds.
But she had adapted, had no choice.
She turned her pain into armor, her words into weapons. If she struck first, no one could strike her. No one could catch her off guard if she spread the gossip and controlled the story. It had been a survival tactic—cruel, yes, but necessary...or so she had thought.
Only now, she wasn’t sure who she was without it. She had spent so long playing the villain that she wasn’t sure she remembered how to be anything else.
Surprised by how quickly her thoughts turned dark, Deb sucked in a slow, steady breath. She had to shut it down— all of it. The memories, the what-ifs, the way Brock made her feel like maybe she wasn’t as ruined as she thought.
She couldn’t go down that road again. But she didn’t know if she could be that bitch again either. That version of herself had nearly destroyed her. Hell, maybe it had. Night after night alone, staring at the ceiling, choking on regret. The crushing weight of self-loathing every time she caught her own reflection. That woman had hurt people, but no one more than herself. And all because of a man. Because she had let him.
Now, she didn’t know how to fix what was left of her. She was broken, a nd no matter how many times she tried to put herself back together, the cracks still showed.
Climbing the steps, Deb stopped outside the glass doors, her gaze catching on her own reflection. The early morning light cast soft shadows across her face, but it didn’t hide the exhaustion in her eyes. Or the doubt.
She looked at the woman staring back at her—the one holding a plate of cookies like some kind of peace offering as if she was trying to make amends for years of cruelty with a handful of chocolate chips and sugar.
Pathetic.
Her grip tightened on the plate. What the hell am I even doing?
This wasn’t her. She wasn’t the type to bake cookies and play nice. At least she hadn’t been for years. And yet, here she was. Torn between who she used to be and who she wanted to be again—if she even deserved to be different.
Swallowing hard, she forced her feet forward and pulled the door open, stepping inside before she could talk herself out of it.
“Hey!” Emily’s voice was warm, edged with surprise as she glanced down at the plate in Deb’s hands. Her eyes lit up with hopeful excitement. “Please tell me those are cookies.”
Deb nodded, the motion stiff, her throat too tight to speak past the lump forming there. She set the plate on the counter, focusing on the swirl of chocolate in the golden-brown cookies instead of looking at her sister. She couldn’t.
She might see something she wasn’t ready to see in her sister’s gaze.
Instead, she forced her voice steady. “They’re still warm,” she murmured, clearing her throat as she busied herself adjusting the plate as if that simple action would ground her.
Emily reached for one, biting into it with a hum of approval. “God, these are good,” she said around a mouthful, then softened, her tone losing its teasing edge.
Deb swallowed hard, forcing a small smile. “Figured you’d need something sweet to get through the morning rush.”
“Since you started baking again, business has boomed.” Emily chuckled, grabbing another cookie. “I think they come in for the sweets, but if they end up buying stuff, I’m not complaining.”
Emily’s words hit hard because that was her thoughts exactly. She was trying to buy herself back into the town's good graces with...baking goods. Once again, the word pathetic floated through her mind .
Emily tilted her head, studying her, and Deb felt exposed, raw. She hated it.
“Anything to bring in business.” Deb turned away from her sister before she could ask questions Deb wasn’t ready to give. Taking off her jacket, she headed toward the back. “Did the truck come in yet?”
“No,” Emily called out. “It should be here anytime.”
Deb glanced down at herself, running her hands over the front of her hoodie as if to check for stray smudges of cookie dough. The soft fabric was worn, the faded gray material fitting her in a way that didn’t demand attention, just comfort. Paired with her jeans and scuffed work boots, she hardly resembled the woman she used to be.
Gone were the expensive blouses, the designer skirts, the shoes that cost more than most people’s rent. She had packed them all away, boxed them up, and sent them to charities across the county. It had been a quiet kind of purging, a shedding of the past she no longer wanted to carry.
And to her surprise, she liked it and didn’t miss her designer clothes at all.
This version of herself—the one who wore clothes made for work, not status—felt lighter. Real. Like she finally belonged to the life she was trying to rebuild instead of clinging to one that had never truly fit.
Walking back to the front of the store, she helped Emily lift a heavy box from one of the shelves.
“Thanks,” Emily huffed as they set it on the floor. “I was going to ask Hunter to get this down for me but forgot.”
Deb studied her sister, her frown deepening. Emily’s usual glow was missing, replaced by an exhausted pallor that made the shadows under her eyes more pronounced.
“Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale.”
Emily let out a weary sigh and leaned against the counter. “Not really. I’ve just been so damn tired lately. And then last night, Hunter came in late, which—” She paused, her hazel eyes narrowing slightly. “That reminds me… what happened at the restaurant?”
Deb snorted, shaking her head. “Wow, news really does travel fast in this town.” Then, with a humorless chuckle, she added, “Guess I should know that better than anyone, huh?”
The weight of her own words settled heavily between them, a bitter reminder of who she used to be—the woman who had once thrived on spreading the kind of gossip that was now circling back to her.
“Nothing, just some of the new guys Jonah brought in saying things.” Deb shrugged, not wanting to talk about the embarrassing incident.
Emily crossed her arms, her gaze sharp and knowing. “Well, it must have been more than nothing because Hunter said Brock beat the crap out of one of them.”
Deb’s stomach twisted. She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face before reaching for a cookie just to have something to do with her hands.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” she muttered, breaking off a piece of the cookie but not eating it.
Emily arched an eyebrow. “Brock doesn’t seem like the type to throw punches for ‘not a big deal.’”
Deb hesitated, feeling the weight of her sister’s scrutiny. The truth was, she didn’t know what to do with the way Brock had reacted. The anger in his eyes, the way his entire body had tensed like he was barely holding himself back—it had been unsettling and… something else. Something she didn’t want to name. She was shocked to learn that there was a confrontation after he had walked her home.
She forced a smirk, shrugging one shoulder. “Guess he just doesn’t like assholes.”
Emily wasn’t buying it, but to Deb’s relief, the bell above the door rang, indicating a customer had entered. Talk about being saved by the bell.
“This conversation isn’t over.” Emily frowned at her and then grinned. “I also heard you were having dinner with Brock. He’s a very handsome man.” She wiggled her eyebrows before heading toward the customer who was browsing through the clearance rack they had set up.
Hearing the buzzer at the back door, she headed that way, thankful their delivery was there. The busier they were, the less Emily could ask questions that Deb really didn’t want to answer.
As Deb stepped into the back of the store, she pushed open the dock door. The early morning light spilled in, and a familiar figure stood waiting.
Gary, clipboard in hand, offered her a warm, easy grin, the kind that never wavered, no matter the day.
“Hey, Gary,” she greeted, returning the smile as she walked toward him.
“Deb, how are you doing today?” he asked, his tone as cheerful as always.
Deb appreciated that about him. Gary had been delivering to the Feed Mill since her parents ran it. He was one of the few people she didn’t feel the need to avoid. She had a soft spot for Gary, always had.
“Can’t complain,” she said, though they both knew people only said that when they had plenty to complain about. No sense unloading her crap on Gary. “What have we got today?”
He glanced at his clipboard before unlatching the back of his truck and swinging the doors open. Inside, stacks of lumber lined the trailer bed, along with a few scattered boxes.
“Not too much today,” he said. “Mostly lumber.”
Deb smirked as she grabbed a pair of work gloves and hopped into the truck bed. “Guess I needed my exercise today.”
As she started shifting the first load of wood toward the edge, she noticed Gary moving slower than usual. He winced slightly as he reached for the step, his usual steady movements replaced with hesitation.
“There’s cookies and coffee in the front,” Deb told him with a frown. “I’ve got this. It’s not much.”
“If my boss ever found out I was letting customers empty my truck, I’d be fired,” Gary said as he once again tried to get into the back of the truck.
Deb shot him a look as she tossed a piece of lumber to the side. “First off, I’m not just a customer. Second, I’d like to see them try and fire you. I would stop doing business with them. Plus, you’re the only delivery guy anyone in this town actually likes.”
Gary huffed a chuckle but still hesitated, rubbing his lower back as he eyed the load. Deb noticed the wince he tried to hide and softened her tone.
“Seriously, Gary. I’ve got this. Go see if Emily has our order ready while you grab a cup of coffee and a cookie or two.”
He sighed, clearly debating it, then finally relented. “Fine, but if anyone asks, I put up a hell of a fight before I let you do my job.”
Deb grinned. “Deal.”
As Gary walked off toward the front of the store, she got to work, hauling the lumber piece by piece to the edge of the trailer. The physical labor felt good. It gave her something to focus on besides the mess in her head. Hearing that Brock had fought the guys running their mouths about her and Emily had her spinning. Why had he done that?
It was nice that someone had stood up for her, but she didn’t care what people said.
Okay, that was a total lie.
The words had cut deep, reopening wounds she thought had scabbed over. But she told herself it was karma, a long-overdue reckoning for the damage she’d done. She had spent years spreading rumors, twisting truths, and tearing people down with her sharp tongue. And now? She was on the receiving end of it.
Fair was fair.
So no, she didn’t deserve Brock fighting for her. She didn’t deserve anyone standing up for her. This was the price she had to pay. Jumping from the back of the truck, she leaned against it using her gloved hand to wipe a tear that escaped angrily away.
“Fair is fair.” She whispered those words that she repeated every single time the tables turned back on her. With a heavy heart, she continued to unload the truck welcoming the burn in her arms, back, and legs hoping it would take her mind off the shitshow that was her life.