Talk about a sucker punch straight to the fucking gut. The look on Grace’s face when I brought up Tiffany made me feel like the biggest asshole in the world. Bigger than I’d ever felt in my whole life. And that was saying something.

I hurt her and I was wrong for doing that.

I had to say something to make her hate me. To make her believe that we were through. We had to be. She couldn’t be in love with me. She was too good. Too pure. Once I’d said it and her blue eyes turned to ice and she stopped breathing like someone hit her, I instantly felt that same look in my gut.

I didn’t want a relationship and that was what she wanted. Deserved. I wasn’t the man who could give it to her, though.

Was I?

She was so perfect. At least that was how I saw her. I still couldn’t understand what it was she ever saw in me. We’re so different from one another. I was so dirty and crass. I was the guy who put a friend on the back burner to go rolling through the hay with his little sister. Behind his back. Even if she was encouraging me. She didn’t deserve someone like me. She deserved someone better.

I popped open another beer, dying inside at what I’d done to Grace. That’s when I noticed Echo’s water bowl still sitting on the kitchen floor. Little pebbles of food lay alongside the food dish. And damn if that didn’t punch me in the gut, too.

She loved that dog. Whatever happened between Grace and I, I wanted her to have that dog. She deserved it. It was so easy for that woman to fall in love. Her heart was so welcoming and eager. Bright. Just like the sun.

Sunshine.

For the next few days I sulked. I avoided Thatcher. I cleaned out my garage, made sure the floor was clean as it was ever going to be and got ready to paint the bike. I spent time cleaning the motorcycle frame with some soapy water and masked up everything I didn’t want paint on. I then used acrylic cleaner to clean it one last time to prepare it for painting. Once that was dry and I had proper circulation in there along with my face mask, I painted the Indian.

Aside from that, I did the daily grind at work, squeezing in any extra over-time where I could. Anything to help me keep my mind off Grace and Echo. Anything to stop wondering what Grace was doing, if she was dating some dumbass, if she went to the doctor for her consult. What the doctor said.

“It’s done. Did you paint it yourself?” Her melodic voice was music to my ears.

I turned on my knee to make sure I wasn’t dreaming but there she was. All five feet and ten inches of her hourglass figure standing in my driveway. The sun shone behind her making her blue top sparkle. Her hair wasn’t straight like she always wore it. Instead she’d let it go to its natural state of haphazard curls and I couldn’t have recalled if I’d ever seen anything more beautiful.

She had on a pair of white cutoff jeans and I was desperate to get my dirty hands all over them. To mark like a dog marked his territory. In her hands, she held an aluminum covered dish which made my stomach growl even though I didn’t know what it was. Dog shit probably. After the things I said to her, I would have deserved it.

I pulled my sunglasses off my face and shoved them into the collar of my shirt, taking in every ounce of her. Her toes were painted a girly shade of pink that matched her fingernails and her mile-long legs were darker than the last time I’d seen her. My gut turned with the knowledge that I let this go. That I fucked this up.

What had I been thinking? That I could save Grace from someone like me, when all I really wanted was to be something to her? For her to feel like she could count on me. When I ended it with her, it hadn’t sat well in my heart and seeing her now confirmed how wrong I’d been.

“Yeah,” I said. My throat was dry, feeling like it was going to collapse. “I painted it myself.”

“Willow green and ivory cream. It looks beautiful.”

“So do you, by the way.”

I still affected her, if the warming in her eyes meant anything, and that boosted my self-esteem to levels I hadn’t experienced in days. She was right about the paint job, though—I was damn proud of the way the colors turned out.

“Are you going to take it out for a ride soon?”

“Haven’t decided yet. It was my dad’s. Maybe it’s fated for disaster.”

“A bike that beautiful couldn’t possibly be doomed for disaster. Not when it’s that good.”

“Are we still talking about the bike?”

“What else would I be talking about?” she asked innocently.

“What are you doing here?”

She dug into the small front pocket of her cutoffs and retrieved my silver house key and wiggled it in the air. “I brought this back. Being since I don’t need it anymore. And today’s your birthday. I brought you an apple pie. A peace offering.”

I wanted her to keep the damn key. I couldn’t say that, though. Not when I was the one who ended our temporary arrangement. Multiple nights I’d laid in bed and waited for her to use the key. To let herself in and give me the what-for for ending things between us. For her to call bullshit on my bullshit.

“You didn’t upend the peace. I did.”

She shrugged her shoulder, “I pretended like temporary was okay even when I knew I was getting in deep. Happy Birthday.”

“You’re the first person in three years to wish me a happy birthday on my actual birthday. First person in about ten to bring me a birthday present.”

“The apple pie wasn’t my first choice.”

“What was your first choice?”

A faint blush colored her cheeks, looking a lot like how she did when I made her orgasm on my mouth. Was she ready for me now? If I got up and drug her to my bike, opened her legs, would I find what I’ve been craving these past few days?

More importantly, would she let me?

She sent me a look that read what the hell do you think I’d give you and I chuckled because maybe it was just me that wanted to bend her over this new seat and thrust into her harder than she’s ever had in her life.

“No luck on finding Echo?” I asked.

“None. There is this new place in Deer Creek called the Blue Heeler Animal Sanctuary but they haven’t seen her. I’ve called every day for the past few weeks. It’s a no-kill shelter so thankfully if they ever find her, nothing will happen to her.”

“Sounds familiar.” I stood from my crouched position and wiped my hands on a towel, wondering what her shorts would look like with my big palms imprinted on the back pockets. I inched toward her, aware of the fire in her eyes.

She held the key out for me like she was afraid to get her fingers dirty and I covered her wrist, held my other hand palm up beneath hers and shook the key from her fingertips into my palm. She was trembling and I got the feeling that she wanted to tell me off for ditching her.

“I’m so disappointed in you, Maverick,” she whispered.

Yeah, didn’t I fucking know it? I could see the pain in her eyes. It was in the air between us, suffocating me. I could feel it wrapping itself along the edges of my heart.

Stupidly, I asked, “Why, Princess?”

“You gave me her apple peeler,” she closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them, she was searching mine. “Why would you do that if this meant nothing to you? I don’t believe you. I deserve more of an explanation than what you gave me. A truthful one.”

I let go of her hand so I wouldn’t be tempted to bring it to my mouth, whisper apologizes into her palm, beg her to take me back and tell her about Lori.

“You broke your word, Gracie.”

“What? What word?”

“That you only wanted this to be temporary. You lied to Thatcher that you wouldn’t get hurt and I’ve already hurt you. I don’t know if I can do forever.”

“You keep saying that but your actions over the past month and a half are completely different.”

“I needed to step back and look at the big picture.”

Without another word, her eyes alight with a different kind of fire, she shoved the apple pie into my hands and stalked down the driveway, the pie plate burning my palms.

“Ouch. Fuck.”

There weren’t many times in my life I wanted to scream but this was one of them. When my phone started ringing, I managed to catch the pie mid-air before I could set it on my work bench and fumbled to get the damn phone up to my ear.

“Cap, here.”

“I gotta line on the kid.”

“Where is he?”

“Deer Creek like you told me. They’re staying at a trailer park.” I heard some papers ruffle through the line and then, “Magnolia Blossom Park. Number forty-nine.”

“Is he by himself?”

“Nope. Two other guys are staying with him.”

“Nothing I can’t handle. Thanks for the info.”

“Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll ride over, too, if you need that.”

How bad could it be? “I think it’ll be fine. Thanks.”

I disconnected and wrote alongside my notes ‘49’ so I wouldn’t forget. As if seeing Grace today wasn’t enough, now this. I eyed the apple pie and a second later I was inside savoring each bite. Damn, the woman sure knew how to bake. Every bite I took filled me with an odd sensation of having both Candi and Grace in my heart. What once was and what was the future.

“Could have been the future,” I spoke aloud to myself. Because that was just another in the long line of shit I’d fucked up and ruined in my life. The fact that she remembered my birthday and brought me a pie told me she didn’t completely hate my guts. I was the idiot here. Not her.

I was the one who insisted that I couldn’t do relationships. If you tried you could, idiot. Try as I might, I couldn’t necessarily believe that. Somehow, the thought of anyone depending on me gave me the jitters. Anyone except her. That would be what Grace would want. Deserved. She already was, too. She was coming to find me as someone she could trust and share things with. Her body. Her feelings about her chest. Those things that she didn’t dare confide with other people, she’d shared with me. And hadn’t I found that within her, too? I trusted her with my past about Candi and Corey. My mother.

It would have worked with Candi if she hadn’t gotten killed. That’s the fucking truth. I would have cut a motherfucker up to make our relationship work. Where’d I lose that passion? When she died?

Damn, why was I hashing this out?

Because you love her, you fool. My heart raced as I thought about that. The way she smiled, the way she pretended like she didn’t need anyone – like she wasn’t lonely – the way she would chatter on and on about her behavior chart at school and the little tags the children were so eager to receive from Ms. Patterson. The way my heart clenched and my gut ached at the sight of her standing in my driveway, full of smiles. The way I missed her fucking sass and properness.

“Mrs. Carter.” It rolled off my tongue before I had a chance to think about it. Since it had, I couldn’t ignore how it sounded. Sounded good. Grace Carter.

Shit.

I thought of my parents and how both of them had changed their lives. Granted, my father had to pay the time, but he managed to change himself on the inside. Same with my mother. I knew she hadn’t chosen to be an addict, but she worked on changing her life around and stayed strong enough to avoid a relapse.

Why couldn’t I change? All I had to do was take a chance and give myself the opportunity to find happiness. I had found it. When I helped her steal the pie record from Mrs. Reynolds. That day at the lake. The night we made love. I was happy with Grace.

Maybe for the first time in my life, I followed my parents’ examples. If they could change themselves and be happy, I could, too.

I’m sure Thatcher was going to hang me by the balls for this one. That I was in love with his little sister.

But nothing was going to stop me now. She was worth losing a friend over – if that was what it was going to come down to.

Suddenly my boring-assed birthday had about ten things I needed to do. Thank God it was still early in the morning. Thatcher was at the top of the list. I felt in order to make it right, I had to start with my friend. I owed him that. Gracie, on the other hand, was going to take some finesse. She was going to take more than a simple apology and I knew exactly what I could do that would make her change her mind.

Turns out my birthday was looking up for the first time in years.

* * *

“You got a minute, man?”

“Give me a sec,” Thatcher yelled from the back of his shop.

I dug into the can of peanuts and plopped down on one of the stools, shucking the shells onto the metal table in front of me.

“What’s up? Damn, Mr. Haller ordered some feed bunks. You know he inherited all his dad’s cattle? Five hundred head.”

I let out a low whistle.

“He knows I don’t have fifty feed bunks on hand. Doesn’t stop him from busting my balls though. They just got here before you showed up. Haven’t seen you lately. Ryan was looking for you the other day, too. He ever find you?”

“No. What’d he want?” I asked.

“Wanted to give you a job making a sign out of the plasma cutter and putting it up by all the lots so people could see it when they rolled into town.”

“I need to call him. I came in here to talk to you about something.”

Thatcher stopped dead in his tracks. He recognized my tone. I meant business.

“Is it about Grace?”

“It is. I was an ass to her.”

“Partially my fault,” he admitted.

“True. Apology accepted. She’s different. Different than Tiffany. Different than Sara and all them other broads, in case you’re wondering.”

“What are you getting at, Cap?”

I stared him dead in the eye. “I’m in love with her.”

The A/C kicked on, the whir and blow making up for the loss of noise in his shop as he stared at me.

“Are you serious?” he asked warily.

“Yes, I’m serious,” I vowed.

“Good. I would hate to have to kick your ass.”

“You couldn’t if you tried. Remember when you were still in school and I’d just started working for your dad?”

“That was a long time ago. I could take you now. You’re old. Happy Birthday, old fucker.”

“I’m in my prime. It’d be a happy birthday if you told me you got my back with Grace. If I didn’t fuck that up already.”

“She’s pretty stubborn.”

“No shit. Figured that out the second she showed up on my doorstep. Look man, it took me a while to realize she’s special. Different. That I want her-”

“Only her?”

I cut him a look, “Only her. For good.”

“What about your dad? I don’t want her mixed up in any of his crap.”

“He’s been born again. My mom—Lori—doesn’t want a thing to do with him. Told him so.”

“Grace said she met your mom. Almost thought you tricked her.”

“It was the real deal. She’s changed a lot, you know? Hard to begrudge someone who looks and acts like a normal person. Runs that center up in Longville. Owns it. Her and her husband, Peter. She has two kids.”

“You going to meet them?”

“I don’t know, man. One step at a time. We cool?”

“We’re cool. Abby and I talked a lot about this last night and she convinced me that I have no ownership over Grace and she is a grown woman who can see, and do, whoever she wants. It was difficult thinking it could be my friend who is always bragging about fucking different women all the time. Good luck on my old man. He’ll throw a shit fit.”

“I was more worried about you. Your dad I can handle.”

“You know she’s up in Deer Creek right now? Has an appointment.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand over his chest.

“Not the real deal though?”

“Nah. Not today. Just a visit. She went to one already. Guess this is different.”

“She’s really going to do it. I’m proud of her.”

“Discussing that you’re in love with her is one thing. Let’s not discuss her surgical options.”

I belted out a laugh and snagged a handful of peanuts. I stuck my hand out across the table, “Thanks, man.”

Thatch gripped my hand and gave it a tug. “No problem.”

Part of me wanted to drive up to Deer Creek and find Grace but I knew she needed to do this on her own. It wasn’t the surgical appointment. Maybe if she forgave me, she’d let me take her to that.

I had other things to do in Deer Creek that couldn’t wait. I fired up my bike and drove out of Lone Star, realizing I didn’t need the paper I scribbled on earlier. Trailer number forty-nine. Stuck in my head like a magnet.

An hour later I pulled up outside a dingy trailer park. The sign was metal and had rusted out spots along the top trim where faded, painted flowers held on for dear life. It read ‘Magnolia Blossom.’ Beneath the script it read in block letters, A HAPPY PLACE FOR EVERYONE. By the looks of it, it wasn’t a happy place anymore. Maybe once, back in its hay day in what I guessed was the early sixties. Now, it was sad.

Parts of the wooden fence that used to surround the property were busted out. A small portion was gone completely. The owners must not have thought it was a happy place anymore, either.

I took the only road into the lot and parked beneath the shade of a large elm tree a few trailers down from number forty-nine. The park itself was mostly quiet. A few dogs barked a street over and I could hear a baby wailing in the distance. Number forty-nine was a dirty shade of cream with brown trim—could use some power-washing that would go a long way in cleaning it up.

The yard hadn’t seen a drop of water since the early sixties either. Bone-dry, yellow and I imagined it would break the second someone stomped all over it. I leaned back on my bike and waited. Watched the trailer, listened.

I sat like that for hours, until it was almost dark, before a beat-up truck pulled alongside the curb and two guys hopped out. I couldn’t get a great view on either one. One was tall, lanky with light colored hair and the other was short and heavyset. Non-descript clothes as far as I could tell. Neither seemed aware of what was going on in the trailer park around them.

They stayed inside the trailer for almost an hour before they came back out and took off in the beat-up truck again. As they passed me, I was able to catch a quick glimpse of the two. Nothing spectacular. The tall, lanky one was driving and blew cigarette smoke out his window as he passed. Fat boy was hunched over in his seat and I couldn’t make out what he was up to as fast as they passed by.

Now was as good as time as any. Knowing they’d both been here and just left was my opportunity. I hopped off my bike and casually walked past the few trailers to theirs like I owned the place and strolled right up the creaking steps to the door on the side of the trailer, my lock pick already in hand. I was in luck. Door was open.

I pulled the screen door slowly and went inside. Low and behold, lady luck was on my side again as there, five steps from the screen door, on the torn linoleum floor, inside a cardboard box that went almost to my hips, was Echo quivering in the only corner that wasn’t laden with dog piss and shit.

“Remember me, baby? Yeah, you do. I came to take you back to your mother.”

I heard a vehicle pull up outside and the doors slammed shut. Before I could retrieve her from the box, the two goons stood at the screen door.

Fuck.

“Oh shit, I didn’t shut the door when we left, Bro.”

I stood up to my full height from my stooped position when they noticed me.

“Who the fuck are you?” Surfer Boy Will was my guess based on Grace’s description of him, asked as he swayed into the trailer with fat boy following behind him.

I recognized the signs immediately. Bloodshot eyes. Trying to pronounce his words clear enough for me to understand. The way he swayed as I stood there.

Drugs.

I bided my time, considering what might be the best way to handle the situation. Outrunning them seemed like a good possibility if I could move them away from my only exit.

“Answer us, punk. Who the fuck are you?”

“He’s here to steal our shit.” Fat boy said at the same time.

“I’m your worst fucking nightmare.” I dug my heels in, ready for whatever I needed to do.

Fat boy moved closer in behind skinny Will and quickly shoved him into me. I stepped back quick enough to avoid catching his fall and having him take me down with him. Problem was, it wasn’t fast enough to miss the blow to my left temple.