I’ll be able to afford my own place soon, but it might not be soon enough.
“And you know Nana will never forgive us if we don’t come see her watermelon while it’s wearing its blue ribbon,” Melody says as she retrieves the ribs from the grill and arranges them on a giant serving plate. “She’s prouder of that watermelon than her great-grandchild and all three of her toy poodles combined.”
I smile, but it feels brittle on my face. “I think Nana will understand why I’m not up to a fair trip.”
“I think you should go,” my mom says, surprising me. “Don’t let Liam spoil your night. I’ll watch Felicity like we planned, and you can go have fun with your sisters and Mason. You might be surprised what comes to you while you’re out and about. Sometimes the answers to our problems are just waiting for us to relax and let them in.”
I seriously doubt there are answers waiting for me at the county fair, but after another round of cajoling over dinner, I agreed to head out with Lark, Melody, and Mason.
Mom’s right. I shouldn’t let Liam ruin anything else for me. If I do, then he wins, and I’m not about to let that happen.
Not tonight or any other night.
Not without one hell of a fight.
Chapter Five
Nash
I haven’t been in a fistfight in ten years, not since Dick Nance came to work on a construction site drunk off his ass, ran over my foot with his pick-up truck, and then had the balls to tell me I should have moved out of the way before he plowed through our lunch break area in reverse.
Even with three broken toes, I’d had no trouble teaching him a lesson about taking responsibility for his actions. There had been two punches—Dick’s sloppy jab at my chin, and my roundhouse that sent him to the ground, where he had the sense to stay until the foreman showed up to fire his ass.
I’m six foot four and, as my grandma likes to say, built like a brick shithouse. I work out six days a week, starting my day with cardio from six to six-thirty, weights for another hour, and then a lightning fast shower before I cruise into work at the station at eight.
One of the perks of making Captain last year is being able to set my own hours. No more night shifts for me.
Now I’m free to go out in the evenings, to enjoy everything Bliss River has to offer, to get involved in the community…and to run into my ex-girlfriend so often I would swear Rachael was stalking me if she hadn’t made it clear she loathes seeing my face.
At the moment—standing in the fading light outside the entrance to the county fair—she looks like she’s sucked a lemon dry.
She’s doing her best to pretend she hasn’t noticed me three people behind her and her “new man” in line, but she knows I’m here. Every self-conscious tug at her tee shirt and toss of her hair betrays her. But even if I couldn’t read Rachael like a book—a poorly written one I should have put down way before I reached the shitty ending—Lee’s constant fondling of her ass leaves no doubt he’s aware he has an audience.
His favorite audience. Since I caught him in bed with Rachael—in my bed, which I have since sold, and which sheets I burned to ensure all the oily, used-car salesman germs were banished from my home—he’s reveled in every opportunity to rub my face in his “big win.”
As if dating a compulsive liar who sleeps around while her boyfriend is working a double shift is something to get excited about.
I want to tell the bastard I’m glad he helped show me her true colors, and that I wouldn’t take back a woman who’d cheated on me for a lifetime of free bacon—the applewood smoked kind that’s basically meat crack.
But I refuse to give him the satisfaction. I didn’t lose my shit when I found him balls deep in the woman I’d trusted to be faithful to me, and I won’t lash out now.
I will remain calm, cool, collected…
Or at least I’m going to try.
Because yeah, I am pissed. Pissed at Rachael for betraying me, pissed at Lee for enjoying being part of it so much, and pissed at myself for trusting someone I shouldn’t.
Again.
Seems I would have learned my lesson by now. I put criminals behind bars for a living, but when it comes to women—redheads in particular—my “danger radar” is clearly fucked all to hell.
I can’t believe I was seriously considering Rachael’s “put a ring on it” ultimatum. I should have my head examined.
Making a mental note to glance at the list of counselors on the staff website, I shift my gaze away from the repulsive couple and pray to make it through the line without having to exchange words with either one of them.