Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Elodie
My finger hovers over the transfer button in my bank account. I waited until zero hour, and I’m still stalling. Worry should be clawing at the back of my neck.
It’s been almost two weeks since the street fair. I haven’t heard from Cruz, and each day that goes by without him coming through the back door breaks my heart a little. Soon, it’ll be cracked all the way through in a million different directions.
He left because I told him to. And he hasn’t come back.
Grief tears through my chest wall and I glare at the computer screen.
I’ve been doing nothing but work since the Taste of Springs.
The day after, my cousin asked me about the altercation between Damon and Cruz.
Apparently, “no one saw a thing,” but everyone was talking about it.
He also said he ran into a guy with a bloody nose, but that guy skedaddled when he saw Callum’s name tag.
Deputy Palmer. I would’ve laughed if my heart weren’t cracked in two.
Cruz risked everything to help me, and I told him to leave me alone.
And because he’s a stand-up guy, he has. He must think I’m the worst. I’ve done nothing but push him away, and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m still getting blackmailed, and I still don’t want him to suffer the drama.
No. It’s better that we’re apart.
A stabbing pain hits me dead center in my chest.
Since the fair, I’ve had a flood of inquiries and have been scheduling custom cakes and other desserts.
I’m hardly in the front ringing up orders anymore.
The drama has been good for the bottom line, which in turn has kept me busy.
Nothing will take my mind off Cruz though. If anything, I think about him more.
Like the fundraiser that was his idea. Thanks to Campbell, I’m also planning a low-key kickoff for the cookie dough fundraiser. I’m going to be busy for the foreseeable future and I will have no issues covering the payments to Dwayne and his brother.
My stomach twists on itself, and I close out of the window. I might be late with the payment. It might be never.
Tears fill my eyes. I could destroy everything I’ve worked for, but the last two weeks have sucked. I get up late every day. I slog around in the back, taking way too long to do anything, which makes me work later, get to bed well after normal, and the misery starts all over again.
Is it worth it? Is paying the blackmail worth the emptiness in my life?
Ironically, there’s nothing but a vast chasm inside of me that highlights how lonely and isolated I was before.
Enough. I have to get my work done.
I get up and grab my apron off the island. Tying it around my waist, I wander around the counter to look at the next recipe I have to make. Several minutes tick by, and I continue to stare at the paper. The words blur together.
A hot tear rolls down my cheek and there’s no tall man with a crooked smile to wipe it away. There’s no rough-around-the-edges country boy to reassure me that everything will be fine. Cruz isn’t here to tell me I’m not alone.
Because I’m very much alone.
I don’t want to be. Swallowing a swell of remorse, I find my phone and pull up the family text thread that’s full of supper plans and arrangements for me and Clem to go to their place to clean.
Me: Can you guys all come here? ASAP?
I let out a long exhale. The tension is already untangling at the base of my spine, relaxing all the way up to my shoulders and I haven’t said anything yet.
Next, I pull up a number I haven’t used for years. Damon Miller.
“What?” he answers and hostility oozes through the phone.
I roll my eyes. How did I ever put up with him? “I’m not even officially late yet.”
“Late? The payments are over, and I’ll return what you’ve paid before Labor Day, like I said.”
I give my head a shake. Did I hear him wrong? I was calling to tell him that it’s over. He can tell whoever he wants anything about me, but the blackmail is over. “What?”
“I have time yet. You don’t need to fucking harass me.” Is there a thread of fear in his voice?
“Harass you?” Did I call a different Damon, one who’s also blackmailing someone and grew a conscience?
“Yeah, those fucking guys you sent made it loud and clear, but it’s not Labor Day yet. I need time.”
“What guys?”
He huffs into the phone. “You know what fucking guys.” When I don’t answer, he lets out a frustrated grunt. “Didn’t your boyfriend tell you?”
I can’t confess that I haven’t talked to Cruz since the sidewalk argument. I can’t believe I ever risked what I had with him because of this asshole.
“His fucking dad made sure Dwayne and I understand loud and clear to leave you alone.”
Shock punches me in the chest and I cough out a breath, but it sounds like a laugh. Cruz’s dad? He doesn’t talk to his dad.
“It’s not fucking funny, Elodie. They broke into my house. Dwayne got his ass kicked in his cell.”
My mouth hangs all the way open. “They did what?”
“Sy Lawson and his fucking son.”
“Cruz beat Dwayne up?”
“His guys did. The man is in a different goddamn prison, Elodie, and he still got to Dwayne. And me!” Now the terror is unmistakable. “So I get it, okay? I’ll leave you alone. Your secrets are safe. We’ll pay you back, and we won’t tell a soul, but dammit. You have to leave us alone too.”
I snap my mouth shut. I don’t know what Cruz did or what he put into motion, but I’m also not going to mess with it.
Damon and my ex were prudent in their cons.
They got impatient and greedy, but they were otherwise careful about the kind of people they conned.
No one violent, and no one with connections.
Who knew I’m the one with connections?
“That’s up to Cruz,” I say, trying to keep my voice strong when I don’t know whether to keep crying or to let out a guffaw and laugh the night away. “Goodbye, Damon. I’d better not hear from you or your brother again.”
I hang up, and this time I do chortle. I’m downright giggling when Clem walks into the kitchen. I’m relieved. I’m distraught. I’m hopeful while still feeling hopeless.
“Is everything okay?” she asks cautiously.
Everything might be ruined. Maybe I have no chance with Cruz after I kicked him out.
But he went behind my back and tampered with a situation that should’ve been none of his business, and he didn’t tell me.
He didn’t swagger in here waiting for his accolades.
He hasn’t even called to nonchalantly see if I drop the fact that he solved my blackmail problem.
Not only did he make it go away, but he obliterated the whole ordeal. Damon’s petrified. Dwayne has got to be sleeping with one eye open, and after I think about the way they kept me as their personal chef, housekeeper, and meal ticket, I like the thought of that.
“I don’t know what’s okay.” I toss my glasses on the table as more laughter spills out of me, but so do tears. I’m crying and sputtering when Clem rushes to my side.
“Elodie! Are you okay?”
“No. I don’t know.” I’m okay because Cruz made sure of it. Dabbing at my eyes is like trying to block a river with my finger. “I’ve been so stupid.”
“You are not stupid.” She darts to the bathroom and returns with a bunch of tissues. “Here. Mom’s going to fret.”
“I know.” Now it’s less laughing and more crying. “I don’t want to worry her, but I’m going to have to give her at least one sleepless night.”
“She’ll be fine. She always is—as long as you’re okay.”
I sniffle and blow my nose. My parents have been through a lot and just because they’re older than the parents of most people my age doesn’t mean they’re feeble.
I’ve suspected for a long time that Mom asks us to weed and clean so we’ll actually come over regularly.
She grew two independent girls who like to throw themselves into work.
“I’ve been willfully ignorant.”
“I’ll accept that.” She sits across from me. “You’re just like Mom, taking the blame for everything.”
I sink my head into my hands. “Oh my god, that’s it. I’m not smothering anyone, but I’m keeping you all from stressing.”
“Then you need to be more like Dad and talk my ear off.”
“Yeah. I will. It’s time.” I get up to toss my used tissues and take my apron off. After throwing it into the dirty laundry, I grab two more chairs from the front and drag them to the back.
There’s a knock at the door. Now it really is the moment where I spill everything.
I should’ve talked to them months ago. I should’ve talked to them years ago.
Today, that changes. Cruz crossed a line he never intended to get near, and he did it for me.
So I’m going to bound over all the limits I set for myself and hope that at the end, he’s there.
My parents greet me. Dad holds on to Mom’s hand and concern lines each of their faces. They must be fraught after my text. I never invite them to the bakery. I bring them goodies, but geez, why haven’t I asked them to come hang out with me on those long nights?
Because I’m scared I’ll be the reason something bad happens. Just like when I crashed with me and Mom.
“Hey, have a seat.” I sniffle, and crap, I must look like a rabid mess, just short of foaming at the mouth.
Dad wraps me in a big hug, no questions asked, as if he assumes I wouldn’t answer him anyway.
I don’t have to. I don’t need to do any of this.
Cruz took care of the blackmail. Damon and Dwayne are too scared to talk.
If they wait longer, until Cruz’s dad loses power and influence, then too much time will have passed.
I’ll have established too solid of a reputation to be affected by whatever the Miller brothers would say.