CHAPTER ONE
“H ello, is this Ms. Kerr?” a stranger’s voice bellowed through the line.
Whitney twitched. Her neck ached from how she’d slept funny on the couch. The ringing phone had woken her up from her restless night, a peanut butter cup wrapper stuck to her cheek. Peeling the paper from her skin, she tossed it in the general direction of the trashcan before sitting up and finding her voice.
“Yes. Who is this?” she asked, clearing a lump of peanut butter from her throat.
The man on the other line cheered at this news. “Oh, excellent. Ms. Kerr, you are listed as the backup contact for Mr. Hollingsworth here at the shop.”
Interrupting the happy interloper, she asked, “I’m sorry, the shop?”
“Yes, ma’am. Peach City Motors. Mr. Hollingsworth’s Mustang is ready for pickup.”
Whitney snorted, recovering quickly. She could tell this stranger exactly what to do with Baxter’s prized possession, but she was a lady and wouldn’t be that rude before having coffee.
“I’m sorry, but why are you calling me?” she asked, her finger already hovering over the red End Call button.
The sounds of papers shuffling echoed through the phone. “Mr. Hollingsworth listed you as backup contact when he got an account with us last year.” He hesitated a moment, and asked, “So can you please pick up the Mustang?”
For all the crap and drama Baxter left at her feet, Whitney would be damned if she played errand girl for her ex. Nope, he and his car could burn in Hell as far as she was concerned. “Well ...” She huffed, annoyed with herself for answering an unlisted number.
“Oh, please, Ms. Kerr. It’s been here a week, and we need it out of the shop. I wouldn’t be calling his backup contact otherwise.”
Then a delicious thought occurred to Whitney. She could pick up Baxter’s beloved car, and maybe take it on a little joy ride. She wouldn’t do anything rash, but suddenly this opportunity seemed destined. Not only had the bastard already proposed to someone new, but she never got the closure she craved from the breakup.
“You know what, I think I do have time to pick up the car. What’s the address?”
An hour later, Whitney was behind the wheel of Baxter’s Mustang, a gift from his sixteenth birthday. The car sparkled like a ruby as she coasted down the highway, the expensive detail job certainly worth the money. The black leather roof shone in the sun, the red paint flashing at every angle. They’d even sprayed some of that fancy air freshener reminiscent of new car and upscale hotel lobby.
Whitney leaned back, resting one hand on the steering wheel and the other fiddling with the radio. Once she found a country station, she cranked up the volume and turned on the back road toward her sister’s place. Pulling into a spot, she turned off the ignition and sighed. She’d picked up the car, but now what?
She’d be damned if she dropped it off at his place with a bow on the hood, but she didn’t want it with her either. Deciding it was a problem that could wait another hour, she grabbed her purse and headed inside. Once the door slammed behind her, Xena meowed and nudged her food bowl with her nose.
Scoffing, Whitney filled the dish and sighed. “I know we’ve both been on a binge lately, Xena, but we need to get ourselves together.”
The cat seemed completely disinterested in Whitney’s advice, devouring her kibble in record time. Whitney reached down to try to pet the cat, to gain an ounce of connection from another living being, but that had been a step too far. Xena lurched back, hissing like Whitney was the devil himself.
And this was just one of the reasons Whitney needed to figure out her life and move out. One of the biggest reasons she was still beaten up over the breakup was the loss of Baxter’s apartment.
Of course, the primary reason was love— barf —but the other reason was that his place felt like hers ... at least more than her sister’s apartment did. She’d had the space to make herself at home, but now she lived out of suitcases. She’d gone from Cinderella in the castle to sitting on a pumpkin long after the magic died.
While Baxter’s childhood was spent at country clubs, golf courses, and river cruises, Whitney was raised on late ’90s television, weekend trips to Tybee Island, and frozen pizzas. She felt like she’d won the lottery when she’d met Baxter at a zoo charity event in Atlanta. She’d been visiting a girlfriend who invited her to hobnob on her dime. They threw a couple bucks at the pandas and made their exit.
On the way out, Whitney’s heel had caught on a paving stone and she’d fallen right into Baxter while he waited for the valet. She was hypnotized by his crooked grin and piercing green eyes, and Baxter was enamored with her ample cleavage and hip-hugging skirt. In a matter of days, they’d been on their first date and the rest was history.
Whitney shook the pleasant memories of Baxter from her mind as she opened the fridge in search of something comforting that wasn’t booze. Not that she was embarrassed by her alcohol intake over the last few weeks, because she wasn’t, but Whitney knew she needed to stay sober. At least until she figured out what to do with Baxter’s car ...
Her musings were interrupted by her cell phone. At first, she hesitated, fearing it was Baxter calling to ream her out for taking his car, but curiosity won out and she checked the screen. It was her sister. Answering right away, Whitney said, “Win, what’s up?”
Winnie laughed. “Um, I don’t know. Nothing interesting has happened in the last twenty-four hours. I thought I would reach out and see what’s new.” After a second, she added, “Cut the bullshit. How are you holding up? I got back late from a dinner thing and heard your message.” Her sister paused. “Baxter is more of a dick than I realized.”
Whitney snickered. “You’re only now discovering this fun fact?” She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “You can take me off suicide watch, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Whitney said, rummaging in the pantry for a snack. Coming up with only a bag of popcorn, she gave up and went to the couch. She’d seen enough popcorn lately ...
“I’m more worried about homicide at this point.”
“Actually, that’s fair. I never really wanted to die. I want to get even.”
“And has that urge dissipated, or should you keep me on retainer?” Winnie asked, her tone still light.
“You’re a corporate litigator. Would you even be able to defend me in a murder trial?”
“Pfft. For my only sister, I’d figure it out.” Confidence dripped from every syllable. For as listless as Whitney was, that was how steady and professional Winnie was. Whitney envied her big sister, craving that level of certainty in her professional life.
As if reading her mind, Winnie asked, “Did you call the agency and get another placement lined up?”
“Nope,” Whitney said, letting the P pop. “I have no desire to answer phones and do filing in a gray cubicle farm. I have enough saved up that I can wallow another few weeks.”
“Whit,” Winnie said, her tone turning harsh. “You’ve worked there for over six years. I’m sure if you call and beg, they’ll get you scheduled someplace new by Monday.”
“Win,” Whitney mimicked. “If you’re about to scold me on my work habits, I can hang up and call our parents. Or better yet, I could just hang up.”
“Mom and Dad are only worried about you, like I am. You can crash with me as long as you need, but I think you need to get a job.”
“Um, need I remind you that Baxter just proposed to someone on national television?”
“Honey, it was local TV, and Baxter was always a tool.”
“Fine, whatever. Why else did you call?”
Muffled voices drowned out Winnie’s voice as she changed rooms. “That was all, only checking in. I’m due in another meeting in a moment, so I have to go. Promise me you’ll get out of the apartment, get some fresh air, and clear your head. Maybe take a little road trip or something. Okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Good luck with your meetings.” Whitney disconnected and tossed her phone across the room, where it landed on a stack of dirty laundry, and slid to the floor. The notion of going on a quaint road trip made Whitney laugh to herself.
BB—Before Baxter—Whitney loved to plan random road trips around the south. She’d drive with girlfriends or boyfriends, and once Baxter even joined the fun, but those memories were starting to fade. That adventurous side to Whitney hadn’t visited in a while, and she wondered if Winnie was right. Perhaps it was time to do something different?
An hour later and Whitney was still restless. She didn’t want to sit and mope anymore, but she didn’t know what to do. Winnie’s advice rattled around her head. Fresh air usually required exercise, and Whitney wasn’t about to make herself even more uncomfortable. Her curvy frame had picked up a few extra switchbacks from her post-relationship binge. She’d get back on track with her diet eventually, but that wasn’t her biggest concern.
Stalking back into the kitchen, Baxter’s keys twinkled from the countertop. She could get some fresh air with the top down, and that level of pettiness would likely be a balm to her ravaged soul. She’d noticed the tank was full and, suddenly, Whitney didn’t know why she was standing in the apartment. It was time to joyride.
Whitney snatched the keys and headed outside. The mid-June sun hung heavy above her, but she craved the wind in her hair, so she yanked the top down. After tossing her purse on the passenger’s seat, Whitney slid behind the wheel and got moving.
Now that she was on the road, she had no idea what she wanted to do. The longer she sat in the driver’s seat, the more she thought about Baxter. And, honestly, she was done thinking about him. Imagining him with his new fiancée made her queasy.
Whitney bristled, her skin crawling with discomfort. He had moved on, and she needed to as well. The trouble was, she still didn’t feel like she’d gotten the closure she craved.
Her stomach rumbled. In her haste to leave, she’d forgotten to eat lunch. Passing an exit that promised a pizzeria, Whitney turned off and into the parking lot of a mom-and-pop shop. Twenty minutes later, she had an extra-large supreme pizza and a Coke.
The box was heavy in her hands, the beginnings of a grease pool forming through the cardboard. This right here was why Baxter banned any food in the Mustang. He never wanted to jeopardize anything happening to his girl, he used to cry.
“It’s too bad you never cared that much for me, asshole,” Whitney muttered as she dropped the box on the front passenger’s seat. It landed with a thud, the grease already puddling, and Whitney beamed.
Pulling back onto the winding road, she flipped the lid and helped herself to slice number one. “Hey, Baxter!” she shouted out to no one. “I’m eating in your car, and I forgot napkins!” She took a greedy bite, grease trailing down her chin as she chewed. It wasn’t even the best pizza, but it was the best meal for her current mood.
Looping back toward Baxter’s house, she planned to drop the car in the driveway with a few spots of pizza grease on the buttery leather interior. But as she drew nearer, memories flooded her crowded brain, and Whitney second-guessed her decision. She didn’t want to do anything too wild, mostly because Baxter would likely take her to court, but she needed to leave her mark.
Whitney craved a little destruction. She wanted him to return to an inconvenience. Licking a blob of marinara from her thumb, she looked down at the pizza box. An evil grin cracked her face as she picked up another slice. Taking a bite, she chewed thoughtfully and hummed the tune of “I Will Survive.”
After finishing the second slice, she decided it was time for action and eased the car into the driveway. Turning it off, she rested her head on the headrest and sighed. Her little joyride had provided a nice distraction, but vengeance was far from hers. Lifting the corner of the pizza box, she saw a satisfying orange tint to the beige leather. Baxter would be livid, but it wasn’t enough.
Stepping out of the car, Whitney walked around to the passenger’s side door. Flinging it open, she reached for the box and tested its weight in her hands. There were six slices of greasy cheese and red tomato sauce begging for some attention. Opening the lid, Whitney turned the box over and smashed it into the leather upholstery. The squelching sound of cheese making contact with the interior filled her with a sense of unbridled joy.
“This is for the engagement,” she hissed through her teeth as she leaned into the task. Her arms shook with rage, but she also felt lighter the more she pushed the box. When she was satisfied, she stepped back and grinned.
Not wanting her handiwork to be washed away by rain, she pulled the top back into place on the car. Just then, another thought occurred to her, and she jogged to the garage door panel and tested the code. The door rose, presenting Whitney with a final revenge. She carefully backed the car into the garage before retrieving her purse.
Pulling out her favorite red lipstick—a color Baxter used to love—she popped off the cap and circled to the windshield. In careful scrawl, she wrote Congrats on your engagement across the pristine glass. It would be the first thing that asshole would see when he arrived home, and it filled Whitney with the glee she usually only experienced after sex or a tub of butter pecan ice cream.
Stalking around the car, she tossed the keys onto the driver’s seat and slammed the door. Retrieving her cell phone, she ordered an Uber to take her home. It was time to grab her own car and get out of town for a few days. Whitney would take her sister’s advice. She only hoped it would bring her back to herself.
*
“P ack up, man. Our shift is over, and I refuse to watch you mope another minute without a beer in front of you,” Lieutenant Ortiz, aka Javi, said.
Trevor groaned, logging out of his computer and tossing his empty coffee cup in the trash. His buddy was right, but he wouldn’t admit that fact sober. “Give me a second to ...” His words were cut off when his least favorite person sauntered into the bullpen.
“Mays, you’re on hose duty tomorrow,” Hastings said from his perch at his new desk. The son of a bitch had the nerve to look smug while delivering Trevor’s death sentence. Hose duty was the most boring busy work imaginable, a task saved for rookies or staff on probation.
“Sure thing,” Trevor said, grabbing his messenger bag from his desk drawer.
Hastings made a show of cupping his ear, leaning closer to Trevor. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant, what did you say?”
Stifling an eye roll, Trevor squared his shoulders and met Hasting’s beady gaze. “I said, sure thing, Captain.” An evil grin crawled up Hastings’ face, and Trevor bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying something that could get him fired ... or arrested.
“Sorry, man,” Javi said, joining Trevor at his desk. “Dude’s a dick, but an order is an order.” His voice was low, so no one else overheard. “We all wish you were captain, trust me.”
Trevor ran a hand through his hair, leaving the russet waves at an odd angle. It wasn’t a secret that very few people were thrilled with Scott’s promotion, but it was cold comfort now. All Trevor knew was that it was another obstacle to his professional ambitions of taking over his father’s command.
“Thanks, Javi.”
Javi held up his fingers, which were crossed. “I’m hoping he’ll screw up and get canned sooner rather than later. I mean, familial connections can only get you so far, right?” Javi winced as soon as he asked the question.
Trevor shook his head. “Real nice, man.”
“Tell you what.” Javi sighed and clapped Trevor on the shoulder. “I’ll apologize over a pitcher of beers at The Pecan Pit. Let’s get drunk.”
The pair hopped into Javi’s pickup and turned onto the highway. The town of Pinegrove, Georgia, wasn’t huge, but it was home. Trevor had lived here since he was knee-high to a grasshopper, and he never thought about leaving. His mother was here, his best friends were here, and he’d be damned if he gave up on his dream of taking over the chief rank in his father’s station. Station 33 would be his someday, it had to be.
Javi drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel as he took the exit for their favorite pub. It wasn’t much, but The Pecan Pit was their watering hole of choice. The nachos were amazing, the beer was cheap, and the crowd was all friends and family. Right now, it was exactly what Trevor needed.
Following Javi inside, Trevor blinked at the dim lighting and exhaled. The Fourth of July was only a couple weeks away, but already the tiny hamlet was crammed with visitors. Since The Pecan Pit was one of the few bars in town, it usually filled up fastest. Trevor was relieved to have a break from crowds, even for the moment.
Javi clapped him on the shoulder, and said, “You grab a pair of stools, I’ve gotta hit the head.”
Trevor nodded and snagged the last two stools at the end of the bar.
Before he took a seat, a pair of mugs were slid in front of him. “Here ya go, man.” The gruff voice belonged to Buster, the owner of The Pecan Pit. He was about forty years old and was built like a retired NFL linebacker. You didn’t mess with Buster.
“Thanks,” Trevor said, pulling out his wallet and sliding his credit card across the sticky bar top. “Let’s start a tab and an order of nachos, please.”
Buster took the card in his meaty fingers and nodded, disappearing into the kitchen.
Trevor sipped from his beer, waiting for his frustrations to wash away. He tried to shake the feeling of inadequacy weighing him down. His father had risen up the ranks to chief at the speed of light, never once stumbling on his way to the top. In stark contrast, his only son couldn’t get beyond the rank of lieutenant despite years of training and experience.
“You better start drinking faster, man,” Javi teased as he slid onto his stool. “You look like crap, and I want to get lucky tonight.”
Trevor sniffed, perking up when Buster appeared with their nachos. “On the house, Trev. Sorry to hear about captain.” He rapped his knuckles on the counter before Trevor muttered his thanks.
Javi was delighted with their bounty, snatching a stack of chips and shoving them in his mouth. “Oh, extra guac. You should get screwed over more often.”
Trevor nudged him aside and took a handful of chips for himself. “Thanks. I’m glad the demise of my career is worth it.”
Through a mouthful, Javi replied, “Do you know how expensive avocados are?”
Stifling a grin, Trevor went to work devouring the nachos. They ate in silence for a few minutes, gazes locked on the dwindling pile of fat and carbs. Around them people laughed and threw darts; their lives continuing as normal. Trevor hadn’t felt normal in quite some time, and he was sick of it.
“You guys want another round?” A female voice asked over the din.
Trevor looked up to see Julia, one of the waitresses and a woman who had been asking him out for about a decade now. To be fair, she usually asked out everyone from Station 33, but she’d always been the most persistent with him. They were acquaintances at best, going through high school together before putting down roots in their hometown. Julia was sweet, and not bad to look at, but Trevor never caught a spark. That didn’t mean she didn’t shoot her shot every time she saw him.
Javi, aware of Trevor’s feelings toward the waitress, nodded. “That’d be great. Thanks, Julia.”
She returned with fresh beers and a sour expression. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, “I’m so sorry about the promotion, Trevor. Scott’s an asshole and only got the job because he’s sleeping with that tramp.” Immediately realizing her mistake, she clapped a hand over her mouth and grimaced. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have said—”
Trevor took mercy on Julia and shook his head, cutting off her rambling apology. “It’s fine, thanks.”
Julia was incredulous, squaring her shoulders and popping her hip to the side. “It sure ain’t fine. What Virginia did to you was horrible. Cheatin’ on you while wearing your ring—it makes me mad as anything. And to do it with such a loser, ugh! Whenever you’re ready to get out there again, you know where to find me.” She angled her shoulders in a way that showed off her cleavage. She might as well have dangled road kill in front of him, for as little as Trevor was tempted.
He picked up his beer and chugged down a third of its contents before Julia took the hint and left.
Javi slid his own beer closer before eating the last chip from the tray. “You gotta hand it to her, she’s tenacious.”
“I wish she would get the hint and drop it.”
“I get that she’s not your type, but you’ve got to get out there again.” Javi sipped from his mug for a moment before soldiering on. “I mean, I get that you’re a wreck about the breakup, but if Virginia ...”
Trevor slammed his hand down on the bar top, gaining the attention of a few onlookers. “I’m not still a wreck about Virginia,” he insisted, draining his beer and motioning to Buster for a third. He hadn’t driven there, and he was ready to drown all his sorrows in malt and barley.
Javi lowered his voice. “You’re allowed to be, man. She left you for freaking Hastings.”
Trevor slapped his cheeks in mock surprise. “Oh really? I nearly forgot my fiancée left me for my work rival, and just in time for promotions. Thanks for reminding me.”
“We’re going to need a couple pimento cheese burgers to go with this pity party, Buster.” Javi ordered before turning back to Trevor. “It’s been six months, and I think you’re due for a little action. If you don’t want to date Julia, that’s fine, but you need to find someone.”
“Where? This is Pinegrove. All the women my age are taken, or I’m not interested.”
“Pfft, you’re missing a very important fact,” Javi urged, slurping from his beer.
“And what’s that?” Trevor asked, turning his beer in his hands.
“It’s almost the Fourth of July, man. This town is swarming with hundreds of out of towners. It’s the perfect distraction from, well, life.”
Trevor merely grunted and downed the last of his second beer. Pinegrove was known throughout the South as the perfect summer destination. Their forests brimmed with hiking trails and watering holes, not to mention their fireworks and parade on the Fourth rivaled any of the big cities. It was small-town charm meets patriotic festivities.
“I don’t know. I’m no good with strangers. I get awkward, and I hate one-night stands.” The admission sat bitter on his tongue, but Trevor knew it was true. He was uncomfortable with people he didn’t know, and he always said the wrong things. Add on getting dumped by his fiancée and losing another promotion, and Trevor’s confidence was in the toilet.
Javi wasn’t deterred. “You’ll figure it out. I heard from my buddy that all the motels have been booked for months. Everything is chaos since the Peachy Keen Resort closed and the mayor added more festivities. They started some of the smaller events this week already. Apparently Pinegrove will be patriotic from Flag Day to Halloween. It’ll be the busiest event yet.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You only need to wear your uniform and flex your biceps, man. The chicks flock around you like bees to honey.”
Trevor tried to listen to his friend drone on about the upcoming festivities, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was lonely, and more than a little depressed. The idea of trailing around after faceless women didn’t appeal.
Just when he was about to suggest a topic change, the door to the pub opened. A woman about his age strolled in, wearing a matching expression of concern. She had a mess of black curls and curves that went on for days. Her gray gaze swept around the pub until she found an empty seat.
“Are you even listening, man?” Javi asked, waving his hand in front of Trevor’s face.
“Huh?” Trevor muttered, not blinking for fear this gorgeous woman was a figment of his imagination. The way his life was going lately, he wouldn’t be surprised ...
Javi spun on his stool and saw the woman, letting out a low whistle. “Okay, if you’re not going to buy her a drink, I call dibs.” He made a show of pushing off his stool and running a hand through his dark hair. Damn near half the women in the pub turned their way when Javi stepped away from the bar, and it soured Trevor’s stomach.
Trevor shook his head slowly, willing his mouth to work. He wanted Javi to back off, yet he wasn’t sure why. Picking up strangers wasn’t his scene, but he knew Javi would have that woman’s number before he could settle the check. Damn trouble was, Trevor was the nice guy, the passive guy. He didn’t approach women and ask for their numbers or shower them with praise and cocktails.
Javi nudged Trevor on his way toward the gorgeous brunette. “I’ll be right back, or maybe not.” He winked and Trevor’s pulse points in his temple throbbed. Without another word, Javi closed the distance between him and the mystery woman. Trevor swallowed past the lump in his throat, telling himself he’d made a tremendous mistake.