Page 31 of Something Like Sugar (Pine Forest Something #2)

DUSTIN

E verything is wrong.

“Are you hurt?” My heckles rise faster than the tears that fill Shana’s eyes, standing on my doorstep in the middle of the night.

It’s all I can do not to tear through the doorway and break whatever stood in her path and caused this.

Because it’s my heart that squeezes tight when hers beats this erratically. “Did someone harm you?”

“What? Oh. ” Her eyes dart to mine from beneath soaked lashes and she sighs, upset with herself. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. I’m not hurt. Not physically.”

Her words ease me little when she still stalks about my living room in tears, swiping the evidence onto her sleeves and curling up into the smallest form of herself, legs tucked into her hoodie so only two white socks stick out beneath the worn black hem.

She pulls a letter from her purse. “He’s selling the studio.

The whole strip. It’s not just my building that had leaks and mold.

All the piping was old and in need of repairs.

Since we all leased from the same man, and he can’t afford the repairs to the entire strip, he’s leaving it up to us.

We fix it on our own, each of us individually, which most of the vendors can’t even fathom affording on small independent business revenue, or he’ll sell the whole strip. ”

“That’s fucked .” I pace the floor, livid at this property owner for his negligence to routine maintenance.

Not only is it a waste of his own investments, but it’s also a slap in the face to at least six…

no, seven small businesses that lease along that strip.

The one that’s been across from mine for as long as I remember. Even Abe’s Farm N’ Feed is over there.

“No. Fuck that, Shay. That’s not going to happen.”

“It’s not? How do you figure?” She wipes her face and blinks at me expectantly, and it feels like nothing I’ve ever known before…this confidence and trust someone has in me, of all people.

But I can fix it. I can take care of all the leaks, and we can raise funds through the town for mold cleanup and everything.

Hunter and Devyn would host fundraising rodeos and pageants.

Cowboys Paradise would likely match donations with a happy hour of some sort if they knew it was for Shay and the other businessowners we’ve grown up with.

These are our friends.

This is our town.

“We can do this.”

I’ll do this for you.

“Besides, whoever this dude is talks a big talk, but my dad’s had me in these bullshit real estate workshops for centuries , as you like to say.”

She twists her lips at my jab, but eases into my lap as I settle down on the couch. I wrap my arms around her and bury a kiss in her vanilla scented hair.

“There’s not going to be any buyers willing to take on an entire strip that fast in this town. Especially one that has funds to invest in mold and water pipe repairs up front. It takes months for that kind of buyer to settle in.”

“That’s the thing.” She sits up and twists her hair into a nervous braid.

“There is a buyer willing to gobble the whole thing up, leaks and all. Had some lawyer already draft up the settlement documents.” She blows out a longwinded breath and breaks my heart with the confidence in her tone when she suggests breaking her lease and finding a new home for Holiday Dance.

One that won’t be across from me.

“Fuck that. I’ll call my father tomorrow and get this figured out, Shay. He can investigate properties in a way we can’t see without his company’s programs. I’m not letting you lose your studio.”

I think I’ve said the right thing. It’s certainly the best I can come up with to help her, even if it does involve my father.

But she sighs, and her eyes cast downward.

“You can’t fight all my battles, Dustin.

Maybe it’s time I faced it and bought my own building, outright.

I like to think things can be perfect. Dad and dance and you …

but it’s not always, is it? I’ve been pretending things are fine, when really, they’ve been breaking down around me.

Even you. Fighting for me, ready to save the day.

I need to be strong for myself. Now more than ever. ”

“I want to help, Shay, I was just—”

“No, Dustin, it’s fine.” She heaves a frustrated exhale and pushes off the couch. “Look, it’s just me. It’s my emotions. I get that. I just need… I don’t know. I feel like I need some space.”

“Space?” My chest tenses, twists, and beats faster than I’ve ever felt for the slow pulsing I feel inside my skull. My eyes find hers, full of stress and pain and still, I want to keep them in my view. To watch over.

“It’s not what you’re thinking. I just feel like I’m losing Dad, right? I’m losing the studio now, too, and… what if it’s me? What if you’re next, and I lose the only thing left that’s good in my life, right alongside the rest?”

The beating slows with time as I process that.

“Me? I’m what’s good in your life?”

“Yes, of course.” She removes her hood. “I love you, Dustin. I just don’t know how I’m allowed to have that. Good things go . Good things fail. They die.”

“Everything dies, Shana.” I kiss her, stopping her next words from emerging.

She’s too deeply swallowed by grief to see it now, but she can feel.

So, I kiss her again. “Do you feel the way our bodies come to life when we touch?” I lean back on the couch, and she scoots down with me, until her head is resting in my lap.

I unwind her braid with my fingers as she relaxes into me, the fireplace beside casting a warm glow over porcelain skin I brush my hand across.

“Do you feel what it means to love me? For me to love you?”

“Yes.” She gasps, as I trail my fingers across her lips and then flutter them down the front of her chest.

“Everything that has loved has lived. And everything that lives will die. ‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,’ right?”

“That’s Shakespeare,” she exclaims on a yawn, drifting to sleep in my arms while I rub her.

It is. I know it eases her, my ballerina. My artist. My…

…not mine, is she?

She’s hers.

And that’s what she’s been saying.

I look upon the only woman I’ve ever loved, asleep in my lap and curled to fit just right against me, and I know what she needs. What I need, too. What we’ve needed together all along.

Confidence in ourselves.

And a reason to be loved.

My phone buzzes in my pocket.

I slide out from under Shana when I see that it’s Dad. Perfect timing.

“Hey, Dad, I was meaning to call you about—”

“Dustin. I trust you and Miss Holiday have arrangements for tomorrow.” He cuts me off, of course, has to be the one in charge of everything, even a conversation. But it doesn’t bother me like it normally would. I’m not fuming from my ears at his voice, so that’s progress.

“We do, but look, I’ve got a problem. Shay’s studio had some water damage, and the landlord is threatening he’s got some buyer willing to gobble it up if she doesn’t make repairs. I was hoping—”

“Finally need me, I see. You still have a log in to the company’s remote server.

Look up the listing details and I’ll have my lawyer send his real estate agent an inquiry.

While you’re at it, do something for me.

” Of course . “One of my agents is on about some gold mine in your neck of the woods, the emails should be cc’d to you since I thought you’d be working in the city by now. ”

“Dad.” I groan.

“Never mind. Look, start pulling your weight with family business and you’ll be amazed by what rewards come to follow. Having connections has its perks, is that not why you need my help?”

I’m surprised he hasn’t made me snap yet. I would normally throw the phone by now at the very least, but his jabs seem to stick less when I’ve got all the fortune in the world on my couch.

He’s also got a point. He can help me because of his power. Without so much as worrying Shana one bit. She’s concerned about her father and the future of her world enough as it is.

“Bring the details to the gala.” He clips. “And I’ll make sure everything’s good for Mullins and take a gander at your girlfriend’s studio.”

“I’m glad you’re finally turning things around.”

Click.

I clench my teeth at his last comment. As if things were going the wrong way before? But the condescension hardly registers next to the other thing he said.

Girlfriend.

Shana’s chest moves up and down, peacefully as she rests in my living room. She tired herself out from crying, but a few minutes on my lap with my fingers combing her hair and she fell fast asleep. A sense of belonging overcomes me that she feels so safe in my care.

“Girlfriend,” I whisper. Her eyes flutter open.

“Yes, boyfriend?”

“I’m gonna move you to my bed so you can sleep more comfortably, is that okay?”

“Mhm.” She drifts back to rest in my arms, and I find myself swelling with pride when I tuck her into our bed and cover her up. “Love you, boyfriend,” she grumbles before rolling over.

I love you, too.

And I’ll fix every leak her life presents to keep her happy.

Back in the living room, I’m too stimulated to sleep, pondering ways to get the town rallying around fundraisers for the square.

I pour a glass of brandy and twirl it around as my laptop loads the listing from my father, but when I take a swig, I almost spit it back out as the property before me is none other than Shana’s very strip.

The goldmine Dad’s agent is settling is hers.

And just when I think it can’t get any worse, the plastic mouse cover cracks from the force of my grip as I scroll down the listing and find a name that has me ready to break hands all over again, the settlement counsel.

Coincidences like that don’t just happen.

I send a text to the same friend who researched Haans and double the fee. I’ll pay for as much information as he can dig up.

Because Shana is a target, just as I always feared.

I feel it in my bones.

What I don’t know is why. But it won’t be long before I find out.

This mystery mogul may be a lawyer, but I’m Dustin Goddamned Campell, the blood thirsty vigilante who sees right the fuck through evil like him.

And he’s messed with the wrong ballerina if he thinks Shay will be lying down even remotely for whatever he’s got planned. She’s stronger than she lets on.

My eyes dart to the cracked bedroom door, to the peace I’d rather watch from afar than disturb, and I wonder if I’m doing the right thing keeping her from the darkness.

Fighting her battles…

But she’s Business Elite’s guest speaker. She’s a successful businesswoman who’s earned her moment to shine. The need to protect her consumes me, and my mind is made up before I can replace my mouse with another.

I resist the urge to track this man down in his sleep and remove his eyes so he can never rest them on Shana again, and I print the papers on my screen, slamming my whiskey on the table instead.

I’ll tell her tomorrow night after the gala. We’ll have a nice time. I’ll clue Dad in on what’s going on with the property and his so-called buddy , and we can resolve this without a fight, or worrying her any further than she is right now.

Leaving her own father for more than two days is something she hasn’t let herself do in years.

Hell, if it hadn’t been for the therapist I encouraged her to see, and Lemon giving her the push she needed, she may not have gone to the gala this year at all—and according to Lemon, it’s something she used to love.

I shake my head in amazement at the thought of my shy, hoodie wearing girlfriend spending hundreds on gowns to dance her night away.

It’s a part of her she finds shameful, like so many others.

And it’s time she got her Cinderella story.

No way I’m letting her miss that again. Not for this shithead with a boring ass job and a stupid vendetta.

I’m coming for this smug, money-hungry prick who’s fucked with my girl yet again, and my first hit is in the form of an opposing bid on the whole entire strip of properties in Pine Forest Square.

Might be close to my entire savings on the line, and a direct forfeit of my chances to secure Mullins, but I can win this.

I just need something I never thought I’d have to ask for again.

Dad’s help.

With everything I can muster, I hit send on my bid and effectively start the competition with the attorney working for my very own father.

An attorney I’d like to fuck right off to the depths of hell for the fact he even touched my girl at all. But I’ll do it the right way this time, for her.

For us.

My mouse hovers over the name that makes my teeth clench and nostrils flare, before I slam the screen shut and head to bed with my girl.

Guess I’m breaking more than hands this weekend. Time to break contracts.

Fuck you, Lawrence Lawson, attorney at law.