“Is—your husband okay?” I asked. “I mean, it’s none of my business, but I feel like I’m somehow swirling in the middle of it. I swear I didn’t know that my guy was anyone’s brother—I thought he worked here or something.”
My guy?
I’d just said that. What the living hell was wrong with me?
Lanie chuckled. “Yeah. He’s—Nick will be fine. He just has to let it roll off him. This is a big sore spot with him.” She widened her eyes. “He has a few of those.”
I scoffed. “Don’t we all.”
She winked and disappeared. And just like that, I was alone.
Alone with my thoughts, my breathing, my heart still pounding in my ears, and the need for normal. Jeremy’s ring caught the light as I reached for the phone.
My eyes filled with tears as I remembered the proposal. Not the typical grandiose Jeremy-style event I’d expected from him, asking me in front of a million people so I couldn’t say no. He’d surprised me that night. Bringing me out to the patio behind the big greenhouse, a place in my comfort zone, going to one knee under the stars.
It was moments like that that had kept me with him. The moments that showed he knew me, the moments of pure raw joy that I’d think of every time I’d look at him—until he’d decide to be a dick again.
I sniffed and swiped under my eyes for the hundredth time, picking up the phone. I was done living my life on a yo-yo, putting up with the crap times in order to bask in the glorious ones.
Breathe in. One deep breath preceded another as I listened to a second ring and the beginning of a thi—
“Hello.”
My stomach flipped at the stress and the worry and the ready-to-rip-someone-a-new-ass-for-bothering-him-right-now tone in my brother’s voice.
Breathe out.
“Thatcher.”
There was under-the-breath cursing, the sounds of shuffling, and a loud bang of a truck door shutting in my ear before I heard his voice again.
“Micah, where the fuck are you?”
Nothing like getting to the point.
“Thatcher, I’m sorry,” I said softly, shutting my eyes tight.
Where my “little” brother, big six-foot-two bear Jackson, was my soul, my older brother, Thatcher, was my heart. He was the man of the house after our dad died, taking on all he could at the ripe old age of eleven. I was nine, Jackson was seven, and when our mom had to work all day on the farm and take side jobs at night to put food on the table, Thatcher took care of us. I was always better with that, anyway.
My mother and I—we had a strained relationship up till the day she died. Namely because she was a professional manipulator and I grew tired of watching her pull strings to get what she wanted. My dad, then my brothers, they all catered to her moods and desires. Even as a kid, I knew that I didn’t want to be her, and I should have known that that meant I had the tough road ahead. I’d take Thatcher over her as a parent any day of the week. As a result, he was an old soul before he even hit puberty, too wise sometimes for his own good as a man. His ex-wife could attest to that.
But he was the one I most wanted to be proud of me. And the one I kept disappointing.
I heard a sigh that was probably part relief, part wanting to throttle me. I was familiar with the tone. I could picture him closing his eyes and counting to ten.
“What happened?” he said finally.
“Are you alone?” I asked.
“For the moment,” he said. “I’m in my truck. Jeremy and Jackson are talking on the porch.”
“Whose porch?”
“Your porch!” he said, sounding exasperated. “We’re here waiting for you.”
I grabbed a pen to have something in my hand to squeeze.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
It’s not my porch.
“How is Jeremy?”
I heard a scoff. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously!” I said. “I didn’t marry him—that doesn’t mean I don’t worry about him.”
“Micah, what happened?”
I blew out a breath. How did I explain it? That I showed my true colors? Went back to my old ways? I knew that’s what he was thinking, and to be completely honest I wondered, myself. The little niggling insecurity that had crept into my psyche over time was poking at me, dangling that question like a scribbled Post-it left on the fridge.
“I don’t know, Thatcher,” I said quietly, hearing the emotion wobble my words as it squeezed my throat. In my mind, I saw Jeremy’s face last night, kissing my forehead, throwing back a foreign-sounding Love you, Micah. The same image I’d seen all night as I stared at the ceiling. “All I can say is that one minute I was standing there waiting to walk down the aisle, then suddenly it was all pretend. Like something plucked me out of my real life and deposited me there, fully furnished.”
“Fully furnished?”
“Husband, house, June Cleaver heels, money,” I said. “Like I’d scored the Barbie Dream House with Ken.”
“And—that’s a bad thing?” he asked.
I drew a shaky breath.
“Maybe I wanted to live in the Barbie van with the plastic fire pit,” I said. “Maybe I wanted to be Rocker Barbie or Veterinarian Barbie or Bohemian Barbie.”
“Micah, I was a boy, remember?”
“Maybe I wanted a choice,” I said, my words choked by tears. “In my own life. Without Ken constantly telling me that my only option was the damn Dream House.”
There was a pause, and I could only hope that my brother was using it to connect the crazy dots I’d just thrown out there.
“You’ve been with this guy for eight years,” he said finally. “Lived with him for most of that. Were with him when he bought this house. You couldn’t figure this out before today? Before leaving him standing up there by himself in front of everyone he knows?”
Bam. Gut kick.
“His house, Thatcher,” I said, crying fully. “You just said it. He bought the house, not we. It’s not mine. Not ours. I hated that house, but he wanted one just like the one they lost in the old fire, so my opinion didn’t matter. And everyone there were people he knows, not me.” Sobs pulled at my breath. “I had no one there but you and Jackson. You don’t have to agree with me—and you don’t have to like it, but I need you to be on my side.” I pulled the phone away from my face for a moment as the burn enveloped me. I couldn’t breathe as the reality that was my life vomited all over me. I heard Thatcher’s voice saying my name from far away, and I lifted the phone back to my ear. “I’m here,” I whispered.
“Baby girl, I’m always on your side,” he said, the warmth of his words flowing over me like bath water. “I’m sorry. I just—” He breathed in deeply and let it go. “I’ve been a little stressed out since I watched you climb on a bike with a stranger and disappear. Dad would have died all over again, watching that.”
A chuckle escaped my throat through the tears.
“Yeah, that probably wasn’t my most shining adult moment,” I said.
“Are you okay?” he said, his fatherly voice going into overdrive. “Where are you?”
“I’m fine,” I said, deliberately avoiding the second question. “But I can’t come back right now. I want to—Jeremy needs a minute to calm down.”
“You need to talk to him, Micah,” Thatcher said. “No matter what, he may be mad right now but he deserves that much.”
I blew out a breath. “I know.”
“So, where are you?” he repeated. “I’ll come to you.”
I shook my head, as if he could see that. He’d shit if he knew what town I was in. A noise behind me turned my head, and I smiled at Lanie leaning in the doorway with her back partially turned. She was either guarding the door so no one interrupted me or just eavesdropping. Really, I didn’t care either way.
“Can you get my wallet and my ca
r keys?” I asked, wiping at my face. “Maybe my phone? I’ll meet you somewhere tomorrow if you can.”
“I already have your bag that was in the dressing room,” Thatcher said. “It has your wallet, makeup, a change of clothes, but Jeremy still has your car and he grabbed your phone the second we went in that room.”
Of course he did. He was trying to find out if I’d planned some great getaway.
“That’s okay,” I said and sighed. “I can buy a new phone—once I get my credit cards back—”
“A new phone?” Thatcher said. “Micah, how long are you planning to be gone? Just come home and talk to the man and get your shit back. If you need a place to stay, you know you can stay with me.”
In my childhood home that Thatcher now owned alone since his divorce, where the spirits of my parents still lived on in the walls, the curtains, the floors. Where the guilt and accusations still echoed from the ceiling, memories and judgment soaked into the very beams.
“I probably will,” I began. “But—not yet. My head is all over the place right now, Thatch. I need a few days to figure things out.”
Speaking of judgment, I could hear his whirling.
“I know you had mom issues here,” he said after a pause.
“When can you meet me?” I asked, swiftly changing that topic.
“I have meetings with clients all day tomorrow that I can’t cancel,” he said. “But I can meet you somewhere tomorrow evening. I’d come tonight but he’ll be all up my ass, expecting that.” I heard a long sigh and I knew he was rubbing his face, wishing for a new sister. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation.”
“Is my bag with you right now?”
“It’s in the back seat.”
“Quick, read out my Visa number.” I grabbed a pad of paper. There was obligatory grumbling as he was probably extracting it from the back while trying to look like he wasn’t. “Have I told you I love you today?”
“You suck, Micah,” he grunted out over the sound of shuffling and a zipper and a grandiose release of breath. “Okay, here.”
He read out the numbers while I scribbled madly.
“This will work for now. I’ll call you when I get a phone,” I said. “We’ll make a plan. Please don’t tell Jackson, because he has an awful poker face.”
“What about clothes?” he said. “You planning to wear a wedding dress to go buy normal clothes? Isn’t that a little backward?”
I’d rather go naked.
“I’ll figure something out,” I said. “Damn it, I’m a sitting duck without my car.” I laid my forehead in my hands. “I can handle things for a couple of days. I just need to lie low.”
He sighed. “I get it.”
“Do you?”
“I get it better now that I know you aren’t dead,” he said.
“I know,” I said softly. “Thatcher?”
“Yeah?”
I breathed out slowly, trying to quell the shake. “Thank you.”
There was a pause, and I felt what was coming before he said it.
“I said I’m on your side, and I mean it,” he said. “But damn it, Micah, I wish you made it a little easier.”
My eyes filled with new hot tears. There were things he’d never know or understand, and that was okay. He didn’t need to know everything.
“I love you, bro,” I said.
“Always, baby girl.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Leo was gone when I came out, which was both a relief and an odd disappointment that dug at my midsection like a dull butter knife. I stopped myself from peering out the window for his bike.
It was friggin’ divine intervention, that’s what it was. In my current weakened state, I had no business being around anyone whose cocky, irritating presence I missed after knowing him for all of an hour or two. God knew what He was doing, sending him on his way. In fact, God was kind of busy with me on all fronts today. That’s probably all it was. In the crazy chaotic mess I’d kicked off today, Leo had been the only constant landmark I could keep looking back at to get my bearings.
Now, however, I was at a loss. I’d had one big mission—call my brother. Check. With that out of the way, I didn’t quite know my next step. I’d never been without a car or money or even identification, with only the clothes on my back to my name. It was a weird, isolating, and very vulnerable feeling. Plus, my landmark had pulled up anchor and moved on.
That was okay. I breathed in, long and deep. It would be okay.
Lanie and Gabi were chatting, and I half smiled at a couple of newbies who’d come in, gazing at me curiously. They’d missed the floor show, and I didn’t have the energy to catch them up, so I walked around to join the two women who were the closest thing to acquaintances I had at the moment.
“Hey,” Gabi said as I approached, transferring her bags to one arm to hold out her hand. “I’m Gabi Lar—” She took a breath. “I should start saying Graham.”
“So, you’re giving him the divorce?” Lanie asked.
Gabi let loose of a slow breath with a mini head shake. “God, yes. Eventually. After he suffers for a bit. But I should get used to the name.” She inhaled deeply with eyes closed and opened them back with a smile. “I’m Gabi Graham,” she said, shaking my hand with a grip that belied her softer appearance. “You’re one of the Cherrydale Flower Farm Romans?” Yep. One of them. At my nod, she continued. “Lanie said you might need a place to land for a bit. Are you thinking for a night? Or to stay in town a while? Because we now have these rooms over the shop.”
I laughed, a sound that felt as exhausted as I probably looked. Of course it would just be a night, maybe two, right? I mean, I had a job at home. Not that an hour commute was any big deal—and I did need to move out of Jeremy’s house—but what was I thinking? I’d just move in with Thatcher for a bit, regardless of the shiver that gave me. Don’t make life decisions on traumatic days. Move to Charmed? No!
“I’m not sure,” I said. “But until I can get to a bank that will give me a cash advance on just a handwritten credit card number and no license,” I said, waving the paper, “I have no money to make that decision with. No car. No—”
“No problem,” Lanie said with a shrug.
I blinked. “What?”
“I happen to be heading back to work,” she said, leaning over with a cocky expression. “At a bank.”
“Oh, my God, seriously?” I breathed. “Do you think they would—”
“Yes,” she said. “I can vouch for who you are and your family’s business. Plus, my husband hooked me up with a to-go lunch and an extra slice of molten lava chocolate cake. My boss will throw money at me for that.”
I closed my eyes, picturing freedom that included life’s simple pleasures. Like cash at my fingertips, and clothes that didn’t go on for miles or sparkle under fluorescent lighting.
And molten lava chocolate cake.
“Why don’t you ride with me back to my house first and I’ll lend you some clothes,” Gabi said, looking me over. “You’re a little taller, but I have some things that should work for you.” She shrugged at what was probably my jaw hitting the ground. “Just to get you by.”
“Oh, great idea!” Lanie said, shouldering her bag. “Then you’ll feel much more at ease.”
“The bank is walking distance from the shop,” Gabi said. “So go get set up and then come down there if you want.”
My eyes bounced between them. There are times when words just won’t reach, and this was one of them. It was more than just small-town hospitality. I lived in a small town, too. These women were just rock stars.
“Why?” I said, surprised when the word came out all breathy and toneless. “Why are y’all doing all this for me?”
Lanie linked an arm in mine, steering us toward the door, probably needing to get back to work while all I was doing was rambling.<
br />
“Girl—”
“You’re a hot mess,” Gabi interjected, pushing open the door as we all filed out.
I blinked two hot tears free and chuckled. “No truer words.”
“I’ve been there,” Lanie said. “Maybe not exactly this same mess, but I’ve had my own version not too long ago.”
“Paying it forward,” Gabi said, nodding. “I’m a hot mess now,” she said, making me laugh. “I’m just not wearing mine. So, let’s go get that neon sign off your back, too, shall we?”
“Can I have some of your pie?”
* * * *
Two pairs of denim capris and a T-shirt and tank top later, I felt like a new woman. Or at least a normal one. Some cute flip-flops on my feet and I was good to go.
Gabi curled into an oversized chair with a small bowl of apple pie while I tried them on in the bathroom and came out to model for her like I was Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. She’d smile and comment but I saw the sad that entered her eyes when she thought I wasn’t looking.
“So,” I began, watching her face as I folded my new temporary treasures into a plastic grocery bag, “can I ask what the story is with your husband?” Her eyes went wary and I held a hand up. “Or not. You don’t know me, I get it.”
Gabi shook her head. “No, it’s okay. Not like it’s some big secret. At least Bart’s making sure it isn’t.” She took a deep breath but then caught my eye. “But you first. Did you really just hitch a ride with a hot stranger? You didn’t know him?”
I chuckled, though the growing weight of the day made it sound heavy. Wearing another woman’s clothes as one of many direct consequences brought a sadness to the reality.
“Never seen him in my life,” I said, refolding a shirt for something to do with my hands.
My thoughts flashed back to that moment on the sidewalk, to running from the church, to feeling the front door pulling at me, to staring at myself in the mirror. Hair perfect. Makeup perfect. In a dress I would have never chosen, in the church I didn’t want, with flowers I hated, and bridesmaids I barely knew. No one there for me but the two people I called family. To hearing what sounded like a recorded message from my fiancé’s lips. Love you, Micah. We hadn’t said those words in probably six months.
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