Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Ledger
The crunch of metal still rings in my ears as I stare at the woman standing in front of me. She’s practically vibrating with anger—cheeks flushed, hands clenched into fists—and I’m stuck somewhere between disbelief and amusement.
This has to be a joke. A bad one. The kind my father would’ve orchestrated if he were still alive—or maybe the fucker’s having a good laugh from the other side. Hell, knowing him, he’s probably pulling the strings, just to see how far I can bend before I break.
I’ve had a shitty year, the sort that makes you wonder if the universe has it out for you. My mom died, my career tanked, and now I’m back in this godforsaken town, pretending I’ve got a plan when, really, I’m just winging it. But this? This feels like the universe sprinkling a little extra salt on the wound, just for fun.
Because here she is.
The woman who ghosted me eighteen months ago. No name. No number. Just one unforgettable night that felt like it was leading somewhere—until it didn’t. We talked, drank, and she leaned into me like she belonged there, like the world outside didn’t exist. Her laugh was low, throaty, the kind of sound that made my dick twitch with the promise of something wicked.
And the way she looked at me? Like she wasn’t just undressing me with her eyes but was halfway to deciding exactly what she’d do once I was naked. It wasn’t just desire—it was daring.
I think it all started with something like, “Truth or dare?”
After so many truths exchanged, I responded, “Dare.”
“Kiss me,” she breathed, her voice a little too composed for someone who’d already drained two bottles of champagne.
Then I wanted to look at her pussy. I was seconds away from dropping to my knees, from burying my face between her legs and making her scream my name, when it all went to hell.
One minute she was playing, challenging me, and the next? She was asleep. Just like that.
Not a seductive fade-out, either. One second, she was there, practically vibrating with need, and the next, her head was on my chest, her breathing slow as I placed her in bed. I covered her with a blanket, muttered a string of curses under my breath, and tried to ignore the fact that my balls felt like they were about to explode.
The next morning, she was gone.
Gone.
There was no note.
No goodbye.
Just the faint scent of flowers lingering on the pillow and the memory of her laugh echoing in my head. For months, I couldn’t decide if I’d been played or if she was some kind of fever dream conjured by a cruel universe.
And now, apparently, she’s in Birchwood Springs. Looking at me like I’m the villain in her origin story.
“You really like fucking around with me, don’t you?” I fold my arms, leaning casually against the SUV, though my mind is anything but calm.
Her glare intensifies, her hazel eyes blazing like I just set her car on fire. “Wh-What are you doing here?”
A stupid question. One I shouldn’t bother answering. But there’s something about her tone—bristling, defensive, like a cat cornered—that makes me want to push just a little.
I shake my head, exhaling through my nose. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one who rear-ended me. Not exactly how I planned to be welcomed back to my hometown.”
Her jaw tightens, her nostrils flaring. For a split second, I catch something beneath the anger—embarrassment? Maybe. But she snaps back fast. “Don’t change the subject. Why are you here?”
I laugh, short and bitter. “It’s a long story. Not one I feel like telling in the middle of Main Street.” I gesture vaguely toward the growing crowd of nosy small-town onlookers. “You know how people love a good story around here.”
“Perfect. Just fucking perfect,” she mutters, brushing past me to inspect the damage to her car.
I take the opportunity to really look at her. She’s different, but not in a bad way. Still beautiful in that effortless, I woke up like this kind of way. But there’s something harder about her now, an edge that wasn’t there before. Like life threw a few punches and she didn’t have time to duck.
I know the feeling.
She crouches to examine her bumper, frowning at the dent, and I lean down slightly, still watching her.
“We can just exchange information,” I say casually, knowing full well that the last thing I need is Malerick, the shiny new sheriff in town, who also happens to be my oldest brother, showing up to make this worse.
“No,” she snaps. “We’re calling the police. I don’t know if my insurance will cover this without a report.”
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “It’s just a dent. Your deductible will skyrocket. Let’s keep it simple.” My tone drops, low enough so only she can hear. “Just give me your name and number before you run away. Again .”
Her head whips around, eyes narrowing into slits. “I don’t run away.”
“Yeah?” I lean closer, letting my voice dip. “Because I remember differently. You left without a word, like some kind of coward.”
Her cheeks flush a deep crimson, and she straightens, brushing imaginary dust off her jeans. “I’m sure you can pay for your own damage.”
The bite in her tone catches me off guard. This isn’t just about a fender bender. There’s something else here, something . . . What the fuck did I do to her?
“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did I offend you? It’s not like I left you expecting a great week only to disappear without a trace.”
Her nostrils flare again, and for a moment, I think she might throw a punch. “That wasn’t me,” she huffs, her words clipped.
“Sure,” I drawl, stepping closer. “So did I piss off the universe in a past life to deserve this much hostility? Are you now pretending you’ve never seen me?”
She crosses her arms, refusing to look at me. “No idea who you are.”
“Liar.” I mouth the word slowly, and her jaw tightens, her eyes flicking up to meet mine.
“Funny,” I continue, my voice dropping. “Because I could’ve sworn we met before. Italy, maybe?”
Her eyes snap wide, recognition flashing across her face for a split second before she masks it with a glare. “You must have me confused with someone else,” she says, her voice a little too quick, a little too defensive.
“Uh-huh,” I say, smirking. “Sure. Someone else who rear-ended me and can’t stop looking at me like I stole her lunch money.”
She doesn’t respond, but the tension in her shoulders gives her away.
I should let it go. Walk away and pretend this never happened. My life’s already a dumpster fire—I don’t need to add a fiery woman with a chip on her shoulder into the mix.
But I need her information. And maybe, just maybe, an explanation.
“You can leave after you give me your name and number,” I insist, leaning in just enough to unsettle her.
“And if I don’t?”
I glance around at the gathered crowd, then lower my voice. “Then the town’s going to know about that freckle on your left tit, baby.”
Her mouth drops open, a mix of outrage and disbelief flashing across her face. Without a word, she yanks a notebook from her bag and scribbles down her information, thrusting it at me.
“Well, Galeana Monroe,” I say, smirking as I read the name on the paper. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” I tuck the paper into my pocket and give her my most insufferable grin. “I’ll call to let you know how much the damage is.”
“Whatever,” she mutters, her tone dripping with irritation.
But just as I’m about to step back, an idea strikes. What if this so-called Galeana Monroe is playing me? This three-oh-three area code could belong to anyone—a random stranger, a pizza place in Canada, maybe even a hotline for dating advice. Fool me once? Not happening.
I pull the paper back out, enter the number into my phone, and hit call.
Her phone rings immediately.
She startles, fumbling with her purse before pulling out her phone and glaring at the screen.
“Aren’t you going to answer me?” I grin, waving the phone.
She glares at me like I just insulted her. “Seriously?” she snaps.
“Just making sure you didn’t give me a fake number,” I say, leaning against the door of my SUV.
She huffs, answering the call with exaggerated sarcasm. “Hi, annoying stranger. Yes, it’s me, Galeana Monroe. You happy now?”
I grin and end the call. “Ecstatic. I’d hate to accidentally call a pizza joint in Canada.”
Her lips press into a thin line, her nostrils flaring. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re predictable,” I counter, ending the call. “But don’t worry, darling. I’ll save this number in case I ever need to reach out. You know, about the damage.”
“Damage?” she scoffs, gesturing toward her bumper. “You’re the one with the fancy SUV. I’m pretty sure your car’s fine and you can afford to pay for the dent.”
I shrug, pocketing my phone. “True, but I might still charge you for emotional distress . This was traumatic, you know.”
Her mouth drops open, but before she can unleash whatever fiery comeback she’s cooking up, I step back and slide into the driver’s seat of my SUV.
As I start the engine, I glance at her through the window. She’s still standing there, hands on her hips, glaring at me like she’s trying to set me on fire with sheer willpower.
I can’t help the smug grin that spreads across my face. She might hate me right now, but I can’t deny it—I feel like I’ve won something.
Fate might have a cruel sense of humor, but at least this round goes to me.