CONTENTS
1. Tia
2. Wallace
3. Wallace
4. Wallace
5. Tia
6. Wallace
7. Tia
8. Wallace
9. Tia
10. Wallace
11. Tia
Epilogue
Rich Groom
Books By Penny Wylder
1
Tia
The schedule in front of me is blurring in front of
my eyes. I think that I’ve been looking at this for
hours now, and I’m getting confused by my own
color coding. God, there are too many projects and
not enough people to get them done in time. We're
going to need to hire some extra hands.
It's a good problem to have as a contracting
company, but it’s been happening more and more
since I took on more responsibility at Connor’s
Contracting, my family’s company. I love this
business, and I love that we’re the number one
builders in Green Hills, Tennessee, but it’s also a bit
annoying since I've told my father time and time
again that we’re biting off more than we can chew.
He’s the one who meets with the clients, though,
and I’m the one who ends up juggling the schedules
and making the impossible possible.
We have a roof reconstruction, a greenhouse
refurbishment, replacing insulation in an attic, and
an interior paint job. And those are just the smaller
projects. We've got two from-scratch buildings as
well, all the way from foundation to drywall. All of
these projects overlap in the next couple of months.
I don't know where he got the idea that we could fit
this all in, but we'll need at least two more people.
And that's if he and I both step in and work on the
projects, too.
Everything has to be done by the 28th of
September. My heart lurches for a second, because
I know that day. It's Wallace Monroe's birthday, and
this year he'll be turning thirty. That's a long ways
away from when we were young and in love at
eighteen, but it still feels significant. I hate the way
my heart still skips a beat whenever I think of him.
I don’t even have to think of him. Someone can just
say something that just sounds like his name and
my ears perk up like they’ve been waiting to hear
news about him. Anything.
He'll probably have a party for his birthday.
Who knows. Maybe he'll invite me?
I laugh out loud even though there's no one to
hear it. The office is empty. Yeah, right. Invite me?
The girl who didn't even speak to him when he
came back from a fucking battle zone and dumped
an entire grocery store's worth of cereal on top of
him? Not likely. I shouldn't even care anyway. I
only thought of it because I saw the day. I don't
care about Wallace. I don’t. Like a mantra, I repeat
those words again and again: I do Not. Care.
I've seen him around town sometimes, and he
looks good. It's impossible not to notice that the
good looks he had when he was younger have only
intensified, body hardened with battle and face
honed with serious intent. I noticed it when I
dumped the cereal on him. But just because he
looks good doesn't mean I care. Or that I miss him.
Or that I still dream about him and that no one I’ve
dated has even come close.
I haven’t talked to him since the cereal incident
—though there wasn’t much talking involved there
—but then again, he hasn’t talked to me either. Two
can play at that game. Not to mention that he
probably has no use for me now that he’s a
millionaire. He can have anything he wants in the
world. Any woman. In this town there are hundreds
that would fall over him if he let them. But it
doesn’t matter. He’s free to do as he wants. It
doesn’t matter to me. I have to keep telling myself
that.
Shaking my head, I run a hand across my face.
What is wrong with me this morning? I seem to be
getting lost in these thoughts that I can't shake. I
have enough to do without Wallace Monroe
invading my peace of mind today. I need to find my
father and tell him that thanks to his over
scheduling we need more hands. I'm not sure how
that conversation is going to go. We can afford it
with all the projects that we’ve got coming in, but
finding reliable and skilled construction workers in
Green Hills isn’t as easy as one would hope. We’ve
gone through quite a few that weren’t up to our
standards this year already. I’m not sure where
we’re going to find more. And with all the work we
have to do in such a short time, we can’t afford to
hire people that will make mistakes.
I print out a copy of the schedule and find a
clipboard—knowing my dad, he's going to want to
keep this copy to approve it—then I head out into
the warehouse. We do have a couple of temps here
working on storage and inventory, but I don't think
that they'll be the right fit for helping us get the
excess work done. They're just not built for it. And
that's okay, construction isn't easy, and it's not for
everyone.
Some people say it shouldn't be for me since I'm
a woman and it's not lady-like, but those people can
go fuck themselves. I like building things. It’s like a
puzzle, piecing it together to make it exactly how
you want it. And there’s nothing more satisfying
than a project completed to perfection.
Wallace Monroe and I used to talk about
building things together. Sat on my parents’ roof
and dreamed of all the things we would design and
build, until we were whispering, half asleep. He
used to work construction during the summer in
high school and I dreamed about becoming a big-
city architect. But then he joined the army and
didn’t come back and I found out that the big city
life wasn’t for me. Ugh, he needs to get out of my
head!
But even though I didn’t end up where I
thought I would, I like the satisfaction of knowing
that something was put together with my own
hands, and I also like knowing that I'm stronger
than most of the guys that try to hit on me. The
looks on their faces when I show them up are the
best.
My mother would much rather I flirt back, but
it's just not that easy. I need someone who's going
to match me, not assume that they're better than me
because they were born a man.
My father's not in his office when I check, and
he's not on the loading dock either. Only people
there are the temps and Bryan, a regular, unloading
palates of bricks off a truck. "Bryan, you seen my
dad?"
He shrugs, and I try not to show any frustration.
Lately Dad has been nowhere I need him. But he's
still in charge, which means I need him a lot, to sign
and approve things. I want him to hand over more
responsibility to me, but he keeps saying that I'm
not ready. It might be easier to see that I'm ready if
I didn't have to track him down every second of
every day. Or arrange schedules that are nearly
impossible.
I step to the side as one of the temps roll by
with a forklift and a brick pallet, and I think that
my eyes are tricking me. Because Wallace Monroe
is here, standing on the other side of the warehouse,
like I summoned him out of my mind. I shake my
head, seeing if my mind is really that deep down
the rabbit hole, but his image doesn't go away. So
he's really here. Why?
He looks around and when he sees me walking
toward him, he smiles. I'd forgotten what that smile
does to him, and what it does to me. It transforms
his entire face into something beautiful—even more
than it already is—and it gives me butterflies.
There's something about it that reaches down into
my gut and sings a song of possibility and longing.
More than longing. A sweet ache and desire that’s
been missing for a long damn time.
I can't think about that. I can't even allow it as a
possibility. Not after everything. After all this time,
I still don't know why he left, and that's a hole that I
don't think can be patched. Even by a smile as
brilliant as that one. "Wallace?"
"Hi, Tia."
We stop a few feet away from each other, and
both step to the side as the forklift passes and starts
to rise up from the floor. Wallace seems suddenly
awkward, like he doesn't know what to do. I don’t
really either, and I need to find my Dad. I wait a
few more seconds before I ask him, "Can I help
you with something?"
"I just...I came to talk to you."
That takes me a little by surprise. Why now?
"About what?"
"Anything, really." He laughs, "Some stuff has
happened and you've been on my mind. So I came
to talk to you, to explain—”
There's a huge cracking sound and I see the
pallet of bricks crack on the forklift right behind
him. I lunge forward and pull him past me, jumping
too as bricks cascade to the floor in a shattering
crash, spilling over onto where we were just
standing. I stumble as I jump out of the way and
fall, landing on something that's definitely not the
floor. It's Wallace.
We're face to face now, and my mind is racing
with what just happened, that either of us could
have been crushed by that avalanche. My body is
racing for an entirely different, and inappropriate,
reason. I can't believe I'm even noticing this when I
just escaped death, but Wallace's body is everything
that I thought it might be under those clothes—hard
and defined—I can feel it. I feel myself blush, and
God the need that surges through me takes my
breath away. The way he's looking at me, I've seen
that look on his face before, a long time ago. He
wants to kiss me, and right now, for whatever
reason on God's green earth, I might let him.
"Holy shit," I hear Dad's voice. "Are you all
right?"
It breaks the spell, and I scramble off of
Wallace so I'm standing. Surveying the wreckage
behind me, I get why. The pallet cracked in half,
and I didn't even see the worst part of it. The stack
nearest us would have at least crushed Wallace.
Shit. "I think so," I say, looking up at the temp on
the forklift, who's still staring at everything with a
gaping mouth. "Bryan?"
He steps around the corner more fully. "This
guy has his license, right?"
"I do, I swear," the temp says from behind me.
"I've never had this happen before."
Dad looks at the wreckage. "Yeah, looks like it
was just a bad pallet, not user error."
"We have to make very, very sure of that," I say
to him quietly.
"We will." He turns to the rest of the workers.
"All right guys, no injuries, so let's get this cleaned
up."
I pass him the clipboard. "We need more
people, we've booked more than we can handle."
Nodding, he wanders closer to the pile of
broken bricks. "I'll take a look at it."
Wallace has gotten to his feet, brushing off dust
from his clothes. "Thanks," he says. “You know, I
never thought you'd save me from something
collapsing on me. Based on last time." He means it
as a joke, but it's not funny. Not now.
"Well you shouldn't have even been here in the
first place, Wallace. If you hadn't been standing
there, I wouldn't have had to save you, would I?"
And I wouldn't have gotten to feel your body
against mine or have that lapse that made me want
to kiss you. Anger rises up in me. Enough is
enough. It doesn’t matter how my body reacts,
there’s too much history between us. "What are
you doing here?"
"Like I said before I was so rudely interrupted
by the bricks, I came to talk to you."
"And what do you think that you and I have to
talk about?" I say, letting my anger snap out at him.
"We were together. You left without saying a word.
I thought I made it pretty clear that I didn't want to
talk to you the last time."
He doesn't change his expression, but I can tell
that it's strained now. "I was hoping that you'd give
me the chance to explain. Maybe over coffee."
"Over coffee?"
He shrugs. "Or lunch, dinner, even just a walk."
I shake my head. How can he even think this
would be okay? After he broke my heart and left
me with nothing? He doesn't deserve my time or my
energy. "No."
Wallace takes a breath and blows it out. "Is
there anything I can say to change your mind, Tia?
I'm not the same person that I was, and all I want is
a chance to make things right."
"If you wanted that, why didn't you try when
you came back?"
He presses his lips together. "Like you said, you
made yourself pretty clear. I thought I'd give you
some time."
Anger flares through my system and I have to
extend my fingers to keep them from curling into
fists. He thought he'd give me time. Like my
reactions are irrational and time will make me see
the error of my ways. I don’t care that I was
thinking of him kindly just a few minutes ago,
there’s a reason we haven’t spoken in so long.
There’s too much anger that rises when I remember
what happened. That pain that’s still with me. And I
can’t do it. "No, Wallace. I do not want to talk to
you about that. And as you can see," I say,
gesturing to the pile of bricks, "I'm pretty busy
today. You found your way in, and you can see
yourself out."
I walk away from him and I don't look back.
Who the hell does he think he is? Showing up after
all these years offering an explanation that was
needed a decade ago? You can’t just act like you
know what's best for everyone when you don't
know shit. Would hearing how he would justify
breaking it off with no warning and no goodbye
satisfy years of curiosity? Probably. But it wouldn't
be satisfying. There's nothing big enough to fill the
gap and the pain that he left. And you don't just get
a free pass because you suddenly decide that now
is the time to make amends.
There's a tiny spark in my mind that reminds me
how close I was to kissing him, and that I was just
wondering today if he was going to invite me to his
birthday party, but I shove it down. It's nothing. Just
the natural wonderings and thoughts you have
when you think about someone you haven't thought
about in a long time. Because I haven't. Thought
about him. Not in a long time.
Or at least that's what I'm going to keep telling
myself. I don't want to admit how many things
everyday bring him to mind.
I peek through the blinds of my office window,
and he's still standing there, talking to my father.
There's a pang of jealousy, that my dad can just talk
to him like that, without any of the baggage or
anger that's between us. There's that niggling
thought again, that if I accepted his offer to talk,
maybe we could talk like that too. NO.
I drop the blinds closed again. My brain needs
to get its shit together. I don't have a place in my
life or my heart for Wallace Monroe. Not anymore.
2
Wallace
Well...that went well. I suppose it went as well as I
could have been expected. Not sure what made me
think that I could just show up at her work and she
would just listen to me without any good reason. At
the bare minimum, I can consider it an upside that
she saved me from dying, though I'd like to hope
that anyone would have done that. I could have
died, or at the very least had some broken bones if
she hadn't pulled me out of the way.
I thought I’d had a good plan. I wanted to
surprise her, ask her to dinner, make it seem
spontaneous. Yeah, that didn’t work. I’m not sure
why I thought it would. Tia’s always been a really
up-front kind of girl, and I don’t think that time has
changed that. But I haven’t been able to get her out
of my head. Not since Frankie and Annabelle got
together.
They had so much shit that drove them apart,
and they got over it. It got me thinking that it could
be the same with Tia. I guess I was wrong. But
maybe there’s still a chance. I sigh, rubbing my
neck and stretching, assessing whether there’s any
damage from that fall.
Almost dying aside, I want to be back there
lying with her on top of me, because that felt so
good. Better than my imagination and memories
combined. Those have been plaguing me lately too.
She's so soft and curvy and I had to hold my hands
back from sliding down to her ass. For a split
second when we were that close, I was going to kiss
her. God, I’ve been dying to kiss her again. Kissing
her feels like breathing. If her father hadn't
interrupted, I would have without question. She
probably would have slapped the shit out of me.
It might have been worth it, though.
"You okay, son?"
Speak of the devil, Tia's father Charles speaks
from behind me, and I turn to face him. "I believe
so, sir." He holds out a hand, and I shake it.
"Been a while since I've seen you up close.
Although I've seen you around town here and
there."
"Yes, sir. Got back from deployment a few
years ago."
He gives me a long, hard, look. "Where from?"
"Afghanistan," I say swallowing. I thought
everybody knew. My business seems to be
everybody’s business now. The three owners of the
First Shot bar franchise—one of the only things
Green Hills is famous for—don’t get much privacy
around here. But Charles was never one for gossip.
"Some buddies of mine are still out that way,"
he says. "Not an easy place to go to or come back
from."
"No, it's not."
Charles slips the clipboard he's holding under
his arm and clasps his hands in front of him, like by
talking about the military he's falling back into old
habits. "How are you holding up? I had a rough
time re-entering civilian life, and I never faced
anything like what I'm sure you faced over there."
There are flashes of screams and death in my
head, followed by the inevitable wave of guilt. I
shouldn't be here. Not in Green Hills, not
anywhere. I should be dead. I can't say that out
loud, though. People think that you're crazy when
you say stuff like that out loud. But there's no
reason that I should be alive when everyone else
died. No reason but luck. But the universe did try
to drop a pallet of bricks on my head, so maybe my
luck’s running out.
Clearing my throat, I manage to put on a smile.
"I'm fine. It's a little strange, and even being out for
a while doesn’t seem to make it any easier. But I’m
all right…considering.”
Charles gives me a look again. "You know,
Wallace, when I said I've seen you around town, I
meant it. You've been everywhere, doing a lot of
different things. Doesn't seem like you've settled
into any kind of routine."
I look away, out of the loading dock where
people are checking the rest of the pallets to make
sure there aren't cracks in it like the last one. He’s
right. I don’t have a routine. Not like I haven’t
tried. Nothing seems to stick. I’ve wanted a job, but
nothing’s felt right or fulfilling. I’m not a guy who’s
going to wear a suit, and there are some jobs that
trigger me. There’ll be something that reminds me
of them. My unit. Or a smell that takes me back,
and suddenly I’m in the desert, and nowhere near
Tennessee.
The fact that he’s noticed that I’m drifting is
embarrassing. But there’s nothing I can do to deny
it. "Routine is hard," I say. "Not everyone likes to
have vets on staff. I’m lucky enough that I don’t
need to work.”
“Your bar,” he says. “Yeah, you guys have
really done a good job with that. He raises an
eyebrow like he's calling me on my bullshit. “But
just because you have money doesn’t mean that
you don’t need to work. You always struck me as
someone who needed something to do.”
I fight against the clenching of my jaw. The fact
that he hasn’t seen me in years and yet has
managed to pinpoint something that I have a hard
time admitting to myself is uncomfortable. So I just
nod.
“Well,” he says, “I need to hire a couple more
people to help with construction." He pulls the
clipboard back out with a smile. "I took on too
many projects, and we don't have enough people to
finish on time. So if you need some work, I'd be
happy to have you on.”
The words don't exactly penetrate for a second.
"You're offering me a job?"
"If you want it," he says, the corner of his
mouth tipping up into a smile.
I don’t know why I didn’t think about this
before. In high school I used to work construction
over summer break. And even though I’ve been
slowly working on the plans for my house, I didn’t
think about trying to get a job here. If I’m here, I’ll
have something to do with my time. And my hands.
More importantly, I’ll be close to Tia.
"Yes," I say, determination flowing through my
body. “Absolutely. Thank you."
Charles nods. "It's hourly, so come in sometime
Monday morning. Doesn't matter what time."
I freeze, wondering if there's something about
me that screams that I'm not sleeping. Even last
night after trying so hard, I woke up covered in
sweat and on the verge of screaming. But maybe
that's just how things work around here. Finally, a
job that I might be able to keep. "Sounds good, but
you don’t need to pay me.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t be silly. We'll have
you fill out the usual paperwork and then get you
out to one of the sites. You used to work
construction in the summertime years back, right?"
"Yes, sir." I don't tell him it was the only job
that I could find that had hours long enough to get
me out of the house and away from my father. It
had to do what school usually did. The construction
jobs I worked let me slip back home when he was
already asleep. Even if the other kids my age
thought I was nuts for spending my days building
houses instead of relaxing. "I'll see you Monday,
then.”
A job.
Frankly, I'd given up looking for one, because I
don’t need one to survive, and people have heard
what happened at the ones before. Green Hills is
funny that way. It's bigger than a small town but
still everybody knows everything. Which means
Charles either knows and doesn't care or he just
really doesn't pay attention. Either of those things
are fine with me. But still, eventually the rumors of
my behavior will get back to him. Someone’s going
to drive by one of the job sites and there will be a
well-meaning phone call placed.
They’ll tell him that I ended up crouching in a
corner in First Shot’s kitchen because the sudden
clang of a pan had me diving for cover. They’ll tell
him how I was fired from Henderson’s horse ranch
because of another episode. But this is who I am
now. I have to own it, even if it comes back to me.
On top of that, I'll get to see Tia again. She's
made it very clear she doesn't want to talk to me,
but I'm hoping that she'll change her mind. Maybe
if I'm around enough she'll get used to me. She'll see
that I'm not a bad guy, and that I really do just want
to talk. I want to tell her why I left and why I was
so scared of what we had. But either way, I'll just
be happy to be near her again.
When we were younger, by her side was where
I was happiest, and there hasn't been anything in
my life to change that. I don't think there will be in
the future either.
And now that I have everything, I want to give
her everything. If she’ll give me the chance.
3
Wallace
The First Shot bar is packed tonight. It’s a Friday,
so that’s pretty typical, but I think it’s even more
crowded than I’m used to. I have to hand it to
Glenn. He can be an asshole, but he's a got a good
head for concept and business. He’s always coming
up with fresh ways to bring people in, and they
work. For whatever reason, he's really got a handle
on what people want from their nightlife. That, and
the fact that the flagship First Shot bar is now a
major tourist destination here in Green Hills,
Tennessee. I don’t think there’s been a night in the
past few years when there wasn’t a line out the
door.
I take a sip of my beer and look down the bar
towards my friends with a little stab of jealousy. It's
really not fair that they're so happy. Even though I
am happy for them. But it’s a reminder of the things
I don’t have, and the things I want. Unfortunately,
they are things money can’t buy.
Frankie is sitting on a stool and Annabelle is
standing between his legs. They're entwined as
much as two people on a bar stool can be, and it
would be cute if it weren't so over the top. Glenn
slams down two drinks in front of them. "Would
you two get a room?"
"Are you saying that this isn't a room, Glenn?"
Annabelle asks, raising an eyebrow. Her rings glitter
on her fingers, and Glenn rolls his eyes. It's barely
been a month since the wedding at the courthouse
and it seems like the two of them have been in non-
stop honeymoon mode. Glenn is annoyed by it. I'm
jealous of it. Especially thinking of earlier today
and Tia’s reaction to me.
I take another sip of my beer and smirk at
Glenn. "If they actually got a room, you'd be
complaining that they abandoned you and me here
at the bar," I say.
"Both can be true."
I laugh softly, but it’s not real. I’m faking it.
Glenn has always been an interesting person. I
thought I was going to have to let him go after that
whole thing with him and Frankie, but he's got his
head back on straight. Mostly. I say mostly because
I know the next thing that's about to come out of
his mouth.
"I'm just glad I've still got you," he says. "Two
more months till your pledge, my friend."
Taking a sip of my beer, I fight the urge to roll
my eyes. I don't really want to take part in this
pledge any more than Frankie did. I'm not entirely
opposed either, but that depends on how the next
couple of months go. I might want to drown my
sorrows in an over-the top way.
I consider for a second actually going through
with it. Trying to sleep with a different woman
every day for a month…and I can’t. Shit. There’s
no way that I’d be able to do that. Especially if I
strike out with Tia. It’s just going to make me feel
worse, and way too many people know us in this
town for either of us to go on that kind of tear. Plus,
something whispers in the back of my mind. Even if
Tia doesn’t forgive me, if she finds out about that,
there will never be another chance. No fucking way
I’m doing this. “Right," I say to Glenn. "You gonna
sue me if I don't do it?”
Glenn has the decency to look embarrassed.
"No, I'm not gonna sue you, asshole. But as far as I
can see you have no reason not to do it. You don't
have a girl, you don't have..."
He trails off, and I'm glad he does, because I
don't want to hear the rest. I know what he's going
to say. I don't have a girl, I don't have a job.
Basically, I don't have a life. I'd like a life, but I
can't seem to make myself function. Hard to
function when you can barely sleep, and the lack of
routine just makes that harder.
The nightmares are as bad as they were when I
came home, and the lack of sleep makes me jumpy.
I've lost more than one job because I can't seem to
show up on time from over-sleeping. Not that I
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RICH SOLDIER THE DIRTY THIRTY PLEDGE BOOK 2 PENNY WYLDER
Copyright © 2019 Penny Wylder All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission of the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or businesses, organizations, or locales, is completely coincidental. Sign up HERE!
CONTENTS 1. Tia 2. Wallace 3. Wallace 4. Wallace 5. Tia 6. Wallace 7. Tia 8. Wallace 9. Tia 10. Wallace 11. Tia Epilogue Rich Groom Books By Penny Wylder
1 Tia The schedule in front of me is blurring in front of my eyes. I think that I’ve been looking at this for hours now, and I’m getting confused by my own color coding. God, there are too many projects and not enough people to get them done in time. We're going to need to hire some extra hands. It's a good problem to have as a contracting company, but it’s been happening more and more since I took on more responsibility at Connor’s Contracting, my family’s company. I love this business, and I love that we’re the number one builders in Green Hills, Tennessee, but it’s also a bit annoying since I've told my father time and time again that we’re biting off more than we can chew. He’s the one who meets with the clients, though, and I’m the one who ends up juggling the schedules and making the impossible possible. We have a roof reconstruction, a greenhouse refurbishment, replacing insulation in an attic, and an interior paint job. And those are just the smaller projects. We've got two from-scratch buildings as well, all the way from foundation to drywall. All of
these projects overlap in the next couple of months. I don't know where he got the idea that we could fit this all in, but we'll need at least two more people. And that's if he and I both step in and work on the projects, too. Everything has to be done by the 28th of September. My heart lurches for a second, because I know that day. It's Wallace Monroe's birthday, and this year he'll be turning thirty. That's a long ways away from when we were young and in love at eighteen, but it still feels significant. I hate the way my heart still skips a beat whenever I think of him. I don’t even have to think of him. Someone can just say something that just sounds like his name and my ears perk up like they’ve been waiting to hear news about him. Anything. He'll probably have a party for his birthday. Who knows. Maybe he'll invite me? I laugh out loud even though there's no one to hear it. The office is empty. Yeah, right. Invite me? The girl who didn't even speak to him when he came back from a fucking battle zone and dumped an entire grocery store's worth of cereal on top of him? Not likely. I shouldn't even care anyway. I only thought of it because I saw the day. I don't care about Wallace. I don’t. Like a mantra, I repeat those words again and again: I do Not. Care. I've seen him around town sometimes, and he looks good. It's impossible not to notice that the
good looks he had when he was younger have only intensified, body hardened with battle and face honed with serious intent. I noticed it when I dumped the cereal on him. But just because he looks good doesn't mean I care. Or that I miss him. Or that I still dream about him and that no one I’ve dated has even come close. I haven’t talked to him since the cereal incident —though there wasn’t much talking involved there —but then again, he hasn’t talked to me either. Two can play at that game. Not to mention that he probably has no use for me now that he’s a millionaire. He can have anything he wants in the world. Any woman. In this town there are hundreds that would fall over him if he let them. But it doesn’t matter. He’s free to do as he wants. It doesn’t matter to me. I have to keep telling myself that. Shaking my head, I run a hand across my face. What is wrong with me this morning? I seem to be getting lost in these thoughts that I can't shake. I have enough to do without Wallace Monroe invading my peace of mind today. I need to find my father and tell him that thanks to his over scheduling we need more hands. I'm not sure how that conversation is going to go. We can afford it with all the projects that we’ve got coming in, but finding reliable and skilled construction workers in Green Hills isn’t as easy as one would hope. We’ve
gone through quite a few that weren’t up to our standards this year already. I’m not sure where we’re going to find more. And with all the work we have to do in such a short time, we can’t afford to hire people that will make mistakes. I print out a copy of the schedule and find a clipboard—knowing my dad, he's going to want to keep this copy to approve it—then I head out into the warehouse. We do have a couple of temps here working on storage and inventory, but I don't think that they'll be the right fit for helping us get the excess work done. They're just not built for it. And that's okay, construction isn't easy, and it's not for everyone. Some people say it shouldn't be for me since I'm a woman and it's not lady-like, but those people can go fuck themselves. I like building things. It’s like a puzzle, piecing it together to make it exactly how you want it. And there’s nothing more satisfying than a project completed to perfection. Wallace Monroe and I used to talk about building things together. Sat on my parents’ roof and dreamed of all the things we would design and build, until we were whispering, half asleep. He used to work construction during the summer in high school and I dreamed about becoming a big- city architect. But then he joined the army and didn’t come back and I found out that the big city life wasn’t for me. Ugh, he needs to get out of my
head! But even though I didn’t end up where I thought I would, I like the satisfaction of knowing that something was put together with my own hands, and I also like knowing that I'm stronger than most of the guys that try to hit on me. The looks on their faces when I show them up are the best. My mother would much rather I flirt back, but it's just not that easy. I need someone who's going to match me, not assume that they're better than me because they were born a man. My father's not in his office when I check, and he's not on the loading dock either. Only people there are the temps and Bryan, a regular, unloading palates of bricks off a truck. "Bryan, you seen my dad?" He shrugs, and I try not to show any frustration. Lately Dad has been nowhere I need him. But he's still in charge, which means I need him a lot, to sign and approve things. I want him to hand over more responsibility to me, but he keeps saying that I'm not ready. It might be easier to see that I'm ready if I didn't have to track him down every second of every day. Or arrange schedules that are nearly impossible. I step to the side as one of the temps roll by with a forklift and a brick pallet, and I think that my eyes are tricking me. Because Wallace Monroe
is here, standing on the other side of the warehouse, like I summoned him out of my mind. I shake my head, seeing if my mind is really that deep down the rabbit hole, but his image doesn't go away. So he's really here. Why? He looks around and when he sees me walking toward him, he smiles. I'd forgotten what that smile does to him, and what it does to me. It transforms his entire face into something beautiful—even more than it already is—and it gives me butterflies. There's something about it that reaches down into my gut and sings a song of possibility and longing. More than longing. A sweet ache and desire that’s been missing for a long damn time. I can't think about that. I can't even allow it as a possibility. Not after everything. After all this time, I still don't know why he left, and that's a hole that I don't think can be patched. Even by a smile as brilliant as that one. "Wallace?" "Hi, Tia." We stop a few feet away from each other, and both step to the side as the forklift passes and starts to rise up from the floor. Wallace seems suddenly awkward, like he doesn't know what to do. I don’t really either, and I need to find my Dad. I wait a few more seconds before I ask him, "Can I help you with something?" "I just...I came to talk to you." That takes me a little by surprise. Why now?
"About what?" "Anything, really." He laughs, "Some stuff has happened and you've been on my mind. So I came to talk to you, to explain—” There's a huge cracking sound and I see the pallet of bricks crack on the forklift right behind him. I lunge forward and pull him past me, jumping too as bricks cascade to the floor in a shattering crash, spilling over onto where we were just standing. I stumble as I jump out of the way and fall, landing on something that's definitely not the floor. It's Wallace. We're face to face now, and my mind is racing with what just happened, that either of us could have been crushed by that avalanche. My body is racing for an entirely different, and inappropriate, reason. I can't believe I'm even noticing this when I just escaped death, but Wallace's body is everything that I thought it might be under those clothes—hard and defined—I can feel it. I feel myself blush, and God the need that surges through me takes my breath away. The way he's looking at me, I've seen that look on his face before, a long time ago. He wants to kiss me, and right now, for whatever reason on God's green earth, I might let him. "Holy shit," I hear Dad's voice. "Are you all right?" It breaks the spell, and I scramble off of Wallace so I'm standing. Surveying the wreckage
behind me, I get why. The pallet cracked in half, and I didn't even see the worst part of it. The stack nearest us would have at least crushed Wallace. Shit. "I think so," I say, looking up at the temp on the forklift, who's still staring at everything with a gaping mouth. "Bryan?" He steps around the corner more fully. "This guy has his license, right?" "I do, I swear," the temp says from behind me. "I've never had this happen before." Dad looks at the wreckage. "Yeah, looks like it was just a bad pallet, not user error." "We have to make very, very sure of that," I say to him quietly. "We will." He turns to the rest of the workers. "All right guys, no injuries, so let's get this cleaned up." I pass him the clipboard. "We need more people, we've booked more than we can handle." Nodding, he wanders closer to the pile of broken bricks. "I'll take a look at it." Wallace has gotten to his feet, brushing off dust from his clothes. "Thanks," he says. “You know, I never thought you'd save me from something collapsing on me. Based on last time." He means it as a joke, but it's not funny. Not now. "Well you shouldn't have even been here in the first place, Wallace. If you hadn't been standing there, I wouldn't have had to save you, would I?"
And I wouldn't have gotten to feel your body against mine or have that lapse that made me want to kiss you. Anger rises up in me. Enough is enough. It doesn’t matter how my body reacts, there’s too much history between us. "What are you doing here?" "Like I said before I was so rudely interrupted by the bricks, I came to talk to you." "And what do you think that you and I have to talk about?" I say, letting my anger snap out at him. "We were together. You left without saying a word. I thought I made it pretty clear that I didn't want to talk to you the last time." He doesn't change his expression, but I can tell that it's strained now. "I was hoping that you'd give me the chance to explain. Maybe over coffee." "Over coffee?" He shrugs. "Or lunch, dinner, even just a walk." I shake my head. How can he even think this would be okay? After he broke my heart and left me with nothing? He doesn't deserve my time or my energy. "No." Wallace takes a breath and blows it out. "Is there anything I can say to change your mind, Tia? I'm not the same person that I was, and all I want is a chance to make things right." "If you wanted that, why didn't you try when you came back?" He presses his lips together. "Like you said, you
made yourself pretty clear. I thought I'd give you some time." Anger flares through my system and I have to extend my fingers to keep them from curling into fists. He thought he'd give me time. Like my reactions are irrational and time will make me see the error of my ways. I don’t care that I was thinking of him kindly just a few minutes ago, there’s a reason we haven’t spoken in so long. There’s too much anger that rises when I remember what happened. That pain that’s still with me. And I can’t do it. "No, Wallace. I do not want to talk to you about that. And as you can see," I say, gesturing to the pile of bricks, "I'm pretty busy today. You found your way in, and you can see yourself out." I walk away from him and I don't look back. Who the hell does he think he is? Showing up after all these years offering an explanation that was needed a decade ago? You can’t just act like you know what's best for everyone when you don't know shit. Would hearing how he would justify breaking it off with no warning and no goodbye satisfy years of curiosity? Probably. But it wouldn't be satisfying. There's nothing big enough to fill the gap and the pain that he left. And you don't just get a free pass because you suddenly decide that now is the time to make amends. There's a tiny spark in my mind that reminds me
how close I was to kissing him, and that I was just wondering today if he was going to invite me to his birthday party, but I shove it down. It's nothing. Just the natural wonderings and thoughts you have when you think about someone you haven't thought about in a long time. Because I haven't. Thought about him. Not in a long time. Or at least that's what I'm going to keep telling myself. I don't want to admit how many things everyday bring him to mind. I peek through the blinds of my office window, and he's still standing there, talking to my father. There's a pang of jealousy, that my dad can just talk to him like that, without any of the baggage or anger that's between us. There's that niggling thought again, that if I accepted his offer to talk, maybe we could talk like that too. NO. I drop the blinds closed again. My brain needs to get its shit together. I don't have a place in my life or my heart for Wallace Monroe. Not anymore.
2 Wallace Well...that went well. I suppose it went as well as I could have been expected. Not sure what made me think that I could just show up at her work and she would just listen to me without any good reason. At the bare minimum, I can consider it an upside that she saved me from dying, though I'd like to hope that anyone would have done that. I could have died, or at the very least had some broken bones if she hadn't pulled me out of the way. I thought I’d had a good plan. I wanted to surprise her, ask her to dinner, make it seem spontaneous. Yeah, that didn’t work. I’m not sure why I thought it would. Tia’s always been a really up-front kind of girl, and I don’t think that time has changed that. But I haven’t been able to get her out of my head. Not since Frankie and Annabelle got together. They had so much shit that drove them apart, and they got over it. It got me thinking that it could be the same with Tia. I guess I was wrong. But maybe there’s still a chance. I sigh, rubbing my neck and stretching, assessing whether there’s any
damage from that fall. Almost dying aside, I want to be back there lying with her on top of me, because that felt so good. Better than my imagination and memories combined. Those have been plaguing me lately too. She's so soft and curvy and I had to hold my hands back from sliding down to her ass. For a split second when we were that close, I was going to kiss her. God, I’ve been dying to kiss her again. Kissing her feels like breathing. If her father hadn't interrupted, I would have without question. She probably would have slapped the shit out of me. It might have been worth it, though. "You okay, son?" Speak of the devil, Tia's father Charles speaks from behind me, and I turn to face him. "I believe so, sir." He holds out a hand, and I shake it. "Been a while since I've seen you up close. Although I've seen you around town here and there." "Yes, sir. Got back from deployment a few years ago." He gives me a long, hard, look. "Where from?" "Afghanistan," I say swallowing. I thought everybody knew. My business seems to be everybody’s business now. The three owners of the First Shot bar franchise—one of the only things Green Hills is famous for—don’t get much privacy around here. But Charles was never one for gossip.
"Some buddies of mine are still out that way," he says. "Not an easy place to go to or come back from." "No, it's not." Charles slips the clipboard he's holding under his arm and clasps his hands in front of him, like by talking about the military he's falling back into old habits. "How are you holding up? I had a rough time re-entering civilian life, and I never faced anything like what I'm sure you faced over there." There are flashes of screams and death in my head, followed by the inevitable wave of guilt. I shouldn't be here. Not in Green Hills, not anywhere. I should be dead. I can't say that out loud, though. People think that you're crazy when you say stuff like that out loud. But there's no reason that I should be alive when everyone else died. No reason but luck. But the universe did try to drop a pallet of bricks on my head, so maybe my luck’s running out. Clearing my throat, I manage to put on a smile. "I'm fine. It's a little strange, and even being out for a while doesn’t seem to make it any easier. But I’m all right…considering.” Charles gives me a look again. "You know, Wallace, when I said I've seen you around town, I meant it. You've been everywhere, doing a lot of different things. Doesn't seem like you've settled into any kind of routine."
I look away, out of the loading dock where people are checking the rest of the pallets to make sure there aren't cracks in it like the last one. He’s right. I don’t have a routine. Not like I haven’t tried. Nothing seems to stick. I’ve wanted a job, but nothing’s felt right or fulfilling. I’m not a guy who’s going to wear a suit, and there are some jobs that trigger me. There’ll be something that reminds me of them. My unit. Or a smell that takes me back, and suddenly I’m in the desert, and nowhere near Tennessee. The fact that he’s noticed that I’m drifting is embarrassing. But there’s nothing I can do to deny it. "Routine is hard," I say. "Not everyone likes to have vets on staff. I’m lucky enough that I don’t need to work.” “Your bar,” he says. “Yeah, you guys have really done a good job with that. He raises an eyebrow like he's calling me on my bullshit. “But just because you have money doesn’t mean that you don’t need to work. You always struck me as someone who needed something to do.” I fight against the clenching of my jaw. The fact that he hasn’t seen me in years and yet has managed to pinpoint something that I have a hard time admitting to myself is uncomfortable. So I just nod. “Well,” he says, “I need to hire a couple more people to help with construction." He pulls the
clipboard back out with a smile. "I took on too many projects, and we don't have enough people to finish on time. So if you need some work, I'd be happy to have you on.” The words don't exactly penetrate for a second. "You're offering me a job?" "If you want it," he says, the corner of his mouth tipping up into a smile. I don’t know why I didn’t think about this before. In high school I used to work construction over summer break. And even though I’ve been slowly working on the plans for my house, I didn’t think about trying to get a job here. If I’m here, I’ll have something to do with my time. And my hands. More importantly, I’ll be close to Tia. "Yes," I say, determination flowing through my body. “Absolutely. Thank you." Charles nods. "It's hourly, so come in sometime Monday morning. Doesn't matter what time." I freeze, wondering if there's something about me that screams that I'm not sleeping. Even last night after trying so hard, I woke up covered in sweat and on the verge of screaming. But maybe that's just how things work around here. Finally, a job that I might be able to keep. "Sounds good, but you don’t need to pay me.” He shakes his head. “Don’t be silly. We'll have you fill out the usual paperwork and then get you out to one of the sites. You used to work
construction in the summertime years back, right?" "Yes, sir." I don't tell him it was the only job that I could find that had hours long enough to get me out of the house and away from my father. It had to do what school usually did. The construction jobs I worked let me slip back home when he was already asleep. Even if the other kids my age thought I was nuts for spending my days building houses instead of relaxing. "I'll see you Monday, then.” A job. Frankly, I'd given up looking for one, because I don’t need one to survive, and people have heard what happened at the ones before. Green Hills is funny that way. It's bigger than a small town but still everybody knows everything. Which means Charles either knows and doesn't care or he just really doesn't pay attention. Either of those things are fine with me. But still, eventually the rumors of my behavior will get back to him. Someone’s going to drive by one of the job sites and there will be a well-meaning phone call placed. They’ll tell him that I ended up crouching in a corner in First Shot’s kitchen because the sudden clang of a pan had me diving for cover. They’ll tell him how I was fired from Henderson’s horse ranch because of another episode. But this is who I am now. I have to own it, even if it comes back to me. On top of that, I'll get to see Tia again. She's
made it very clear she doesn't want to talk to me, but I'm hoping that she'll change her mind. Maybe if I'm around enough she'll get used to me. She'll see that I'm not a bad guy, and that I really do just want to talk. I want to tell her why I left and why I was so scared of what we had. But either way, I'll just be happy to be near her again. When we were younger, by her side was where I was happiest, and there hasn't been anything in my life to change that. I don't think there will be in the future either. And now that I have everything, I want to give her everything. If she’ll give me the chance.
3 Wallace The First Shot bar is packed tonight. It’s a Friday, so that’s pretty typical, but I think it’s even more crowded than I’m used to. I have to hand it to Glenn. He can be an asshole, but he's a got a good head for concept and business. He’s always coming up with fresh ways to bring people in, and they work. For whatever reason, he's really got a handle on what people want from their nightlife. That, and the fact that the flagship First Shot bar is now a major tourist destination here in Green Hills, Tennessee. I don’t think there’s been a night in the past few years when there wasn’t a line out the door. I take a sip of my beer and look down the bar towards my friends with a little stab of jealousy. It's really not fair that they're so happy. Even though I am happy for them. But it’s a reminder of the things I don’t have, and the things I want. Unfortunately, they are things money can’t buy. Frankie is sitting on a stool and Annabelle is standing between his legs. They're entwined as much as two people on a bar stool can be, and it
would be cute if it weren't so over the top. Glenn slams down two drinks in front of them. "Would you two get a room?" "Are you saying that this isn't a room, Glenn?" Annabelle asks, raising an eyebrow. Her rings glitter on her fingers, and Glenn rolls his eyes. It's barely been a month since the wedding at the courthouse and it seems like the two of them have been in non- stop honeymoon mode. Glenn is annoyed by it. I'm jealous of it. Especially thinking of earlier today and Tia’s reaction to me. I take another sip of my beer and smirk at Glenn. "If they actually got a room, you'd be complaining that they abandoned you and me here at the bar," I say. "Both can be true." I laugh softly, but it’s not real. I’m faking it. Glenn has always been an interesting person. I thought I was going to have to let him go after that whole thing with him and Frankie, but he's got his head back on straight. Mostly. I say mostly because I know the next thing that's about to come out of his mouth. "I'm just glad I've still got you," he says. "Two more months till your pledge, my friend." Taking a sip of my beer, I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I don't really want to take part in this pledge any more than Frankie did. I'm not entirely opposed either, but that depends on how the next
couple of months go. I might want to drown my sorrows in an over-the top way. I consider for a second actually going through with it. Trying to sleep with a different woman every day for a month…and I can’t. Shit. There’s no way that I’d be able to do that. Especially if I strike out with Tia. It’s just going to make me feel worse, and way too many people know us in this town for either of us to go on that kind of tear. Plus, something whispers in the back of my mind. Even if Tia doesn’t forgive me, if she finds out about that, there will never be another chance. No fucking way I’m doing this. “Right," I say to Glenn. "You gonna sue me if I don't do it?” Glenn has the decency to look embarrassed. "No, I'm not gonna sue you, asshole. But as far as I can see you have no reason not to do it. You don't have a girl, you don't have..." He trails off, and I'm glad he does, because I don't want to hear the rest. I know what he's going to say. I don't have a girl, I don't have a job. Basically, I don't have a life. I'd like a life, but I can't seem to make myself function. Hard to function when you can barely sleep, and the lack of routine just makes that harder. The nightmares are as bad as they were when I came home, and the lack of sleep makes me jumpy. I've lost more than one job because I can't seem to show up on time from over-sleeping. Not that I