by Harloe Rae
Friday nights used to be exciting, a celebration after a long work week. There was always something to look forward to. Now this is just another unremarkable point in a long line, slowly creeping and dragging. What do I have planned? A whole lot of nothing.
The Dapper is calling my name, loud and clear. I’m a diehard regular at the diner next door. Most of the time they know my order before I do. My stomach rumbles and gurgles while I think about dinner. I’m in the mood for a juicy burger and extra salty fries. Usually I’m a light eater, but my body is craving more sustenance. Burning those extra calories has left me famished.
I check the clock again. Thirty minutes until close. I can survive that long. If only a customer or two would come in and take my mind off food.
As if hearing my silent plea, the door swings open. The bell calls out, and a familiar little figure zooms inside. I peer around the display case that’s obstructing my view. Ollie sends me a beaming smile and my hunger pains are instantly forgotten.
Oh, this kid is going to break so many hearts when he’s older.
“Hi, Miss Braelyn.” Ollie strides up to me like we’re the best of pals. Maybe we already are.
My depleted energy seems to spring back. I give him a wave. “Hey, Ollie. Glad to see you again.”
“Sorry I’m late.”
I shake my head. “Nonsense. You’re right on time. Is Mary with you?”
His forehead creases. “Uh, no. She went home. We would’ve been here sooner, but my dad was working.” Ollie hitches a small thumb over his shoulder.
That’s when the door opens with a bang. A tall man stomps in with the power of a hurricane. Is the ground shaking? If it is, I barely notice.
Holy. Hotness.
Who ordered the sex in a suit?
The guy’s laser focus is on the boy beside me so he doesn’t notice my slack jaw. He’s tall, but not overly bulky. His thick hair is styled in a messy sort of way, and I want to smooth the unruly flyaways. A five-o’clock shadow dusts his jaw, the first signs of stubble barely visible. The contrast between his light eyes and dark features is hypnotic. An impeccable suit covers his broad frame, cut to fit his wide shoulders and trim waist perfectly. He could easily sell this look. Hell, after one glance I’m ready to buy it off him.
He’s fucking lickable.
“Ollie, I told you to wait. Selective listening isn’t cute anymore. Why do you insist on running ahead of me?” The stranger’s boom ricochets around us.
I blink, and the haze evaporates. What the actual eff was that? I look down at the child in question and wait for him to answer. He’s squirming all about. Ollie barely gives his father a second glance, too busy studying the assortment of candy on display. But no worries. I’m giving this man more attention than he needs anyway. I can hardly take my peepers off him.
Ollie lingers for another beat, then quickly dashes to the taffy bins. I see him move from one to the next in my peripheral vision.
“Need a camera?”
I startle at the harsh growl. “Huh?”
“Then you can take a picture.” His frosty blue eyes narrow on me, and I’m frozen in place.
“Excuse me?” Why is my voice so breathy?
“It’ll last longer.” He raises a dark brow.
Clarity seeps into my stupor, and the urge to tuck tail streaks through me. But I don’t. I raise my chin and openly appraise him. “I like your suit.”
“It’s custom fit.”
“Looks that way.”
He crosses his arms and stands straighter. “You’re not my type, taffy girl.”
I fight the urge to scratch my temple, being stumped again. “Okay?”
“Stare all you want. It’ll get you nowhere.” He points between us. “Never gonna happen.”
For a moment, all I can do is gape at him. I feel my face go up in flames. Is he for freaking real?
“I w-wasn’t… no, I didn’t mean,” I sputter. “I’m not hitting on you.”
His smirk is devilish. “Save it for the judge, sugar. I get it.”
Before I can defend myself, Ollie zips toward us and smiles at me. “Do you like my dad?”
Everything inside of me skids to a stop. I pop my mouth open, but nothing comes out. My throat is a tight fist, and swallowing is a challenge. How the hell do I respond to that?
I tug at the collar of my shirt. “Uh, well, we haven’t really met. I don’t even know his name.”
Ollie’s gaze bounces between us. “He didn’t tell you?”
“Nope.” There’s no hesitation. Throwing this cocky dick under the bus is an easy decision.
The ass glares at me. “We didn’t get that far.”
Ollie shakes a finger at his dad. “That’s not polite. You’re supposed to do introductions first. That’s what you taught me.”
He remains silent, thoroughly scolded by a child. Ollie huffs loudly. I lift a hand to cover my growing smile. Something tells me this imposing man wouldn’t appreciate my humor.
“Brance Stone,” he finally offers. A weaker woman might wither under that icy stare. Too bad for him, I’m all out of shits to give.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Braelyn Miller.” I plaster on an extra wide grin for good measure.
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Likewise.”
I turn my attention to the one who deserves it. “You have very nice manners, little guy.”
“Thank you!” Pure sunshine beams off Ollie. He gives my mood an instant boost, unlike the grumbling grouch looming in front of me.
“Daddy?” Ollie tugs on Brance’s sleeve. “Can I go play?”
“Sure,” he answers without taking his eyes off me.
Ollie doesn’t recognize the suffocating tension in the room and runs off toward the toy aisle.
Brance calmly loosens the knot of his tie. He oozes confidence and swagger. I can tell this man is used to calling the shots. But this is my store.
“So, Braelyn,” he spits my name like a curse, “what sort of game are you playing?”
I twist my lips. “Um, not sure what you mean?”
“There’s no point trying to fuck with me. I know your type.”
I don’t bother asking why he has a massive chip on his shoulder. This guy is clearly pissed at the world, or me specifically. Even if I scrounge up a useful question, the chances of him answering honestly seem slim.
Might as well have a bit of fun.
“A small business owner trying to make a living?” I tack on a cheesy smile, just for kicks.
He makes a show of appraising my store with thinly veiled disgust. “What the fuck kind of name is Thicket?”
I keep my expression flat, refusing to give him a reaction. “It’s a place to get lost in. An escape from reality. Somewhere to be free.”
Brance clucks his tongue. “And you sell what exactly?”
“A little of everything. Odds, ends, and everything in between.”
“Sounds stupid.”
In this moment, I’m yanked from my grey bleakness. The numbness that’s been cloaking me for years falls to the floor. A fire burns in my belly and I glare at him. I take pride in being even tempered, but everyone has their limits. This guy is making me lose my cool. Quite literally.
“Care to rephrase that?” It takes every ounce of strength to force away the tremor from my voice.
“No,” Brance says simply.
He’s ridiculing my dream. My job. My livelihood. My blood, sweat, and tears. All with a nasty smirk on his handsome face. Warning bells clang loudly in my brain, but I don’t need them. Brance is the type of man I know damn well to stay far away from.
“No one’s forcing you to stay.”
He nods in the direction Ollie went. “Kid wanted candy. He’s been blabbing about this place nonstop. Your luring tactics are successful.”
I point to the door. “You’re free to leave.”
“Kicking out a paying customer?”
“Ollie can stay. He knows how to treat people
with respect, which is plenty more than I can say about his father. You can wait outside.” I massage my throbbing temples.
“I’d rather not.”
A scream brews in my chest, but I gulp it down. This man is pushing every button I have. I suck in a cleansing breath through flared nostrils. It barely takes the edge off.
“Do you have a problem with me?” I lift my arms, letting them fall to my sides.
“What gives you that idea?”
I gesture toward him. “Every condescending thing that’s come out of your mouth.”
“It’s best practice to be honest. I’m just speaking the truth.”
“And ripping me apart is a necessary evil?”
Brance’s eyes flash, filling with destruction, but the emotion is gone in an instant. A shallow flatness replaces it. I recognize the hollow gleam as my own. But that’s where our similarities end.
This man hides everything behind a fierce mask of indifference. He’s a shell wrapped in extremely handsome packaging. My pain is stark and on display for all to see. Sorrow leaks out of me on a constant basis. I prefer keeping to myself and avoiding confrontation. His presence takes up the entire store, and not in a good way. He’s dragging in a black cloud that almost makes me shudder. But I won’t let him cut me down. I take care of that on my own.
Our glaring match continues. He’s commanding and domineering, but I’m not shying away. What the hell is eating this guy? I’m too terrified of the answer to ask. Turning the tables feels like a safer choice. At least for now.
I lean against the counter, trying to appear relaxed and confident. “Has anyone ever called you rude?”
Brance snorts. “Constantly.”
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“Don’t worry about hurting my feelings, sugar. I couldn’t care less what others think of me. My zero tolerance for most people certainly helps with that.”
I waver for a second but allow curiosity to reign. “And who, dare I ask, makes the top of your list?”
He rocks on the soles of his leather loafers. “In general? Bad drivers, liars, smokers, manipulative shop owners, spoiled women…”
I’m barely listening after he says the first one. His voice slaps my cheek, a lash I wasn’t expecting. I almost raise my hand to rub at the phantom sting. Static buzzes in my ears, and I lose focus.
I always complained about Devon’s driving. He was on the reckless side, speeding and taking risks. I used to beg him to slow down. He never did.
The sound of metal crudely bending screeches into my mind. Mangled visions smash into the walls of my weak mental state, demanding entry. I squeeze my eyes shut against the onslaught.
Fuck, not now. I can’t let this happen in front of him.
But the memories don’t relent. Flashbacks pound into me, screaming and yelling. It’s too loud. There’s so much blood.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” His brash tone crashes through the rising panic. I slam to the present with a jolt.
Sharp pain shoots up my torso and I almost double over. I feel my chest rising and falling, far too fast. Fire licks at my face, and I flinch. Black spots speckle my vision. Dammit, I’m going to pass out. I stumble backwards in my haste to put more distance between us.
With shaky fingers, I yank at my hair. “I-I’ve got s-something to do. Show yourself out.”
The need to escape slithers through mem My skin prickles from the foul sensation. I turn away without another word.
“Where the hell are you going?” Brance booms from behind me. “I’m still talking to you.”
I don’t respond—I can’t. My body is physically wrung out. I’m practically sprinting toward the back corner. Locking myself away from everything is top priority. There I’ll suffer and agonize in peace—alone. Nothing else matters at this point, and it probably never will.
I slam the storage room door and sag against the unforgiving surface. My eyes are hot, tears already forming. The cinch around my ribs makes it hard to breathe. Shit, I’m a disaster. My shallow panting echoes across the dark space and doom settles around me.
Will I ever recover?
Brance
Stroll
The mid-morning sun streaks through the leafy branches overhead. Shadows splotch the sidewalk, mixing with a few scattered puddles. Ollie is bouncing in his sneakers beside me. His little hand is firmly clasped in mine while we amble along the wooded path. He tugs on my arm, silently begging me to speed up. When that doesn’t work, he stomps his foot and halts abruptly.
“Daddy,” Ollie whines.
I chuckle and smile down at him. “Is there something wrong?”
His bottom lip sticks out in an award-winning pout. “All the good swings are gonna be taken. We need to hurry.”
My shoulders shake as I laugh harder. I seal my lips to avoid spilling some harsh truths. What I wouldn’t give to be a child again, my biggest worry being picked first for kickball. But I’m not so lucky. Adulting can kiss my ass.
“We’re almost there, buddy. It’s still early. There’s plenty of stuff you can play on.”
“But I love the red swing best. What if someone’s using it?”
I comb through his messy hair. “Then you’ll wait until they’re done. The green seat is just as good.”
Ollie shakes his head wildly. “Is not.”
I take a deep breath, fully aware this conversation will not end in my favor. “Okay, okay. You’re right. I promise you’ll get plenty of turns on the red swing.”
“And then we’ll go to Miss Braelyn’s store for candy?”
Her name is enough to make my muscles twitch. “We’re nowhere near that place.”
“But it’s not far away. We got there super fast last night.” His tone raises an octave. Ollie’s breezy explanation isn’t swaying me in the slightest.
I squint at him. “Your concept of time is a tad skewed.”
A furrow forms between his brows. “Huh?”
“Never mind.”
“Does that mean we’re going to Thicket?”
“No.”
His nose wrinkles. “Why not?”
“Just because.”
“You’re not giving a good reason.”
When did my son become so well versed in the art of communication? The tether holding my patience together stretches taut. “I have to choose just one? That’s pushing it. The options are endless,” I mutter.
“Why, Daddy? It’s really fun there! She has toys and games and pretty pictures.”
There’re so many things I could say in this moment, none of them good. I settle for a simple excuse. “We were just there yesterday.”
“So?” His round eyes bore into me, searching for answers I won’t give.
I try the easy way again. “There’s no reason to go back this soon.”
“I’ll just run in and grab some taffy super quick.”
I cross my arms. “That woman will distract you with her”—I swallow a curse—“chatter.”
“Miss Braelyn? I like when she talks to me.” His smile is wide and bright.
“Of course you do,” I scoff. My son is so naive. He’ll learn soon enough how conniving the female race is.
“Is that a yes?”
“Definitely not.”
“But—”
“No,” I snap.
Ollie looks down, blinking fast. My stomach bottoms out, and I want to kick myself in the nuts. Fuck, I’m an asshole.
I rub his shoulder. “Hey, hey. I’m sorry for yelling, buddy.”
His lashes are damp when he looks at me. “Why don’t you like Miss Braelyn?”
My son has always been perceptive. I’ve never minded more than in this moment. “Not sure what you mean,” I deflect.
“You used the angry voice with her, like you just did with me.” His somber tone is a straight shot to my black heart.
Dammit, this kid rips me to shreds. I glance up at the clear sky and contemplate how to dig myself out of this mess. M
y gears are rusty and grinding, providing zero help. I dare a peek at him. His stricken expression ruins me all over again.
I bend forward and ruffle his shaggy hair. “I didn’t mean to, Ollie. I’ll try harder to hold my temper.” The vow solidifies in my chest, quickly turning ironclad.
Blue eyes the same shade as mine stare up at me. “With me or Miss Braelyn?”
I almost sneer at his suggestion. Why is he still thinking of that woman? “Just you, buddy. You’re the only one that matters.”
In an attempt to move on, I steer him in the direction of our original destination. But Ollie doesn’t budge.
“Daddy?”
I tamp down the bellow ripping at my throat. “Yes, Ollie?”
“Why do you hate Miss Braelyn?”
I grind my molars as we circle back to this topic. Again. After blowing out a string of silent expletives, I manage to force out, “I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.”
“What’s the point of asking if you’re certain?”
Little fists park on his hips. “Because I want to know why.”
“It doesn’t matter how I feel.”
“Does so.”
If there was a brick wall nearby, I’d bash my head against it. There’s no wonder where he gets this stubborn streak from. “And why’s that?”
“I want you to marry her. My teacher says two people get married when they’re in love. How do I get you to love Miss Braelyn?”
That notion alone is inconceivable. “Never gonna happen, Ollie. And I’ve heard enough about her for one day. Let’s get going.” I point to the path, my fingers scissoring in the signal for walking.
His slim shoulders slump, but he follows my command. Thank Christ for small miracles. We trudge off toward the park, a murky cloud looming over us. Birds whistle overhead, the tune an attempt to soothe. All I hear is static. Ollie’s mood doesn’t improve when the playground comes into view. His steps are slow as he shuffles to the sandbox and sits on the edge.
I drag a hand through my hair. There’s a neon sign hanging above me that lists all the ways I’m failing him. I stomp over to a large oak and park my hip against the trunk. This parenting gig never gets easier. But I’ll never quit giving that child all of me.