Page 3

SIMON

I’ve been home for two seconds and it’s already clear I shouldn’t have come back yet. I should have told Christian not to book a gig and found another job to fill the month I have free. Hell, I could have just stayed in Texas and fished until I’m scheduled to be in Florida.

But that’s not what I did.

What I did was come up with every bullshit reason I could think of to make my way back here. Because, in addition to being a selfish asshole, I’m also a selfish asshole. One who knows what he should do, but never seems to follow the path of righteousness.

I pick damnation every fucking time.

And this morning is no exception. I haven’t even parked my fifth wheel, and it’s already evident how fucked I am. How painful this visit is going to be.

How many wrong choices I’m about to make.

Myra’s going to be so close I can touch her, but might still be too far away to reach.

And I’m not strong enough to accept that.

Not when everyone around me is so damn happy.

Enjoying days with their kids and nights with their wives.

And not when her sadness is already reeling me in.

Making me want to prove how fucking happy I could make her.

Pulling in a deep breath, I do my best to seem relaxed as I walk toward the woman I’ve struggled to forget.

“I didn’t know I was coming home either.

” My hands are curled into fists, clenched around the little restraint I possess.

Forcing my fingers to relax, I fight the urge to touch her.

To provide comfort I’m not sure she’s ready to receive.

“The job I was supposed to be starting Monday got postponed until next month. Christian decided to take advantage and booked us a few gigs while I’m off. ”

It sounds plausible. Technically, every word of it is true. Christian did book us gigs. I am off work.

But the blame for my appearance here in Memphis is all on me.

No one here needed to know I have a month of freedom.

I could have simply made one of the short appearances I’m known for and made myself scarce the same way I have for years.

Instead I made sure I was locked in. Let Christian schedule a month’s worth of excuses to keep me here.

Close to Myra.

Her full lips barely lift into a hint of a smile. “Yeah. I heard.”

My eyes move over her face, drinking in the soft lines of her smooth skin. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her, but I still know every curve and angle by heart. Would give anything to trace each one with my fingers.

With my tongue.

I clear my throat, forcing my thoughts from where they always manage to go.

“Does that mean you’ll be gracing us with your presence at The Cellar?

” The eagerness I feel over Myra watching me perform bleeds into my voice, but I can’t undo it now.

All I can do is hope she doesn’t notice.

Hope she doesn’t see how much I want her to be there.

Looking out into the audience and seeing Myra’s face staring back at me is the most perfect torture I’ve ever known. Watching her watching me, wishing she was ready for the things I’m dying to give her.

Again, a whisper of a smile lifts her lips. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

I was already looking forward to playing this weekend, but now the wait will be excruciating.

I do my best to stay away from Myra when I’m home—the last thing she needs is another man who wants something from her—so watching her from the stage is one of the few times I allow myself to indulge in the fantasy I’ve been holding onto since I carried her through the woods.

I’ve saved countless women in my life. Dragged them away from abusive husbands and boyfriends who beat them. For me, not a single one of them was anything but a woman in need of help.

Until Myra.

It figures she’d be the only one I couldn’t walk away from.

“How are you doing?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it. The need to know she’s okay is too strong. Too consuming.

I can usually ignore it. Go about my day pretending it doesn’t matter. But not when she’s in front of me. Not when I can clearly see how much she’s still struggling.

She tries to hide it, but I can see the weariness in her eyes. The sadness slumping her shoulders. It fucking makes me crazy, and is one of the reasons I have to walk away from this place as often as I do.

Myra pulls in a deep breath, slowly releasing it in preparation to offer up the same lie she always does.

“I’m…” Her blue eyes meet mine, holding as she says, “Not as good as I thought I’d be by now.”

The air freezes in my lungs, catching at the open honesty she’s offering me.

Her gaze drops to the ground as she continues. “I feel like I started so strong and then…”

I’m hanging onto every word so tight that I almost fall forward when she stops. “And then?”

Myra shakes her head, eyes still fused to my feet. “And then it just stopped.”

“It didn’t stop.” I manage to soften the edge of my words, but just barely.

“You got a great job. You bought a house. You helped get a whole group of women out of a bad situation.” I step closer, drawn in by the need to make her see how fucking amazing she is.

How strong. How brave. “Nothing has stopped, Myra.”

Slowly, her gaze lifts, making a path up my chest. It pauses, hanging on my mouth for the blink of an eye before raising higher. “Being a functioning adult and being happy are two different things.”

Her words jab into a sore spot. One I’ve carried for a long damn time.

I swallow hard, risking a question I hope to God she doesn’t ask me. “Why aren’t you happy?”

Myra huffs out a little laugh. “Lots of reasons.”

When she doesn’t elaborate, I push for more. “Give me one of them.”

Her lips purse, like she’s going to shut down on me. I’ve seen it happen enough I know the signs. Myra keeps her feelings close. It’s shocking she’s given me as much as she has.

I still want more.

“Hmm. One reason.” She lifts her eyes to the sky like she’s thinking. “I guess one reason is that my job—while great—is really fucking exhausting. And I’m so tired when I get home that I don’t feel like tackling another renovation, so my house is a mess.”

“It can’t be that bad.” Being the greedy bastard I am, I’m pushing my luck.

Hoping she’ll let me a little closer. Give me just a few more crumbs to carry with me when I go.

And I will have to go. I know who I am and who I’m not.

What I will and won’t be able to do. I can’t stay here—close to her—and keep myself in line.

Myra snorts. “If I didn’t have to be at work in an hour, I’d show you just how bad it is.”

“Then show me after work.” I wince inwardly, wishing I could kick my own ass. I have good intentions—really—but they’re like a scream in the wind. Whipped away and muffled by a stronger force set on its own path.

Myra angles a brow at me. “The only people who get to come into my house after I get off work are the ones who bring food.”

That makes me pause. Makes me wonder if?—

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tate comes storming out his front door, glaring at where my camper takes up the bulk of his driveway.

“You can’t park that thing here, man.” He stops right next to where I stand with Myra, taking in the full scope of my current housing situation. “Did you buy an even bigger camper?”

I love Tate. He’s one of my best friends. But right now I’m considering punching him in the face for interrupting the conversation. “I’m not leaving it here, dick. I just stopped to talk to—” I motion to where Myra stands beside me.

Except, she’s gone. Evaporated into thin air like I imagined the whole goddamned thing.

Maybe I did. Maybe I’ve thought of her so much my brain conjured up the interaction just to fuck with me.

I turn back to find Tate staring at me, one brow angled in question. “To talk to who?”

I shake my head. “No one.” Raking one hand through my hair, I survey the neighborhood, looking for a place my new camper will fit.

When we first found the place, it was nothing more than a block of run-down buildings and crumbling curbs.

Everything was overgrown and under maintained.

The nicest building—nice being used very loosely—on the dead-end street was an old firehouse.

Everything else was a mess of broken windows and sagging rooflines.

But it was an area we could be self-contained. A place we could feel safe back when safety was something most of us could only dream of.

Now, nearly every building on the block has been brought back to life. Thanks to Christian’s profession—and many of us starting off working in construction—the large structures have been turned into the kind of homes we dreamed of those long years when we were fighting for survival.

But, while the neighborhood looks warm and welcoming, all the manicured lawns and fenced yards have left me without many options when it comes to parking my camper.

Looks like I might be parking at the warehouse. And honestly, having a little distance between me and Myra probably isn’t a bad thing.

“You got here earlier than I expected.” Tate braces both hands on his hips, looking over my new fifth wheel. “I was planning to clear out a spot behind my house for you to park, but this fucker won’t fit back there.”

“It’s fine. I’m sure I’ll find somewhere to set up.” My eyes start to drift to the house beside Tate’s. I can only see the roofline of it past my camper, but unless someone’s built a garage behind it, I know there’s plenty of room for my fifth wheel back there.

I also know it’s the last fucking place I should park it.

I could park at the warehouse—should park at the warehouse—but I really don’t want to. I spend most of my life alone, so when I’m home, it’s nice to feel like I’m a part of something. Even if I’m the odd man out.

I also don’t want to force myself on Myra. Being available if she wants someone to talk to is one thing. Sitting right outside her window is another.