The Boyfriend Boycott (Heartwood #2)

1. Grady

CHAPTER 1

GRADY

“What are you doing in there,” Hudson shouts, “taking the shit of the century?”

“Jesus, Hudson,” I answer. “No, I’m almost done.” I’ve been in the bathroom for so long that my brother has resorted to pounding on the door.

Maybe it would be easier to tell him that I’m taking a shit. Then he wouldn’t question why I’ve been meticulously grooming my short, chestnut beard, making sure there isn’t a hair out of place. Usually, I spend a total of five minutes getting ready, not the half an hour I’ve already spent tonight, but something about this barbecue has me feeling antsy, jittery even.

I give myself a quick once over in the mirror, but something doesn’t feel quite right. I cock my head to the side, undo the top button of my denim shirt, and assess the effect. It’s the button-down, I decide. I hate button-downs. They’re too stuffy, too put together. It’s not me, and I’m not comfortable . Fuck it. I’ll go with my usual T-shirt instead. Except the only ones I have are somewhat threadbare and worn.

“Hang on,” I say, opening the bathroom door to Hudson’s raised fist a few inches from my face, about to pound on the door again. He lowers it as I push past him. “I just need to change my shirt.”

Hudson lets out a loud groan.

“Just throw on the same old ratty T-shirt you always do and let’s go. What’s gotten into you, anyways? Since when do you care about what you’re wearing?” he asks, following me down the hall towards the master bedroom.

“It doesn’t matter,” I deflect, stalking through to the walk-in closet in my bedroom. The last thing I want is for Hudson, or anyone, to figure out why tonight feels so monumental in my mind.

“I don’t understand what the big deal is,” he says, leaning casually against the door frame and watching me frantically unbutton the suffocating shirt I have on. “We’re just going over to Ally and Mason’s for burgers and beers. You look fine dude. Look at me.” He gestures towards the paint-stained T-shirt and jeans he’s wearing.

“Everyone knows you’ve been working here all day.” I pull out the only white T-shirt I own that doesn’t have holes or grease stains from working at the bar, and a pair of khaki jogger-style chinos. “At least everyone from Heartwood is used to seeing you like that,”I say.

Hudson is almost always covered in either paint splatters, sawdust, or a combination of both since he’s been working in construction. The project I’ve enlisted his help with has been no exception. It somehow suits Hudson, giving his normally boyish features a rugged quality.

“It’s just going to be Mason, Jett, Ally and—” Hudson cuts himself off, and his eyes go wide as if he’s made some groundbreaking realization. “Ally’s friend, what’s-her-name.”

“Spencer,” I say, using every muscle in my face to keep my expression neutral.

“Dude. Dude. You want to hit that don’t you?” Hudson jokes, landing a punch on my tattooed bicep.

“I don’t even know her. We’ve met once. Briefly,” I deflect, recalling the stormy night that Ally and Mason had gotten stuck at the hospital out in Calgary almost a year and a half ago. Spencer was waiting with them when I went to pick them up from the emergency department. I’ve never seen someone look so beautiful under fluorescent lights.

We spent the long drive back to Heartwood together in the front seat, with Ally and Mason still shaken from the storm that stranded them there, asleep in the back. Whenever I recall that night with anyone, I purposefully leave out the fact that she stayed over at my place. I still haven’t told a soul about it.

“Yet you remember her name,” Hudson jeers in a teasing, sing-song tone.

“It’s a relatively uncommon name. That’s the only reason I remember it,” I lie. The truth is, Spencer has crossed my mind more than once since the first night I met her. More times than I care to admit. At first, she planned on staying at the motel, so as not to impose on Ally and Mason. But as soon as I went to drop her off, I took one look at the place and insisted she make use of my guest suite instead. She didn’t protest. She needed a safe place to stay, and I provided that for her.

Since then, I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind. She was fucking gorgeous. She was funny. Her eyes had this … fire behind them. She felt dangerous in some ways, but she was also warm and inviting, like we had met in a past life. Now, she’s back in town and I can’t get control of myself. I’m excited and terrified all at once to see her again.

“Sure …” Hudson drags out the word with a heavy dose of skepticism, and the corner of his mouth quirks up to the side. I pull my T-shirt on over my head and run my hand through my dark brown hair, smoothing the longer ends on top even though they’ll still look dishevelled once my bike helmet comes off. “You finally ready?”

“Yeah, yeah,” I say somewhat absentmindedly, as my phone vibrating in my pocket draws my attention. It’s Finn. I left him to look after the bar tonight and close up, which he’s only ever done once, and I was there to oversee him.

FINN

Yo, where do we keep the rest of the float? I need to replenish the till.

It only makes me slightly nervous that Finn is already having to dip into the float for more cash. I realize I’m going to have to go over there myself since I keep it locked in my office, and it totally slipped my mind to give him the key.

“On second thought, I’m going to take my bike. You head over without me.” I click off my screen and slip my phone back into my pocket. “I have to stop by the bar first.”

“You couldn’t have told me that before you made me wait this long to get ready?”

“Sorry, bud. Something came up and Finn needs a hand. I won’t be long.” I slap a hand on my little brother’s shoulder. “I’ll see ya over there, alright? Pop a beer in the fridge for me.”

“I’ll make sure to give it a thorough shake first.” He points at me, finger-gun style, his lopsided grin making the dimple in his cheek visible like it has since we were kids. The sandy blond waves that he wears longer on the top flop over his forehead as he backs out of the door and pivots on the driveway to jog over to his truck.

I follow close on his heels, shutting the heavy wooden front door behind me before veering away from Hudson and heading over to my bike. I say bike, but it’s got 120 horsepower engine and cost me a pretty penny, but it was worth every single one. I’ll never get tired of the thrill that ripples through me when I turn it on. It practically roars to life beneath me, the rumble of the engine moving through me when I turn the key.

Spring has graced the mountains, and although the temperature has only just started warming up, it feels practically balmy after the deep freeze we’ve had for the last six months. This weather makes me giddy. It’s motorcycle season, and any day that I get to ride is a good day. I feel like a kid who has just been let out for recess.

I glance over my shoulder at the drive that winds through the large expanse of property. I’ve lived here ever since Dad moved out of our childhood home and sold it to me three years ago. That was the year before he passed. He’d been living in the cabin to be close to the clinic, and the house became too difficult to manage with his Parkinson’s. The bar took off after I bought it and started hosting trivia nights and other social events, and with Mason fresh out of residency and under a load of student debt, and Hudson and Jett still in their early twenties, I was the only one with the money to buy the place when Dad was ready to sell.

Since then, I’ve renovated almost every aspect to the point of it being hardly recognizable from the dated 1980s split-level we grew up in. It’s much more me now, with moody, masculine paint colours, dark wood and stone, but still true to the era in a mid-century modern style. I also left some evidence of it once being our family home, like the tire swing about halfway down the drive that Dad hung up for us—or rather, hung up for Jett who begged and begged to the point that every single one of the Landrys was annoyed. We used it for one summer before we grew bored of it.

Leaning into the turn at the end of the long, winding driveway, I pull out onto the road and start the fifteen-minute drive into town. The house is close, but not close enough to feel suffocated by the goings-on of small-town life—the chitter-chatter and gossip that plagues every town with a population of just over 10,000. I like it that way. A bit of distance is healthy, safe. It means that I can avoid any drama, maintain my reputation as easy-going Grady. Unproblematic, well-liked, reliable when you need him but doesn’t get in the way.

My bike slows as I down-shift, the rumble of the engine lowering to a soft purr as I pull up out front of the Whisky Jack. Normally, I would park out back, in the alley. But I’m not planning on staying long. I survey the front of the corner building. The worn wood siding is a little worse for wear, but it gives the bar a rustic, lived-in feel.

Something grabs my attention out of the corner of my eye—a bright red and white For Lease sign in the window of the storefront next door. My chest tightens when I register what it means. The storefront was occupied by the Parks for as long as I can remember. They ran a Korean restaurant that served the most mouthwatering bibimbap and bulgogi. The same recipe that they brought over in freezer-safe containers in quantities enough to feed a small army after Mom passed. That was over twenty years ago now, but what the Parks did for us will stay with me forever. My brothers and I survived off their food for weeks after her funeral. Yet, the traditional Korean dishes never bring back bad memories, they remind me of how the town came together and took care of us. They became the family we needed without even so much as a second of hesitation. Now, they’re closing the restaurant. I rub my hand on my sternum, trying to soothe the ache I feel there, thinking about the last time I ate one of their delicious meals not knowing that it would be the last time. I didn’t savour it enough, then.

I walk up to the dark windows and peer inside, cupping my hands around my eyes. The restaurant is empty. I wonder, with another pang of sadness, if the Parks have already left town without saying goodbye.

I pivot back towards my own establishment and see the patio full of customers enjoying the spring sunshine that is still warm in the early evening. People are chatting happily in the shade of the blue umbrellas, and a few of them offer me a wave as I pass them on the sidewalk and follow the path to the front doors. The doors creak, the heavy wood groaning as I pull it open by the wrought iron handle. It’s even busier inside and most of the tables are full, including a big group of ladies who frequent the bar once a month for their book club.

Finn is scurrying around behind the bar, hurriedly pouring drinks for the large party, and I weave my way through the tables to go and help. I don’t ask, I just pick up the order ticket from the counter and start pouring.

He looks up and gives me an appreciative grin before picking up the first tray of glasses and taking them over to the table. I finish pouring the last of the drinks and follow him over to the group of middle-aged women who are busy gushing over how hot the hero of their book is. If he’s the guy that’s featured on the cover, I would have to agree.

“Woah, ladies.” I bend down in between two of them and set their drinks down on the table. “Is this the new book boyfriend?” I wink at one of the women and watch a flush spread over her cheeks. “Looks like I have some competition.”

One of them smacks me playfully on the arm as I set her martini down in front of her.

“Oh Grady, you know there’s no such thing as competing with you,” she says with a flirtatious lilt.

“Don’t say that too loud, Doris. I don’t want to have to take on that hunk of a husband of yours.” I pat her shoulder as I leave the table and make my way back to the bar. Finn is leaning against the counter, finally catching a moment to breathe. The bar is like this; sometimes it’s dead for hours, and then all of a sudden a rush of people comes, making it tough to catch up.

“Are you sure you’re okay to handle the bar tonight? I don’t want you to drown here,” I ask.

“It’s all good. Enjoy your barbecue,” he answers. Finn has been my right-hand man at the Whisky Jack for the last month or so since he moved back to Heartwood. We’ve been friends since high school, until he went away to play hockey. He’s a good guy, reliable. You need reliable when you’re a business owner. Having Finn around means that I get to take a step back from the bar now and spend more time with my family.

“I’ve got my phone on me, so just text me if you need anything, alright?” Finn nods to confirm he knows I’m not throwing him to the wolves. Still, it’s his first time closing on his own, and I worry that he’ll be overwhelmed. “I mean it, anything you need, I’m here.” He nods again and waves me off.

“I’ll be fine, dude. But thanks, I’ll text if anything goes sideways.”

I turn to head out, but then I remember why I came here in the first place and dig the key to the float safe out of my pocket. Finn takes it from me with a nod of thanks.

“Hey, do you know anything about the Parks closing the restaurant?” I ask. In my peripheral vision I notice someone at the bar turn their attention to our conversation.

“They’re leaving town. Guess they couldn’t hack the pressure of being business owners,” Carter Bouchard pipes up. As I recall, he was voted number one douchebag of Heartwood High’s graduating class of ’09. My graduating year. That is, I voted him number one douchebag in my heart. He’s clearly been eavesdropping from where he’s seated with his obnoxious, self-important buddies, sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.

“Yo, shut the fuck up, Carter,” Finn snaps back. I make a mental note to give Finn a raise. I’ve been telling Carter to “shut the fuck up” since the tenth grade when he decided to start bullying Hudson. “They’re leaving because Mr. Park can’t look after the place anymore. They’re moving to the city to go into an assisted living facility that’s close to their kids. Have a little respect.”

Carter lets out an indignant scoff. His almost black, gelled hair doesn’t move an inch as he moves his head.

“I don’t care why they’re leaving if it means that building is up for grabs. It would look better as a brand spankin’ new Urban Ember, don’t you think? Class this place up a little,” Carter says. It takes me a second, but I recognize the name as a popular chain of upscale restaurants. They have a few locations in Calgary and Vancouver, if I’m not mistaken.

“Good luck with that.” I scoff. “There are laws in place against chains opening up shop in Heartwood.” Laws that help keep the Whisky Jack afloat and have allowed so many other businesses to thrive in Heartwood. Those laws have preserved the charm of the town and prevented it from becoming the next big tourist destination.

“Not for long, if I can help it. That rule is so outdated. Some crusty old mayor probably put it in place because they hate change.” My breathing becomes tighter as I consider the implications of Carter’s words. There’s a new mayor in office now, and Jodi Price’s entire campaign was built on the notion of bringing Heartwood into the future. Though, she conveniently left out details about how she would accomplish it. I didn’t think that sacrificing the local economy was going to be part of her plan when I voted for her. “I’m sure the council will be very interested to see how much money I can bring to the town at the next meeting,” Carter says. He winks at me like he’s explaining how politics works to a child. Fuck him. People come to Heartwood for a reprieve from the city, and that could be lost if Carter manages to convince the council to overturn the law.

“Do you realize what opening that door would do to other businesses in Heartwood? It wouldn’t just be the Parks closing up shop,” I argue, but I’m starting to realize there’s probably no point in engaging with Carter.

“Not my problem,” he says, standing up and smacking a fifty-dollar bill down on the bar. Far more than his one beer cost him. Flashy . It’s gross. “And I have a feeling Mayor Price will agree. Especially when she sees the fat cheque I’m going to cut her as a donation to her next election campaign. Anyhoo, later fellas.”

He gets up and stalks out through the large wooden double doors, the daylight illuminating dust motes floating in the air as it opens and then shuts behind him. I’m relieved he’s gone, but it also irks me that he got the last word.

“Nice to know that some things never change,” I say to Finn through gritted teeth.

“Don’t worry about Carter, he’s full of shit. Everyone knows it.” Finn tries to reassure me, but there’s still something that feels unsettled within me. I know how these things work, and the unfortunate truth of the matter is that Carter is right—money talks.

“Thanks, bud. Shout if you need anything,” I say over my shoulder as I leave the bar after Carter. Thankfully he’s made a full exit and isn’t anywhere to be seen as I glance around the street. I climb on my bike again and look back at the For Lease sign hanging in the darkened window of the Parks’ restaurant. Carter may have money to throw at this, but the town of Heartwood deserves to be protected.

A few minutes later, I pull up to the familiar A-frame cabin that now belongs to Ally and Mason, the gravel crunching under my wheels. They’ve spruced the place up since Dad lived here. Ally has planted swaths of brightly-coloured flowers in the garden, and a newly landscaped pathway curves around the cabin towards the backyard. They’ve also added onto the right side of the cabin to make room for their new arrival. My niece. Every time I think about her my heart just about explodes. Nothing has made me happier than seeing how excited Mason is to become a dad. Nothing has hurt more at times too, remembering the fact that Mom and Dad won’t be here to meet their granddaughter.

Mason must have heard me pull up because he saunters out from around the side and greets me in the drive.His dark eyes have a sparkle in them, and his normally stubbled jaw is groomed. It’s nice to see that he’s started taking care of himself again since he’s cut down on his hours working at the clinic. I worried about him constantly when he took over our dad’s practice. The workload almost killed him. That is, before Ally came along and made him take a step back.

“Hey,” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “We’re all out back, but feel free to head inside and grab yourself a beer. There are cold ones in the fridge.”

“Thanks, I’ll come around and say hi to everyone first.” I survey the yard as we round the back of the cabin, and I spot Hud and Jett amongst the small group of five gathered in the yard. They’re into what seems like their second or third game of Beersbee based on how loud they’re getting. We’ve played the game ever since we were raucous teens, balancing an empty beer can on a wooden stake in the ground and trying to knock over your opponent’s can with a frisbee. Jett lets out a holler as he sends Hudson’s can flying with his frisbee, and Hudson drinks with a groan. It still baffles me why Hudson insists on playing any games with Jett, who is a professional skier, and a professional at anything that involves competition, even a silly game of Beersbee. He’s never gracious about it winning, he’s cocky as hell.

I find Winnie and Poppy seated at the patio table, engaged in a lively conversation over a glass of rosé, but there’s still no sign of Ally—or Spencer.

I try, and fail, to shake off the nerves before wandering over to Winnie. I thought I had gotten a hold of my anxiety on the ride over, riding my bike normally settles me, but I’m jittery again. I feel like I just downed an entire pot of coffee. My heart is racing, I can’t still my hands, and my T-shirt is sticking to the sweat on my back. I’m sure it had something to do with seeing the For Lease sign on the Parks’ restaurant and the subsequent blood-boiling run-in with Carter. But a small part of me knows the truth—that it has less to do with that, and everything to do with the way my eyes have been constantly scanning the group for a stunning redhead.

“Hey, Mama,” I say, calling Winnie by the playful nickname she inherited when she took us in to help Dad out after Mom passed. Winnie has always been insistent that she would never live up to the name of Mom—she and my mother had been best friends since they were little—but I started calling her Mama and it suited her just fine. I lean down to give her a one-armed hug and a kiss on the top of her cropped auburn hair. “Hey, Pops.” Poppy lifts her glass to me in greeting. “Where’s Ally? I want to say hello to my niece.”

Poppy’s dark, wavy bob swishes on her shoulders as she scans the yard for Ally.

“Inside, I think,” she answers.

As if I spoke her into being, Ally comes around the side of the house, her hands full with a plate of burger patties. I run over to her, taking the plate out of her hands and giving her a peck on the cheek.

“Don’t bother saying hello to me or anything,” she jokes, running one hand down her belly and placing one on her lower back. “Spencer is coming out with the condiments soon, so once the burgers are ready, everyone can serve themselves.”

I try not to focus on the mention of Spencer, or the way my hands become slick at the sound of her name. The fact that any moment now, she’ll come around that corner and I will once again be face to face with the woman that has plagued my dreams. All from one night where I never even made a move on her.

Holy hell I need a beer.