Chapter Four
Gwen
T ype.
Delete.
Type.
Delete .
I squirmed in my chair, my damn bra suffocating me. When would I ever learn not to shop online? Nothing ever fit right. Mediums were either extra-smalls or extra-larges. But if I ordered an extra-large aiming for a medium, I’d end up with a Barbie dress. Meanwhile, if I went the other direction and purchased the extra-small, it would swallow me. It made absolutely no sense.
And forget about returning stuff! I mean, seriously, who had time for that? I had multiple packages of misfit clothing in the back of my car that just toured around town with me until the return windows closed. I made the best of it though. Some of my favorite summer dresses were supposed to be shirts.
That bra was a next-level torture device. Yet it was still the most comfortable part of my current situation. Sitting in the shoebox-sized office at the restaurant, I was composing the perfect gag-inducing text to my ex-husband. I hated asking that dickhead for help, but despite my best efforts, I had not yet unlocked the science to clone myself.
The demo crew I’d hired to help me gut the restaurant had canceled on me not once, but twice. Luckily, I had been able to find another team on short notice. Unluckily, the only time they had available was on the same day my son had to stay after school for math tutoring.
Math tutoring my ex had said our son did not need despite his plummeting grades.
Math tutoring that my ex had refused to help pay for.
Math tutoring that my ex would no doubt allow Nate to skip if he had to be even mildly inconvenienced with picking him up.
So, once again, I had to get creative.
The thing with communicating with a narcissist is that, no matter what you’re saying, you’re always stupid. They, of course, are smarter. Truly, an expert in all fields from child rearing to classifying the color of the sky. It was wild. Even when they were wrong, they were still right, and the mental gymnastics and abuse used to make sure you understood that they were superior to you in every facet was utterly impressive—and totally fucked up.
It took years for me to see through Jeff’s constant cycle of love bombing, manipulating, and gaslighting to recognize that I wasn’t always the problem in our relationship. I wasn’t stupid or na?ve. I didn’t enjoy drama. And his yes did not hold more weight than my no. But, after having been married to him for over a decade, I’d learned a few lessons in manipulating the manipulator.
Jeff loved to be the hero. His ability to save the day fed his ego and gave him something to lord over me should he ever need an ace up his sleeve to play against me.
At the current moment, I didn’t give one single shit how many aces he had. We were divorced. The game was over. I had my own deck of cards now.
So there I was, typing my text:
Hey, Jeff. I may have bitten off more than I can chew with this restaurant.
It was total bullshit, but it would give him satisfaction to think I was struggling without him.
I know, I know. You were right.
I dry heaved just typing that.
Can you do me a huge favor and pick Nate up from tutoring tomorrow? If not, no worries. I can always ask Dylan.
A little competition with my best friend, who he hated with a passion, never hurt.
With my finger hovering over the begging emoji to really sell it, I jumped when a loud banging sounded at the front of the restaurant.
I grabbed the mace connected to my keys. Belton was about as low crime as a suburb got, but as a single woman who spent a lot of nights working alone, I was ready to protect myself if need be. My pulse spiked as I listened. The rattling and banging continued. I figured it was a diner who hadn’t read the sign, and they would go away soon enough, but as I waited, the noises got louder.
Shit. Was I being robbed? I didn’t even have a cash register yet. With my luck, it was a former customer of The Grille there for redemption after being given a life-threatening case of food poisoning.
Dammit. Why hadn’t I prioritized the new security system?
Oh, right. The budget.
I inched toward the office doorway, my lungs burning as I held my breath. A million what-ifs ravaged my nervous system. And then suddenly, a familiar voice broke through the chaos.
“Come on, come on, come on,” he chanted.
My shoulders sagged.
Of course.
Of.
Fucking.
Course.
Truett.
I’d lived an entire lifetime without running into him. Twice in a week only seemed fitting.
Frustrated beyond reason, I marched to the door. He had stopped trying to get inside, but unfortunately, it didn’t appear as though he was leaving. Through the glass, his gaze collided into mine with the force of a freight train. His face was ashen, his eyes wide with a panic that shattered the barrier between us. I tried to steady my breathing and reject the tsunami of emotions crashing over me.
My instincts screamed for me to reach out and soothe whatever demon had overtaken him.
Experience, on the other hand, told me that attempting to help Truett West was the definition of insanity. Experience also begged the question of why I would even care to try.
With our eyes locked, I forced my feet to stay planted, my hands remaining firmly at my sides, my finger still poised on the mace. Despite every intention to remain detached, my heart pounded in my chest—no doubt echoing his own.
I hated that he still had that effect on me. More, I hated that I allowed him to have that effect on me. I placated myself with lies about it being human nature to have such a visceral reaction to another human in distress. Empathy was never a bad thing.
Unless it became toxic.
Absorbing the emotional grid of others came with a price.
A price I would never be able to afford when it came to Truett.
I couldn’t do this. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. Fuck my instincts, there was only one way to end it—cruel as it might have been.
“What the hell are you doing?” I snapped through the glass.
His reply was muffled. “Someone locked the door.”
“Uh, yeah. Me.”
His thick brows drew together. “What?”
I wasn’t sure if he actually couldn’t hear me or if he just couldn’t get it through his thick skull, so I unlocked the door and shoved it open with hopes of making this entire interaction as brief as possible. “The Grille is closed .”
The crinkle of his forehead deepened. “Then what are you doing here?”
“Well, I was trying to work until you decided to scare the shit out of me.”
His chin jerked to the side—confusion stacking on top of confusion. “You work at The Grille now?”
I did not know the man standing in front of me anymore, but I was relatively certain he hadn’t lost his ability to read through the years. Stabbing a finger at the sign on the door, I repeated, “No, because The Grille is closed .”
Glowering, he spoke slowly, enunciating every other word. “Then what are you doing here? ”
I was almost impressed that he still had attitude left in him. However, it was aimed at me, so I rolled my eyes. “I bought the place. It will be closed for renovations for the next month or two, but keep an eye out for The Rosewood Café’s grand opening. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to well…anything that is not standing here with you.”
I started to close the door, but he caught it with his palm against the glass only inches from my head. The faint smell of his cologne assaulted me. In that moment, my olfactory senses unlocked the power of time travel, transporting me back to a day when that scent had meant safety, comfort… happiness .
Now, though, it felt like a knife to the chest. My stomach rolled as I fought the urge to punch him for being such an imposter. He had no right to still smell like Truett. This guy would never be man enough to fill those shoes.
“Back up,” I demanded.
“A month or two?”
“I said back up!”
He didn’t move. He stood there looming over me, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. “I can’t wait that long.”
“Well, you don’t exactly have a choice. Try that place on Oak Street or something.”
“I can’t go to Oak,” he growled. Yes. Growled. Like he was some kind of bear I’d just run into in the woods.
I couldn’t remember the survival skills on black bears versus grizzly bears off the top of my head, but I had a lot of experience with disrespectful men. “I don’t give a shit where you go as long as it’s out of my face.” Using both hands, I yanked on the door, but he didn’t allow it to budge.
“Wait,” he begged.
“For what?” The fissures in my heart burned as I struggled to keep them closed. “What exactly am I waiting for now, Truett?”
He had the good sense to look sheepish, but I didn’t let it slow my fury.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I said. “I’m really impressed that you finally figured out how to speak in full sentences. But you can fuck all the way off if you think I’m going to take even one more second of your bullshit. I did wait. I waited for years .” I changed my tactic, so rather than pulling on the door, I pushed it open wider.
His hand fell away, but he caught it with his foot. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
He could have pissed on my shoes and angered me less.
“Don’t you dare utter those words to me,” I seethed.
Absolute understanding slashed his face. “You’re right. I just…” The bob of his Adam’s apple was barely visible under his beard, but his desperation was palpable. Flicking his gaze off to the side, he dragged a shaky hand through the top of his hair. “I just need to come in and sit down for a few.”
“What part of closed do you not understand?”
“I’m not asking you to be open. I’m asking you to let me come inside.” His dark eyes came back to mine—the overwhelming intensity stealing my breath, but not my fire.
“You have to go,” I stated.
“I won’t bother you. I swear.”
“It’s not about you bothering me. This is weird, Truett. Really freaking weird, even for you.”
It was a low blow, but what was I supposed to do? He was too close, and not because we were only inches apart, fighting for control of the same door. No, he was too close because Truett West was currently sharing the same timeline as me. He was the past and I was barely surviving the present without those two worlds colliding.
“Gwen, come on.”
“ No .”
His wild eyes shifted from side to side. “You won’t even know I’m here. A few minutes and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Sure, until next week.” I cocked my head to the side. “Wednesdays. That’s your thing, right? You come up here, don’t eat a club sandwich, and then head back to that godforsaken house.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. “How do you know that?”
“Because people talk. Especially when it’s about creepy shit that makes them uncomfortable, just like this entire conversation right now.”
He shook his head rapidly. “You don’t understand.”
“You’re absolutely right. And I don’t care to understand, either. I have a whole life to get back to, and quite honestly, I can’t believe you, of all people, are standing here arguing with me about it. Riddle me this, True. When exactly did leaving me become a problem for you? Because you were damn near a professional not too long ago.”
A myriad of emotions washed over his face, pain prominent in each one. The truth hurt. It sure as hell had destroyed me. He hadn’t given one single fuck back then, so I figured he wouldn’t mind if I offered him the same courtesy.
He didn’t reply, and when the silence stretched, I couldn’t stop the bitter laugh that escaped my throat. Not that I’d tried hard—or honestly at all. The entire situation was beginning to feel more and more like a bad case of déjà vu.
Fuck it then.
Fuck it now.
Fuck it all.
“We’re done!” I snapped, my frustration boiling over.
At my outburst, he jerked so violently he stumbled back a step.
With the door freed from his blockade, I wasted no time pulling it shut—the lock clicking with bone chilling finality.
Rushing forward, he placed both palms to the glass and stared at me with a torrent of emotions storming in his eyes. “Please don’t do this.”
“Go home, True.”
“Gwen, please.”
“Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you? Just go home.”
And with that, Truett exploded.
“I can’t!” he boomed, his deep baritone echoing off the glass. “You don’t have to like me or understand me. Or, fuck, even care about me. But please, just let me come inside.”
My throat got tight, and for a brief moment, my frustration waned. I did care about him. Or I had back when I’d existed in a magical land filled with beauty, invincibility, and fairy tales—also known as youth.
The problem was I didn’t live there anymore. I’d grown up, even if he hadn’t.
Desperation flickered in his eyes like a dying flame as I stared at him.
As a people pleaser by nature, I had caved way too many times in my life.
With Truett.
With Jeff.
With the whole damn world, which seemed hell-bent on keeping me down.
But not this time.
The Rosewood was my fresh start. A new life, a new path, a new me.
This was my future, and Truett West didn’t exist there.
“I’m sorry,” I said, speaking the two words from our past that would never stop haunting me.
I saw the verbal blow hit him, his whole body absorbing the shock. It sucked to witness, and I hated that I had to be the one to cause it, but I had nothing left to give. My cup was already empty, so I wasn’t about to let him stab another hole through the bottom.
With my chin held high, I walked back to my office and shut the door.
There was no more banging or yelling.
No more arguments or pleas.
I wasn’t sure how long Truett stayed after that, but a few hours later, as I locked up for the night, I felt nothing but relief when the only thing waiting for me outside was a full moon.