Pieces of Summer Page 2

  Then… Then he pulls out a phone, and my heart crumbles a little more as he holds it to his ear, answering whoever is calling. His tailgate buddy is now shoving her hand down the front of his pants, and he’s smiling down at her as he carries on a conversation over his phone.

  His phone…

  Chase doesn’t have a phone. Not even a house phone. He doesn’t have cable or internet either, because his family barely skates by on what they have to pay bills. His father is a janitor at a gas station and a functioning alcoholic. His mother… Don’t even get me started on his mother.

  But Chase doesn’t have a phone. It’s why we can’t talk when I’m in Montana and he’s here.

  He nods and laughs when some guy brings him a red cup, and he puts his phone away.

  “Zeke is coming,” he loudly announces to the crowd, and hoots and whistles sound out as though a celebration is underway over the announcement.

  The girl wrapped around him starts nibbling on his neck, and he returns his attention to her. It’s like someone is holding a vacuum against my lungs, sucking all the oxygen out of me without mercy. My chest feels like it’s collapsing, and it causes me to bend over a little just to wheeze in some small spurts of air.

  It hurts. It really fucking hurts.

  More tears prick my eyes as I watch in stunned silence.

  “I asked if you’re lost.” A guy steps in front of me, cutting off the sight that has had me frozen to my place for who knows how long.

  I look up to stare into dark, concerned eyes. “You okay, girl? You sure don’t look okay,” the guy drawls in his rich, southern accent. I used to love that accent. Now…

  My stomach is rolling, tumbling, and growing weaker by the second. I’m going to be sick.

  He hisses out a breath, when I double over, and groans sound out all around me when vomit splashes to the ground like a party-foul alert.

  “Fucking eh. How much did you drink?” the guy in front of me asks.

  So many people. There are so many people. Chase is far enough away that he can’t see me, especially with the tall guy blocking his view. I can’t let him see me. I don’t want to see him.

  I can’t… I just can’t.

  “Are you okay? Can you walk?” The annoying guy continues to rattle off questions as I raise up and give my mouth an indignant wipe on the back of my arm.

  I nod absently and stumble back.

  “Hey, slow down. You drunk? You can’t drive drunk. Cops will be pissed if this shit spills into the streets. Not to mention you might get yourself killed.”

  I turn away, but he catches up to me, grabbing my arm. When I cry out, he immediately lets me go. “Shit. Sorry—Hey! Stop!”

  But I’m already running. My legs burn, but it’s dull in comparison to the inferno going on inside my chest. Sobs wrack my body, and I leap into my car, locking it just as the guy chasing me collides with my door.

  “You can’t drive if you’re drunk!” he barks. “You’ll get yourself or someone else killed! Get out, please! I swear I’m not going to hurt you or let anyone else hurt you.”

  I crank the car, slam it in reverse, and slide out of the driveway much faster than I wheeled in. I’m so, so stupid.

  Once again, I’ve turned into a cliché. I thought I found my one true love as a teenager, when it was nothing more than a stupid summer fling. Mom was right. Hayden is toxic.

  So is Chase.

  Chapter 2

  CHASE

  Present day…

  I groan while getting out of bed, peeling Whit’s arm off my chest as she mutters something in her sleep about aliens and crocodiles. Snorting out a laugh, I rub my hand over my face and head into the living room.

  Ah hell. I have to be at work in thirty minutes. I’m going to make her ass sleep on the couch if she doesn’t stop fucking with my alarm clock.

  I practically rush through a cold shower, getting out by the time it’s heating up, and I toss on my clothes. Whit is still face-down in the pillows when I walk out, and toss my cooler in the back of my truck and head out.

  My eyes scan over the dirt road off to the side, and as always, my grip tightens as my fists try to clench. I sure as hell don’t miss living on that shitty dirt road. My truck stays a hell of a lot cleaner these days. Yet that house still stands. I wish they’d tear it down or burn it.

  Just as I pull up to the shop, someone walks up. Holy… shit. What guy dresses like that in Hayden? Is he really wearing pants above his ankles? Are they really so tight he has a moose knuckle going on?

  Must be tourist season.

  A sharp pang of anger hits me, and my jaw tenses.

  Must be summer.

  Fucking summer.

  I hate it worse than anything. The humidity is the worst, and the bugs are relentless. The lake house owners fly in or drive in from whatever state they’re from, taking a break from their horrible rich lives.

  Yeah… I fucking hate summer.

  It used to be my favorite time of year.

  Just like every time I think of what summer used to be, a bitterness creeps into my mouth. I swat away a few flies as I get out of my truck, and grab my cooler. The shop isn’t much to the rich asses who crash town for two or three months a year, but it’s a hell of a lot more than I grew up with. And I love it.

  I have a house that has an actual floor, and I have full windows instead of broken shards. I also have an actual bed—a nice one—instead of a mattress on the dirty floor. Most importantly, my house is clean—messy at times, but always clean. There aren’t lines of mold and animal pellets anywhere. I’ll never live like that again.

  And I earned it all myself. Had to.

  Unlike the rich bastard who is sweating profusely in front of my shop. You can always tell when someone grew up with money.

  “You lost?” I ask the guy.

  He sighs in relief when he sees me.

  “Please tell me you work at the auto repair shop.”

  He does realize he’s not in front of the garage, right? Sun must be getting to him.

  “Nah, but I know the guy who owns it,” I tell him, leaning against my truck.

  “Thank God. My rental car gave out just down the road. I’m helping my friend move in today, and I can’t get ahold of her. It’s hotter than the devil’s ass crack, and I had to walk at least two miles to get here.”

  With all the sweat and heavy panting, you’d think he’d walked twenty miles across the desert instead of two miles down Main St. The guy looks a little too fit to be acting so out of shape.

  Blowing out a breath, I head over and unlock the door to my shop about the time Blake rolls in on two wheels. As soon as he gets out of his truck, I motion to the drenched guy with too-short pants.

  “Richie here needs his car towed in and looked at,” I tell Blake, motioning to his garage.

  “It’s Hunter,” the guy corrects.

  “That’s irony if I’ve ever heard it,” Blake says, eyeing the guy who has probably never went hunting a day in his life.

  “Is there a cab service around here?” the guy rattles on.

  Blake snorts out a laugh while walking in and coming back out with tow truck keys. Beth walks up, strutting happily toward us, but her eyes roll when she takes in the guy wiping the sweat away from his brow. She heads into my shop, while a few others drive up and head into the garage next door, everyone getting ready for their morning.

  “Where’s the car?” Blake asks.

  As Hunter tells him it’s the Audi near the big tree with flowers—no joke—Blake stares at me incredulously. “Just drive down Main. Shouldn’t be hard to spot a broken down Audi near some flowers and a big tree,” I deadpan.

  Blake smirks before walking off. “Gotta love summer,” he quips.

  “It’s finally summer!” Mika squeals while launching herself into my arms, and I hold her almost too tightly, trying not to hurt her as I soak in her smell, her touch, and her presence. It always feels like a dream.

  “I’ve missed yo
u,” I tell her lamely, squeezing her even tighter.

  Her legs wrap around my waist, and her lips brush my cheek. I ignore the usual response my body always has to hers.

  “I’ve missed you too,” she sighs. “I love you.”

  I almost sag to the floor, but I lock my knees in place, holding her like it doesn’t turn me into rubber every time she says those words. She’s the only one who has ever said those words to me. Three simple words most people hear too often and take for granted… Those three words from her lips keep me looking ahead to the future.

  “I love you,” I tell her back, smiling when she giggles.

  I love summer.

  “Are you listening to me?” The loud voice snaps me out of a memory that just came out of no-damn-where, and I clear my throat. “Taxi?” the guy asks, studying me like I’m a little off in the head.

  If I’m thinking back to those days, I must be fucking out of my mind.

  “One of the guys from the garage can give you a lift to wherever you’re going,” I tell Moose Knuckle, shutting the door on his gratitude as I head inside my own place to start the day.

  Beth’s eyes meet mine as she sorts through the appointment book, and she laughs under her breath.

  “Fucking summer,” she mutters.

  Fucking summer.

  Chapter 3

  MIKA

  “You sure you want to do this?” Aidan asks as I set down yet another box.

  Where the hell is Hunter? He’s the one who insisted on coming because he didn’t trust me to decorate my own place.

  “Positive,” I tell Aidan, struggling with another box that is labeled Kitchen but hanging out in the living room. It can’t be in the living room. The living room is not the kitchen, and if it’s labeled kitchen it has to be there. “Should I be worried about Hunter?” I ask him as I drop the box, and start cursing my phone that has no signal.

  I’ll have to switch to a local provider if I want to ever get any signal at all or be damned in the middle of the woods next to the lake where axe-murderers like to lurk.

  Too much research. Don’t ask.

  “Nah. He’s probably already found a summer bunny to fuck. How the hell does a guy wear pants that tight, bitch about a woman’s clothing the way he does, and still get more action than me? He’s an interior decorator, for fuck’s sake. Life doesn’t make sense anymore,” Aidan jokes, walking out on the front porch as he laughs.

  I laugh, too, because it’s very true. Hunter has a way of literally getting almost any girl he wants, even though it makes zero sense in today’s alpha-male craze. I follow behind Aidan, still laughing as he mutters something about Hunter probably packing something his tight jeans aren’t showing.

  A shiny black Chevy truck draws my attention as it idles in my driveway. Company already?

  Hunter?

  Hunter is definitely getting out and fist bumping the driver. He struts toward us as the Chevy backs out, and I make eye contact with a guy who seems vaguely familiar, even though I have no idea where I know him from.

  He eyes me as well, studying me like he’s experiencing a touch of déjà vu. Finally, he drives off, and I shake free from my thoughts as I turn around to face Hunter.

  “New friend?”

  “Yeah. Thankfully the owner of the garage gave me a lift when my damn rental broke down. I had to wait on him to get back from towing my ride because that garage was busy first thing this morning. I’m calling the rental place to get a new set of wheels and let them deal with that shit.”

  Shrugging, I guide him in, listening to him whistle low as he takes in all the surroundings. Our lake home is still just as amazing as ever, even though it needs some updating.

  “This place is one hell of a gem. Why is it in a dying town?”

  “Same reason I am,” I say quietly, running my hands over the railing of the staircase, silently adding, Hayden never lets you go. “Hayden is small, but it’s not dying,” I tell him as I turn around, changing the subject. “It’s actually growing economically. I think my new purchase will do well.”

  “Why are you buying a bowling alley again? I don’t get it. You’re a murder/mystery writer. Not a damn bowling alley owner.”

  “Yes, well, in my next book, the victim dies in the bowling alley. I need to do some research,” I deadpan.

  He’s not getting the real reason.

  “Why do I ever expect you to be serious?” he groans. “I’m going to start sketching up some designs after I inspect the place a little better. Hope you know you’re paying me a pretty penny.”

  “I’m aware,” I say with a smile, considering I’m paying him in wine and chick flicks for a solid weekend. It’s not like he needs my money. I had to force him to take money for the bowling alley he handled for me.

  “I’m about to head over to see how the renovations to the bowling alley have come along. Lanes to Strike is having its grand opening next weekend.”

  “Wah wah wah,” my asshole brother says dramatically, giving it a thumbs down. “Seriously keeping that name?”

  “I like it. It’s straight to the point.”

  “It’s annoyingly obvious,” Hunter chimes in from somewhere near the kitchen.

  “Whatever. Sign is already hanging, so fuck off. I’m going to meet the floor manager and operations manager if I can catch them before they leave. They’re doing a walk-through today.”

  Aidan flips me off while smiling, and I roll my eyes while leaving.

  The drive to town is short, and I wipe my sweaty palms on my jean shorts as soon as I pull up. I don’t care if I look professional or not. That’s the beauty of owning a place; people can’t tell you how to dress or act. Especially in a town like Hayden.

  For the first time in so long, I feel good. This was a good idea.

  Out of paranoia, I glance around, searching for a man who no longer lives here, thankfully. I sort of stalked his Facebook once I found out he had an account. He left Hayden five years ago, and his social media was shut down after that. I don’t even know where he went or what he did. I’m just glad he doesn’t live here. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have come back.

  At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

  No, no. It’s true.

  As soon as I walk in, I’m greeted by a very blonde, leggy, gorgeous girl who is wearing a set of cutoff shorts that look much better on her than me. She’s model thin and showing off just a peek of her stomach.

  I subconsciously tug at my shirt, making sure none of my less-than-perfect skin is showing like her firm, flawless skin is.

  “Hi, you must be Ms. Dalton, right?” the girl asks in her thick southern drawl that only adds to her charm.

  “You must be Whitney West. No wonder Chuck said guys would be pouring in off the streets when they got a look at who was running the floor,” I tell her, smiling when she blushes. “And call me Mika. Everyone else does.”

  She sticks out her hand and I shake it, as she adds, “Everyone just calls me Whit.”

  Before I can say anything else, Chuck rounds the corner, smiling wide as he takes me in. “You’re here! You’re really here!” he exclaims excitedly.

  He’s the short, bald, older, sweet guy I’ve spent months talking to over the phone about this endeavor. Even though he has no clue I used to visit Hayden every summer, he does know I’m familiar with the area. I only wish I had bothered to get to know more locals during my visit, instead of spending every waking moment with—

  Nope. Not going to do that. Chase James is a thing of the past, and it’s pointless to dwell on what never was. I can handle this. That was what I told myself before starting this entire endeavor, and I need to keep it as my mantra.

  “So happy to finally meet you in person,” I tell Chuck, then gasp when he grabs me in a bear hug and squeezes the hell out of me like I’m his long lost daughter or sister.

  Whit grins broadly while leaning against the counter, and I suck in a much-needed breath when Chuck releases me. Physical contact isn’t al
lowed, so I’m not used to it. Needless to say, my entire body is rigid right now from the shock of feeling an embrace.

  It’s not a big deal. As long as he doesn’t make a habit of it.

  He’s so short that I have to look down to see him, and he’s grinning up at me.

  “This is the best thing this town has had happen to it since the carnival opened up five years ago and saved us from slowly fading into nothing. This place is incredible, and the bar will definitely be a large draw. You’ve done amazing,” he praises, his eyes oozing excitement and sincerity.

  Looking around, a slow smile curls my lips. The lanes are pristine, beautiful, and ready to be played on. The arcade near the back is stocked with all the basics for teens and adults to enjoy. The bar is gorgeous and wide, making sure to allow plenty of room for people to pop in, place an order, and return to their lanes with their friends, while they wait on someone to serve their drinks to them.

  All in all, it’s exactly like Hunter promised it would be. I love him for handling the renovations on this place, even though it was extremely out of his comfort zone. This renovation, unlike the one he’s doing on my house, I did pay for. I paid him damn well, even though he didn’t want me to actually pay him since he didn’t technically do the difficult task of designing. He also never came down here to handle it personally.

  However, he’s the one who tracked down everything on my list and found a way to make it work via phone calls with contractors and workers. I’m glad he’s finally going to get to see his handiwork in person.

  “Can I ask what made you buy this old run-down bowling alley and breathe new life into it?” Whit asks.

  She’s my floor manager. She’s in charge of handling any issues that arise out here, while also keeping tabs on the employees. Chuck is my office manager, in charge of payroll, balancing the books, scheduling, hiring and so much more.

  Her question hits a spot inside me that I don’t want to be opened up.

  “Just trying to get some closure,” I say quietly, marveling at the amazing transformation. Hunter should have been paid more.