Chapter 4
Chapter Four
brOOKS
Buying a second house was a dumb fucking idea.
Even if they are right across the street from each other.
When the big corner house came up for sale last year, I bought it without really considering the consequences. It’s Juliet’s dream home, and I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else buying it.
She didn’t even live here when I made the offer. I just did it. I blame it on temporary insanity because that’s the only explanation for a spur-of-the-moment property purchase.
Now, Jules is back, and every time I walk inside this house, it’s just another reminder of her. I’ve never lived in it. I still live in the house across the street that I bought all those years ago.
It’s time I fixed up this big home and sold it. I don’t need it. I don’t want to be a landlord. I have no idea what I was thinking when I purchased it.
Again, temporary insanity.
And maybe a moment of feeling sentimental over a girl who didn’t choose me in the end.
I’m a fucking sucker.
Up before dawn, I’m standing on the porch of the big house with a can of red paint, brushing it on the door.
Next, I’ll repair and paint the porch. Because when you buy a house that was built a hundred years ago, you buy all the problems that come with it.
It’s pretty, with good bones, but it needs a lot of work. Work I don’t have time for.
After applying the second coat, I walk home to let it dry, pour myself a cup of coffee, and stare out the window.
You’re turning into a motherfucking stalker.
Shaking my head, I sip the coffee. I might be disgusted with myself, but that doesn’t mean I’ll walk away from this window.
Just like the other night, I want to catch a glimpse of her.
I don’t like her. I don’t want to have anything to do with her, but dammit, she’s like a freaking drug.
It’s ridiculous.
Sure enough, not five minutes later, Jules comes walking down the block.
She takes this walk every morning at this time.
Sometimes she looks sad. Other times, it looks like she’s talking to herself.
But every single time, she slows down to look at the house across the street, and I know that she strolls into the past every time, thinking about the conversations we had when we were kids about the place.
She’s wearing green shorts, and I can see where she tore the flesh on her shin. It’s scabbed up, bruised and looks like it hurt like a bitch. Seeing her with blood on her made my own blood boil. I may not trust her, but my wildfire being hurt is not a fucking option.
So I fixed her steps. I shouldn’t have. She’s not my problem, but the thought of her hurting herself like that again doesn’t sit well with me.
Today, she comes to a complete stop and turns her back to me, facing the freshly painted door, her hands on her hips. She’s on my side of the street, right in front of my house.
What was supposed to be our house.
I have the window open, so I can hear her breath coming fast from the exercise. Her ass looks damn fucking irresistible in those green shorts, and I want to lean in and kiss her cheek.
Press my face to her neck.
Pull her against me.
For fuck’s sake. I don’t like her, can’t have her, yet it’s like every molecule in my body is a magnet and she’s the only thing it seeks.
“Something’s different,” she whispers, and the rasp of her voice goes right to my cock.
Christ Jesus.
“The door. They painted the door.” She swallows and leans forward, like she’s trying to see it better, and in doing so, she pushes her ass out farther. Her long, lean legs stretch, showing me muscle and smooth skin, and I have to adjust my cock in my pants. “I like the red. Jazzes it up.”
Why am I suddenly proud of myself for choosing a fucking paint color?
“Needs flowers,” she mutters to herself, then shrugs a shoulder, as if she’s pushing that thought aside. Jules always did talk to herself. I always found it endearing. “I wonder what’s behind that window on the second floor.”
My eyes follow her gaze, and I take a sip of my coffee.
It’s a bathroom. Needs to be gutted.
Suddenly, her phone rings, and Juliet jumps into the air and lets out a little squeak. She’s shifted so I can see her profile, and her brows pull together as she looks at the screen.
Who the fuck is calling her at six in the morning?
“What.” Her voice is devoid of any emotion as she answers the call. I tilt my head to the side, intrigued.
I’ve never heard that tone from her before.
“No. You’re not allowed to call or text me. Email only. You know the conditions. I’m not sending you any more money this month. Figure it out for yourself.”
She hangs up and starts walking again, but after she slips the phone in her back pocket, she wipes a tear from her cheek, and that pisses me off.
Who the fuck just made my wildfire cry?
“How much money do you think I have?” Birdie asks me. She’s perched on my lap in the backyard of Bridger and Dani’s house, eating a hot dog, having a conversation like she’s thirty.
“About ten thousand,” I reply and take a bite of my steak. “Give or take.”
“Not that much,” she says and bites her hot dog. “I could buy a house with that much.”
My lips twitch, and I lean in to kiss her cheek. “Okay, I give. How much do you have?”
“Eight dollars and twenty-seven cents. I’m saving.”
“What are you saving for?”
She scrunches up her nose and looks around to see if anyone is listening.
This should be good.
“A puppy.”
I lift an eyebrow. “You’re just gonna go out and buy a puppy without your parents knowing about it?”
“I can hide her in my room.”
I nod slowly, as if I’m thinking it over. “How are you going to feed her? Take her out to go potty and exercise?”
“When they aren’t looking.”
I continue nodding. “Are you gonna steal your mom’s car to go get it?”
“No, I was hoping you would give me a ride.”
“You want me to be an accomplice to Puppygate?” I shake my head. “I don’t think I can do that, baby bird. Your mama would be mad at me, and I do my best to keep the women in my life happy.”
“I’m a woman in your life,” she says, so perfectly calmly, you’d think we were negotiating the price of a used car. “And it would make me happy to help me get my puppy. Her name is Tabitha.”
Jesus, she’s too smart for her own good.
“You’ve already named her?”
“Of course. She’s a rottweiler.”
I blink down at her. “Baby, you know those dogs are huge, right? There’s no hiding that from anyone.”
“She’ll be quiet.”
I chuckle and kiss the top of her head. “I love you.”
“Is that a yes?”
“That’s a heck no.”
“Aw, come on! I bet Uncle Blake would do it.”
“Then you should go charm Uncle Blake.”
She narrows her pretty eyes at me, then hops off my lap and goes in search of a different uncle she can manipulate. Bridger said he was throwing a couple of steaks on the grill the other day, but it turned into a full family dinner, and I’m not complaining.
I love my family.
“She try to get you to help her with the dog?” Bridger asks as he sits next to me.
“Oh, so it’s not the secret she thinks it is.”
“She’s already tried with Dad and Beckett.” He shakes his head, and I snort out a laugh.
“Here I thought I was special. Are you going to get her the puppy?”
My brother’s eyes sober, and he looks over at his wife, who’s rocking the baby back and forth while she chats with the other girls. “No. Dani’s finally okay with the cat that adopted us. I don’t think I could get her comfortable with a dog. Especially not the big one that Birdie wants.”
I fucking hate the asshole father of Dani and her siblings that abused them to the point where they’re afraid of common household pets. He deserved a far worse death than what he got.
“I think Mom and Dad might get a mid-sized dog this winter, and they’ll call it Birdie’s dog. That might pacify her.” Bridger takes a drink of his water. “How are you?”
“Never better.”
His eyes narrow. “We don’t lie to each other around here.”
Shaking my head, I push my empty plate away and sit back in the chair, watching my brother across the table.
“I’m fine.”
“Oh my God, I forgot to tell you,” Billie says, catching my attention, although she’s not talking to me. She’s with Dani, Skyla, and Harper. “Jules is coming to book club on Friday! I finally talked her into it.”
I feel my jaw tighten and Bridger’s eyes on me.
“Still fine?” he asks.
“I don’t attend book club,” I remind him. “So it makes no difference to me where she goes.”
Bridger nods and watches Birdie flit around, talking to everyone.
“It has to fucking suck,” he says at last.
“What?” I might pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I do.
And yeah, it fucking sucks.
“Having her here again.”
“It was a long time ago.” It feels like it was fucking yesterday. “What she does isn’t any of my business.”
“We’ve had takeout from her place a few times. Birdie loves it.”
“Good. I’m a fan of anything safe for our peanut.”
“Jules told me that she thinks she might have celiac, too, but she’s not sure. She started the restaurant because of her own sensitivities.”
Is she sick? I don’t remember her having stomach issues when we were younger.
“Sounds like it was the right thing for her to do then.”
“You know—”
“Why are we talking about this?” I ask him. “I don’t want to discuss my ex any more than you want to talk about yours.”
“Point taken,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. Dani walks over to us, and she looks a little tired as she kisses the top of the baby’s head.
“He’s getting heavy,” she says, and I stand before my brother can.
“I’ll take him.”
Dani carefully maneuvers the sleeping infant into my arms, then kisses my cheek.
“Thanks, Uncle Brooks.” She grins, then walks back to talk to the women.
The baby doesn’t even stir as I sit back down and get him comfy against my chest.
“You look good with a baby,” Bridger says. “You should have a few.”
“Sure. I’ll just go make that happen.”
He smirks. “There are ways.”
Shaking my head, I drag my fingertip down Bryce’s round cheek. The one person I could see myself having a family with is out of the question.
I would have had a dozen babies with her. That was one more thing I mourned after I lost her.
Bryce sighs and fists my T-shirt in his little hand.
“You guys are all having babies, and I get to love on them, spoil the shit out of them, and then give them back.” Bryce makes a little sound, and I rub my hand over his back to calm him. “How many more are you going to have?”
“I think this is enough,” Bridger says with a laugh. “Two’s plenty. But Billie and Harper are adding to the clan soon.”
“Me too,” Beck says as he and Blake join us. “Skyla’s pregnant.”
“Holy shit.” Bridger stands to hug Beckett, and I shake his hand.
“Congrats,” I tell him.
I’m happy for all of my siblings. They’ve all found people to love. To spend their lives with. And they all chose well.
“That’s a whole lot of hormones in the family at one time,” Blake says with a cringe. “A lot.”
“At least they’re a little staggered,” Bridger says. “Hey, where’s Connor?”
“Ireland,” Blake says. “Until Saturday.”
We all glance over at Billie, who’s sitting with her feet up and snuggling Birdie. And all of us brothers are wondering the same thing: Does that mean she’s not sleeping well?
Billie’s always been a night owl, but it’s more than that. She doesn’t sleep much at all. Or, she didn’t, until Connor.
And I don’t even want to think about what happens in their bed. I’m the oldest, and Billie is my baby sister.
Nope, not thinking about it.
Two hours later, I swing through the plant nursery on the way home. They’re a few minutes from closing, and Mr. Dugan, the owner, meets me by the hanging baskets.
“Summer’s almost over,” he says as he props his hands on his hips.
I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing here.
“Yeah, I know. Any of these hardy enough to make it through fall? I want to add some color to my porch.”
He nods and points out one with orange and yellow blooms. “Mums should last you into October, especially on a porch or something like that.”
“I’ll take three of those,” I say with a nod, and stow them in the back of my truck before heading home.
Rather than pull into my driveway, I stop in across the street at the big house.
First, I have to walk over to my garage and find some hooks and a drill.
Then I cross back over, climb the steps of the porch, and install three hooks above the railing, eyeballing the spacing.
Returning to the truck bed, I pull out all three baskets, then hang them on the hooks.
Stepping off the porch, I back away to examine my handiwork. They seem to be pretty evenly spaced, and the yellow and orange look nice with the red door.
She wanted flowers.
She got fucking flowers.
I drive right across into my own driveway and cut the engine. Then, with anger simmering in my veins, I walk inside.
What the fuck am I doing?
She’s not my problem. If she wants flowers, she can buy herself fucking flowers. They don’t need to hang on a house I’m trying to fix up so I can sell.
But dammit, ever since I heard her say it this morning, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It’s as if I’m on autopilot, and whatever Juliet wants, she gets. Like my brain hasn’t read the we don’t give a shit about Juliet memo.
And it’s pissing me the fuck off.
First, the steps, and now goddamn flowers.
What’s next?
Shaking my head, I head to my bathroom to shower. I don’t want to do things that I think will make her happy. I don’t want to feel bad for her, or help her, or care about her.
Fuck, I don’t trust her.
But dammit. Dammit.
Her eyes are still so fucking kind, and she looked so lost when she hurt her leg.
I turn on the water, and when it’s hot enough, I step under the spray and let it pound on my head and stream down my face.
And here, in this three-by-six-foot box with the water hammering down on me, I can admit that she’s still beautiful. Fuck, that curly blond hair should be wrapped around my fist. Her lips, so full and pouty, should be on my cock.
“Jesus.”
I fist the base of my dick and give it a tug with thoughts of my wildfire front and center.
The way her eyes light up and she smiles when she’s being particularly sarcastic.
The way she bit her lip when I spoke to her at the pharmacy.
The way she looks wearing those shorts with her long legs on display.
And I grunt out her name as I come against the tile.
Fuck.
I need to stop this. Nothing good can come of it. She chose, and it wasn’t me.
But goddammit, a part of me still wants her.
It’s fucking torture.