by Nash, Willa
“I don’t know, baby.” He put his hand on my thigh. “But give her some time. She’ll explain.”
Duke had seen the changes in my best friend over the past months too. The same patience he had for me, he extended to her as honorary family.
This man truly was a dream. He’d given me a home. A family. Soon, a baby. And a puppy we’d named Cheddar.
I had no idea what was happening with Everly, but if Reese Huxley hurt her in any way, I’d burn his gallery to the damn ground.
“I’m worried about her,” I said.
“I know.” Duke looped his arm around me. The movement was fluid, finally free of the stiffness the shooting had caused. He’d healed quickly, save for a scar he’d have for the rest of his life. Even if evidence of Jennifer’s bullet wasn’t there to remind me daily, I doubted I’d ever get the image of his bleeding body out of my mind.
I went back to my food, drowning the stress of Everly’s announcement in processed calories.
Travis stood, spotted us and came up to join us, taking Everly’s empty seat at my side. “Hey, guys.”
Duke handed him a spare hot dog. “How’s it going, bud?”
“Good. Got a job today.”
“You did?” I bumped my shoulder into his. “Congrats. Where?”
“The movie theater.”
“Guess we’ll have to go to more movies,” Duke said, finishing his last bite of pizza.
I handed him my nachos, not wanting any more. My stomach still wasn’t in a good place, and with the knot in it—courtesy of Everly—I’d probably just eat cold cereal when we got home.
Travis didn’t inhale his food like normal. Instead, his hot dog rested in his lap while his gaze drifted to the rows below, where Savannah slid into a seat beside a couple of other boys. The moment she was seated, his posture drooped.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he muttered, finally eating. He demolished the hot dog Duke had given him, then devoured my pizza slice. With him around, I didn’t have to worry about wasting food. Travis came over once a week for dinner and there were never leftovers, no matter how much Duke and I cooked.
Melanie had put him in counseling after the shooting. He’d gone, begrudgingly at first like he had with our Spanish lessons, but after a month, the complaining had stopped.
Except for tonight.
Travis grumbled something under his breath. I ignored it, until two minutes later he did it again.
“Okay, spill,” I ordered. “What’s wrong?”
He sighed. “I want to ask Savannah out.”
“Aren’t you dating already?” Duke asked.
“No. We’re just friends. I guess. We were. I don’t know. Girls are complicated.”
That girl especially. “Does she like you?”
“I thought so. She kissed me in the parking lot when we came in, but then she wanted to sit with Jordan Brown.”
“Maybe she’s not sure that you like her,” I said. “If you asked her out, what would you do?”
“I don’t know. Go out to eat, I guess. Get cheeseburgers or grilled cheeses or cheesesteaks.”
Duke leaned his forearms on his knees, looking at Travis like he’d sprouted wings. “That’s awfully specific.”
“Well, I don’t know.” Travis tossed up his hands. “You guys are always talking about cheese. I mean, you named your dog Cheddar.”
I pulled in my lips to keep from laughing but my darling husband didn’t even try to spare the boy’s feelings.
Duke burst out laughing, leaning close to bury his face in my hair.
My blond hair. After four months of careful lightening treatments, I was almost back to my natural color.
“So, um . . .” Don’t laugh, Lucy. Don’t laugh. “That’s not why we talk about cheese. It’s just an inside joke. I’ll tell you about it later.”
Duke’s laughter turned into a roar, growing so loud that he drew attention from the others around us.
I elbowed Duke in the side. Hard. This was not how to be supportive of Travis’s love life.
“Just ask her out to dinner,” I told Travis. “Take her somewhere nice.”
“And get your ass down there.” Duke sat up straight, shaking his head as he continued to laugh. “If she’s sitting with another guy, you’d better be right beside her so she knows how you feel and that Jordan kid does too.”
Travis contemplated the advice for a few seconds, then shot out of his seat and practically leapt across us to jog down the stairs.
“I had no idea tonight’s game was going to be so dramatic,” I told Duke.
“Small-town life, baby. You’re in the thick of it now.”
Small Town Life. I’d been struggling with a title for my next album, but that was it.
“I love it.” I leaned into his side.
I’d soak up every moment of this simple drama if that meant we’d live this life together, waiting to welcome the child in my belly into our arms.
“You’re humming.” Duke leaned in to whisper.
“Huh?”
“You’re humming.” He smiled that handsome, sexy smile that made my heart melt and my body ignite. “That usually means you’re happy.”
“I am.” Happier than I could have imagined in my wildest dreams. I laid my head on his shoulder. “I love you, Sheriff.”
“Love you too, baby.”
We sat there, Duke cheering on the team and me humming the song that would end up becoming Duke’s.
Because a man like Duke Evans deserved one hell of a song.
Want more Lucy and Duke?
Click HERE to download a bonus epilogue!
Get text message updates for Willa Nash.
Text WILLA to 855-461-1698
The Calamity Montana series continues with Everly and Hux in The Bluff.
The Bluff
As Calamity’s newest resident, Everly Christian thought life in small-town Montana would be dull and tame—and she needs a little mundane after the last few chaotic years. But one night, boredom drives her to the local bar, where she finds herself sitting beside a handsome and mysterious artist.
The man is anything but dull and tame, especially in the bedroom, and when she steps out of his shower and overhears his conversation, life gets interesting again.
Reese Huxley needs a wife.
And why shouldn’t Everly be the bride?
She’s got her reasons for agreeing to the hasty nuptials—reasons she’s keeping to herself. As long as she can stop herself from falling in love with her husband, she’ll make it out of this sham marriage in one piece. But Everly has a weakness for wayward men, and the more Hux pushes her away, the more she realizes this bluff is anything but a lie.
Order The Bluff
Preview to Runaway Road
Please enjoy this preview to Runaway Road, the first book in the Runaway series by Willa’s alter ego, Devney Perry.
LONDYN
“Londyn, please. Please, don’t do this.”
Please, don’t do this.
If I had a quarter for every time I’d heard that sentence from this man in the last eight years, I’d be a richer woman.
“Goodbye, Thomas.” I ended the call. Since he usually called back five seconds after I hung up on him, I turned the damn thing off and tossed it across the bed to my best friend, who stood on the other side. “Here.”
“Ack.” Gemma fumbled it, she’d always been a butterfingers, and it fell unharmed onto the fluffy white down comforter. She snatched it up. “What do you mean, here?”
“Keep it. Smash it. I don’t care. But I’m not taking it with me.” I folded another T-shirt and laid it in my suitcase.
The entire thing was packed with brand-new clothes, most with the tags still attached. There wasn’t a stitch of silk or satin to be found. Nothing I was taking required a press or steam and there sure as hell wasn’t a pair of heels stuffed inside.
I had jeans. Normal jeans. I hadn’t owned a pair in years. Now I had te
n. Some had distressed patches by the knees. Some had frayed hems. Some were slouchy—or boyfriend, as the labels read.
Along with my denim, I had tees. White. Gray. Black. Navy. All the same colors as the suits I’d worn for years, but this time everything was machine-washable cotton. I might even wear them without a bra.
My wardrobe would no longer be a prison. Neither would this house. Neither would my phone.
“You have to take a phone, Londyn.” Gemma planted her hands on her hips. Her cream suit was perfect—I used to have the same one. Her dark hair was styled in a tight chignon, exactly how I used to style my blond mane.
“No.” I folded the last T-shirt. “No phone.”
“What? That’s—it’s . . . insane. And stupid.”
I shrugged. “We’ve both done it before.”
“And we were both stupid before. We’re lucky we didn’t end up as skin suits.” She threw her long arms out at her sides, huffing as she shook her head. “Take your phone.”
“No.”
“Londyn,” she snapped. Gemma acted angry but her anxious gaze spoke otherwise. She was simply worried. If I were in her Louboutins, I would be too. “How will I find you?”
“You won’t find me. That’s the point.” I rounded the bed and took her pink-manicured hands in my own. I’d missed our standing date at the salon for the past three weeks and my nails were wrecked. I’d ripped off my shellac and chewed them to the nub. “I’m going to be okay.”
She looked at me, standing three inches taller. “Please, don’t do this.”
“No,” I whispered. “Not you too.”
“Londyn,” she whispered. “At least take the phone.”
I squeezed her hands tight and shook my head. “I’m going. I need to go. You of all people should understand.”
“Wait just a little longer. Let things settle down here,” she pleaded. “People get divorced every day.”
“They do.” I nodded. “But this isn’t about the divorce. It’s me. I’m sick of this life.”
“So you’re running away?”
I rolled my eyes. “You make it seem so extreme for someone who’s done the same, but yes. I am running away.” Again. “Sometimes it’s for the best.”
She couldn’t argue. She’d run away before and look at her now. Successful. Wealthy. Stunning. No one would suspect that she’d spent her teenage years living in a junkyard outside Temecula, California.
“Ugh,” she groaned. “Fine.”
She didn’t like this idea of mine, but she understood. My divorce had been brutal and heartbreaking. It had been the nuclear bomb to my life I’d needed. It was forcing a fresh start. Besides, I was good at starting over. I’d done it countless times in my twenty-nine years.
What was one more?
As of Thursday last week, I was single. I’d already changed my last name back to McCormack, and with my new driver’s license in hand, I was not sticking around Boston any longer.
“I hate that you’re doing this alone.” Gemma sighed. “I’ll worry.”
“I’ll be fine.” I returned to my suitcase, folding a hoodie for the stack.
It was one of the few pieces I’d had in my closet that I’d set out to pack. It was thick and gray, the hems battered by a designer, not from use. The thing had no stretch. I’d worn it only once when Thomas had taken me sailing years ago, when we’d seemed happy.
This sweatshirt was a lot like my marriage. It looked cute but didn’t quite fit.
I took the hoodie out of the suitcase and tossed it on the bed.
“What if you get hurt?” Gemma asked.
“Give me some credit.” I rolled my eyes. “I have money. I have a car. I’m running away in style. It’ll be a breeze.”
“When are you coming back?”
Never. “I don’t know.”
“Will you call me? Check in periodically?”
“Yes, but you have to promise not to tell Thomas where I’m at.”
She scoffed. “That son of a bitch comes anywhere near me, I’ll rip his balls off.”
I laughed. “There’s my best friend. Glad to see some of the polish come off.”
“Just with you.” She smiled. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too.” I abandoned the suitcase and met her at the foot of the bed for a hug.
We’d been through a lot together over the last thirteen years. Gemma and I had met one night in an alley. She’d saved me from eating half a sandwich I’d dug out of a Dumpster.
There’d been times when she’d gone her way and I’d gone mine, but we’d ended up together in Boston. We’d become closer than ever, serving as each other’s refuge as we’d climbed up the ranks of Boston’s elite and wealthy.
I’d married into my money. Gemma had earned hers.
I finished packing, loading up my purse with the cash I’d taken out yesterday and my wallet. Then I zipped up my suitcase and hefted it down the hallway to the front door.
My keys were on the table in a dish. I took the bundle in my hand and removed only one to take along.
A car key.
“What if you don’t find Karson?” Gemma asked, standing by my suitcase.
I stared at the silver key. “I’ll find him.”
I had to find him. I needed closure after too many years of wondering what kind of man he’d grown into from the boy I’d once known.
Past Gemma, the tile in the foyer gleamed under the crystal chandelier. The art on the wall was not my favorite, but Thomas had bought it at a charity auction, so at least it had been bought for a purpose beyond just decorating my lavish home—my former home.
I gave Gemma a sad smile. “This was the nicest place I’ve ever lived.”
Thomas and I had a staff to take care of the mansion. A daily housekeeper cleaned and did laundry. A cook made whatever suited my fancy. A gardener kept the grass green and the flowers blooming. Here, I’d wanted for nothing.
Yet it had never felt like home.
Had Thomas and I ever been happy? I’d let myself believe we’d been content because I’d been stupid and blinded by material things. But none of this was mine.
The only thing I owned was my car. Karson’s car.
“Will you miss it here?” Gemma asked.
I shook my head. “Not for a minute.”
I’d gladly scrub my own toilets and mow my own grass for a chance to feel like a home was my own.
As a kid, I’d run away to be safe. I’d run away so I wouldn’t have to watch my parents implode. Slowly, I’d ventured east. I’d been searching for work and adventure. I’d found Thomas and he’d given me both, for a time.
Now, I was running away to find peace. To find the life I needed deep in my soul. To find myself again.
I’d lost me these past years. When I met Thomas, I was twenty-one. He was thirty-five.
We’d married when I was twenty-two, and he’d given me a job as his assistant. Thomas ran his own company in Boston and had made a fortune through corporate investments, capital endeavors and real estate transactions.
Working for him had been the first job I’d ever had that didn’t pay minimum wage. I’d learned how to use a computer. I’d learned how to analyze spreadsheets and build presentations. At first, Thomas had taught me how to speak properly on the phone. Basically, I’d learned manners.
He’d taken all my rough edges and smoothed them away.
For the most part, I’d enjoyed the transformation to a cultured society wife. Once a kid who’d grown up in a single-wide trailer, eating processed cheese slices and SpaghettiOs from the can, I’d looked in the mirror and loved the shiny version of myself. I loved showering every day. I loved my expensive makeup and my monthly hair appointments.
The truth was, I would have kept on living this life, turning a blind eye to the hole in my heart. But there were some things I refused to ignore.
Two years ago, Thomas had hired another assistant. He hadn’t wanted to burn me out, even though I’d never comp
lained about the work. I’d cut down to three days a week while she worked five.
We had different tasks, but we sat across from one another and would talk cordially as we worked. I’d take my lunch with Thomas in his office. Monday, Wednesday and Friday, he’d fuck me on his desk.
Apparently, Tuesday and Thursday were her days.
I’d walked in on them six months ago when I’d come into the office to surprise him for lunch.
This beautiful home and all the money in our checking account weren’t worth the pain of a broken heart.
I grabbed my suitcase and wheeled it to the door. Gemma followed me outside, her heels clicking on the cement sidewalk as we walked to the detached garage beside the larger house. This garage wasn’t where I parked normally. My BMW was in the garage, where Thomas parked his own Beemer. Maybe after I left, he’d give it to Secretary.
Fine by me. My car was parked here, where the gardener kept his tools.
I punched in the code to open the large door, the sun limning the space as it lifted. I walked in and ran my hand over the gray tarp that had covered the Cadillac for two years.
A rush of excitement hit as I peeled off the tarp. The chrome underneath gleamed as it caught the sun. The cherry-red paint was polished to a mirror shine.
“I still can’t believe this is the same car.” Gemma smiled from her position at the door.
“Remember that time when we sat in the back and smoked an entire pack of cigarettes?”
“Don’t remind me.” She grimaced. “I still can’t stand the smell of smoke. I think I puked that entire night.”
“We thought we were so tough at sixteen.”
“We were.”
We were. Along the years, we’d gotten soft. Maybe we’d used up all our tough to survive. Or maybe we’d forgotten how harsh the world could truly be.
“I wish I were tougher in here.” I tapped my heart.
Her lip curled. “I hate him for this.”
“Me too.” I swallowed hard, not letting the emotions overwhelm me. Thomas had gotten all the tears he was going to get. “More than anything, I’m mad at myself. I should have known better. I should have seen him for who he truly was.”