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I hear voices at the end of the hallway and head toward them. When I enter the room, the smile on my face dies at the scene in front of me.
What the hell? The contractor has his tongue buried in Love’s mouth.
Fury blasts through me. I can’t believe I got taken in by her sob story. It was all a pack of lies. No wonder she didn’t want to tell my family the truth about her past.
I stomp out of the room, down the hallway, and out of the house.
My heart pounds as I walk home. Good thing Skye isn’t there. I don’t want her to see me this way. With pent up anger coursing through my body.
I yank my phone from my pocket and message Love.
We’re through.
I stare at the phone as I wait for a response. Fifteen minutes pass before those telltale dots appear. Fifteen minutes during which she was probably scrambling to put her clothes back on.
Okay.
Okay? What the fuck? Okay? I break up with the woman I love and her only response is okay. No, not the woman I love. The woman I thought I loved doesn’t exist. Because everything Love said was a fucking lie. No wonder she’s an outcast in this town.
And to think, I defended her. I was ready to fight the chief of police for her. I can really pick ‘em. Skye’s mom and now Love. I’m better off alone.
And you’re fired.
I don’t wait for her reply. I throw the phone on the couch and go in search of the bottle of whisky.
Chapter 34
Damn. I think I was wrong about Love Hill. ~ Message from Aspen on the Winter Falls Facebook page
Love Hill
My mouth drops open. “Twenty thousand dollars for a new roof?”
I knew a new roof would be expensive but twenty thousand dollars is more than I’ve earned in my entire life. I hope I misunderstood.
The contractor, Murray, nods. “At least.”
Crap. No misunderstanding then. I gulp. “Can you make some repairs to keep the roof together until I can afford the complete new roof?”
He smirks. “Maybe we can make an alternate arrangement.”
Alarm bells begin to ring. The way he’s leering at me is creeping me out. “Like a payment plan?”
He shrugs as he begins stalking toward me. “Call it what you will.”
I hold up a hand to stop him. When he doesn’t, I retreat. But there’s nowhere to go. I bump into the wall. I eye the door but he’s blocking my exit.
“You should go,” I tell him. My voice is shaky, so I try again. “You should go.”
“Why? I’m right where I want to be.”
“You’re not where I want you to be.”
“Don’t lie, darling.”
He palms my neck and his head descends toward mine. I try to twist away but he uses his hold on my neck to keep me where he wants me. His lips crash into mine. They’re hard and mean and not what I want.
Memories of ninth grade and Mr. Simon rush to the forefront of my mind. As does anger at the fallout from what happened.
