Page 40 of Now to Forever (Life on the Ledge Duet #2)

Twenty-Six

“What’s going on?” Wren drops her bike and eyes my athletic clothes as I stand on the porch. Between the loud buzz of power tools, a crew of men shout instructions as they carry kitchen cabinets into the house. “Why do you look like that?”

“We’re getting fit.” I thrust the bag I’m holding toward her. “There’s nothing to do inside, this dog hates me, and I read exercise might help. Your shrink told you the same thing. Go figure.”

She frowns. “Do I have a choice?”

“Sure,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “Do you want to tell your dad about your little love marks or should I?”

She rolls her eyes—much more pronounced now that they aren’t surrounded by black. “You’re the worst.”

“I know I’m not.” I smile with all my teeth. “Go get changed.”

When she emerges, she’s unexpectedly beautiful.

Her hair is pulled up in a ponytail, showcasing the soft features of her face and a kidney bean–shaped birthmark below her left ear I’ve never seen.

The navy-blue long-sleeve shirt makes her big blue eyes pop, and she’s significantly more approachable in tennis shoes versus her usual combat boots. Molly on a leash, we take off at a jog.

Less than a quarter of a mile later, we’re both doubled over and panting.

“This sucks,” she gasps. “I don’t know why Luke does this willingly.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” My words are stuttered by shallow breaths. “With another word thrown in.”

Molly, being the demon she is, barks next to us, unaffected.

Wren and I don’t need to say a word: Instead of going any farther, we turn around, walking toward home.

“Are you and my dad dating?” she asks.

“Uh.” I squint, considering the fact that he’s become a constant intrusive thought and knows how to fuck like a fictional monster. “Not per se.”

“Well do you like him?”

I scrunch my nose. “Maybe.”

“So what’s the problem?”

I look at her. Thinking about all the ways I’ve pushed her that she most certainly has not wanted to be pushed. All the cuts on her arms and displaced pain she carries and feeling the teeniest bit guilty at the double standard I’ve set. “I’ve never really dated.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” When she sees I’m not joking, her eyes widen. “Wait—for real?”

“I’ve dated,” I explain. “Just not really what you’re thinking. Seriously. Exclusively. Longer than two months. ”

I meet someone, enjoy the newness, and then end it based on real or fabricated problems to avoid the ultimate end looming around the corner: Nobody will show up or stay forever. A point repeatedly driven home throughout my life.

“Why?” she asks, stunned. “You’re, like, gorgeous. And funny. And, I don’t know, perfect except for all the swear words and the way you kind of bully me into doing things.”

I grin victoriously. “I knew you thought I was funny.”

“I’m serious, Scotty.” Her eyes look over me. “Is this the astronaut thing?”

My eyes narrow.

“On the first day we met, you told me you didn’t have kids because you didn’t have good parents. And I said, so because you have bad parents you can’t be one. And then you said, would you go to space without going to astronaut school.”

“That sounds like something I’d say.” She gives me a deadpan look. “Fine. Yes. Maybe.” I throw a hand in the air. “I don’t know.”

We stop for Molly to sniff a tree.

“If your theory is right,” she says, “people should never try anything new. My dad’s parents weren’t cops, he went to the academy to learn.

And your parents were awful but look at you”—she gestures the length of my torso—“you’re all this.

” I study the yellow leaves of a tree. “And if you’re right—” Her voice lowers, and we stop in the middle of the street.

“Then I should never be a mom either. Or a wife. I shouldn’t even bother to talk to Luke because I’m never going to be anything anyway. ”

I don’t know if I want to slap her or hug her and never let go.

I opt for scolding. “Don’t you ever say that.

You hear me? You deserve everything you want and then some.

You deserve to be happy and be loved and give love.

If you ever say that shit again, I’ll—I don’t know what I’ll do—tie you to a tree and tell Molly to gnaw your legs off then piss in the wounds. Got it?”

“Huh,” she says as we start to walk again. “So the rules of misery don’t apply to everyone, just you?”

I look at her, and she smiles. The little shit is playing me. As annoyed as I am, she has a point.

We’re quiet the rest of the walk until we turn into the driveway. There, Ford is waiting in jeans and a flannel next to his truck, exposed forearms I’d like to lick and amused look on his face as we trudge toward him.

“What’s this?” he asks, smiling as he takes in our outfits.

“Your girlfriend is the devil and made me run for five whole minutes,” Wren says giving him a hug. I don’t miss her emphasis nor slight glint in her eye .

“Surprise. I sleep in the retort,” I deflect.

“Explains so much.” Ford says to me. Then to Wren: “You sticking around?”

She shakes her head walking over to her bike and scooping it up. “I have homework.” She smiles sweetly. “And Scotty said she wanted to talk to you alone anyway.”

By my side and out of Ford’s sight, I flip her off.

She grins, pushes her bike a few steps then calls over her shoulder, “Don’t be late for dinner, Dad. ”

His whole face smiles as he watches her ride away. “She’s in a good mood.”

“She’s something all right.”

The man installing the cabinets waves me over from the porch. “All done,” he says as the two crew members load tools into their truck. “Check her out.”

Inside, despite the grafittied floors and bare walls, it’s degrees cozier. The cabinets have a bright finish with gold hardware on the bottom; instead of cabinets up top, it’s simple open shelving.

I run a hand over one of the doors and open it, not bothering to hide my smile as I imagine stacks of colorful dishes and mismatched mugs. “I love them.”

The man grins, handing me a clipboard. “Always good to hear. Sign here and here,” he says. “We’ll email the bill.”

There’s no lingering small talk or handshaking. He takes the clipboard, picks up a tape measure, and he’s out the door.

“Looks good,” Ford says, leaning against the edge.

I open a drawer, empty for me to fill with temporary silverware.

“It does.” I lean into him; he wraps an arm around my shoulders.

It’s hard to believe this bright space filled with colors and modern furniture and prints was ever the place it started out as. Though the walls are bare and the bookshelves only house Zeb’s old records, it breathes with life.

“Have time for the birds?” I ask.

He clutches his chest in exaggerated gusto. “I thought you’d never ask. ”

Hand in hand, we walk to the porch, sitting so our legs dangle over the edge and our knees touch.

“That one,” Ford says, pointing to the large blue bird on the feeder.

“Blue jay,” I say with a know-it-all tone.

“That?”

I scoff. “Nuthatch.”

He grins, bumping my shoulder with his. “You trying to seduce me, Scotty Armstrong?”

“Is it working?”

“I don’t know,” he coos with a handsome face and ridiculous tone to his voice. “You ready to say you’re mine?”

Like a switch flipped, I’m irate. He’s putting me in an impossible position. It’s not just about the ridiculous title he seems so hellbent on, it’s about me finally getting out of here. Saying yes to him means saying no to everything I’ve been working toward. My out. My sanity.

“Why?” I demand. “I’m leaving. Why can’t we just be whatever we are without all of this?”

He shrugs. “Because I want it.” Then: “And I don’t want you to leave. I’m pretending you’re not, remember?”

I make an annoyed sound. I have to leave. That’s the whole stupid point of this whole stupid thing.

“Because you’re delusional and playing make-believe I’m supposed to feed into your teenage insecurities?” I demand.

He snorts. “Sure. I like that. ”

While I want to maim him, this featherhead is smiling. He doesn’t see that even if I wasn’t leaving, this wouldn’t work. I wouldn’t work.

Game on .

“I slept with Ben,” I admit, causing his brows to pinch and smile to falter. “The bartender at Liberty Tap.”

“Okay. Well—”

“And a few of the cops you work with.”

“Okay,” he repeats, this time dragging the word out. “Not exactly what I was hoping you’d say but—”

“Well, you need to hear it,” I snap. “You keep coming over here like a dog waiting for a bone, but you’re ignoring the fact the bone’s been chewed. Repeatedly. By people you know.”

He looks at me, expression neutral. As if he knows I have more to say. Which I do.

“And I’ve never been in a real relationship, so, you know, there’s that. I flirt, I fuck, I flee, that’s what I do. What I’ve always done.” I laugh a kind of psychotic sound. “And I’m fine with that. It’s my idea. And nobody gets hurt.”

“You don’t feel hurt?”

“No.”

“You don’t lie in bed some nights and wish someone was there with you?”

“No.”

“You done?”

I huff. “For the moment.”

“I’m flattered. ”

I glare at him.

“We’ve been apart a long time, but I know enough of you to still know this: You’re the biggest viper when you feel something.” He pecks my cheek. “You think that you’ll tell me all this and scare me off but I think you’re scared because you want all this. And—”

“No—”

“And,” he repeats over me. “Maybe if you let yourself have this you might have to accept you’ve been wrong about how people look at you and you look at them.

Like maybe where you came from doesn’t matter to anyone at all.

Like what happened all those years ago doesn’t have to mean you can’t be happy. ”

“But—”

“Here’s the last thing I’m saying about it,” he continues.

“I’m not gunning for a title—it’s not about you telling someone you’re my girlfriend or wife.

” At the word wife, my eyes bug out of my head, and he chuckles.

“I’m not forcing you into anything, Scotty, I’m being honest with what I need.

Us being casual and you being able to push away whenever you want isn’t going to work for me.

Not now. Not with Wren. You act like you do, I’m going to keep showing up.

Proving you wrong. Proving this can work better than before.

Trying to convince you not to run off to the damn desert.

” My jaw drops; he grabs my hand and kisses my thumb.

“I need to know you can handle that. And I think you want to say yes, you’re just scared. ”

I scoff. “I think you have mommy issues.”

He vibrates with a laugh, rubbing his nose on my cheek. “If you say so. ”

I lean against him, the prickly feeling of unshaved skin rubbing against my face and sending chills down my neck. “I say so.”

He grabs my chin, gently guiding my eyes to meet his. “Want me to tell you all the women I’ve slept with?”

I nearly gag, instantly jealous of a line of faceless vaginas. “No.”

“That’s a shame. So many good stories I could share.”

I level him with a look. “I hate you.”

He kisses me on the cheek and stands. “I don’t hate you even a little bit, but I have to go.”

As he strolls toward his truck, I memorize his angles and lines. The easy way his broad shoulders sit back and long arms swing. The lines around his eyes as he smiles and waves from his truck. The casual drop of his arm out the open window, letting it hang as he drives away.

Ford wants to show up, and I believe him. Believe he wants to, and he will. More than that, I want him to. Over and over. Just like I did when we were kids.

Even though I’m scared.

Even though I’m leaving.

Even though I have no clue how to be what he and Wren deserve.

Damn him.