Eyeroll.
She says a quick goodbye and hurries back into the trailer, excited to slip into her outfit for the night.
“I’ll be back to help you with the shop opening, Daddy,” I say when he pulls me in for a monster hug.
“You’d better come ready for some hard manual labor,” he jokes, lifting my arm and flexing my skinny bicep.
“You know it,” I say with a chuckle.
Then he gets that ‘look’ in his eye. I feel my stomach coil into anxious knots. I feel my wallet recoil into the deepest depths of my purse.
He throws out a sheepish smile. “Hey, would you happen to have an extra twenty I can borrow? Just so I can make sure your Momma has a good time tonight?”
Dammit, Dad.
I know I can’t afford to part with the money but how am I supposed to say ‘no’ to him when he makes that meek, innocent facial expression?
Maybe I can sacrifice one or two of my coffee runs this week. And my girl squad is all wrapped up with the babies and/or the men in their lives right now, so I doubt we’ll be having any wild nights on the town any time soon.
“Sure, Dad. I can spare a twenty.” I reach into my purse and hand him the cash.
He gives me another hug and a larger-than-large smile. I hug him back then jump behind the wheel of my broke-down ride. I feel resentful. And guilty that I feel resentful. So I cover it all up with a big smile of my own.
I hear Dad call after me as I start the engine and pull off down the bumpy road. “Love you, baby girl. Drive safe.”
I fill up my tank at the local gas station before dropping by the post office. I glance surreptitiously around the office before I go and quickly grab the mail from my secret P.O. box. It’s mainly a bunch of junk—discount flyers and political pamphlets—but my pulse races when I see an envelope with familiar handwriting. Oh my god, it’s a letter from Eli.
Envelope clenched in my fist, I head for the exit. Blood is thumping in my temples as I cross the parking lot. I get behind the wheel. With sweaty hands, I tear open the envelope and unfold the letter. My eyes dart across the page.
I don’t want to pressure you but my fantasies aren’t enough. I need to see you, baby. I need to hold you, to taste you. I need all of you.
I can feel my soul withering with every word I read on the page. Jealousy shoots from my belly, straight up into my head. I’m such a fool. Here I am, lugging around capital-F feelings for this guy. Yet this letter is irrefutable proof that all he wants is Monica.
Sexy Monica.
Bold Monica.
Adventurous Monica.
Monica who doesn’t fucking exist.
Resentfully, I crumple up the letter into a ball and shove it into my purse. Blinking back tears, I start the engine and turn the radio all the way up. I drive back to Crescent Harbor, singing loud and telling myself that I’m over Eli. Once and for all.
17 Eli
I’ve always been a prideful man. I worked my ass off and had everything to show for it. But I have to admit that these days, I feel lost.
Honestly, I hadn’t been expecting to be released this early, and I guess I never stopped to wonder whether my seat in the family company would be waiting for me when I got out.
But now I have my answer—there’s no place for me in Kingston Realty Holdings. Despite Cannon’s offer, I just don’t fit in there anymore. It stings.
Anyway, until I can get my life straightened out, I’m just going to keep pouring myself into renovating this crumbling house.
I may not have a corporate job any longer, but I do have a lot to be grateful for. A house in need of attention, a load of free time to work on myself, a shit-ton of cash in my basement. And my daughter…
I glance up and lock eyes with Callie. She’s sitting on a blanket in the grass, chattering animatedly with a bunch of Barbie and Ken dolls. She gives me a hesitant glance, pops a grape into her mouth then turns back to her toys.
She and I had been making progress over the past few days, but after hearing me blow up at Cannon this morning, my daughter has retreated into herself again. After Jessa left, we spent the morning quietly sitting on the dock with our fishing poles and nothing I did could coax her back out of her shell.
Still, this little girl is what I’m most grateful for. She’s worth the emotional rollercoaster. As long as I have her, I’ll be okay.
So, here I am, bringing this sledgehammer down again and again on my rotten front porch. The physical exertion makes me feel a little bit better. After all the labor I did in prison, I’m no stranger to getting my hands dirty. I focus on swinging my hammer until the porch is nothing but a hollowed out frame.
I’m taking a break, leaned up against the side of the house, when I see Walker’s truck puttering up the drive with a loaded trailer behind it. He parks and hops out of the cab.
When my daughter sees him, she abandons her toys and goes scampering across the yard. “Uncle Walkerrr!” she yells as she leaps into my brother’s waiting arms. The two of them share a tight embrace.
Well, damn. What do I have to do to earn a greeting like that from my girl?
Callie is chattering her little face off, asking Walker a million and one questions about his newborn twins as they saunter in my direction, hand in hand.
“Ma said you were redoing the porch,” my brother says when Callie runs back to her toys. “I had a bunch of leftover two-by-fours I thought I’d drop by.” With his chin, he gestures toward his truck.
He’s in his cowboy
