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CHAPTER TWO

Marissa

Marching away after closing the door in that douchebag’s face feels more amazing than I expected.

Vindication has me keeping my head high as I make my way to the elevator, taking it to the fifth floor. The views aren’t super amazing since I’m not that high up, but it’s not on the ground floor, it’s a nice building close to my office, and I love the layout. Plus, there’s parking for my getting-around-town car, which will also help me get to the storage garage I’ve rented in one of the nearby cities to house my project car once it arrives.

I’m restoring a 1969 Chevy Malibu. I got the body for a song a few years ago, and I’ve been slowly rebuilding it from the ground up—rebuilding the engine, sourcing vintage seats, the works. It’s my pet project, and I haven’t had nearly as much time to work on it since I started working for Garrison Automotive Distributing about five years ago.

My dad thinks I’m ridiculous for bringing a non-working car with me to Seattle, but at least he helped me get it ready to go on the car carrier to make the trek from Dallas. Of course, my dad also thought I was ridiculous for quitting my job working for his auto shop and taking a sales position with one of his suppliers.

I couldn’t handle working there anymore, though. Not when I was a glorified receptionist—though he started calling me an office manager after I finally completed my degree.

The real issue was that I wanted to work on cars, not just manage the office. Dad had always planned on having my younger brother Lance take over from him eventually, despite the fact that I’m the oldest. And even though that galled me as a teenager, I came to accept it, like I came to accept so many things I shouldn’t have over the years.

It’s my dad’s fault that I love cars as much as I do, honestly. He’s the one who had me out there with him from the time I was old enough to hand him tools, buying me my own little safety glasses and coveralls, showing me how to do the basics as I got older, and more complicated things by the time I was sixteen.

Then one day, it all just stopped. He’d shoo me out of the garage instead of welcoming me in.

I got asked to prom when I was a junior in high school, and nothing was ever the same after that. Mom took me out to get my nails done ahead of time, and at first it was because he didn’t want me to ruin my nails, but the excuses just kept changing until eventually I stopped trying and instead focused on spending time with Mom, who welcomed me with open arms.

I still worked on my own car, of course. That was expected. No child of Jon Kane would ever be allowed to grow up without learning how to change their oil, change a tire, jump their own car, or swap out a battery.

After I graduated high school, he allowed me to work in the office. I started out part time while attending UT-Denton, and I tried to be happy with that. Once Lance got old enough to start working in the shop, he and I would work on cars together when Dad wasn’t around. Sometimes Dad would catch us, and he’d grumble a little about me ruining my nails or getting my hands dirty, but he wouldn’t run me off at least.

Then he hired Peter, Lance went off to college halfway across the country—though he was supposed to move back after getting his degree—and eventually it was Peter who let me come in and work on cars with him after hours.

That blossomed into a relationship, and when it became clear Lance didn’t want to come back, it seemed perfect. Peter and I would eventually get married and take over the shop from Dad.

Except after dating for years and being no closer to marriage, that dream started to crumble too.

It was my little sister Gabby, the youngest of the three of us, who shocked me out of the monotony. As the youngest—and a girl—she didn’t have specific expectations placed on her like Lance did. She went to college for music with plans to be a professional violinist in a symphony.

But then she met Jonathan Brasher, former boyband superstar turned soloist, and her whole life plan got turned upside down. Watching her go after the life she wanted was the kick in the ass I needed, though.

I ended up giving Peter an ultimatum, but even though he suggested a Vegas elopement and eventually tried to give me a ring, it felt like too little, too late at that point. He was only offering to marry me because I pressured him. And that wasn’t good enough. I want someone who wants to be with me. Who wants to marry me because he loves me and can’t imagine life without me. Not to shut me up and make me stop talking about it.

That was when I started applying for other jobs.

And now, here I am, five years later, with a promotion to head the northwest office of Garrison Automotive Distributing.

Living in a building with an asshole who makes me drop my boxes.

But at least he came back just as Jorge and Cameron were getting inside with the last section of my couch so I could slam the door in his face like he did to me earlier.

While I’ve lived the last several years operating under the idea that the best revenge is a life well lived, I think that only applies when getting revenge on former romantic partners. For assholes like that guy? Revenge is best served quickly and fiercely. And it feels oh, so good.

Marissa from a few years ago—the Marissa who was still waiting around for Peter to propose even after it was clear he didn’t want to—wouldn’t have dared. She’d’ve tried to be the bigger person, let him in, thinking that turning the other cheek and killing with kindness were the best options. And maybe sometimes that’s true.

But this time?

The look on his face was priceless, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Once the movers leave, I close the door behind them, surveying the enormous task of unpacking and getting settled.

“I don’t have to do it all today,” I murmur to myself and pull out my phone.

I promised Mom I’d call once I got moved in, so I pull up the video chat app and tap on her name.

Her smiling face answers after two rings, Dad hovering in the background, his brows pulled together in his customary scowl.

“Marissa!” Mom carols. “I was starting to worry!”

Chuckling, I give Mom a smile and shake my head. “No need to worry, Mom. I promised I’d call, so here I am calling. The movers just left like ten seconds ago. My place is a mess, boxes piled everywhere, but at least the furniture’s all where it needs to be. They put my bed frame together and put the mattress on, so I just have to make the bed and unpack at least the essentials. I’m glad I got here yesterday, though. It would’ve been a lot worse to drive in today and then move in.”

Dad grunts. “You should have Lance come help you if you need an extra pair of hands.”

I manage to hold back the eye roll I want to give that suggestion, but I can’t suppress my sigh of irritation. “I don’t need to call Lance, Dad. I can handle unpacking my own things. Plus, he’s like five hours away on the other side of the state. I know Washington isn’t as big as Texas, but it’s not like it’s tiny either. Being close- er isn’t the same as being close, you know.”

With another grumble, Dad subsides into silence.

“Well, it’s still nice you’re close enough you can visit him pretty much whenever you want,” Mom adds in an obvious attempt to soothe the ruffled feathers that have been a feature of my interactions with my father ever since I quit working at his shop. But Mom’s always been the peacemaker between Dad and the world, knowing exactly what to say to calm him down and make him see reason and doing her best to translate his gruff exterior to the rest of us so we don’t take it too much to heart.

“Wanna see my new place?” I ask, deciding to simply change topics. My brother Lance, who lives in Spokane, definitely doesn’t need me calling him up and asking him to leave his wife and toddler and drive for hours over the mountains to help me unpack. Especially since I just visited them a couple days ago on my way out here. It wasn’t the most direct route, but it was good to spend some time with my brother, his wife, and my nephew, who’s walking and talking and so much bigger than the last time I saw him when he could barely hold his head up. Mom’s right that being closer will be nice. Maybe I’ll be able to see them more than once a year.

“Oh! Of course!” Mom gushes. I flip the camera around and show off my new space—two bedrooms so I’ll have a guest room for when my parents or one of my siblings decides to visit, though Gabby’s on tour again with Jonathan, her superstar husband, so I doubt they’ll be crashing in my guest room anytime soon. I tell Mom my plans for how I’m going to decorate, what I’m going to put where, and what I need to find now that I’m actually here.

It’s been a long road. I thought about moving to California at one point—and actually did stay there for a few months, crashing at Jonathan and Gabby’s place while they were touring. They appreciated having me there and even paid me a small amount, saying I was their house sitter so it just made sense. I tried to find a job while I was there so I could stay permanently, but nothing was very appealing, I didn’t actually enjoy living there, and I didn’t have a really pressing need for more money since I had a free place to live and a paycheck. But having my youngest sibling pay me to do anything for them felt super weird, so after about six months when they were on a break from touring, I headed back to Denton, stayed with Mom and Dad for a bit since I’d given up my old apartment to go to California, and managed to land a job with Garrison.

I worked with them a lot when I managed the office at Dad’s shop, so when I saw the job opening, I put in a call to my old contact there, turned in the application, got an interview, and took on a dedicated client load. From there I worked my way up from sales to managing a team, which I enjoyed because I traveled a lot and it got me out of town more often than not. That much travel gets old, though, so when the opportunity to head this office opened up, I jumped at the chance, and now I’m in charge of this entire region.

As much as the career change felt like a fresh start, going back to the Dallas area felt like a step backward when I was trying so hard to move forward.

But now?

I feel like I can finally create the life I want, free from my father’s disapproving glares—or at least only subject to them on the occasional video chat—and with my mother’s enthusiastic support.

She gushes over my apartment, the amenities, and all my ideas, finishing up with, “I better let you go, Marissa. You must be exhausted, and you still have to get your condo to a livable state before you go to bed. At least you have a few days before you have to be at work.”

“Yes. I’m glad they gave me plenty of time to make the move.”

“Don’t forget, your other car’s arriving next week. Make sure you’re there to meet the car carrier,” Dad puts in before I hang up.

“Thanks for the reminder, Dad. I’ll definitely be there.”

“And call Lance if you need extra help.”

Mom gives me a significant look when I roll my eyes at that, so, shaking my head, I gamely say, “Sure, Dad. I will,” knowing full well that I have no intention of doing so. Sure, if Lance were like ten minutes away, I wouldn’t mind asking him for help. But he’s not.

“Thank you,” Mom mouths. Out loud she says, “We love you, sweetheart. Talk soon!” And then the screen goes dark.

I flop down on my couch, surveying the room. The movers put all the furniture where I told them to, but I’m not entirely sold on the configuration yet. I might try it out for a few days and see what needs adjusting as I get used to the space.

Mom’s right, though. I am exhausted. The drive from Texas was long, and even if I did spend a few nights at my brother’s, sleeping on the pull out couch in my brother’s home office isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, though at least it offers more privacy than a pull out couch in the living room. And sharing a wall with a teething toddler getting his molars? That means midnight crying jags and listening to my brother and his wife take turns checking on the little guy.

While I’m not upset—not like anyone could help that—it doesn’t make for the most restful sleep.

Then more driving and moving on top of that, even with the help of movers, and I’m ready to crash.

Looking at my things here makes me smile, though. So there’s one neighbor who’s not very neighborly. What are the odds I’ll have to deal with him often?

This is my new home, in my new city, and I’m ready to take on this new adventure.