by Ashley Munoz
“Spose so. You know Whitney has grown up here, just like you.” My mother pulled down the mirror, patted her hair, and reapplied her lipstick.
“Yeah, but I didn’t have the entire city of Collierville at my engagement party,” I muttered thoughtlessly as I watched Shelly Breeman walk toward the back yard, grasping a clear casserole dish.
My mother froze for a moment then slowly turned toward me. “Honey, no one has forgotten that you didn’t invite a single soul from Collierville to your party. Trust me.”
Ouch.
Pushing past the pain of yet another zinger from my mother, I opened my door, waiting for her to join me. The heat was already swallowing me, trying to drown me in humidity. My mother took her time, grabbing the dish she’d prepared, because no one dared to cater a meal here. It would insult the fine people of Collierville if they didn’t have the opportunity to show off their best and most secret recipes, allowing them bragging rights. Finally, once she slammed the back door, we moved toward the back with the small flow of bodies.
Familiar faces were everywhere, people I’d known my entire life but hadn’t seen in person or talked to in five years. While they were all having babies and sharing their lives on social media, I was traveling the world, hanging off the arm of my husband, who was investing, signing checks in underdeveloped countries, and creating platforms for his technology to make him even more money than it already was.
When I married Nashville’s wealthiest, most eligible bachelor, I became an instant celebrity. The king had married a pauper, and the people loved it. It boosted his image, made him seem the soft and thoughtful humanitarian. We even had a brief reality show chronicling our everyday life. We only signed on for one season, and everything was staged. It was all a lie. That’s not to say Bryan didn’t have his good moments, because he did, but he wasn’t the man everyone saw.
I continued behind my mother as a few people looked toward us and stopped talking. Their whispered gossip couldn’t be contained behind their dainty hands.
I was suddenly in desperate need of alcohol. “Mama, I’m going to find something to drink.” I squeezed her shoulder, knowing she’d be perfectly fine with driving us home if needed, although we wouldn’t be getting out of there any time soon.
I wove in and out of bunched groups of people gathered in small circles, laughing and joking. I avoided lit tiki torches and clung to the edges of the massive yard that was manicured with gorgeous stonework and perfectly measured mulch, until I reached the makeshift bar near the sliding doors leading into the house.
The elderly bartender offered me the specialty drink—a Whit-Whiskey Sour, created for the bride—or champagne. I accepted both.
Speaking of the bride, I finally caught sight of Whitney Truitt near the middle cluster, her left hand out, permanently holding the ring on display for all to see. Her dark hair was down in long strands nearly to her hips, her pale face was still void of any color all these years later, and her red-lined lips—which could put mine to shame—were turned down in an angry scowl.
Whitney had never liked me while we were growing up. She was always meaner than a honey badger with an ugly tongue toward anything I ever said in class. She also had the biggest crush on Jace in high school.
Her being the head cheerleader, she assumed it was her right somehow to have him. I suddenly wondered who on earth she was marrying. If it was Jace, I’d be taking a tiki torch to something, and my mother would be in serious trouble.
I hugged my champagne flute, ensuring it was ready, and sipped my Whit-Whiskey Sour until it was drained entirely. The bride-to-be cut away from the small throng of people and made her way toward me.
Shit.
She did not look like she wanted me here. I briskly wondered how horrible it would be to tell her I shared her obvious sentiment. I started in on the champagne, letting the bubbly goodness tickle my nose with a sudden swig, but it still wasn’t enough of a drink to drown my awareness of how awkward this encounter was bound to be—especially because I’d shoved an entire carton of Oreos down my throat before leaving tonight.
“Faith Morgan, as I live and breathe,” Whitney said, tone overly sweet, being disgustingly nice.
“Whitney.” I lifted my nearly empty glass. “Nice party. Congratulations on your engagement.” I smiled, trying to match her fictitious kindness.
“Thank you. Goodness, you’re about the last person I expected to see here, but no matter, I’m just so glad your mama was able to drag you along.” She leaned forward with another friendly smile and gently swatted my arm with her fan.
Southern compassion at its best. Most people in the south rarely knew they were being insulted, as people in the Bible Belt had perfected the art of backhanded compliments.
“I was so glad to have been home in order to tag along.” My smile was so wide and ridiculous, I felt like the Joker.
Whitney looked behind her briefly, toward my mother, and that was when I noticed a small group starting to gather around us.
“Speaking of, I better get along to the other guests.” She nearly walked away, and I virtually sighed in relief, but then she turned briskly on her heel and asked, “Sorry, forgive me for not keeping up, but whatever happened to you after high school? You up and disappeared. Bobby and I are designing a house and, well…I was wondering if you still did those drawings?”
Surprised by her seemingly genuine question, I was about to answer when a thick, Southern drawl cut through our conversation.
“Didn’t you hear? Faith here went and found herself a billionaire…married the richest man in Nashville and sold the fuck out.”
That voice…
I tried to ignore the chills that had erupted along my skin at hearing him speak, instead focusing on the mild laughter from around our makeshift circle following his comment.
I turned my head, not at all prepared to take in the mussed dark hair and the piercing blue eyes set under dark brows, all framed nicely by a deliciously firm jaw. Strong shoulders filled out a white t-shirt that looked crisp and clean.
He’d grown up. Tall and brooding, handsome and… Holy shit, is my mouth open? Stop it. Do not ogle him. He threw you away.
The smell of motor oil, spicy cologne, and freshly cut grass drifted over me as he drew closer. My mouth watered, but I pushed the urge back. His scent had changed. He had changed.
Whitney didn’t respond to Jace’s comment, thankfully. I blinked and realized we had a full-on crowd gathering around us now, mostly people we’d gone to high school with—mostly people who hadn’t cared for me.
Two of them snapped pictures of me. Shit.
With him standing right next to me in the circle, Jace’s masculine scent overwhelmed me, like tiny talons gripping at my memories, mocking me.
“Jace, nice to see you,” I muttered, trying to be polite and start things out on the right foot. I internally begged the alcohol to hit my system, but I knew it wasn’t going to happen; there were too many cookies in there. Dammit.
“Wish I could say the same,” he joked.
A chorus of laughter broke out at his jab. I hated that we had an audience for our first time seeing each other again. I hated that he was being such a jerk, but I hated even more that I was even more attracted to him than I ever had been five years earlier.
Two more phones popped up. One girl turned so she was in the shot for whatever selfie she was taking. Her name was Kelley…something. She used to cheat off my chemistry homework.
My focus was drawn back to the man next to me. Words caught in my throat as I watched him drag a gorgeous blonde under his arm and whisper something into her ear. She laughed and wrapped her arm around his waist just as Jace’s gaze lifted and fixed on my throat.
Those dark eyes narrowed into slits as he inspected my necklace while he moved his hand up under the hem of the girl’s shirt. Watching the curl of his lip and the possessive way he held her next to him did something to my insides. It felt like I had caught fire, the inferno startin
g in my chest, making its way up my neck.
Snap—the sound of someone’s phone camera sounded near my left.
I needed to get out of there.
“Well, it was nice seein’ y’all,” I softly mumbled, nearly positive no one heard me or cared. I stepped back, Whitney was laughing with a friend, and Jace returned his nose to the hair of the girl next to him.
The fire inside me moved, swarming my gut and flowing down my arms. I was numb, shaking all over, and entirely not ready to be around anyone.
Turning on my heel, I veered away from the group. Horrified and embarrassed, I searched for my mother. Finally finding her near the Landry family, I gently grabbed her elbow.
“Mama, Gemma called me and has an emergency—I need to go.” That was a lie, of course. Why couldn’t I just admit I wasn’t doing well? Why couldn’t I just explain to my mother that anxiety was brewing inside me, threatening to take control of my breathing and sensory functions?
“Okay sweetie, I’ll grab a ride with Judy.” She smiled and returned to her friends, not worried in the least bit that I was about to have a breakdown. She’d never know anyway, and I wondered if one day I would be the kind of mom who noticed that about my daughter. I hoped so.
Instead of weaving in and out of groups, I eyed the waitstaff’s entrance off to the side of the house and minced along the wall, avoiding Jace, Whitney, and everyone else.
Once I neared my car, I slowed, willing my heart to do the same.
“You running away…again?” Jace muttered, moving past me toward the white truck parked in front of my car.
What kind of shit luck do I have?
He turned, waiting for my answer and squinting at the low-hanging sun that was cutting through the tree line.
I placed my hand on the door handle as panic splintered inside my chest. I wasn’t ready to see him without a group around us. I wasn’t ready to talk to him by myself, and I certainly wasn’t ready to fight with him.
“No, I’ve got somewhere to be,” I lied. Five years he’d had to eradicate me from his system—why was he back here, talking to me? Why was I on his radar at all?
He shook his head back and forth, letting out a heavy sigh, then pushed away from his truck. I gripped my keys, steadying myself for feeling the weight of his gaze. There was something so deliriously beautiful about being seen by Jace Walker.
He stepped into my space and ducked his head, making the longer strands of his hair fall across his tanned forehead. I held my breath and pinned my back against the door as he gently reached toward my chest.
A thrill of memories rushed through me as I remembered him. Back when he was a tall fourteen-year-old with a backpack slung off his shoulder, smoldering at me from across the lunchroom. That time he had a gash above his brow when he was sixteen, bleeding all over his uniform during homecoming. That night he’d run across the field and kissed me in front of the entire town.
An arctic storm brewed in those eyes as he narrowed his focus on the silver pendant resting against my chest, dipping low enough to kiss the crease of my cleavage.
His warm fingers brushed against my skin as he gripped the locket. “Why are you wearin’ this?” His tone was a sharp edge that caught on my poor tattered heart.
My chest heaved up and down in an unnatural rhythm.
He was too close. Everything was happening too fast.
“It’s m-mine,” I stuttered, trying to keep my voice from cracking. I had so much to say to him, so many questions I’d buried, so many hurts and betrayals I wanted justice for. “Besides, I don’t see how what I wear is any of your concern,” I sternly added, straightening my spine.
His fingers lingered on the silver pendant as his gaze transformed into something deadly. It was a look I’d only ever seen him use on his enemies, people who’d been rude to his family or spoken ill of his mama. Now he was using it on me.
“It is my concern when the polite thing would have been to return this when you took off. It isn’t yours,” he angrily emphasized with a cutting tone before tugging on the chain, snapping it from my neck. It didn’t hurt with how swiftly he’d pulled, but it still stung my pride and the damn pit of emotions still dedicated to him, the small reserve of dreams I’d once harbored with this boy.
An astonished sound left my lungs as he turned on his heel and headed for his truck. I didn’t even have time to defend myself or fight him on the fact that he had just ripped my necklace from my throat.
“Just because you’re back doesn’t mean people around here are going to treat you like the princess you’ve become. No one here much likes the rich or famous.” He winked at me, climbed into his truck, and started the engine, revving it until a plume of black smoke was pummeling me in the face.
I clenched my fists in anger as I pulled my car door open with as much force as I could. Fuming and embarrassed, I held my tears in until I’d passed the party, snaked a left then a right, and hopped onto the highway. Then and only then did I let the pain battering me in the chest take hold.
“Gemma!” My fists pounded against the thin apartment door as my voice carried through the dimly lit hall. There were four doors to my right and three more behind me—if my best friend didn’t open her door soon, I was going to get stabbed or yelled at. She knew how much I hated getting yelled at.
“Gemma, please open up!” I frantically cried, slapping her door as hard as possible. Maybe there was a weak pressure point somewhere on the door and it would open on its own? Encouraged by that thought, I started slapping the door in various places then it flew open, and my best friend stared back at me with narrowed eyes, a tight jaw, and a look that should have killed me on the spot.
“Gem, thanks babe. Geez, took you long enough,” I slurred and sauntered past her, plopping down on her two-seater couch.
“The hell are you knocking for, and why are you here at two in the morning, Faith?” My best friend crossed her arms with a deadly glare, as though she wasn’t supposed to meet me earlier.
I scoffed at her theatrics. “You mean, what were you not doing with me five hours ago?” I counted on my fingers to see if my math was right.
She shook her head in annoyance. “It was longer than that…stop it.”
“You were supposed to go out with me, so don’t get mad at me for knocking.” I grabbed for her remote.
“I’m mad that you knocked because you have a key. You could have just quietly let yourself in without waking up all my neighbors, or me, for that matter. I have court first thing in the morning, which is why I told you I couldn’t go out tonight.” She ripped the remote out of my hand and sauntered toward her kitchen. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, she filled it with water from her filter and walked it back to me. “Here, drink. You’re drunk as a skunk.”
“Which is why I couldn’t find my key…or count…thank you.” I accepted the glass and sipped it, feeling my stomach tilt. “Gem, I’m sorry.” I handed her the water and placed a pillow over my face.
She huffed from somewhere to my right. Since she was listening, I decided to open my heart to her and spill the entire night.
“I saw Jace.” I peeked out from behind my pillow to see her sleek, dark legs carry her to my side as quick as lightning. She adjusted the silk wrap on her head and settled in for story time. I’d known that was all it would take.
Gemma and I had been best friends since the third grade, when she had just moved to the area and some Confederate ass-wipe child called her the N word. Shocked that none of the other kids seemed bothered by the situation, I walked up and threw a handful of wood chips in his eyes then pushed him to the ground. After that I grabbed Gem’s hand and helped wipe her tears under the metal slide.
Our town was small and old, which unfortunately meant it had racists still lurking around. Heck, our town park was in the shape of the Confederate flag. Down here, history was history, regardless of how painful a reminder it was.
I was stuck to her like glue after that, for fear that something might
happen. I knew I’d never feel the true pain of walking in her shoes, never feel the words hit my soul like they did hers, but I tried my best to be a shield, a safe harbor for when life rained and stormed on her.
She grew up learning to fight every kind of fighting style possible, because not only was she black, she was drop-dead gorgeous, Tyra Banks style with soft blue eyes and tight black curls that cascaded down her back. She drew attention and, in the south, with narrow-minded people, that wasn’t always a good thing.
“What happened? Did he grab you by the arms and kiss you senseless?” she asked dramatically.
She was also a total hopeless romantic.
I half-choked on my tongue as I tried to replay what happened. Her blue eyes widened and softened, then turned hard.
“Aww honey, I’m sorry.” She winced at my embarrassing replay. I had always imagined what it would be like to see Jace Walker again, and hiding a black eye I’d gotten from my husband and operating on a steady diet of Oreos wasn’t the way I’d thought it would go down.
I toyed with the small pillow in my lap and nodded, still way too drunk to even process what was happening. After the Jace incident, I’d driven to a bar near the edge of town, hoping my best friend would go out with me. When she declined, I let a few men buy me drinks, let their tousled blond hair and strong jaws woo me into dancing.
Somewhere in my drunken haze, I thought I saw Jace standing against the back wall watching me. I was certain that hadn’t actually happened, though, because he hated me and was probably happily married to that stupid girl from the barbeque with thirteen kids by now.
The ire in his tone when he’d tugged the locket from my neck had me thinking about why on earth he’d even care that I left back then. Maybe it was just that the locket was Corvin’s and it upset him that I hadn’t returned it so he could give it to my replacement; maybe he was just a selfish jerk. He had dumped me without explanation, had broken my heart into a billion pieces, and now he was acting like that entire thing was my fault. Asshole.