Hometown Troublemaker

by Brighton Walsh

  “I don’t. I’m not—”

  “But you could do a hell of a lot worse. A hell of a lot worse.”

  “You don’t have to tell—”

  “Which you’d know if you spent more than a blink out of Havenbrook.”

  Rory ground her molars together. “I did go to college, you know.”

  “Big fucking whoop, you came home every weekend! If you’d truly step outside our sad little town, you’d realize our name doesn’t mean shit anywhere else, and it shouldn’t mean shit there.”

  “You’re right, and—”

  “I don’t care if you’re the Queen of fucking England, you’d be damn lucky to have him, because he’s one of the best men I know.”

  “I know that!” Rory finally yelled, losing the cool she’d somehow managed to keep as Nat had talked over and ignored her every word. “You think I don’t know that? You think I didn’t realize every day how lucky I was to have him? Or that I haven’t cried myself to sleep every night now that I don’t?”

  She had enough sense about her to slam her bedroom door closed and shut herself in her closet so her girls wouldn’t overhear, because she was done playing nice. “You might think you know so damn much because you’ve frolicked all over the world, but I’ve done a hell of a lot more livin’ right here in this town than you ever have, little girl, so don’t feed me your bullshit anymore. I don’t know if the point of your call was to kick me when I’m down or just to act like a bitch, but either way, mission fucking accomplished!”

  The line was silent for long moments before Nat finally said, “You cussed. Like, a lot.”

  “So what?” she snapped. “I’m an adult.”

  “Um, apparently. Just…never heard it before is all. I’m… Well, I’m shocked as fuck, to be honest.”

  Rory exhaled and slumped against her closet wall, pressing her thumb and forefinger to her closed eyes where a migraine was brewing. “Look, Nat, if the only reason you called was to make me feel bad about losing him, you don’t need to. Believe me, I’m makin’ myself feel bad enough for the both of us.”

  “I wasn’t callin’ to make you feel bad.” She was quiet for a moment. “Okay, so that was definitely why I called.”

  “At least you’re honest.”

  “I’ve never pretended to be anything other than a bitch, and I’m fiercely loyal to my friends.”

  “I know you are. On both counts.”

  Nat breathed out a laugh. “And you didn’t lose him, Rory. You were the one who walked away.”

  Tears pricked her eyes, her throat tight. She wasn’t going to cry right now. After that night Mac and Will had been over, she’d stuffed her emotions down into the deepest part of herself and forced herself to get through the day with that damn mask on again. At night, when she was alone in her bedroom, lying in sheets that no longer smelled like Nash, she let the tears flow.

  When her voice was steady enough to speak, she said, “I had to.”

  “That sounds like a load of bullshit to me.”

  Rory swiped away a rogue tear. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  “Why, so you can yell at me some more?”

  “I’m not gonna yell at you again. Probably.”

  Rory blew out a long breath, hung her head, and closed her eyes. “We don’t make sense, Nat.”

  “Neither do the Baigong pipes or the Hercules-Corona Borealis Great Wall, but that doesn’t make them any less amazing.”

  “I don’t even know what those are.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Things don’t always have to make sense to make them right, Rory. So y’all don’t make sense. So fucking what! I’ve never seen him happier than I did when I was there. And when he was showin’ me around town and braggin’ about you and the work y’all’ve done… Well, it seemed to me like he thought y’all were pretty amazing together, too.”

  He…talked about her? With Nat? She’d been so focused on keeping it from her sisters, she hadn’t stopped to think that Nash might have shared it with his best friend. And the confirmation that he had…that he’d believed in them enough to do so spoke volumes.

  Every bump in their relationship had been on her. He’d been open for more with her, despite his obstacles. Despite the fact that he’d needed their business partnership in order to buy out King Construction and take it where he wanted it to go. He’d risked that the very first time he’d slept with her. And yet she’d been the one holding them back, all because she was worried about how it’d look?

  She’d been concerned about everyone else, and he’d only been focused on her. On them. He’d been willing to jeopardize everything just to be with her.

  “When did you get so smart?” Rory asked.

  “Must’ve been while I was frolickin’ all over the damn world. When’d you get so…normal?”

  “Must’ve been while I was livin’ in our sad little town.”

  Nat laughed, and Rory’s lips tipped up in a smile.

  “Momma?” Ava asked, knocking on the door. “What’re you doin’ in the closet?”

  Rory cleared her throat. “Just talkin’ to Auntie Nat. I’ll be out in a minute, baby.”

  “It’s almost five. Is Mac comin’ to get us to go to Mimi and Papa’s?”

  “This is a discussion we can have once I’m off the phone, Ava.”

  “Okay, jeez.”

  Rory expelled a deep sigh and closed her eyes. “I don’t know how she got all your sass when she’s hardly been around you.”

  “On the bright side, you’ve had a lot of practice dealin’ with bratty teenagers.”

  “So much practice,” Rory said on a laugh. “You were a handful and a half.”

  “You’re welcome for preppin’ you,” Nat said. “So…about Nash…”

  “I know, he’s a better man than I deserve.”

  “I admit I thought that. When he told me about y’all, I didn’t quite understand what the hell he saw in you.”

  “Bless your heart, you’re so sweet to me.”

  Nat laughed. “But that was on me, not you. If the Rory I’ve been talkin’ to is even a little bit of the one he’s head over heels for, then I’d say you’re a perfect match.”

  Rory’d turned Nat’s words over and over in her mind from the moment they’d hung up. A perfect match? She’d strived her whole life for perfection and then had tried to throw it all out the window. She’d decided to live for herself and not for anyone else, and yet she’d allowed what others thought—what others said—to have an impact on what she knew in her heart. That they were the perfect match. And not the kind of perfect she used to aspire to—the kind without any defects. Nope, they were flawed and chaotic and absolutely beautiful together.

  An elbow to the ribs snapped Rory back to the present, her eyes scanning the faces gathered around the dining room table for Sunday supper. Every single one of them was staring at her.

  She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry?”

  “I was just askin’ how things were goin’ with Nash, sweetheart,” Momma said.

  “With—” Rory’s words cut off as her heart tripped over itself at the mention of his name. “What things with Nash?”

  She’d expected to be cornered again tonight by her sisters, but her momma? No doubt the Havenbrook rumor mill was churning, but she’d hoped it’d escaped the notice of her parents.

  “Y’all are set to start on Debbie’s house next, aren’t you?”

  Rory let her held breath go in a whoosh, her shoulders relaxing as she nodded. “Yes. On Wednesday, I believe.”

  Momma smiled, her eyes shining with pride. “I’ve heard nothing but good things about the work y’all’ve been doin’. Y’all should be real proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

  Her momma had always been silently supportive of Rory’s endeavors. No matter what she did—whether it be staying home with the girls or working at town hall or breaking off to do design—Momma stood behind her. But she’d never been vocal about any of it, an
d the weight Rory hadn’t even realized rested on her shoulders suddenly lifted.

  “Thanks, Momma. I appreciate that.”

  “I’m proud of you, sweetheart. How far out are y’all booked now?”

  “Few months.”

  “That’s great! I know Nash showed Nat around while she was home, and she took a ton of pictures of everything y’all’ve done. Showcasin’ those’ll get your schedules booked out even more, I bet.”

  If Rory’d heard those words before the call with Nat, she’d have just rolled her eyes and grumbled internally about what kind of Photoshop magic her sister would work on the pictures just to mess with her. But now…well, maybe Nat’s motives weren’t so sinister. Maybe it really would help launch their joint venture to where it needed to be for both of them to have sustainable incomes.

  Daddy scoffed. “Still don’t know why you’re wastin’ your time with that nonsense. If you’re so intent on doin’ frivolous stuff, you can help Will set up the town events to get more hours and go full time.”

  Rory took a deep breath, but it didn’t calm her in the least. That perfection she’d strived for simply in an effort to make her daddy happy had never satisfied him. Nothing had.

  When she’d come home with a 4.0 GPA, he’d told her she should’ve taken more AP classes to get that rank higher. When she’d received a full-ride scholarship to Ole Miss, he’d lamented the fact that it wasn’t an Ivy League school. When she’d been elected student council president, had been reigning captain of the debate team, and still managed to be editor of the newspaper, it hadn’t been enough for him.

  And then she’d gone on to marry a man whom she’d felt she had to be perfect for to keep, and look where that had gotten her. Was it really such a wonder she’d listened to the whispers—both internally and externally—telling her she’d never be enough for Nash?

  Rory slammed her fork on the plate loud enough that Mac jumped next to her. “What I do isn’t frivolous. And every time you suggest as much—for either me or Will—it’s rude and disrespectful, and I’m tired of it.”

  Silence settled over the table, but Rory refused to shrink back or apologize. She was so damn sick of apologizing for everything she did. The only person she’d never done it with was Nash. And he’d never asked her to.

  Daddy stared at her, his forkful of chicken potpie stilled halfway to his mouth. He cleared his throat and set his fork back on his plate. “Well, pardon me for tryin’ to help my daughter out. I just want you to settle in a good, strong career so you can take care of the girls.”

  She could’ve nearly recited his words because they happened like clockwork. The snide remark was first, then came the guilt. But Rory was through allowing her father—or anyone—to make her feel something she didn’t want to.

  “No, what you’re tryin’ to do is belittle my choices.”

  “That’s not—”

  “I’m not finished,” she said, her voice stern. “You’re also tryin’ to tell me in not so many words that you don’t support me or believe in the path I’ve chosen to pursue.”

  “Excuse me, young lady—”

  “Still not finished, Daddy.” With each word, her voice grew a little stronger and she sat up a little straighter. Telling her father exactly what she thought of him and his bullshit ideals felt fantastic. Why hadn’t she done it years ago? “I’m appreciative of the job you’ve given me at town hall when I certainly wouldn’t have been hired elsewhere. But that’s all it’s ever gonna be to me—a job. It’s never gonna be a career. Never something I’m passionate about. Not something I wake up excited for each day. Not something I dream about or spend my off time thinkin’ of. Not like design.”

  “Well, I guess I just don’t understand what’s so special about that.”

  She exhaled a deep sigh and barely refrained from rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. “I’m not askin’ you to understand it. I’m askin’ you to support it. To support me.”

  She could’ve heard a pin drop in the next room. No one moved an inch—was anyone even breathing? She glanced over at her girls, and they were staring at her with wide eyes and open mouths. It didn’t bother her one bit that they’d seen her stand up to him, but maybe she’d gone too far. Maybe she’d said too much. Maybe this was a conversation she should’ve had with her father privately. Maybe she—

  Gran slapped her hand down on the table. “Well, it’s about damn time.” She inclined her head toward Rory and lifted her glass, a grin splitting her face. “If I had it my way, you would’ve told your daddy all that on the day he didn’t show up to your ballet recital, but I suppose that was a lot to ask of a nine-year-old. Better late than never.”

  “Ballet?” Ava asked, her voice interested as she darted her eyes between Gran and Rory. “You used to dance like me, Momma?”

  “She sure did,” Gran said. “Was the cutest little swan I’ve ever seen—next to you, of course. Such a shame some jackassery stopped her from pursuin’ that.” Gran shot her son a scowl—one he either didn’t notice or ignored completely. “But it looks like she’s all done with that nonsense. Let this be a lesson to you, girls. Don’t let anyone stomp on your dreams.”

  While Ava launched into her dream to be a figure skater, Rory glanced around the table, her throat tightening when she found nothing but support—from her momma and sisters—and the contrite eyes of her father. She knew it was too much to ask for him to say the words, but she didn’t need them. Not anymore.

  For years, she’d allowed him to make her feel like she’d never measured up to his standards. Had allowed everyone to make her feel like that, but she was done. The only standards she needed to reach were the ones she’d established for herself. The example she wanted to set for her girls, and she’d done so.

  Somewhere along this twisty, windy road, she’d found herself, had settled more comfortably into her skin, and she was finally and unapologetically herself. She was done with the fake smiles and facades. She was done pretending. If people couldn’t handle her at her worst, they didn’t deserve her at her best.

  She sat a little taller in the knowledge that she wasn’t apologizing anymore. She was Rory Haven, firstborn girl in five generations of all boys. Divorced mom to two beautiful, unique girls, a damn good interior designer, and in love with a man eight years her junior.

  Now she just had to figure out how to show him that.

  Rory couldn’t get the girls in bed fast enough. Through the rest of supper and after, she’d checked out, her mind working through a dozen different scenarios to let Nash know she was finally in this, all the way. She was done inventing reasons to hold them back. She wanted everything with him, to hell with what anyone else thought.

  It’d finally come to her while she, Will, and Mac had been sitting on the back porch after supper. And the real kicker was that she couldn’t do this on her own—she needed Nat to pull it off.

  After tucking her girls in and promising them both waffles in the morning, she locked herself in her bedroom and paced from one end to the other. She stared down at her phone, running her thumb up and down over the blank screen. She’d been here before, not too long ago. Locked away in her room, insides in knots as she’d tried to work up the nerve to call her sister.

  This time, she was fairly certain Nat would answer. Okay, fifty percent sure. Twenty?

  “You’re not gonna know until you call,” Rory said to herself. “And if she doesn’t answer, you’ll… Well, you’ll just keep tryin’ ’cause that’s what you do.”

  Pulling in a lungful of air, she cued up Nat’s name, squeezed her eyes shut, and pressed send.

  Four painfully long rings later, Nat answered. “Look, I know we’re talkin’ now or whatever, but twice in one day is a little much. Baby steps and all that. Maybe we can try once a month to start? You’re kind of a lot.”

  Rory breathed out a laugh, her shoulders relaxing. “I wasn’t sure you’d answer.”

  “Almost didn’t. But I like to be artful with my bitchiness,
you know? Gotta keep people on their toes. This better be important, though. And if you tell me it’s about some kind of nonsense like—”

  “It’s about Nash.”

  “What’s wrong?” Nat asked, her teasing tone vanished. “He okay?”

  “He’s fine. Or I think he is, anyway. We’re still not talkin’—or, well, I haven’t called him. He’d probably answer, but—”

  “Rory.”

  “Sorry.” She waved a hand in front of her face to try to cool herself down, her cheeks overheated thanks to the nervous energy zinging around in her body. “I’m not used to askin’ for help, and apparently it makes me a little stupid when I need to.”

  “Wait,” Nat said. “You’re askin’ for help? From me?”

  Rory breathed out a laugh. “First time for everything, right?”

  “You do know I’m on the opposite end of the country from you, right? Not a whole lot I can do from two thousand miles away.”

  “You can do this. If you want to help me, I mean.”

  “If it helps my best friend not be such a mopey bastard—and, okay, if it helps you be happy too—I’ll do what I can.”

  That was exactly what Rory had been hoping she’d say.

  Nash didn’t believe in luck. Could’ve been his childhood or his upbringing or any number of things that’d happened to him over the years, but when it came down to it, he believed in hard work and determination over everything else.

  But he couldn’t discount how things seemed to be falling into place over the past two weeks on the business side of things. Days after his dad had practically handed over King Construction to him on a silver platter, he’d received a call from a writer for a national magazine. They wanted to do an interview regarding the work he and Rory had done in Havenbrook.

  He’d been working so hard—they’d been working so hard—and things were finally happening. Somewhere along the way, Nash had stopped looking at it as his and had started looking at it as theirs.

  And Rory wasn’t even by his side for this milestone.