Chapter 2 #2
“You’re the only person I know who requests four cherries with their whiskey sour. Not three, not five. Four.”
I blush, taking a sip and letting the burn of the whiskey warm me.
There’s something about this place. The familiarity and comfort. It feels good to be back here.
“Thanks for staying and having a drink with me,” I tell Rachel.
“I figured this was as good of a time as any to catch up.”
Rachel was a year older than me in school.
We weren’t super close, but we knew of each other.
Since she started dating my brother, the two of us have made it a point to try to get to know each other better, but it’s still a little awkward.
Getting to know someone through text messages and the occasional FaceTimes when I’d call my brother wasn’t the easiest. From what I’ve learned over the last few years is that she throws a fantastic seafood boil in the fall.
She’s also an amazing mom to a six-year-old son, Corbin, who adores my brother, and she teaches third grade at Silo Bay Elementary.
Life hasn’t always dealt her a solid hand, but she’s making the most of it with Nate’s help.
Hopefully, there'll be wedding bells soon in their future.
Rachel tilts her head, eyes more searching. I’m terrified she’s going to see through the mask I’m used to wearing.
“How’s it feel being back? Feels like home, or like you’ve pulled a Freaky Friday, and now you’re trapped in someone else’s body?”
Chuckling lightly, I trace a finger along the rim of my glass. “A little of both,” I admit. “Like I’m me, but not the girl who left. That girl’s long gone.”
Rachel’s hand finds mine. “Then maybe this is your chance to find the new one.”
The jukebox crackles again, shifting into Turnpike Troubadour’s “7 and 7.” The beat causes my shoulders to sway as laughter rolls from the pool tables. For one fragile moment, I almost feel…normal.
“I’d like for this to be a fresh start, but who knows. Silo Bay and I have a lot of history, and not all of it’s good.”
“This town has a way of giving you the best memories and the worst, but it’s home.”
I lift my drink to my lips. “That it is.”
We both fall into a comfortable silence, and I take the opportunity to glance around the bar. Near the windows is a group of college-aged guys, most likely attending the college branch on the other side of town. Buckets of beer and empty bottles sit in the center of their table.
Since leaving Silo Bay, I tried to stay in touch with the friends I had growing up, but things were weird between me and the guys.
Greer was the other girl in the group, and we stayed in contact the most. Both of us texting and calling each other as if I never left.
It stayed like that until I moved to California, then the calls and texts started going unanswered.
When we finally caught up every now and then, it was more of a formality rather than a friendship that rivaled a sisterhood, especially since neither one of us had a sister.
Sure, the different time zones made it hard, but the truth is, I changed, and not for the better.
I shake those thoughts from my head and notice some of the college guys are staring my way, whispering amongst themselves.
I wonder how many people in this town watched Buying LA and how many of them followed the tabloid gossip?
I hated the way the show portrayed me, almost as if I was dumb and naive because I grew up in a small town.
“Do the wandering eyes feel like you never left the paparazzi?” Rachel asks, and I startle, nearly forgetting she was sitting beside me.
“You have no idea.” I glance back at the guys still looking my way. “Although, they feel less invasive. No cameras being shoved in my face.”
Rachel chuckles. “Oh, just wait. Have you heard about The Bay Buzz?” I shake my head as she shifts toward me.
“It’s a Facebook group where everyone talks shit, spreads gossip, and bitches about anything they don’t like in town.
You being home has been the talk of the page, everyone wanting to add to the newest Wren sighting. ”
I mutter a curse. The last thing I need is more attention.
“I’ll send you an invite later.”
“Thanks, I can’t wait to see what’s being said about me now.”
Rachel places a gentle hand on mine. “You know the type of woman you’re trying to be, Wren, and it doesn’t matter what anyone in this town has to say. Believe me.”
She lifts her glass of water to her lips and takes a long sip. Meanwhile, I’m wondering what she means by believe me. I don’t know much about her story after high school or who her son’s father is. All I know is that her and Nate’s relationship wasn’t easy at the start.
Russ sets another whiskey sour in front of me without asking. “On the house.”
“Dangerous game,” I murmur, fingers wrapping around the cool glass.
He only shrugs, lip twitching. “You always liked to live on the edge.”
My retort dies on my tongue as my phone buzzes against the bar. The name flashing across the screen freezes me in place.
Elias.
I shouldn’t look. God, I shouldn’t. I’ve done well ignoring him so far.
Maybe it’s the security of my hometown bar, but I do it.
Elias
Where the hell are you, Wren?
The words burn. My lungs seize.
I slam the phone face down, forcing the whiskey sour past my lips, and the bite of bourbon dulls the edges of my nerves.
Russ’s voice breaks through the haze. “You good?”
I glance up, finding his eyes sharper than I want them to be. Concern layered beneath gruffness. “Peachy,” I lie, voice brittle.
“Sure,” he mutters, then turns to the next customer, but I know he doesn’t buy it.
I flinch as someone slides onto the stool next to me. Rachel and I both turn our heads to see who’s joined us.
“Damn,” the voice cuts in, leaning too close. “Glad I wore my best flannel tonight.”
I turn slightly, my stomach sinking at how close he is. He’s wearing a too-young, cocky grin and a flannel that smells like his cologne bottle exploded on him.
“Oh yeah?” I arch an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”
He smirks. “It’s made of boyfriend material.”
I huff a laugh. It’s louder than I intended and Rachel snort-laughs. “Please tell me that’s not the best you’ve got.”
He only grins wider, moving closer. He’s the kind of guy who hears “no” as a challenge, and unfortunately, I’m too familiar with his type.
“Come on, Hollywood. Let me buy you a drink.”
I lift my half-full glass, ice clinking. “I’m good.”
Eyes narrowing, he bites out, “No reason to be a bitch. Don’t dress like that if you don’t want the attention.”
I see Russ stiffen behind the bar in my peripheral as heat prickles my neck.
“Hey,” Rachel starts, but I shake my head, silently telling her I’ve got this.
“You’re going to want to walk away,” I warn with a glare aimed right at him.
“Nah,” he breathes in my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. “I like my women with a little fight. Bet I can tame you.”
His hand drags along my thigh brazenly, his touch sticky like the floor beneath us. Revulsion flashes hot. Before I can think, I hurl the rest of my whiskey sour into his smug face.
The bar erupts. Chairs scrape, voices shout. Russ surges forward, ready to drag the asshole out by his collar—
And then, the air shifts.
Leather. Vanilla. Mint. And a hint of smoke. That’s new.
The scent slams into me like a fist of memory.
My pulse stutters as my mind flies back in time to stolen kisses, midnight drives, and the boy I once thought was my forever.
Jett Riggsby.
Older. Rougher. More dangerous than the boy I once loved. The boy who shattered me. The one I tried and failed to forget.
And before my brain can catch up, his fist connects with the guy’s jaw, the crack echoing through The Spillway like thunder. The asshole stumbles against the bar, clutching his face, before Jett drives him back again, grip white-knuckled in his shirt.
Chaos. Violence. And him. Always him.
Russ barrels out from behind the counter, shoving in and trying to pry them apart.
Massive arms wrap around Jett’s shoulders, but even with Russ stacked like a brick shit house, he struggles.
Jett is a storm barely contained. Every vein in his forearm ropes tight, teeth bared, eyes blazing blue fire as he shoves forward again.
Electricity laces through me. One second, I’m frozen, and the next, strong arms snake around my waist, yanking me back. I flinch as a dull ache erupts from my ribs.
A strangled gasp tears from my throat. My stomach plummets, lungs clamping shut. For a split second, I’m not in this bar—I’m back in LA, unable to escape the monster’s presence.
Panic claws at me. I shove at the grip, nails biting skin.
“Quite the scene you’ve started, Drummond,” a once familiar voice drawls in my ear.
Heath Pierce. Once my friend, but now, he feels more like a stranger.
My body goes rigid, but for a whole new reason. Guilt gnaws at me for leaving behind our group of friends. But Heath and the other guys always felt more like Jett’s friends, and they tolerated me. Maybe I’ve had it wrong this whole time.
I twist, heart hammering, and meet Heath’s sharp jaw, the telltale tic pounding like a pulse beneath his skin. He looks at me like my very return ruined his night.
I scoff. “Do you honestly think that was my doing?”
“No, of course it wasn’t your fault, Princess,” he adds, sarcasm dripping. “You waltz in here dressed like this…”
“Oh, no,” I snap, cutting him off and shoving out of his grasp. “A woman isn’t asking to be harassed based on what she’s wearing.”
His jaw clenches. “I know that, and it’s not what I meant, but the other idiots don’t.”
Before I can fire back, Russ’s voice booms across the chaos. “Enough! Trevor, you and your buddies have two seconds to get the hell out of my bar before I ban you for life.”
The weight of his fury silences the crowd. The kid—Trevor—wipes blood from his nose, glaring, but not arguing. His friends haul him out, muttering under their breath.