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Contrary to what Honey told Nash, she didn’t sleep like a baby. In fact, she lay awake for hours, her mind racing, thinking of things that had nothing and everything to do with Nash Booker. Sex with him had shaken her. She’d felt things she had no business feeling. A connection that could only lead to trouble because Honey didn’t do connections for a lot reasons. And if she went down that rabbit hole, she might not find her way out.
She didn’t want to remember the things that had shaped her. The things responsible for the invisible scars beneath her skin and the ones hidden in plain sight. Things like a drug-addicted mother who’d brought a never-ending parade of men into their home. Men who used women for their own selfish needs and tossed them aside like garbage. Men with no moral compass. Men who didn’t care if you were thirty-five or fourteen.
She’d grown up surrounded by chaos and instability, with a mother who used drugs to ease the pain of heartache and her own foolishness. Somehow, Honey survived, and she’d clung to that knowledge and worn it like a badge of honor.
But had she survived? Wasn’t she living a lie? Acting like she had her shit together when she was so far from normal, it wasn’t funny? If she was normal, she’d have invited Nash up to her room for another round of sex. And they’d take it slow. Savor it. Enjoy it. Instead, she was alone in the dark, twisted up and pissed off because she didn’t want to think or remember any of these things.
With a groan, she rolled over and pulled her pillow over her head. She’d known better than to sleep with Nash, because she’d known it would be different. He was different from the men she’d known before. He was a man’s man, no doubt about that, with a touch of arrogance offset by an overabundance of confidence and more than his share of testosterone. He was a leader. A man who turned heads. But he was also loyal and fair. Quick to smile and offer encouragement. She’d seen how gentle he was with his nephew. How much he loved his family. Even Cam, though at the moment, he wouldn’t admit to it.
He was also her boss. That, coupled with the great sex and that connection she didn’t want to acknowledge, was asking for trouble.
“Fuck,” she whispered into her pillow.
She needed to be careful. Nash wasn’t part of her plan.
Honey’s alarm sounded again. She turned it off and headed for the shower. She would not spend one more minute dwelling on the night before. Or Nash Booker. Or her past. Or the fact that she had aches and pains in places that hadn’t ached or pained in a long time.
Nope. All that shit was in her rearview, at least for today. Tuesday was her day off, and she had somewhere important to be.
Forty-five minutes later, Honey pulled into the parking lot of Crystal Lake’s Community Support Centre, a large building on the north side of town, which housed local agencies and a youth drop-in. For the past few months, Honey had been volunteering at the drop-in center, working with local troubled teens. Brooke Atwell was one of them.
At sixteen, the girl had attitude that matched the massive chip on her shoulder. She was sullen and verbally abusive. She acted as if she didn’t give a crap about anything—not even herself—but Honey saw through it. She saw the quiet moments when Brooke thought no one was watching. The moments when her eyes misted and darkened with pain. When the sadness covered her in a shroud that kept her shoulders hunched forward and her eyes downcast.
Those were the moments the mask slipped and her soul shone through.
Watching Brooke was like looking in a mirror. Honey understood the anger and helplessness. She wanted to ease all of it. At the moment, volunteering at the drop-in was the one pure thing in her life, because it was honest. Here, Honey had no agenda. Here she could open up and be herself.
She locked her beat-up Malibu and headed inside. Molly, the receptionist, angled her head around the large potted plant on her desk and greeted her with a smile. Though it dropped a bit as she nodded to the office on her left.
“Hey, Andrea’s waiting for you.”
Surprised, Honey paused. “Everything okay?”
Molly sat back in her chair and sighed as she tugged a large gray woolen sweater tighter across her chest. She was in her late fifties and volunteered her time to the center. Her chocolate-brown hair was cut into a blunt style whose sharp edges curved along her jaw, and it was shot through with silver. Her pale blue eyes were kind as she tucked her hair behind her ear.
“I’m not sure, but I know a board meeting has been called. Could be nothing.” She winked and reached for the phone as it rang. “Andrea asked that you pop by her office before going to the drop-in.”
Honey gave a quick knock on Andrea’s door and let herself in. Andrea Lee was a pretty woman, with long curly blonde hair, sunny blue eyes, and a quick smile that made a person feel good.
At the moment, it was nowhere to be seen, and unease shifted inside Honey. Andrea was on the phone and waved Honey in, forehead furrowed as she listened to whoever was on the other end. She slipped into one of the chairs in front of Andrea’s desk and waited for the conversation to end. She tried not to eavesdrop, but the words budget and shortfall and grants were repeated several times. When the woman was finally done, she set the phone back in the cradle and sank back into her seat. For a few seconds, there was silence, and then with a sigh, Andrea leaned forward, resting her elbows on her desk.
“Bad news, Honey.”
Outside, Honey kept her composure. Inside, she was shaking. Had Andrea found out about her past? Was she going to be axed?
“Anything I can do?” Honey spoke carefully, watching the woman across from her.
Andrea shook her head. “Not unless you have an extra fifty thousand dollars kicking around.”
“Sorry.” Honey had some money saved, but it was more in the range of five thousand dollars, not fifty.
“There was an issue with the last grant we applied for. I thought…” Andrea grimaced. “We all thought it was a done deal, but things didn’t turn out the way we wanted them to. We’re not getting the money, and our fundraiser isn’t planned until the new year.”
“What does that mean?” Honey asked, sitting forward.
“It means we’re going to have to cut some programs, at least until the grant comes through or we get monies from the fundraiser.” She looked at Honey. “The youth drop-in will be first to go. We can’t pay the rent on the unit, and the landlord can’t afford to let us use it for free. He’s got a liquidator who wants to come in for a few months.”
Honey sat up in her chair. “But all those kids. Where will they go?” Alarmed, she cleared her throat. “Brooke needs this place, Andrea. You don’t know what her home life is like. She’s on the edge of something dark. I can feel it.”
