Simone screams as I drop, the ladder clattering to the floor a second before I hit the ground. My ankle crunches and pain shatters through me. I cry out, my eyes watering, body crumpled on the ground. Fuck.
In an instant, Simone’s beside me, her hands on my face, my chest. Her eyes are wild, panicked. “Wes. Oh no, oh no. Are you okay?”
I groan, swallowing down pain-induced vomit. I gasp. “Fine. I’m fine.” I suck in a breath as I try to lift my leg, a sharp pain stabbing my ankle. That doesn’t feel good.
“I’m calling an ambulance.”
“I don’t need an ambulance.”
“Quiet, you idiot.” Simone jumps to her feet and rushes out the storeroom door.
I lie back, letting out a breath.
Grant’s voice comes through from the roof. “You okay, buddy?”
“Never been better.”
A chuckle answers back, Grant’s face poking through the new, smaller hole in the roof above me.
Simone enters the room, her brows drawn so close she looks like she’s about to start crying. She scans my body, clutching her phone.
“I don’t need an ambulance, Simone. Just drive me to the hospital. I think my ankle is broken.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose. She’s not faking this. Maybe she does care about me for real, even a little bit. Her shoulders drop and she shakes her head. “You stupid, idiotic, moronic man.”
“I’m guessing the name-calling means you care.” I flash her the type of grin that always makes her blush.
“Hey, Simone?” Grant calls out from above our heads. “Would you mind bringing the ladder back here so I can come down? I’ll help you load the invalid up in his car.” His eyes dart from me to Simone, a sparkle in his gaze.
Simone stands up again, her eyes lingering on me. “Sure. The invalid can lie on the floor and think about his mistakes.”
My grin widens, and Simone rewards me with a blush.
Ten minutes later, I’ve hopped my way to the passenger seat of my truck, one arm slung around Grant and the other around Simone. There’s a bag of ice strapped to my ankle and a wad of gauze taped to my side. The pain is so bad I think I might pass out, and I sit back in the truck with a groan. My uncle and Alina are standing next to the truck as I roll the window down, their eyes wide.
Simone bursts through the café door and launches herself into the driver’s seat. She puts a takeaway container on my lap and slides two coffees in the cupholder. “You ruined my breakfast, you knucklehead.”
“Glad to hear you’re so concerned for my health.”
“Next time you go traipsing around on rotten roofs, try to wear a harness or something, yeah? Or better yet, use that pea-brain of yours and try not traipsing around on half-collapsed roofs.”
My uncle chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m glad you’ve found someone who cares about you, Wesley. Even though they can nag your ear off, a good woman will always be by your side.” He slides his arm around Alina, and I don’t know if it’s a jab or a genuine compliment. I choose to ignore it altogether.
“Sorry about this. If you need a ride back to the house, Grant offered to take you. Otherwise the hotel is next door—they should be able to give you a map of the town and surrounding attractions. It’s not far to walk back, and the forest is nice this time of year. They can call a cab for you otherwise.”
“We’ll be fine.” Alina’s fingers curl over the window next to me. “You take care, okay?” Her eyes are wide, worried. The weak part of me likes that she cares.
I grunt at them, nod, and Simone starts driving.
She says nothing for a few minutes, then finally glances over at me and shakes her head. “You’re an idiot, you know that? What were you thinking, going up there? You and Grant could have broken your necks. Fiona would have been heartbroken!”
“So you’re more worried about Fiona losing her new boyfriend than you are about me?”
“Yes.” Her eyes shoot flames. “I’m mad at you.”
“Cute. Our first fight.”
Her fingers tighten on the steering wheel.
I reach for one of the coffees and flip open the container on my lap. A breakfast wrap stares back at me.
“That’s mine,” Simone says. “If you need surgery, you won’t be allowed to eat.”
“I don’t need surgery.”
“I wasn’t aware you were a doctor, Wes.” Her eyes do that fiery thing again. “No eating until they clear you. You shouldn’t even be drinking coffee. Which reminds me—those are both for me, and they still won’t be enough. Don’t touch.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Call me ma’am again and I’ll break your other ankle.”
A grin tugs at my lips. “I like you like this.”
“Like what? Mad at you? Setting aside all the responsibilities and important things in my life so I can babysit you at the hospital?”
“When your walls are down. It was weird seeing you behave so appropriately last night. Threw me off.”
“I always behave appropriately.” She grinds her teeth, which only makes me smile wider.
“Yeah, sure. Like when you told Agnes and Dorothy you’d bar them from the café for life.”
“Nothing unites people like a common enemy.”
I laugh, drawing Simone’s wide-eyed gaze. She shakes her head and turns to the road again, clamping her lips shut until we arrive at the hospital. I don’t protest when she rolls a wheelchair to the car, and I accept her help when I hop my way into the seat.
In all honestly, my ankle is killing me. It’s throbbing like crazy, and it feels like my shoe is so tight it might explode. The wound on my side has leaked through the gauze, and I feel weak and sweaty.
Simone leans down and extends the leg rest on the wheelchair, then puts her hand on my shoulder and lets out a sigh. “Let’s get you fixed up.”
“You should be thanking me, Simone.”
“Uh-huh.” A pop of her brow. “Why’s that?”
“I shaved a whole day off the week. You won’t have to interact with my uncle and Alina for at least a few hours.”
“Are you planning on breaking a bone every day for the week? Because there are better ways of dealing with difficult family members.”
I chuckle, leaning my head back against the edge of the wheelchair. Simone’s body is just behind me, close enough to feel its heat. Citrus and lavender. Mm.
She wheels me through the sliding glass doors and gets in line for the triage nurse, glancing back at me every few minutes.
I take back what I said about Alina. I don’t care if she’s worried about me or not. The flash of concern in her face when she stood outside my truck doesn’t compare to the feeling of Simone’s worried anger, her gentle touch, and the time she’s taking to make sure I’m okay.
When she sits down next to me and plucks the takeout container from my lap, the scowl she throws me only makes my heart thump harder. “This was so not part of the deal,” she says, flipping open the top of the container to grab half her breakfast sandwich. “I might have to renegotiate the rent on the café space by the end of the week.”
“I’m open to renegotiation.” My voice comes out like a growl, and I clamp my lips shut. I didn’t mean that to sound so…sexual.
Simone holds my gaze for a moment, her breaths shallow, body completely still. Finally, she shakes her head and turns to her breakfast.
My ankle is broken. It takes thirteen hours of waiting, x-rays, pain meds, and air cast fittings before Simone and I leave the hospital again. She looks exhausted, her red hair a frizzy halo around her face. My stomach grumbles so loud she turns her head toward me. “Food?”
I grunt in acknowledgement.
Simone nods, helping me into the truck. We pass a twenty-four-hour diner and Simone pulls in, coming around once again to help me out of the vehicle. I have crutches now, and Simone hovers near, holding them, until I’m ready to start swinging my way to the door.
She doesn’t comp
lain. Doesn’t give me shit about being irresponsible and reckless. Doesn’t do anything except stand next to me and make sure I don’t stumble and fall.
We slide into a booth and order an obscene amount of food. Simone’s stack of pancakes gets drowned in enough syrup to fill a lake, and I eat a truckload of bacon and sausage. We don’t speak, but in a way it feels more intimate than any date I’ve ever been on.
When I lean back, sated, the pain in my ankle nothing but a dull throb, Simone gives me a tired smile. “Ready to go home?”
I nod. It feels good to hear her call my house home, but I’m too tired to examine that thought as closely as I should. I just hobble to the truck and let her drive me back to Heart’s Cove.
9
Simone
Wes is snoring when my phone rings. I grab it, cringing, and press the side button to get the ringer to quiet down, but Wes hasn’t even twitched. He’s dead to the world. That’s good. I could tell by the lines in his face today that he was in a lot of pain. I hated seeing the sharpness in his eyes and the winces he tried so hard to hide. Idiot man. Who goes up on a roof when they know the support beams are rotten? Does he have a death wish? He and Grant should know better.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I finally manage to read the name on the screen. Clancy. Why is my best friend’s fifteen-year-old kid calling me at nearly midnight?
Frowning, I swipe to answer and put it to my ear. “Clancy?”
Music thumps in the background and something rustles, as if she’s walking away from the noise. Snarky, teenaged, and with a rebellious streak the size of a semi-truck, Clancy is more than a handful—and she obviously decided to go to the party she told me about. Did she call me to gloat?
When she speaks, though, her voice is small. “Simone, I need help.”
I sit up straight, glance at Wes’s prone body, and slip out of the bedroom. “Tell me.”
Turns out Clancy did go to that boy’s party. She and Allie told their parents they were sleeping at each other’s houses and met up in town, got a lift from an older girl, and went to the party without telling anyone. Things at the party are getting out of hand, and she needs someone to come get her. Since Grant and Fiona would lock her up in the house and never let her leave for lying to them, that someone is me. Lovely.
“I’m on my way.”
“Thank you.” Clancy’s voice cracks when she speaks, and something softens in my chest. She’s a good kid. Hell, I did worse than sneaking out for a crush’s party when I was her age. I was an absolute terror, and I had wonderful parents and a stable upbringing.
Clancy grew up thinking her father abandoned her while she watched her mother slowly poison herself with alcohol. It wasn’t until she showed up in town, demanding answers from Grant, that things changed. The girl has been through more than any fifteen-year-old should, and a few bumps are expected.
Now she’s Grant and Fiona’s kid, and I’m apparently her get-out-of-jail-free card.
“Heading out again?” Alina says as I slip on my shoes.
I look up to see her leaning a shoulder against the wall, arms crossed. I hadn’t heard her approach. I grunt in response. Wes must be rubbing off on me. “It seems I’m running a taxi service now.”
She takes a step closer to me. “How’s Wesley? You two went straight upstairs when you got home. I didn’t get a chance to see him.”
As if it’s her right to see her ex-fiancé whenever she wishes. As if she’s the important person in this situation. Give me a break.
“His ankle is broken in three places. Serves him right for stomping around on a half-collapsed roof.”
“That’s not very kind of you,” she admonishes, her perfectly groomed brows drawing together. “He could have been seriously hurt.”
You know what? I’m about done with this conversation. I straighten up and give her my hardest stare. “He’s fine. He’s sleeping. I need to go rescue another poor soul from themselves now, otherwise I’d be sleeping, too. Is there anything you need?”
She rears back as if I slapped her, then shakes her head. “No.”
“I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
“Goodnight.”
I might have slammed the door a bit too hard just there. Oops. Wes’s truck roars to life and I back out of the driveway, glancing at my phone to confirm the address Clancy sent me. Half an hour later, I pull up on a house pulsing with light and music in a quiet suburb. How the neighbors haven’t called the cops yet, I have no idea.
Two blond girls stand up from their spot on the curb. One curly head, one pin-straight. Allie and Clancy.
I stop the truck and jerk my head to say, Get in.
The two girls clamber inside and slam the door. I wait until they have their seatbelts on before I start driving.
Silence settles like a thick blanket in the cab of the truck. I let it drag on for a minute, then two…
“Thanks, Simone.”
Finally.
“Like pulling teeth getting that out of you,” I grumble. I’m tired and grumpy and I’ve been running around saving people all day. Still, I grip the steering wheel and force myself to slowly inhale and exhale. There. Slightly better.
“So,” I start, my voice nice and neutral, “what happened? Did you have a plan for getting back to Heart’s Cove?”
“Alec said he’d drive us.” Clancy stares out the window as Allie crosses her arms beside me. This is an older-style truck, with one long bench in the cab. Thankfully Wes keeps it clean, otherwise there’d be no room for the three of us. Allie’s pressed up against my side as it is, Clancy against hers.
They’re obviously not in a chatty mood. Maybe a bit of prompting will help. “But?”
“But he was drinking when we got there, and I could tell he was drunk when he grabbed his keys to drive us back. I didn’t want to get in the car with him.”
A sigh escapes my lips. It’s hard to be mad at a fifteen-year-old when she made the right decision. I nod. “Okay. Then what happened?”
“He threw us out. Said we were losers.” Clancy’s voice wobbles, and my heart breaks. Stupid boys. They turn into stupid men, and whether you’re fifteen or forty-five, they somehow end up ruining a perfectly good day.
“Oh, Clancy. He’s not worth the dirt off your shoe.”
“Yeah.” She lets out a sigh and shakes her head, then looks over at me. “Please don’t tell my dad.”
“Clancy…”
“Please, Simone. That’s why I called you!”
“I have to tell Grant. I can’t lie.”
“It wouldn’t be lying. It would just be not volunteering the information.”
“That’s lying by omission, Clancy.”
“I’ll tell them you’re dating Wes!”
I whip my head to stare at her. “What?”
“I talked to that chick you walked in with. She asked me how long you were dating, and it all made sense. You leaving Wes’s cabin, driving around in Wes’s truck…”
“All right, Sherlock.” I grind my teeth. This situation is complicated enough as is. I don’t need Clancy adding fuel to the flames. “I don’t negotiate with terrorists, and I’m not keeping secrets like this from your parents.”
“My dad won’t understand, Simone. We go to therapy together every week, and still he won’t let me anywhere near parties or alcohol.”
“You think he might have a reason for that?” Okay, now I sound like a snarky teenager. I need sleep.
“Simone, I didn’t drink at the party. Neither did Allie. I don’t want to drink alcohol, and I don’t want to party, but I just wanted to hang out with my friends. Dad won’t understand that. He’ll think I’m like my mom and all I want to do is get drunk. I don’t! But he’s so worried about me, he won’t let me explain. I didn’t drink. I didn’t get in a car with someone who was drinking. I called an adult.”
“She didn’t have any alcohol, Simone,” Allie says. “Neither of us did. We’re not stupid.”
It’s bee
n a long day. That’s my excuse for even entertaining this ridiculous plan. I know if I keep a secret from Grant and Fiona, it’ll blow up in my face. I know that, yet I’m considering it. I don’t want to punish Clancy and Allie for making good decisions and calling me. I don’t want them to hesitate to call someone next time they’re in trouble.
“So, whose house am I dropping you off at?” I look at Allie. “Yours?”
Allie bites her lip, looking at me with big blue eyes. Give her four or five years and she’ll be an absolute heartbreaker. Candice won’t know what’s hit her when boys start lining up outside her front door to drool over her daughter.
“My mom thinks I’m at Clancy’s place,” Allie says.
“And my dad thinks I’m at Allie’s.”
I make a low noise at the back of my throat. “Right, you told me that. Classic. I did that once or twice, too.”
“Can we sleep at your apartment? You’re not even there, are you?” Clancy’s eyes bore holes in the side of my head. “I saw you driving toward Wes’s house, and that’s the direction you came from this morning. You’re staying with him, aren’t you? Are you really dating him? Since when?”
This is ridiculous. I should drive both girls to their respective homes. I shouldn’t let two teenage girls dictate this situation—but I’m so, so tired. This day has lasted about three years. If I drive them to each other’s house, I’ll have to explain the situation. I’ll have to deal with two sets of parents demanding answers, and who knows how long that’ll take?
I need sleep. Badly.
“You can sleep at my apartment for one night. I’ll be there at seven o’clock tomorrow morning, and then you need to go home. If you touch any of my stuff, I’ll cut off your fingers.” I really need to stop threatening people with bodily harm. I take a deep breath. “Tomorrow, you go home and you tell your parents the truth. I’m trusting you to do that, okay? You have to tell them where you went and what you did. I won’t keep this secret for you.”
Dirty Little Midlife Mess: A Fake Relationship Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 2) Page 9