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June
ChapterFourteen
Apollo
“Are we on for tonight?” I ask June as I press the phone to my ear with one hand and pull the door open with the other. It’s early December, and it’s damn cold outside, so I’m grateful for the heat that hits me when I walk inside.
“Yep,” she says. “I’m going to call the girls today and find out when we can all get together for dinner. I think it’s time you and I can come clean with everyone and stop hiding since I don’t plan to stop having sex with you anytime soon.”
That makes me grin. “Good, because I don’t plan to stop either. Let me know what they say.”
I walk into the living room of the house I’ve been working on for a few weeks, and my happiness turns to rage.
“Did you stop by the Thomas project yesterday?” I ask June, my voice calm.
“No, I haven’t been by in a few days. In fact, no one has because we’re waiting on some special orders that Mrs. Thomas wants, so we’re at a standstill. Are you over there?”
“Yeah.” I sigh and prop my hands on my hips. I want to punch someone in the goddamn face. “You’re going to want to come over here.”
“What’s wrong?” There’s urgency in her voice now. “Your voice sounds weird. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Just come over. Trust me.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in ten.”
She clicks off, and I blow out a breath. “Fuck.”
I’d like to paint over the words on the wall and save her from seeing this, but she’s the boss of this project, and she needs to be the one to decide how to proceed.
One thing that I’ve learned about June over the past couple of months is that she isn’t as tough as she makes herself out to be, and she gets her feelings hurt like anyone else.
She just never lets anyone see it.
I think this is going to hurt her, and that pisses me off almost as much as the words on the wall.
I’m still staring at them when her car door slams outside, and I hurry back to the door so I can meet her.
“I don’t even want to consider how fast you drove to get here so quickly,” I say as I step outside and find her marching toward me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Come on.” I lead her inside, and when we get to the living room, she stops short.
“Holy shit. What in the actual fuck?”
Spray painted in bright red letters on the big wall of white drywall is:FUCKING CUNT!
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she mutters and rubs her eyes. “It’s an easy fix, obviously. We haven’t started to paint and texture yet, but for fuck’s sake.”
“Has anything else like this happened that you haven’t told me about?” I ask her.
“Not like this, but”—she winces and refuses to look me in the eye—“I’ve had a few small things go missing.”
“Why in the hell haven’t you called the cops? Christ, Juniper, yourbrotheris the cops. Call him.”
“I figured it was Josh and asked Rob to keep an eye on him,” she admits. “He’s young and stupid, but this could ruin the rest of his life, and I was hoping that after he got the temper tantrum out of his system, he’d get bored and move on.”
“Yeah, well, obviously, that’s not the case. This is unacceptable.”
