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“You need to apply here,” she says, pulling me to a stop in front of Abe’s Hardware.
It’s the first thing she’s said to me in twenty minutes, so that’s something, I guess.
The worn sign above the door hasn’t changed a bit since I’ve been gone, which also means Abe Hernandez probably still hates me for dating—and dumping—his daughter. Oh, and there was the thing with the snow shovels, but I apologized and paid him back for that.
Of course, all of that was before the accident. His daughter was also very good friends with Amber Hubert.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say.
I keep walking but Iz yanks me back.
“He’s hiring, see? You’re in good shape and we’re approaching landscaping season. I’m sure he’s got manual work you could do.”
“He hates me even more than you do,” I mumble, ducking out of her grip.
She rolls her eyes. “Come on. Let’s at least ask. I’ll go with you.”
“Iz…” I give her a pleading look, which only seems to strengthen her resolve.
She pulls open the door and pushes me inside.
Three sets of eyes land on us when the bell chimes. Two look shocked. One looks murderous.
Shit. I knew this was a bad idea.
“What are you doing here?” Abe barks, coming around from behind the counter.
I vaguely recognize the two customers, although I can’t place them.
“Nothing,” I say. “Sorry. I was just…”
I turn to leave, but Isabel blocks my exit. “Hi, Mr. Hernandez. We saw you’re hiring. Tristan is—”
“Not a chance in hell. Get the fuck out of my store!” Abe roars.
I wince, my stomach in knots as I back toward the door.
“I’m sorry. Really—”
“Out! Why would you even come back here after all the damage you’ve done? Are you that arrogant or just a complete moron?”
“Mr. Hernandez,” Iz says in shock. “He just—”
“Out! Get the fuck out!” he cries, shoving me hard.
I stumble into the door, my head hitting the glass, but it’s the handle in my side that knocks the wind out of me.
Isabel grabs my arm to help me up, but I shake her off and yank open the door. Escaping onto the sidewalk, I stagger forward a few steps and brace my hand against the wall to catch my breath.
“Tristan…”
I shake my head and fire a warning a look. “Don’t say anything.”
“I really thought—”
“Just, stop!”
I rest my forehead on my arm against the cold brick and try to breathe through the pain in my chest. I can’t even tell if it’s from the physical or emotional assault.
