Chapter Seven
The thing about stampeding into the town tavern with heavy feet, looking as if the devil himself had come for my flesh, and after being gone for three years, was that the whispers started immediately.
Crispy clothes, mud-splattered hair, and a catastrophic exhaustion tugging my shoulders caused enough of a stir to get nearly the whole place to turn around and gawk.
I had the decency to change out of the skirt I was wearing, considering the filth clinging to it added ten pounds, but the rest of me remained an entire mess.
I’d left Honey Brooke three months before my twenty-first year, so I never actually drank at our local tavern.
The old and rustic Rabbit’s Foot reeked of beer.
Something possibly defined as music filled the air, terrible pitches, slurred words, and not an ounce of harmony.
Stomping feet and clinking mugs fought for my attention.
Judging by the chaos of this place, I knew I wouldn’t mind it. I needed it.
The dim-lit cedar bar called my name. The lone open seat.
Social isn’t one of the words I’d describe myself as; however, something about the unpredictability of drunken chaos felt unnaturally beautiful.
And when my gaze caught Goldie’s honey-filled eyes staring back at me, I exhaled.
Her gray-highlighted black ringlets peeked out from her ponytail, framing her tanned cheeks.
As my lips tightened into a grin, I slumped into a chair—hot mess incarnate.
Goldie walked to my seat, picking up a glass and frosting it with her hand. From her touch, ice dusted around the curves like powdered sugar.
Some people have magic in their blood, some don’t.
Most of those with it didn’t live in places like Honey Brooke.
And those of us who did live here, did so for a reason.
There was me, who couldn’t train my own magic to save myself.
But then there were those like Goldie, who never spoke of her past or where she came from.
As far as we knew, Honey Brooke was her home.
She used her magic for drinks at her tavern and to keep fruits and vegetables fresh at her market.
“You’ve seen better days.” One of the reasons Goldie remained a favorite townie of mine: she never asked questions. No “Where have you been?” or “Are you in a relationship?” or “Do you have your shit together yet because you look like you lost it ten miles back?” Not even a second glance.
Gods. What better way to be greeted than being told you look as bad as you feel? “Good to see you, too, Goldie.”
A soft chuckle. “What’s it going to be, then?”
Before I could answer, from my peripheral, a hazy image of dark-blond hair blurred from the bathroom—the very last person I wanted to see. The heat of Goldie’s attention burned my skin as she followed my stare.
“Right.” She nodded. “Something strong.”
I laughed at her pity. “Put it on his tab.”
Without arguing, she did. Or she gave it to me on the house. Pity perk.
Underneath the bar, my feet bounced, and each time the muscles in my thighs ached. Nobody told me existing would be such an exercise.
I hated exercise.
Within only two days, I’d gone from running a cute little flower boutique with my best friend to dodging chicken flames and raccoon shit. A beautiful transformation, truthfully. This had to be the punch line of a bad joke, except it was just me—getting punched.
“Reece?” An old, creaky voice called. “Reece McCarthen?”
Gods. Cringing involuntarily, I turned to my left, and sitting in a chair with his tucked-in tunic sat Harvey Stiller, my father’s oldest and only friend.
His aged, dark-brown skin wrinkled around his eyes as he focused on me, his gaze flickering over my face, blinking too many times as if trying to piece together if I really sat there or if I was a mirage.
“Harvey,” I said sitting up, offering a genuine smile. “It’s been a minute, hasn’t it?”
He shook his head. “You must be back for the sanctuary then, I guess?”
I nodded while Goldie brought him a paper sack of food; he must’ve ordered to-go for himself and his wife, Ruth.
Watching him grab it, his hands were calloused and scathed from years of fishing.
He and my father used to go at least once a week; it was the only time my father got out of the house.
Eventually, I stopped caring that he’d spend time with Harvey but not me. Ruth always made me cookies.
“Is that Laken boy running it now or no? Chester didn’t say nothing, just up and left.” Harvey frowned, hesitating. “But the boy seems to know what he’s doing.”
“Laken? Oh, no, absolutely not.” I laughed. “He was just watching over it until I got into town.” Laken running it… the idea was absurd.
“Well, that’s great.” Harvey nodded for an extra moment as if trying to convince himself his words were true.
“Good to see ya around, ya know. I’d love to catch up, but if I don’t get Mrs. Stiller her food, I’m afraid I won’t be seeing the sun tomorrow.
” He laughed, hoisting the food into his arms. “But… I do have some of your father’s stuff at home if ya want to come by tomorrow and get it. ”
Not really. “Sure, that works for me.”
He smiled, his cheeks squashed and plump. “Alright, I’ll see ya then, Reece.”
I bid him farewell and prayed nobody else interrupted my solitude.
It didn’t last long.
Half of the frozen fruity drink Goldie had made me hit my stomach when someone slid into the empty chair next to me. It took one short side-eye for me to raise my hand, gesturing for them to wait before allowing words to escape those damned already parted lips. I chugged the rest.
“You done yet?”
My empty cup clinked down onto the counter. Slowly, I dragged my eyes to his. “Laken Augustus,” I said, releasing a breath. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I clenched my jaw, trying to ignore the loose brown tunic hanging on to his shoulders, hardly tied at the top and exposing a glimpse of his chest. He studied me, and a sheepish smirk curled his lips.
“Hellblazers give you trouble?”
I hated him. “No, actually.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
I held his stare for everything it stood for. My chin held high. Now, whatever rampage festered under my skin, I wouldn’t even begin to analyze. I actually pretended it wasn’t even there.
“I offered you my help. I’ll offer it still if you’ll admit you need it.”
With a frown and a knitted brow, I faked thinking his offer over, tapping my chin for extra emphasis. Then settled my glare on him. “Don’t need your help. Never did. Never will.” I laughed in my mind. If only he knew.
“Mm,” he hummed. “I can see that.” Laken shifted in his seat. Leaning back with an elbow on the counter, he grinned wickedly. I saw the options turning in his head, dissecting how to handle this. How to handle me.
I cut my eyes at him. “Why do you insist on helping so much? Being around my place? You just love it or something?”
He tossed his hands up, his lips curling into a smirk. “I don’t like helping. I like being a pain in your ass.” He winked, and I believed that. “I like seeing you all… flustered.”
“You don’t fluster me,” I defended. Except when I’d punched him in the face. Except now. My hands were clammy.
“And if being a pain in the ass is your goal, you can stop trying so damned hard; it comes naturally for you.”
The thing was, Laken and I had always known how to handle each other.
Growing up side by side was one thing, but when we fell in love, everything fell into a mass synchronization.
But he no longer knew me. And I no longer knew him.
We were but two familiar strangers reuniting through something similar to déjà vu.
“Alright. If you won’t accept my help, let me buy you a drink.”
Goldie chuckled to herself a few feet away from us and we shared a brief look. Bringing the glasses our way, Goldie raised a brow. “Racking up the tab tonight, Reece?”
With a smirk, I shrugged. “Might as well.” Laken glanced between us, trying to catch up, and I surrendered. “Would you believe me if I told you I already added my drinks to your tab?”
A grin split from his full lips as he looked at the floor and shook his head. The gleam in his eyes when they met mine again irritated me further.
“Perhaps you haven’t changed that much.”
My smirk died, and an irritated glare took its place. “Don’t you have something to do? Some other damsel in distress to save?”
He aimlessly glanced around, searching the entire tavern.
His hand rested on his thigh, the other leaned against the counter.
The light from the flames cast a warm yellow hue over his hair; it’d grown darker since I’d last seen him.
I forced my eyes elsewhere because I’d rather drag myself through a heaping pile of chicken shit before being caught checking out Laken.
“I believe you’re the only distressed one here. ”
My frown deepened. “What do you want, Laken? You want to sit here and catch up over an ale and pretend we’re best friends? You want to be the nice guy checking up on me? What is it? What are we doing here?”
Laken sat back, locking his eyes with mine, patient and pining, and my stomach turned to muck.
The way his veins ran over his hands, his thighs strained against the fabric of his pants, the way he looked at me…
it suddenly became too obvious to me that adult Laken was hot.
Not in the sweet, endearing way he used to be, but in a new, mature way.
Filled out and thick with muscle. Hard lines and sharp features.
My chest contracted, and I remembered. He’ll break your heart. He’s already done it once. My guard jumped up from the shithole I’d left it in. He leaned forward, inching closer to me. That’s when I realized I’d accidentally positioned myself between his legs. “I want to apologize.”