Red Rose Bouquet: A Contemporary Christian Novel (Grace Revealed Book 2)

by Jennifer Rodewald

  “Sorry, man. I have grownup responsibilities.” Brock shook Ethan’s hand and then pulled him into a man hug. “You know, since I don’t live with my nana anymore, like some guys I know.”

  Ethan elbowed him. “Yeah, I know. I’m soooo pathetic, taking care of the elderly and all.”

  They strode back to the bar where Ethan had been sitting, and the other guys circled around.

  “How’s that going to work out, E?” Jeff, the resident make-a-life-plan man, leaned on the counter next to Ethan. “Nana Grace needs help, right?”

  Ethan snorted. “Don’t tell her that. But yes. My baby sis is coming back.”

  “Whoa, what?” Adam slid closer. “Sherbert the knockout is coming back? Glad I stuck around.”

  “Dude, she’s my sister.”

  “Grow up, E. Cheryl certainly did. Last I saw, she did it well.” Adam hung on that last word as if they all needed help understanding what he meant.

  No one needs a translation, idiot. They were all red-blooded males with eyes that worked just fine, thank you very much. And Cheryl Thompson had definitely grown up. Then again, none of them had seen her for like a decade, so who knew?

  “She ever get married?” Jeff asked.

  Brock had wondered the same thing—in passing—when Ethan told him he was engaged.

  “Not your business.” Ethan shot Jeff, and then Adam, the don’t touch my sister look he’d perfected when they were in high school. They’d all known he was serious too. Ethan was a slope junkie and a player when it came to the girls, but he was dead serious when it came to his baby sister. It was kind of the two of them against the world for a while, especially after their dad had remarried, so Ethan’s over-the-top protectiveness was understandable, if not admirable.

  “So she didn’t.”

  Didn’t what? Brock shut off the family history lesson in his brain and worked to catch up to the conversation.

  “No. She’s not married.” Ethan fisted his drink and took a long swig. “That I know of.”

  Adam busted out laughing. “Ah, so you’re close, huh? Dude, what are you getting all worked up about if you don’t even know what’s going on in her life?”

  Brock squeezed the tender spot in between Adam’s shoulder and neck—the spot that made grown men wince. “Drop it, buddy. We’re not here about Cheryl. Bachy night, remember?”

  “Bachy!”

  “Bachy!”

  Gage and Shane both raised their mugs as they called out together. Leave it to the two married guys to move the night forward.

  Jeff raised his mug. “To you, E.” He clanked his mug against Ethan’s and then drained the beer. “Except, you gotta explain this deal to me. Aren’t bachelor parties supposed to happen the night before your wedding? We’re a whole week ahead of schedule.”

  Ethan shrugged. “Brandi wants to do something different. A party together.”

  The guys went still. Brock fought the urge to laugh. The things they got all bent out of shape about…who cared? Not like Ethan’s life was going to end after Brandi slipped a ring on his finger.

  “Dude…” Jeff shook his head.

  “Bro.” Adam slid an arm around Ethan’s neck. “It’s starting already. She’s gonna change your whole life.”

  Ethan looked him right in the eyes. “I hope so.”

  That look. Ethan’s dead-serious expression grabbed hold of something Brock had pushed way down deep and had tried to forget about. He had to glance away because he knew exactly what it was.

  Nope. Not true. He was good single. The last thing he wanted was a woman turning his world upside down.

  ~3~

  Landing in Denver was always bumpy. The 747’s cabin shuddered and jolted as the plane made its final descent. Cheryl’s throat tightened, and she fisted the seat arm on her right.

  The man in seat B tipped his head toward her ear. “We’ll be fine, little missy.”

  “Of course. Denver’s never a smooth landing.”

  One side of his mouth tipped in a crooked grin. “Feel free to hold my hand.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Men. So predictable. Be nice to the pretty girl. Pour out a little charm. Buy her a meal. Wake up with her in bed. Formula romance. She wasn’t in the mood, even if she could use the distraction.

  The plane rocked two more times, and then the thrust of the brakes pushed Cheryl against the seat. After she drew three deep breaths, the squeal of rubber tires against the asphalt runway reported their landing.

  Safe on the ground, Cheryl blew out a slow breath. The relief was short lived, however, as she switched her cell from airplane mode to receive calls. Ethan had texted her.

  Ethan: Why didn’t you fly into Yampa?

  She was over thirty years old. Did she really need to clear her plans with her older brother?

  Except, maybe she should have flown into the tiny regional airport. This plan about confrontation looked less and less like a good idea as she gazed over the Denver valley. She should have just torn up the letter and been done with Andrew Harris for keeps. What possible good could come out of her seeking him now?

  No. He didn’t deserve to wiggle off the hook with a little I’m sorry note. And she wasn’t going to let him appease his guilt, or his new wife, or whatever it was that had motivated him to write the stupid thing.

  Cheryl: I have an appointment in Denver.

  The cabin attendant came over the speakers, letting the passengers know the gate number where they would deplane and their assigned baggage claim carousel. Important information, but it was all on her e-ticket, stored safely in her phone, so she ignored the overhead voice.

  Ethan: With who? You haven’t been to Colorado in years.

  She’d been to Colorado more recently than he knew, but it had been a while. Details not necessary for Ethan to know.

  Cheryl: Never mind. I’ll rent a car and be up later.

  Ethan: Rent a car? For how long?

  How long was this going to take? She scowled, muting the growl that threatened to escape her throat.

  “Boyfriend troubles?”

  She looked sideways at the nosy man sitting next to her. “Fish much?”

  His ears turned crimson.

  Good. Maybe he’d give up. Back to the other irritating conversation.

  Cheryl: Don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out.

  Ethan: Why don’t you call me and we can talk about this?

  He’d apparently figured out that she wouldn’t answer if he called her. Finally. Only took two days of leaving voice messages. Texting was easier. She could say what she wanted and not have that awkward I’m disappointed in you silence weigh against her conscience.

  Cheryl: No. I’ll see you sometime tonight. Don’t be a pest.

  Ethan: Can’t wait.

  Then again, maybe she could read disappointment in a text, because that was definitely not heartfelt. Why’d Ethan have to go all big brother on her all of the sudden? They were just fine as near strangers. Family reunions hadn’t been a part of their calendars for years. Life had taken them down opposite paths, and it was easier to leave it that way. This whole coming home deal—no, going back to Hayden, which was not home—was a bad plan.

  She could skip it. Catch the next flight out of Denver, never even leave the airport, and forget all of it.

  Her phone buzzed against her palm. Another text.

  Ethan: I’m serious, sis. I can’t wait to see you again. It’s been way too long.

  Not sarcasm. Guess that meant she was seeing this stupid thing through. Which meant all of it, starting with Andrew Harris.

  ~*~

  Good thing she’d done some preliminary research. Andrew had once again uprooted his life. If she’d come unprepared, it would’ve taken days to figure out he’d moved into the foothills, started his own little (read: pathetic) practice for weird cases he’d never even given a thought to before. She’d unearthed all the dirt on him while still in Cali, and there’d been quite a little bit. Not the kind
she’d expected though.

  Forced out of his big-time job because he took on a shaky, politically incorrect case. That didn’t sound like the Andrew she’d known and loathed at all. What exactly had happened to the man she’d left standing in his downtown loft fighting a massive hangover two years ago? Reform?

  Not even possible. Reform like that would take an act of God. Andrew hadn’t been interested in God, which had initially hit her as a good thing. If he didn’t believe, then she could pretend she didn’t either, and they’d carried on their…well, whatever they were, without guilt. That’d been the whole goal from the beginning.

  Cheryl pushed that path of thought away. Too deep for a day like this. Too deep for any day. She and God weren’t on speaking terms anymore, and she was pretty sure they both preferred it that way.

  More murky thoughts not worth thinking.

  She focused on driving. The little rental she’d procured from the airport—which took forever—handled well enough, even if it was a bottom-rung economy car. It’d do for now, although she wasn’t sure taking on the two mountain passes she’d need to climb to get to Hayden in the little rabbit-mobile was a good idea. She might need to renegotiate.

  One problem at a time.

  Flowing with the traffic zipping over the interstate, she took the curve that separated the valley from the foothills and passed through the Hogback. Her grip strengthened on the wheel. Once upon a time the mountains had represented shelter. Home. But like all storybook tales, the pages had turned until the final words pronounced “The End.” The difference between a book and real life was that she couldn’t go back. “The End” meant exactly what it said, and she’d had to go on. In her case, life wasn’t about a new chapter. It wasn’t even about a new story. It was simply surviving the cliff fall that came after “The End.” Every time she thought she’d hit a spot to land on and start over, the edges crumbled, and she was falling again.

  She hated it.

  A familiar knifing pain speared the base of her skull.

  Not now.

  Letting her shoulders droop, she focused on relaxing the muscles in her neck and back. Deep breath in. Long breath out. Repeat, but pay attention to the road. Man, had it always been this curvy? And busy?

  For twenty more minutes, Cheryl attempted to perform her deep breathing exercises while driving. The sharp pain continued its threat, but it didn’t spread up and over the rest of her brain, so she counted it as a win. For the moment.

  Reaching a little village carved into the mountain next to the river, she followed the GPS until the feminine computer voice announced that she’d reached her destination. Careful to park away from the front door, and beside a large SUV that would give her cover, she shut the engine off and sat back.

  Sometimes spying came with her job. But this time… Her heart squeezed hard and irregular, and the warmth that flowed through her veins wasn’t adrenaline. She called it anger, even though she knew it wasn’t that either.

  She’d never confronted an ex-boyfriend like this. They did what they did—stayed with her until the thrill was gone or until her sharp edges pushed them away, and then left. She’d let them go. Men weren’t faithful creatures, and she knew better than to expect an exception. So what was she doing here, waiting to face Andrew?

  None of the other exes had ever asked for forgiveness. That was the boiling point.

  Come on. Let’s get this over with…

  Cheryl checked her watch. Three minutes till noon. Her source said he always left the office for lunch. Met his wife on Tuesdays. Went out to a small café on Thursdays. Otherwise, he ran the pathway by the river for twenty minutes and then ate from a brown bag at the park.

  She’d picked Thursday to fly in on purpose.

  The door popped open, and the profile of the man striding out looked all too familiar. Tall, built like an all-around athlete, caramel-brown hair. And she didn’t need to see his smile to remember how charming it was.

  Andrew let another man pass out of the door before he let it go and reached to shake his hand. A client, probably. Apparently he was making it in this new life of his. The men ended their conversation and parted ways, Andrew turning her direction to walk to the café across the street. Her first glimpse of his face caused her breath to catch.

  Whoa. That was quite a scar.

  He passed by her little Flintstone car without a glance. She watched him until he crossed the street and ducked into the café. Who spends their lunch every Thursday at the same restaurant? No wonder he was an alcoholic. He was predictable, a surefire creature of habit.

  Played well for her today. And now was the moment. Time to put the knife back where it belonged.

  Cheryl snatched the letter, now bent and rumpled, as if she’d poured over it countless times. She hadn’t. Just a few reads, that was all. She wasn’t obsessed or anything.

  Jamming the envelope into her designer denim pocket, she scurried across the road and breezed through the same door she’d just watched Andrew enter. A quick scan told her he sat alone at a table by a window, hunched over, as if reading.

  Brooding, probably. He did that a lot too.

  She moved to the counter and caught a waitress’s attention. “I’m joining someone.” Pointing to Andrew, she fixed her best sultry little smile and winked. “He’ll want a Fat Tire. Give me whatever daiquiri in a bottle you have.”

  The woman’s forehead wrinkled. “Is Mr. Harris expecting you?”

  Cheryl pushed out a suggestive laugh. “He’s never sorry when I show up.”

  Red tinged the waitress’s ears as she glanced between Cheryl and Andrew. All small towns worked the same, didn’t they? Perfect.

  “Just bring the drinks, and don’t worry about the rest, okay, sweetheart?” Cheryl patted her arm. “He’s a big boy.”

  Score one for the ex-girlfriend. Cheryl wiggled her shoulders straight and sauntered to Andrew’s table. Without a word, she pulled out the chair across from his and slid onto the seat.

  He glanced up and froze.

  “Miss me?”

  With growing eyes, he simply stared.

  “I know. They all do.”

  After a visible intake of breath, he sat back, a shield of caution dropping over his expression. “What are you doing here?”

  Cheryl extinguished the flirty look and narrowed her gaze. With one fluid motion, she removed the letter from her pocket and slapped it onto the table. “Explain yourself.”

  He studied the crinkled envelope, and Cheryl wished she’d kept it pristine, as if what he’d written hadn’t mattered to her at all. Of course, if that was the truth, she wouldn’t be there, would she?

  The waitress saved him from answering, delivering the drinks Cheryl had ordered. She set the Fat Tire in front of Andrew with a little more force than necessary, making the bottle clunk a hollow announcement onto the table.

  Andrew’s eyes fixed on that brown bottle and didn’t move. “Sage, what’s this?”

  “Your friend said you wanted it.”

  He moved to look at the waitress.

  “What else, Mr. Harris?” the woman clipped.

  Andrew looked back at the drink. “Give me a couple more minutes, okay?”

  “Right.” She spun away.

  Cheryl sat back, crossing her arms, and watched the man sinking across from her. Satisfaction would have been the right emotion for the moment. It wasn’t there though. Her heart turned as he fingered the beer, rolling it on its base. Slowly, he removed his grip and pulled out his cell phone. It was dark—off—but he didn’t tap the Home button. Instead, he stared at the blank screen.

  “What are you doing?”

  He brushed at the scar running along his nose and looked at her. “Remembering.”

  Sage, the waitress, moved with a full tray nearby. Andrew stopped her with a small wave. She paused to turn a chilly look on him.

  “I’m sorry, Sage. I know you’ll just have to dump this, but I don’t want it.” He nodded toward the bottle. �
�I’ll pay for it, but I need you to take it away.”

  The woman’s pinched expression relaxed as she removed the beer. “Sure, Andy. How about a Coke?”

  “Yep. And a chicken sandwich. Make one to go for Jamie too, okay?”

  “You got it.” Sage turned her eyes toward Cheryl, and the coldness in her expression resettled. “And you?”

  “I’m not staying. But Andy here will take care of my drink as well, won’t you?” She lifted a brow, knowing she was pushing every hot button he had.

  Andrew shrugged. “Sure.”

  Sage nodded, her dislike for Cheryl evident with every move. Who cared?

  “So you won’t drink with a friend anymore, huh? Or is it just not with me?”

  He pushed a hand through his hair and sighed. “I’m an alcoholic, Cheryl. And you know better than most that for me, one is never enough.”

  “So what, this Jamie woman reformed you, and now you’ve got your happily ever after? Just needed to unload some baggage, is that it?”

  His gaze settled on the letter still resting on the table between them. “No.”

  Cheryl snorted. “Right. Listen, let me make this real clear for you. You are not forgiven. Got it?”

  “Okay.” His voice came soft. Regretful.

  “That’s it? Okay?”

  “What else should I say? I am sorry—”

  “No.” She leaned forward as fury exploded in her chest. “No. You don’t get to do this, Andrew. I didn’t come here to give you a chance to apologize in person.”

  “What did you come for?”

  Her heart stalled. He didn’t have any right to ask that. None. She grabbed the letter and crumpled it in her fist. Shaking it, she hissed, “This means nothing. Nothing!”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Cheryl swallowed. Hard. She hadn’t been able to answer that question for herself yet.

  “Look. I know I don’t know your past. I don’t know why you—”

  She pierced him with a sharp look. “No, of course you don’t. You never asked. Never cared.”