Page 35 of The Wrong Guy

Charlene’s eye roll is epic. “If I can’t handle a tableful of tourists who wanna play a li’l pool and drink a li’l beer, I’ve got no business being here. Besides, I’ve got Robbie on speed dial.” She means Officer Robbie Milson, who she’s friendly with when the mood suits them both.

She floats off, dancing through the tables easily, and leaving me the focus of the death squad of two again.

Surprisingly, Avery fires first. “I thought Wren knew about how you feel and she was the one who didn’t feel the same?”

Nope, not doing this. She said “feel” twice in one sentence. That’s two too many times, especially after my day, when my emotions are riding too close to the surface. “Can we not talk about how she figured out that she’s about fifty levels outta my league? I really can’t today.”

I don’t see it coming. I didn’t see Hazel move, but suddenly she’s beside me and smacks the hell out of the back of my head. It’s a move she learned from a show Mom watches while she’s working in the early morning at the bakery. She calls the head slap “the DiNozzo.”

“Ow! Fuck!” I hiss, rubbing my head. “What the hell was that for?”

Hazel’s eyes narrow as she silently stares into my soul for an uncomfortably long moment. Finally, she says, “I knew you were a dumbass, but Wren’s the smartest person I know. Yet somehow, you’re both stupider than a drunk city boy in a dog-sledding race.”

“What?” I sputter. I’m not insulted in the slightest, but I am mad on Wren’s behalf.

Hazel’s on a roll, though. “She told us about the phone call eargasm thing, and then when I asked who it was—”

I interrupt to declare, “She’s not fucking around with anyone else.” I do know that much for sure.

I give Wren her space, and I’m trying to give her time to realize that no one will take care of her like I will, even if I’m a dirty, semibroke construction guy who’s got too many scars, shitty tattoos, and a foul mouth. But even with that time and space, I keep careful track of who she talks to, who she hangs out with, and what’s going on with her. Careful in the sense of discreet enough that she doesn’t know, and staying on this side of legal so that Officer Milson doesn’t have to make a visit to tell me to back off.

“No shit, Sherlock. But she thinks you bailed on her, said something about you not wanting to be seen with her? And had no idea that you’ve basically told the whole town that if anyone fucks with her, you’ll destroy them. When Grandpa Joe said you’re in love with her, she laughed. A lot. She has no idea.”

Every word is a bullet straight into my heart, shredding it to pieces as I try to make sense of what Hazel’s saying.

How could Wren not know that I’m fucking gone for her and have been for ages? She seriously laughed at me?

I snort bitterly. “Yeah, I know. I’m not worthy of the Wren Ford, but a little respect would be fucking nice.”

Hopefully, the anger in my voice covers the hurt I’ve been stockpiling away for a year. Hazel knows me too well, though, and can see through my bullshit any day, any time. “Pull your head out of your ass. I don’t know what happened, but she laughed—” I try to interrupt again, but she gives me a glare reminiscent of Mom’s and I shut up. “And then her eyes went all hazy like she was somewhere else. Before we could ask what she was thinking, she ran out so we wouldn’t see her cry.”

That stops me short. “Wren was crying? Why?”

Hazel almost slaps my head again, but Avery answers first. “Because of you, Jesse. I know you’re hurt, but so is she.”

I think I would’ve preferred the smack, because Avery’s gentle words are a punch to my gut. Wren’s hurting? Because of me? I’ve done everything I can think of to make this easier on her. I’ve stayed away, I haven’t put pressure on her. And I’ve been doing my best to get better for her, hoping that eventually, I’ll be a man she could be proud of.

Wyatt puts his arm around Hazel’s shoulder, backing her up or holding her back, I’m not sure which. But his voice is threaded with a promise of his own. “Fix this. Wren’s been through some shit and deserves to be happy. And she’s better than all of us put together—no offense, Avery—and if you fuck her over, I will feed your body to my wood chipper.” It’s his version of a brotherly love threat.

“None taken,” Avery answers, lost in little Joe’s baby coos as he realizes his mama’s here. “Auntie Wren’s the best, isn’t she? Oh, yes she is. Not as cute as you, though, Joe-baby.”

Avery’s baby talk is much more tolerable, but I still need to get out of here. I have a lot to think about.

I am so fucking confused.

This whole day has sucked ass. And not in the good way. I can’t do anything about Jed’s asshattery, but Wren and me? Yeah, I can do something about that shit.

Chapter 13

WREN

I hear Jesse’s truck pull up out front, the door slam, and his boots crunch through the gravel before clopping on the steps outside. The doorbell rings at the same time he knocks, and I admit to myself that I’m hiding from him when I seriously consider not answering the door.

He knocks again and yells through the door, “Wren. Open the door. I know you’re here.”

Of course he does. My car’s right out front, and the lights are on. But I can play possum, and maybe he’ll think I’m already asleep.

No, that’s useless. He’d probably show up at work tomorrow and I’d have to deal with it then.