Last Chance Rebel. Maisey Yates
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It had felt...well, it had felt far more damned significant than it should.
It also didn’t escape his notice that his family hadn’t called. Clearly his father’s attorney had been able to get in touch with Gage’s, so that meant someone knew how to contact him. But of course it hadn’t been his brother. Or his mother.
It had been made abundantly clear when he’d gone to the hospital a few days earlier that his siblings were shocked anyone knew of his whereabouts. Shocked he’d returned.
Hell, in some ways, so was he.
He paused, looking up and down the street at the place he’d called home for the first eighteen years of his life. The place he’d been absent from almost as long.
There was a near distressing sameness to Copper Ridge’s Main Street. It had changed shape in many ways, more businesses open than he recalled, a new sort of vitality injected into the local economy.
But it smelled the same. The air unrelenting in its sharpness. Pine mixing with salt and brine as the wind crossed down from the mountains and mingled with the sea. It settled over his skin, the cool dampness wrapping itself around him.
Most days, a thick gray mist hung low, making the sky seem like it was something you could reach up and touch. Today, it was great enough that it blanketed the tops of the buildings, swirling over the red brick detail, blotting out the big American flag that flew proudly just behind the chamber of commerce.
There was an espresso shop across the street, the kind of place that served coffee with more milk than actual substance. He never thought he’d see the day when something that trendy hit Copper Ridge.
Though he supposed it was a little less unexpected than it would have been if they’d gotten in one of those big chains. Copper Ridge just wasn’t a chain kind of place. Mostly because they didn’t have the population to support them.
That had been the bane of his, and his friends’, existence growing up. He supposed it was what made it an attractive tourist destination now.
Funnily enough, when he left he hadn’t sought out a bigger city. Hadn’t cared at all about chains or entertainment. Instead, he’d stuck to the back roads, spending his time in various small towns in different parts of the country.
But nothing was quite like this.
Somehow there was no comfort in that for him. The town brought back too many old memories. In fact, he resented the fact that it was so distinct. He had been to enough places that everything started to blur together eventually. Nothing was unique.
Except Copper Ridge. And that felt like adding insult to damn injury.
He took a deep breath, daring the air to feel familiar. Daring it to push him down that rabbit hole of memories he didn’t want to have.
Gage West was home. And he would rather be anywhere else.
REBECCA FELT BOTH exhausted and emotionally scarred by the time she turned her open sign around. She needed to get home. She needed to figure out how to deal with the fact that Gage West was apparently back in town and intent on forcing his guilt on her.
No, guilt might make her feel good about herself. She didn’t believe for one second he felt guilty. Not in any real, contrite sense.
Not that she would care either way. His guilt, his overall contrition, didn’t matter. It never had. It didn’t change a damn thing.
She turned, walking back toward the register, feeling weary down to her bones.
The bell sounded behind her and she turned again, about to let whoever it was know that she was closed. But it wasn’t a customer. It was Alison, carrying two boxes that Rebecca knew would be filled with pie. And following closely behind her was Lane, two bottles of wine in her hand. The door closed behind them and opened again as Cassie walked through also carrying a pastry box.
She had managed to forget entirely. Tonight was the weekly girls’ night, and the Trading Post was hosting this week.
“Hi,” she said, feeling even more tired. She wasn’t sure she had it in her to do the socializing thing tonight. The little group of friends, comprised of the female business owners on Main, had become an important source of companionship in her life over the past few years. But there were some things she had always felt most comfortable dealing with on her own.
Or not dealing with at all as she hid away in her mountain cabin. Whatever. It was her drama, her prerogative.
“Hello,” Cassie said, her voice chipper. “God bless Jake. He’s up to his neck in diapers and is at least pretending to be completely cheerful about it.”
Of the group, Cassie was the only one with a husband and children. The rest of them had become pretty confirmed bachelorettes. But if anyone could entice Rebecca into thinking that maybe a husband and kids wasn’t the worst idea, it was Cassie. She was always disgustingly happy.
“What’s the plan for tonight?” Alison asked, walking to the back of the store and setting her box of pies down by the register. “We are not watching another male stripper movie,” she said, directing this comment at Lane.
“I incurred the entire rental expense for that atrocity,” Lane said.
“But my life, Lane. I want my life back.”
“It was two hours,” Lane said. “Calm down.”
“Two hours when I could have done anything else.”
“And yet, I notice you didn’t get up and leave during the movie,” Lane replied.
“I was waiting for the payoff. I assumed that at some point someone would get naked. Instead, there was so much talking,” Alison groused.
“Well, whatever we decide to do, there are snacks,” Cassie said, lifting the tops of the boxes Alison had brought, and also the box she’d brought, and revealing two different pies and an assortment of pastries.
“Snacks are good,” Rebecca said. “Of course, I haven’t had dinner.”
“This is dinner,” Cassie said, advancing on the pie.
“I need a drink,” Lane said, going back behind the counter and rummaging until she produced the wine glasses that Rebecca kept back there for these occasions. “You, Rebecca?”
“I’ll just make some coffee. I have to drive back home after this, and I don’t think I can stay long enough to wait for the buzz to wear off.”
“Rough day?” This question came from Alison.
“Just tired.” She was a liar. A cagey liar.
Her friends knew about her accident. She found that until she divulged the source of her scars it was just a weird eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room. But nobody knew who was responsible. In fact, she kept the details as private as possible.
She kept it simple. She had been in a bad car accident when she was eleven, and it had left permanent scarring. The end.
“Are you sure?” Cassie asked, busying herself starting to brew coffee.
“Yes,” she said, “I’m sure. Also, Cassie, you don’t need to make me coffee. That’s what you do all day.”
“I’m well aware of what I do all day, Rebecca. But I don’t want to drink the swill that you call coffee. I’m a connoisseur. An artisan.”
“I’m not going to argue,” Alison said. “Mostly because I just want you to make the coffee.”
“Well, you spent all day making pie. So I suppose I’ll allow it,” Rebecca said.
“Nobody allows me to do anything,” Cassie said. “I’m