Chapter 3
Chapter Three
JULIET
“Six hundred dollars?” I stare at the asshole across from me and wish with all my might that I were a violent woman.
Because I’d slap his smug, condescending face.
“Yep,” he says and leans his greasy hands on his counter. “Part was a hundred and twenty, and the rest is labor. Had to practically take the engine out to get to it. I know, it’s tough.”
He shakes his head and presses his lips together, as if he’s being sympathetic, but I see the gleam in his eye. He’s fucking mocking me.
I look up at the ceiling and wish I hadn’t told Christy to go ahead and leave me here. She dropped me off to pick up my piece-of-crap car, but I didn’t plan on the repairs costing this much money.
This guy, Barry, owns this mechanic shop in Silver Springs, which is roughly thirty minutes from Bitterroot Valley. It’s the only auto-repair shop near me that isn’t Brooks’s place.
Because Brooks made it very clear to me that my car and I are not welcome there.
So this is my only option. And I’m pretty sure Barry has been dicking me around, but I’m not a mechanic. I watched Brooks work on cars most of my teenage years, but I didn’t pay attention. I was too busy ogling his muscles.
With my heart in my throat, I pay with my credit card, and then I’m finally on my way home. I’m now about five grand in on repairs on this heap. It’s probably not worth it, but I can’t afford to buy something new.
I mean, I could afford it, but I refuse to touch any of the money left in the trust from my dead husband.
Fuck that shit. I don’t want anything from him.
“It’ll be fine,” I mutter to myself as I turn onto the highway and head back to Bitterroot Valley. “I just can’t renovate the upstairs bathroom for a few more months. No big deal. Maybe I should just join the gym and take showers there.”
But the idea of packing a bag and going to the other side of town to shower doesn’t excite me. It’s not that the shower I have isn’t usable, but it’s so tiny, and as much as I’ve scrubbed it, it never feels clean.
I also need to insulate and drywall the apartment upstairs. The summer was brutal in the heat, but at least I spent most of my time downstairs in the nicely air-conditioned restaurant. I even slept down there a few nights when the upstairs was sweltering.
Now, though, the weather is calming down, and there’s a nice breeze that blows through in the evenings. This morning, it was even a little chilly up there when I woke up, and it felt great. However, this winter could pose a problem if I don’t complete the walls.
The last owners used the upstairs for storage. It’s been framed in as an apartment, but no one ever needed to finish it.
Until now.
I’ve never been a DIY kind of girl, but I’m about to be. I can watch YouTube and figure it out. I bet I can even rent some tools somewhere. I’m going to make it work because I sank all of the money I was comfortable taking from Justin into my business. I need to live above the restaurant.
And once it’s all fixed up, it’ll be so amazing.
It’s just going to be a process, and that’s okay. I’ve lived in far, far worse.
My car gets me home without any trouble, and I park it in the alley, in my spot behind the restaurant, then cross to the stairs to my place so I can change for work.
It’s been raining pretty much constantly since last night, so the metal steps are a little slick.
I slip, and my shin scrapes along the teeth on the metal steps, making me cry out in pain.
“Oh shit, that hurt.” I turn and sit my butt on the steps, not caring at all that I’m getting wet, so I can catch my breath and breathe through the pain.
When I pull up my jeans, I see blood running down my leg.
“Fuck.”
Do I have bandages? Probably not.
So rather than climb up the rest of the way, I return to my car and drive the few blocks over to the pharmacy.
I’m sure I’m a mess. Wet hair, wet ass, and the blood is soaking through the front of my jeans, which makes me panic a little.
I love these jeans. I don’t want to ruin them. There’s a little hole from my fall, but I can patch that.
I limp inside, make my way to the bandage aisle, grab the supplies I need, and take them to the checkout counter.
Just as I turn to walk out to my car, I see Brooks stride in, and my heart sinks.
Really? He has to see me today? When I’m all bloody and limping and look like a drowned rat?
His eyes narrow and sweep down my body, and when he sees the blood, his hands fist, and he stomps over to me.
“What happened?”
He’s talking to me? Voluntarily?
My mouth falls open, but no noise comes out. He hasn’t started a conversation with me in more than fifteen years. My heart thumps, sending blood roaring through my ears.
“Juliet, what happened?”
His voice is hard. Deeper than it was all those years ago.
“I swear to God, Jules—”
“I just fell on my stairs. They were slick. It’s fine.” I lick my lips and move to step around him, needing to get home to clean myself up and get to work. Plus, being near him makes me … sad.
But when I get to my car, I startle because he’s standing behind me.
“Uh, what—”
“Let me see it.”
Shaking my head, I unlock the door and open it, toss the bag of bandages and antiseptic cream onto the passenger seat, and turn to face the man who broke my heart all those years ago. We’re standing in the rain, but neither of us seems to notice that we’re getting soaked to the bone.
Or care.
“I’ll be fine. Thanks for asking, though.”
He frowns and swallows hard, then looks back down at my leg. “You’re limping.”
“Yeah, I cut my leg.” I tilt my head to the side, watching him. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he cares. That he’s worried.
But I know that’s not the case.
“I need to clean this up, try to salvage these jeans, then I have to get to work. But really. Thanks for asking.”
His jaw clenches, and then he nods once and walks away.
Aside from when I made him talk to me at Harper and Blake’s engagement party, that’s the most he’s said to me in years.
After he disappears inside, I drive back to my place and carefully climb the stairs to the apartment, where I have to rush to change and get ready for work.
After a quick internet search, it appears that soaking the bloodied jeans in ice water may help with the stains.
So I go downstairs to grab a bucket of ice, then return upstairs to soak the denim before I go to work.
Tandy’s ankle is doing better, and she’s with me this morning, serving breakfast. Hazel will be here in an hour.
And it’s a good thing because it’s a busy morning.
But by the time lunch is over, things calm down considerably, and I decide that after the shit morning I had, I deserve a trip to the bookstore. I’ve finished everything I previously bought, and I think there’s a new book club read to buy.
I don’t actually attend book club meetings.
I don’t want to make things weird for Billie, the youngest of the Blackwell siblings, and the only girl.
I always thought of Billie as a younger sister, and I’m so fucking proud of the badass woman she’s become.
Not only is she absolutely gorgeous, with curves for days, beautiful long dark hair, and a fashion sense that would make any woman just a little jealous but she has also opened this brick-and-mortar bookstore, which specializes in romance and women’s fiction, and it’s thriving.
The store itself is gorgeous inside, with rows of pretty bookshelves and tables set with fun accessories, such as candles, bookmarks, and water bottles. The inviting chairs situated by the windows almost always have someone curled up in them, reading or working on a laptop.
She’s brought a lot of joy to this town.
I walk across the street, hardly limping at all now, and push inside.
“Hey, you,” Bee calls out with a wave. “I’ll be right there.”
“I’m just browsing,” I assure her, and immediately pick up this month’s Spicy Girls Book Club read. Over the Moon by Laura Pavlov. I do enjoy small-town romance, so this will be a fun one.
Then I proceed to make my way around the entire store, checking out everything new, and then approach the checkout with about a half dozen new finds.
“Oh, this one by Maggie Rawdon is so good,” Bee says. “You’ll love it. How are you, Jules?”
“I’m doing just fine. How are you, Bug?” I’ve called her that since she was little. Because she is as cute as a bug.
Although I don’t know why anyone thought up that expression.
“Aside from super pregnant and ready to be done with swollen ankles? I can’t complain.” She glows as she smiles over at me.
“You’re feeling okay?”
Bee nods and pulls a bag out from under the counter for my books. “Yeah, I’m okay. Pregnancy is rough, but at least I’m not throwing up every ten minutes anymore. Connor’s making me cut my hours down to part-time in the store starting next month, and then I’ll do admin from home with my feet up.”
Billie’s married to a literal billionaire. A sexy, Irish, obsessed-with-her billionaire.
She’s living in a romance novel.
“I think that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“He’s kind of swoony,” she admits. “So you bought the book club book. Does this mean you’re actually coming to the meeting this time?”
The smile falls from my face.
“Bug, you know that I don’t want to step on any toes.”
That’s code for, I know your family hates me, and I don’t want to make things horrible for you.
“Number one, you’re a paying customer, Jules. Two, my brother never comes in here. It’s not like you’ll be sitting next to him or something. Three, I love you and want you to come. It’s so much fun. You’re right across the street, so if you drink too much wine, you can just walk home.”
I chuckle and wrinkle my nose. I want to come. I want to so badly. I know that Harper and Ava attend, and I know some of the other girls, too, from back in the day.
“It’s Friday night at seven,” Billie continues. “And you’re more than welcome to join us. It’s fun. You already know most of the people. Even Jackie comes.”
I didn’t know that.
“She does?”
“Yep, and she brings treats with her.”
“I could bring some gluten-free options, if you want.”
“Oh, that would be awesome! Perhaps you and Jackie could alternate bringing the snacks. Or you each bring one. Honestly, you don’t have to bring anything, just come. Chat about sexy books and laugh with us for a while.”
I don’t remember the last time I truly laughed.
“Okay.”
Billie’s eyes go wide. “I’m sorry, what did you just say?”
“If you know for sure that your brother won’t be here, and it’s okay with the others if I come, then yes. I’d like to join you.”
Just thinking about it makes me sweaty. Justin would be so pissed. There’s no way he’d allow it.
He’s dead, Juliet. He doesn’t have a say. You don’t have to ask permission.
“Holy shit, this is the best day of my life.” Billie claps her hands. “I promise you’ll have so much fun.”
“I know I will. Thanks, Bug. I’d better get back over there.”
With a bag full of new books and a little bit of hope that book club might work out after all, I walk back across the street and around to the staircase to carry these upstairs before heading back down to get ready for the dinner rush.
But when I reach the stairs, I pause.
Because on each step, the metal has been covered with anti-slip stair treads.
Blinking back tears, I reach down to touch them. They’re real. I’m not hallucinating.
Brooks.
He’s the only one who knew I fell this morning. He’s the only one who knew it was because my stairs were slick.
He fixed them.
He made sure that I’m as safe from that particular injury as I can be, and he did it all without being asked.
Oh God.
What does this mean? Does it mean anything at all? He’s so angry with me, there’s no way he would do something for me out of the goodness of his heart. He’s made it clear that I’m nothing to him. I don’t exist in his world.
But then why did he do this? It’s so damn confusing. I loved him with all my heart. He was everything to me, and I did everything wrong. I let someone else manipulate me, lie to me, and ruin the best thing in my life.
I was supposed to marry Brooks. Have a family with him. Grow old with him.
Instead, I lost him because I believed a liar who convinced me that if he didn’t have my attention, he’d end his own life.
And Justin knew that he could do that to me because suicide is my trigger. That’ll happen to someone after they find their own father hanging in their garage at the tender age of twelve.
Brooks saw it as me choosing Justin over him, but that’s not what it was at all. I truly thought I was saving a man’s life.
But I lost the one person who’s ever truly loved me instead. Not just lost him but made him hate me with every fiber of his being.
And now, after all this time, he’s helped me, and I don’t know why. I should march myself right over to his garage and ask him.
I won’t do that, though. Because being on the receiving end of Brooks’s harsh words is almost worse than anything Justin did to me.
Okay, maybe not.
But it hurts all the same.
So I send out a silent thank-you to the universe and climb the stairs to my apartment, where I tuck my new books away and get back to work.