“Yes.”
“Why?”
I open the passenger door and step to the side so she can climb in. “Because I needed a job, and they gave it to me,” I answer honestly.
When I returned six months ago, it was with my tail between my legs and a broken heart on my sleeve. Gram Romano took pity on me, offering me a job to fix the broken dishwasher in her café. She was the first one to give me a chance. Everyone else was still a little gun-shy about the jackass teenager I’d been when I left.
I couldn’t blame them for that either. I’ve been arrested more times than I can count, and I’m still working off a debt to the Johnson farm for the night I stole their tractor and crashed it into a ditch. Honestly, I could have called my dad. Since he is the mayor, he could have pulled strings, given me a job.
But only if I grovel at his feet and apologize for the mountain of things he’s accused me of. And after what he’d put me through, there is no fucking way I am going to apologize. If the asshole wants to see me, he can make the first move and admit he’s a dick.
I climb into my truck and buckle my seatbelt, glancing over at her long enough to see that she’s sitting as far as she can from me, practically pressed against the door.
Whatever, if she wants to be uncomfortable for the fifteen-minute drive to the hospital, that’s on her.
My hope that she will forgive me? Pretty much gone to shit, just like that last night ten years ago did.
3
Macey
“You’re a kid.” The last words Lincoln ever spoke to me run through my mind, an embarrassing repeat track that won’t leave me alone no matter how many times I try to change the tune.
He’d humiliated me in front of his entire senior class and most of my sophomore one while his friends laughed wildly at me as I ran from the party with tears in my eyes.
We were friends back when we were little. Our dads were best friends, spending nearly every weekend together up until Lincoln’s mom passed away when he was fourteen.
We were best friends for years, and the moment his balls dropped, he couldn’t give a shit less about me.
Why? Because in his eyes—his impossibly beautiful, blue fucking eyes—I was a kid. Didn’t matter that we were only two years apart. To him, I was an annoying little girl he’d been forced to spend time with. Bastard. He and I both knew that wasn’t true. You can’t fake a decade of friendship. Until Patricia fucking Kells came into the picture. Bitch. I still blame her for every moment of that night, because even though it had been Lincoln’s words, you’d have to be blind to not see her pulling the strings.
I steal a glance at him, the sight of him in dark blue jeans and a black T-shirt enough to tie my stomach into knots. The years have been kind to him, and I hate it. This whole interaction would have been a lot easier if I could have pitied him. If he’d looked broken down, but he has never looked better.
I’ve never been one for facial hair, but his neatly trimmed beard fits his face perfectly. His hair curls under the hat, the length of it much longer than the buzz cut he rocked all through school. Growing up, I’d always considered him a beautiful boy, a word I typically wouldn’t use to describe someone with that much testosterone.
Now though, I wouldn’t place him anywhere near that word. Hell, it wouldn’t even come close to describing the man I’m looking at right now. Now, I would say he belongs firmly in the rugged category.
Lincoln Calloway looks like the type of man to throw you over his shoulder and fuck you into next week. Or maybe that’s just the teenage girl inside of me that’s secretly still in love with him, crying out for him to notice her.
I hate the way my blood heats as I take him in. He glances over at me, and our eyes meet for the briefest of moments, but it’s enough to scald me. Turning away, I focus back out the window.
I should be focused on my gram, and yet here I am fantasizing over Lincoln fucking Calloway. Dickhead. I’d known he was back—my friend Charlie told me the moment he stepped foot back into our small mountain town—but I hadn’t expected to see him here, waiting for me like we were still friends.
“How was the flight?” he asks, his deep baritone a familiar sound that washes over me—but not in the way it used to. Now, it’s more like an acid wash burning me all over again.
“Fine.” I cross my arms.
“How’s school?”
I turn to him. “Are we seriously going to make small talk?”
He shrugs. “Why not?”
“Because I hate you.” I smirk, the irony of my juvenile statement not lost on me. I was acting just like the kid he’d once accused me of.
I watch his Adam’s apple bob, and he nods. “Noted.”
Guilt settles over me, weighing on my shoulders. It was ten years ago, I remind myself. “I’m sorry, I’m just on edge.”
“I get it. She’s doing okay, if that’s any consolation. Was barking orders at hospital staff when I was there this morning.”
I gape at him. “You were there?”
He nods.
“Why?”
He shrugs as if hanging out with my gram is totally normal for him. “Because I was visiting with her.”
Before I can wrap my mind around why Lincoln would be hanging with my grandmother, he pulls into the parking lot of the large hospital. It’s nearly empty this early in the morning, and the second his truck is in Park, I shove the door open, slamming it behind me and walking as quickly as my two legs will take me into the building.
“This way,” Lincoln says, and I realize he kept up with my mad dash.
My heart is in my throat, my stomach rolling as I follow him down a long hall and to an elevator. He pushes the up-arrow button, and I shove both hands into the pocket of my hoodie as we wait for the doors to open.
Manners ingrained in me from a young age urge me to ask Lincoln what brought him back to town, but I resist. I am a different person now. No longer the malleable teenager who’d fallen head over heels for him.
The elevator dings, and I step aside so a couple can climb off before I step into the car with Lincoln at my side. He reaches across me and presses a button as my panic rises to a whole new level.
What is she going to look like? Is she awake? Lincoln said she’d been awake that morning, but things change. “How long ago did you see her?” I ask quickly.
The ghost of a smile passes over his lips. “Just over an hour.”
I nod and go back to the internal panic. A lot could change in an hour.
The elevator dings again, signaling the doors opening, and I step off followed closely by Lincoln.
“To the right,” he instructs from behind me.
I don’t wait for him to follow, just start walking in the direction he told me to. My dad comes into view, sitting in his wheelchair in the hall, and I run to him, desperate to hear him tell me she’s going to be okay.
He smiles at me, my first proof that my world isn’t coming apart. If he’s happy, it must mean Gram is okay.
“Macey bear! I’m so happy to see you!” he greets me, and I lean down to wrap my arms around him.
“You too, Dad. How is she?” I ask, both excited and terrified to see her.