Anthony: Signature Sweethearts Book Seven

by Rae, Kelsie

  “You’re right,” he murmurs. “It must be nice to not give a shit what others think of you. To be who you want to be, damn the consequences.”

  “Yup. Damn the consequences.” After another beat of silence as Anthony’s gaze stays glued to Jasper, I remember the grilled cheese on the stove and screech, “Crap! I forgot about lunch. Come on up when you’re ready.” And with that, I rush out of the room and up the stairs to see the sandwiches smoking slightly from too much time in the pan.

  “Woops,” I mumble under my breath before flipping the sandwiches. When the other sides are golden brown, I serve the grilled cheese with the burnt bottom down and put the plates on the table.

  Seconds later, I hear Anthony’s loafers stomping up the stairs, and I am greeted with a crooked smile. “Smells like something’s burning.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I bat my eyelashes for good measure and lift the golden side of the sandwich in his direction before taking a giant bite.

  “You sure about that?” he probes knowingly.

  “Yup.” I can’t help but pop the ‘p’ at the end, making him smile mischievously.

  Casually, he walks over and takes a seat, then narrows his gaze on the food in front of him.

  “It won’t hurt ya, Mr. Wright. It’s just a grilled cheese.”

  “A burnt grilled cheese,” he corrects me.

  “Does that look burnt to you?” I ask, playing with fire.

  With his brow quirked in silent challenge, an arrogant Anthony holds my stare and flips the sandwich over to display the blackened bread. “You tell me.”

  Gasping, I clutch my chest, though in reality, I’m having way too much fun. “How’d you know?”

  “Serving the burnt side down? Amateur move, Sway. Honestly, I’m a little disappointed. After your words of wisdom downstairs, I expected more from you.”

  I snort before taking another giant bite of burnt lunch, letting the cheese string from my mouth to the sandwich before using my fingers to pinch it off. I lick the pad of my thumb and grin over at him. “I may be many things, but wise is rarely one of them.”

  He surprises me by throwing his head back and laughing openly. The sound causes a wave of excitement to roll through me at having cracked the tough nut across from me, but I push it aside.

  “I’ve never heard someone discount a compliment of being wise before. Usually, they grab on with both hands and ask for it to be put into writing so they can pull it out anytime they’re questioned. ‘Nope. You said I was wise. No take backs.’” He uses a high, almost feminine voice to portray a woman speaking, and I giggle in return, enjoying his playfulness.

  “Well, I mean, if you’re offering to put it in writing, I won’t complain….” I wink for good measure then take another bite.

  “Nope. No deal. How can I trust a woman with pink hair?”

  “Again?” I say, exasperated. “What’s the problem with pink hair?”

  “I don’t know. It’s so…bright.”

  “Maybe I like bright,” I counter.

  He looks around my kitchen, taking in the teal blue walls, bright yellow hand towels, and gold accents before smirking. “I can tell. And nothing is wrong with your hair. It’s just…different.”

  “Maybe I like being different.”

  “And you should,” he encourages. “If I’m being honest, it’s kind of refreshing. I’m so used to the same shit from every Tom, Dick, and Harry, that when I’m around someone who thinks outside of the box, I don’t really know what to do with them.”

  With my chest puffed out in pride, I give him a coy smile. “Like me?”

  He looks up and takes a bite of his burnt sandwich, holding my stare. I watch as he slowly chews his food, his strong jaw clenching with his mouth firmly closed as he thinks it over. I feel like I’m under a damn microscope but refuse to let my shoulders hunch under his scrutiny.

  Let him look. Let him judge. Let him make his assumptions whether they’re right or wrong. I don’t care. I’m me, and I won’t let anyone change that.

  When he swallows, I can see he’s come to a conclusion of some kind, but I can’t figure out what it is.

  “Like you,” he agrees. “What made you decide to dye your hair?”

  I shrug. “I dunno. I guess I’m a bit spontaneous when it comes to stuff like that. Why overthink things that don’t need to be overthought? I do what I want to do when I want to do them.”

  With a widened gaze, he murmurs, “Then I’m jealous. I kept my head down for so long, doing what I was told to do and being who I thought I was supposed to be, that I don’t know what I want to do with my life now that it’s all fallen apart.”

  “What do you mean, now that it’s all fallen apart?”

  Abruptly, he stands from the table and sets the empty plate in the sink before turning the water on and washing it with a bit of dish soap. “Nothing at all. I’m going to go finish that perch for Jasper the jackass. Thanks for lunch.”

  And with that, he disappears down the stairs while my mind is left reeling with one single question.

  What the hell did he mean by that?

  Chapter Six

  Anthony

  My back aches as I pull into the hotel and put the car in park when my phone starts to ring from the front pocket of my jeans. My brows furrow in confusion. It’s a little pathetic to admit that since I lost my job and Indie left me, my phone is mainly used for GPS and the internet.

  Pitiful, I know.

  As my mom’s name flashes across the screen, I squeeze my eyes shut before swiping my thumb across it and bringing the phone to my ear.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hi, sweetie!”

  Pinching the bridge of my nose, I repeat, “Hi. What’s up?”

  It’s not that I don’t love my mom. I do. Things have just felt a little weird since my life turned upside down, and I haven’t had the heart to fill her in on my shitty life changes. Part of me wonders if she looks at me as a disappointment because I let her perfect future daughter-in-law slip through my fingers.

  “How have you been doing lately?” she probes. “I haven’t heard from you.”

  Taking the keycard from my wallet, I open the side door to the hotel and head to my room while muttering, “Sorry. Things have been busy lately.” The lie is bitter as it leaves me, but I’ve already caused enough stress on her. I don’t need to add more by admitting I’ve lost my job. My mom, Mary, is best friends with Claire, who happens to be Indie’s mom. And Indie’s my ex. See how that all ties together? Small world.

  The word ex still feels foreign as it echoes through my mind. Ex? How can Indie be my ex? We were together for thirteen goddamn years. How could she throw all of that away?

  Then I remember the way she looked at Rhett, our neighbor. The way she fell for him in ways she’d never fallen for me. The way she broke things off with tears in her eyes, saying we weren’t meant to be.

  Sway was right. I really am nothing but a stray. A man who was tossed aside when something better came along. The man who wasn’t good enough, no matter how much he tried to be. The thought still burns like a damn branding iron.

  I know it wasn’t her fault. Hell, I saw it first-hand. We had problems. Problems I ignored. Issues I didn’t bother to fix. Regrets I pushed aside, pretending that if I didn’t face them, then they didn’t exist in the first place. I let her slip through my fingers because I was too consumed with building our happily ever after rather than living it.

  Then, weeks later, I lost the only thing I had left. My job.

  My mom’s voice brings me back to the present. “I know things get busy, Tony, but that doesn’t mean you can forget to call your mom.”

  She’s right.

  Opening the door to my standard hotel room, I collapse onto the bed, not bothering to remove my shoes.

  Keeping my phone pressed to my ear, I mutter, “I know. It’s no excuse, and I’m sorry. How are things?”

  “They’re alright. Your fathe
r and I went out to dinner with Claire and Charlie….” Her voice drops off at the end, and I can tell she’s nervous about bringing them up. I guess that makes sense, since their daughter broke my heart.

  I clear my throat and search for a normal response the old Anthony would’ve said. “That’s nice, Mom. How are they doing?”

  “Well….” My chest tightens, and a little piece of me knows that whatever is about to be said is going to hurt. “They actually just got back from a trip to the Maldives.”

  With my brows pinched together, I look up at the popcorn ceiling. “That’s interesting. Did they have a good time? I thought they didn’t like to travel?”

  “They don’t…normally. You know they’re homebodies like your dad and me.” She pauses, again, and I anxiously wait for her to continue as a feeling of foreboding weighs heavily on my shoulders. “Umm…. Honey, they went to attend a destination wedding. For Indie.”

  Aaand there’s the punch to the gut I could feel coming.

  “She’s married?” I choke out, my tone laced with disbelief.

  There’s another pause on my mom’s end before I hear her soft little voice confirm the truth. “Yes, honey. I’m sorry, but she is.”

  With a shaky breath, I wipe beneath my nose and sniff quietly to hold in the tears that threaten to break loose. “Thanks for letting me know. I gotta go, but I promise to call you soon, okay?”

  “Of course, Tony. I love you, okay?”

  I nod even when I know she can’t see me, but I can’t seem to find my voice. Clearing my throat, I murmur, “Love you too. Tell Dad I said, ‘hi.’”

  “Will do. Bye, baby.”

  “Bye.” I chuck the phone at the wall across from me as a fresh wave of anger courses through my veins.

  “Fuck!” I scream, rolling onto my side and punching the pillow. It does nothing to release the frustration, so I collapse onto the floor and curl my legs into my chest, cradling my head in my hands. I know we weren’t meant to be. I know she’s happier with him than she ever was when we were together. I know that I was holding her hostage in a dead-end relationship because I was too terrified to admit that I was miserable. But it doesn’t stop the laceration from cutting deep into my chest with the knowledge that the girl I was supposed to live my happily ever after with has moved on without me.

  And damn––it hurts.

  Chapter Seven

  Sway

  He’s late. I’ve called him half a dozen times, but he hasn’t picked up or returned any of my calls. Frustration starts to blossom in my stomach, but I shove it down and take a few deep breaths. Calling again, it goes straight to voicemail, and I finally drop the phone to my side in defeat.

  Fine. Apparently Anthony is a no-show. Not a big deal.

  So why do I miss his company?

  * * *

  A few days later, there’s a soft knock on my door that makes me jump in surprise. I look at the time on my phone before shrugging and peeking through the peephole.

  With a puzzled expression, I unlatch the lock and open the door.

  “Hey, is everything okay? I’ve been worried. You disappeared.” The onslaught of word vomit tumbles from my mouth as I take in the man standing on my front porch. Rumpled shirt? Check. Tousled hair? Check. Sexy as hell scruff on his chin? Double check. However, it’s his eyes that make me pause. They look haunted, causing any residual anger from his disappearance to evaporate into thin air.

  “Whoa,” I breathe.

  “I’m fine. Just want to get to work and finish my hours.” A breath of steam swirls into the cold air as Anthony gives me a gruff reply.

  Never one to back away from awkward situations, I step outside and wrap my arms around myself to keep the heat in. “What’s going on? You look….” Broken. “You look like you could use someone to talk to.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Licking my lips, I shake my head. “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s not your job to believe me. It’s your job to let me work off my community service hours so I can get out of this town and move on.”

  The iciness in his tone makes the brisk air surrounding me feel like a freaking sauna, but I press forward anyway. “You’re right. It’s not my job. But that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to care. I can tell that you’re not ready yet, but I want you to know that you can talk to me as soon as you are.”

  And with that, I move to the side, and he steps around me, heading downstairs to do his current task while I’m left trying to connect the man who first showed up on my doorstep with the one who just entered my home.

  * * *

  I don’t know if it’s my imagination or not, but the loud stomping and the noisy hammering are grating on my nerves. Finally, after hours of patience, I go to investigate.

  Not bothering to be sneaky, I clamor down the stairs like a damn elephant and cross my arms when I see Anthony attempt to hammer a nail into the wall with way more gusto than necessary. If he’s not careful, he’ll be patching the sheetrock in the next few minutes. Hell, even Jasper’s burrowing in the corner to get away from his salty demeanor, and that’s saying something.

  I decide to ignore the fact that the tool belt hanging low on his hips and the furled lip painted on his face––in combination with his flared nostrils––is totally doing it for me. Who knew I was attracted to moody assholes with a stick up their butts?

  I know that he knows I’m down here watching him, and a fresh wave of frustration pulses through me when I see he isn’t going to acknowledge me.

  Pursing my lips, I begin. “What’s going on, Anthony?”

  “Nothing,” he grunts, not bothering to look me in the eye.

  “Bullshit,” I argue. “What the hell is your problem? You’re acting like a freaking toddler right now, and I want to know why.”

  “None of your business, Sway.”

  “You’re right,” I concede, watching his body sag in relief before I press forward. “But I don’t really give a shit right now. We both know I’ve never been one to bend to social protocol, and that includes minding my own business, so tell me what’s going on. I’ve never seen you like this.”

  “You don’t know me,” he scoffs.

  “So? This is me trying to get to know you, and you’re pushing me away. How can you expect to build relationships if all you do is shut down?”

  His hackles rise right before my eyes as he turns to me. “Relationships? This isn’t a freaking relationship, Sway.” He spits my name as if it’s a curse. “I’m here because I’ll go to jail if I’m not. I’m here because I was a bastard who drove into your yard while drunk off my ass. I’m here because I have to be.”

  “You’re right. But you’re also here because you were drunk off your ass and didn’t ever talk to anyone about why. Do you want me to be your freaking parole officer? Fine. Where the hell were you the past few days? What the hell happened to make you snap? Talk to me!”

  Stalking toward me with enough testosterone to make me melt, he gets up in my face. “You want me to talk? You want to know why I didn’t show up the past few days? Why I’m pissed? Because my girlfriend of thirteen damn years just got married! My dream of a white picket fence, three kids, and a little garden in the front is gone! My entire life––everything I’ve been building––evaporated into thin air within two freaking months, and the final nail has been hammered in with her moving on without me!” he screams, his face flushing red with anger.

  My eyes widen in shock as I digest his confession, searching for the right thing to say. Unfortunately for this particular situation, I don’t think there is a right thing to say.

  “Did you love her?”

  “Of course I did!”

  “Then why did you let her go?”

  “I-I didn’t,” he argues, though I don’t miss the way he stumbles over the words. “I mean, she didn’t want me. She wanted him. I had to let her go because I wanted her to be happy.”

  “And why do you think you didn’t make her happy?”<
br />
  “Because she said so. She told me I spent too much time at work, and I didn’t care. She was pleading with me to do things with her, to be with her, and I didn’t listen. I screwed up.”

  “And why didn’t you listen?”

  “Because I was busy with work and stuff.”

  “Too busy for the love of your life?” I shake my head and call him out. “No. I don’t buy it.”

  Anthony flinches as if I’ve physically assaulted him before he growls, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t think that’s how it works. I know that everyone might need space on occasion, but I feel like when you really love someone, you genuinely want to be around the other person. You want to come home and tell them about your day. You count the minutes until you can hold them in your arms again. I don’t think it’s healthy for you to lie to yourself and everyone else around you. That all the missed opportunities to be with someone you supposedly loved are because of a pathetic excuse like work.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “No. Lying to yourself is bullshit. Really look at the relationship you had. And I mean really look at it, Anthony. Do you honestly think you wanted to live the rest of your life like that? Were you really happy? Or do you just miss the idea of it?”

  My words nearly bring him to his knees, and I watch him waver as he considers them.

  After a few long seconds, I push one last time as we stand almost chest to chest with only a few inches of space between us.

  “Let me ask you again, Anthony. Did you really love her?”

  Glancing down at his shoes, he admits the truth in a quiet voice. “I thought I did.”

  “Were you relieved when it ended?”

  He grips the back of his neck and squeezes tightly as he looks me straight in the eyes. “I don’t know anymore.”

  “Then I think you have your answer. Don’t give your ex that kind of control. Don’t give her the power to break you when I don’t think that was her intention in the first place. She saw the same truth you’re trying to ignore. You weren’t meant to be together, and that’s okay. She found her happily ever after, Anthony. And I think one day, you might find yours too. But only if you’re brave enough to see what she saw, instead of letting the what-ifs drive you mad. You need to let the anger go and take control of your life. If you don’t, I think it’ll ruin you.”