Chapter 9
Nine
Poppy
I take a step back from the fury rippling across his face.
“Storm—”
He sweeps out a hand and his Cedar Kiss goes flying, crashing to the floor, the glass shattering, shards flying, and alcohol and juice spraying in all directions.
Hell, that’s going to be sticky and nearly impossible to fully clean.
But it’s also far from the first time a drink has been launched in this bar.
Stifling my annoyance, I round the counter, intending to clean up the mess.
“Don’t,” he snaps when I crouch down, my fingers carefully positioned to pick up one of the slivers. “Just fucking don’t,” he growls.
I stand as he bends and grabs the shards—and does it much less carefully than I would have.
“Here,” I say quietly a few moments later, setting the trash can in front of him.
Stormy gray eyes clash with mine, but I don’t linger. Instead, I just go back behind the bar, snag the broom and dustpan we keep there, giving him a wide berth as I start to sweep the pieces that scattered far and wide.
“For the glass,” he mutters, tossing a hundred on the bar.
“It cost $2.27,” I mutter back, picking the bill up and shoving it at him. “That’s far too much.”
He takes it, tosses it on the counter again. “Then it’s for the glass and the drinks.”
Which still wouldn’t even bring us halfway to a hundred freaking dollars. “I—”
He shoves the trash can away, keeps sweeping. “Just shut the fuck up and take the money, okay?”
I shut the fuck up.
But there’s absolutely no way I’m taking that money.
Especially when he snatches the broom and dustpan from me and aggressively sweeps up the broken glass.
Asshole.
With nothing else to do, I go back behind the bar and grab a towel, the bottle of cleaner.
I spray and wipe, managing to finish the process without Storm taking over.
Then, without anything else to do, I stand there.
Watching him.
My heart hurting. My stomach in knots. And the sinking sensation that everything in my life changed the moment Storm drove back into Cedar Hollow.
Whether it’s for the good or bad, I don’t know.
He sighs as he snaps the broom and dustpan together, rounds the bar, not stopping until he’s a mere foot away from me.
Silently, he lifts them in my direction.
I take them just as silently.
Set them aside equally so.
But when I look back at him, the rage and fury are still there even though he says, the words coolly calm, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
The glass or the leaving me pregnant and alone without any way to contact you? I want to ask.
But I don’t or can’t or maybe it’s just that I won’t.
Open that can of worms up. Open my heart up to the hurt and fear and guilt.
Open my life to this man.
It’s not safe, every instinct in me screams.
So, I don’t tell him that it’s okay, don’t do anything but nod toward the door. “Maybe we should talk when it’s not the middle of the night.” My words are quiet.
“I think I’ve already waited long enough, don’t you?” he says just as softly, calling back the earlier words that had me letting him into the bar in the first place.
Had me letting him in even though I’m nowhere near ready to talk about this.
Nowhere near ready to let him into my life again.
To let him into Holly’s.
Even though—with the last, at least—I don’t have any right to exclude him.
And, God, that pisses me off.
Seven years. Seven fucking years I’ve done this alone, and he just marches back into town and—
I clench my teeth together, take a breath. “Storm,” I begin.
“You stole seven years from me, Poppy,” he grits out. “Don’t even try to keep me out.”
Keep him out?
Keep him out?
I lose my hold on my temper. “You were gone!” I snap back.
“I tried to call you when I found out I was pregnant. Tried to reach out to you through Rain and the team you were playing with. Hell, I even tracked down and called and emailed your agent multiple times.” I shove a hand through my ponytail.
“And when that didn’t work, I even went to your freaking dad.
” I laugh coldly. “You can imagine where that got me.”
Storm’s expression darkens.
“Exactly,” I mutter.
“You should have—”
“What?” I throw my hands up. “Please tell me what the fuck I was supposed to do. Tell me how the great Storm Harrison would have fixed this.”
He looks away, jaw flexing.
But he doesn’t have a good answer for that.
Probably because there aren’t any.
“You were gone for seven years, Storm. Without a word, without a return visit. I”—I slam my fist to my chest—“I was the one who carried her, who nursed her, who lost sleep and changed diapers and figured out how to handle her three-nager temper tantrums. I’ve potty trained and kissed boo-boos and done homework that makes my head spin because common core is the devil, and I’ve done most of it alone. ”
That’s not entirely fair.
Uncle Sully helped me.
But he wasn’t the diaper change and kissing boo-boo type.
And his head definitely would have spun while navigating common core if he’d been alive to see Holly bring home worksheets littered with it.
Storm is still for a long moment.
Long enough for the edges of my temper to soften.
Long enough for me to see the regret sitting heavy on his soul.
“I didn’t want that for you.” His eyes close, chest inflating and deflating on a sigh. “And I never would have wanted that for Holly.”
My heart convulses, tears clogging the back of my throat. “I know,” I whisper.
It’s why I tried so hard to find him.
Why part of me always hoped—
No.
I slam the lid on that thought, on the things I can’t allow myself to feel, and drop my chin to my chest, exhaling silently as I try to figure out what to do.
I need to protect Holly.
I can’t risk exposing her to a man who may—no, who will likely—disappear again.
But…I know Storm—or I knew him, anyway.
He’s not going to just go away, not going to leave.
Not right this moment, anyway.
Once he’s had his fill of Cedar Hollow, of Holly, of me…
That’ll change.
Of course, it will.
Then he’ll go, and it’ll just be Holly and me again.
And we’ll be okay.
Because we always are.
Because we have to be.
I clear my throat, exhale softly.
“We do a thing on Monday nights,” I say quietly. “We try a new recipe that Holly picks out for dinner.”
The storm clouds in his eyes clear. “Because the bar is closed on Mondays.”
Something flutters through my belly.
“You remember that?” I whisper.
A flash of lightning through deep gray irises, and for a second, I think he’s going to reach out and touch me.
I don’t know whether to back away…
Or to lean in.
Especially when he murmurs, “I remember everything.”
But before I can make a decision on whether to close that final inch between us, he spins on his heel and starts down the hall, disappearing as quickly as mist on a warm summer morning.
I hear the screech of the exterior door being pushed open.
Then him calling, “I’ll see you for dinner.”
Right before it slams closed again.