Page 2 of Make Me Trust Again (Bluebonnet Creek #3)

CHAPTER ONE

ROSE

May

“I’m not paying child support.”

“You—” I blink, unsure if I heard him correctly because he can’t be serious.

Only he is.

My fingers clench into fists, nails digging into my skin. “He’s your son .”

“And I was taking care of him while he lived under my roof,” John says nonchalantly, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement.

He was enjoying this.

The asshole.

“You mean, you contributed financially?—”

My lawyer gives me a warning look.

I bite my tongue and press my lips into a tight line while she turns to John.

“Mr. O’Neil,” Mrs. Lewis says evenly, her calm voice completely contrasting the storm brewing inside my chest. “My client has been very forthcoming during the mediation. She isn’t asking for anything except for the child support so that your son can continue to receive the best medical care.”

John works his jaw, his expression growing distant as he thinks.

His hand rises, and he rubs at his chin.

Today, he’s clean-shaven, his dress shirt is pristine, and his suit is ironed.

There is no trace of the rampant man that I’ve been living with for the last year of our marriage.

The man who either blamed me for the ordinary life he had to live or ignored me and shifted his focus to training and his dream of maybe playing in the NFL.

The dream that was officially crushed this past fall.

As if he can feel my gaze, John turns to me, his eyes meeting mine, and the victorious gleam in them sends an icy chill running down my spine.

“Fine.” Tense silence fills the room for a heartbeat. I hold my breath, and the hair at my nape rises as I wait for the other shoe to drop. John smirks at me. “But if I have to pay child support, I want shared custody.”

Shared—

“Absolutely not.” The words are out before I can stop them.

My heart starts beating violently inside my chest, the sound echoing in my eardrums. I can hear the lawyers going back and forth, their voices just a distant noise as I stare at my husband, my soon-to-be ex- husband.

He’s leaning back in his chair, his elbows resting on the armrests, completely at ease as he watches me, basking in my misery.

He is doing this on purpose; we both know it.

He loves torturing me.

I left him, and now he wants to get his revenge. And what better way to hurt me than to do it through our son?

He might not care for him, but he knows there is nothing I wouldn’t do to keep Kyle happy and safe. And that includes keeping him safe from John.

John shifts in his seat and leans his elbows against the table. “Stop this nonsense, Rose, and come back home.”

Now he wants me to come back home? And for what? So he can act like I don’t exist? So I can be unhappy and unloved like I’ve been for most of our seven years of marriage?

“No.” I push my chair back, the metal screeching loudly against the hardwood. Everybody quiets, all heads turning to me. “Kyle stays with me, that’s non-negotiable. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a job interview to get to, and I’m already late.”

I grab my bag and turn toward the door.

But of course, John wouldn’t let me have the last word: “You didn’t need a job when you were with me.”

No, I didn’t.

But I paid the price for my ignorance.

“So, Miss Hathaway, do you have any work experience?” Mr. Larson asks, a lazy smile on his lips.

I try to hold still under his intense, dark gaze, but it’s hard when every instinct in my body is telling me to get the hell out of this room. I thought the lady from HR would be conducting the interviews, but her boss just came out when I got to the office and insisted he would do it himself.

Get a grip, Rose. You need this job.

“Unfortunately, no.” I plaster a big, confident smile on my lips.

The one that my mom insisted I should wear at every public gathering when we stood next to my father.

“I had to quit college after I got pregnant, and since then, my focus has been on my son. However, I’ve always been a really quick learner, and I’m willing to work hard to learn the ins and outs of this job. ”

“Mm-hmm…” Those dark eyes fall on my mouth, and the guy’s tongue darts out, sliding over his lower lip. “I’m sure you are a very quick learner, my dear.”

An uncomfortable shudder goes through me at the innuendo in his voice.

The way he watches me makes my skin crawl, and the endearment doesn’t help.

Still, I keep my face neutral, that fake, pleasant smile on my lips the whole time as I go through all of the reasons why I don’t have the luxury to mess this up.

I need this job. Like, I needed it yesterday.

Sure, I have some of my trust fund left, but that will only take me so far, which means finding a job and saving some money so that I can move out of my parents’ house.

Not only does Kyle need some sense of stability, but I also need to get the hell out from under my parents’ roof.

I’m sick of listening to how I should get back with John.

I won’t be doing it.

No way, no how.

Mr. Larson asks a few more questions, but those eyes keep staring at my mouth, or if not that, my cleavage. The need to tug my dress up and cover myself is overwhelming, but I sit still until he wraps up the interview.

Getting to my feet, I extend my hand for a quick handshake. Only his big, sweaty palm envelops mine, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from visibly shuddering.

“We’ll be in touch, my dear,” he says, his thumb rubbing over my knuckles as his other hand pats my shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.

Seriously?

Was I genuinely this desperate for a job?

John’s face pops into my mind, and I force out a fake smile.

“Of course, I’ll be looking forward to it.”

In my nightmares.

Nodding, I tug my hand back; however, before I can get the hell out of there, his hand lands on the small of my back. “Let me walk you out.”

“Oh, that’s really not necessary, Mr. Larson. I’m sure I can manage.”

“Nonsense.” He chuckles. “Such a pretty lady should never walk alone.”

Deciding that fighting him is futile and will take longer, I reluctantly give in.

He chats as we make our way to the parking lot, where I suffer through another meaty arm grab before I manage to slip into my truck.

The white Range Rover was a gift from my parents for my sweet sixteenth, something I was grateful for because, at least in that regard, I didn’t depend on John.

Tossing my bag on the passenger seat, I start the car and pull out of the parking lot.

The soft country music is playing on the radio as I make my way back to Bluebonnet, my mind still reeling with possibilities.

I do not want to take this job if it isn’t absolutely necessary. That man was giving me the creeps. Sure, as a receptionist, I wouldn’t work with him, but something told me that wouldn’t matter.

I sent out a few more e-mails earlier today; not an easy feat since Bluebonnet Creek is a small town, and there aren’t many job openings to begin with, especially not for a college dropout who hasn’t-worked-a-day-in-her-life single mom of a six-year-old boy who’s deaf.

Still, I was hoping any of those would get back to me and get back to me fast. I guess I could always search for something else while I worked here.

Maybe I should try to take a few classes at the local community college. It wouldn’t be ideal, but it might give me an edge in the job market. God knows I need any edge I can get. Something had to give, right?

A girl could ho?—

A loud bang startles me out of my thoughts as the truck swerves on the road.

My fingers tighten around the steering wheel as I try to gain control of my vehicle.

My foot presses against the brake instinctively, and the tires let out a screeching sound.

My body jerks forward, hair falling in my face, when the truck finally comes to a stop.

Oh my God.

My whole body is shaking as I suck in a lungful of air, my heart hammering against my ribcage. Slowly, I lift my head and look out, taking in the empty road in front of me.

It is fine.

I am fine.

One by one, I uncurl my fingers from the steering wheel and reach for the door handle. My legs are shaky when I get out and take in my truck. It’s standing askew, and the front right tire is busted.

“Dammit.”

I so do not need this right now.

I run my still-shaky fingers through my hair. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

So much for thinking things can’t get worse.

I glare at the offending tire, at all the different screws and mud on the black rubber.

Do I even have a spare? I never had to use one, so I have no idea, and even if I had one, I don’t know how to change it.

When I was a teenager, my dad used to take care of my car, and then after I got married, John was the one to do it.

I never had to think about it, until now.

Pulling out my phone, I search for our local mechanic’s number. Mrs. Darrow answers after a few rings, her voice extremely perky as she singsongs, “Darrow’s Mechanic Shop, Julia speaking, how can I help you?”

“Hi, Mrs. Darrow, this is Rose O’Ne— Hathaway.”

“Rose, hi! How are you doing, honey?”

“I… I’ve had better days,” I admit, letting out a sigh. “I was just going home when my tire blew.”

“Oh, no, that’s awful.”

“Tell me about it. Do you think somebody could come and replace it? Or tow my truck back home?”

“Dang it, Jimmy just went out with the tow truck. There was an accident, so it might take a while. Can you call somebody else to come and help you out? If you have a spare, they can just exchange it, and you’ll be good to go.”

Shit.

Could this day get any worse?

“I’m sure if you called John, he’d be there in no time,” Mrs. Darrow continues.

I swallow back a snort. There was no way I was calling John.

“I’ll try and figure something out.”

“You do that, honey. If nobody can help, just give me a call, and I’ll send Jimmy as soon as he’s back.”

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Darrow. I really appreciate it.”

Hanging up, I let my hand drop, my fingers clenching around the phone. “Now what?”

Nibbling at the inside of my cheek, I consider calling my dad, but push the thought back. Maybe I can look it up online? How difficult can it be? Sure, I never changed a tire or done anything else around my car, but…

I’m opening my browser so I can find a how-to video when the sound of an engine approaching fills the air. I turn around and lift my hand to shield my view from the blazing sun just as the car pulls to a stop behind mine.

My eyes adjust as the door opens, and a tall body emerges from the black pickup truck.

I tilt my head back and then back some more, taking in a plain black tee stretched over firm muscles and wide shoulders, all the way to piercing hazel eyes and scars that run over the side of his face.

The face I’ve stared at way too many times when we were kids, and I was crushing on my best friend’s older brother.