Bitter Truth (Hawthorne Vines #1)

Maybe that’s the real reason I left.

It sucks to feel like you’re just noticeable enough to be intentionally ignored.

I’d rather believe I bounced from Rosewood because I wanted more.

More fun.

More people.

More experiences.

Definitely more men.

The guys of my youth were mostly consumed with the quest for the two Ps. As my friend Quinn would repeatedly remind me—and possibly herself—as we spent countless nights on her living room couch watching reality TV, “All they’re after, Murph, is popularity and pussy. And if you can’t give them either, you have nothing they want.”

She had a point, and it only became clearer to me when I moved away just how true it was of pretty much every guy, everywhere. I can hardly remember a first date when the guy didn’t seriously think he was going to get laid at the end. Or at least get his dick sucked.

Not my style. Sex has never been a bartering chip for me.

My entire body shifts at that thought. The emotional whiplash of what happened back in LA makes my stomach turn over.

And then, as if the universe has decided to gift me one final middle finger on this emotional journey home, I hear a loud pop and my car begins to bounce and shudder, the wheel tugging to the side in deference to what I can only assume is a flat tire.

Fuck.

I know that nobody ever really needs a car issue, but this is seriously the last thing I need right now.

Something wells up inside my chest as I continue driving, hoping my memory is correct that there is a one-pump gas station around this bend …

I take a shuddered breath when I see it, and my car hobbles its way off the highway and into the dirt lot before I roll to a stop next to a beat-up old truck.

It feels like a great effort not to burst into tears as I shove my door open and then slam it closed, my irritation and frustration getting the better of me. When I round to the back and take a look, I see that the back right tire is pretty much flat on the ground. Thankfully I didn’t damage my rim in that final few hundred yards.

I haven’t ever changed a tire by myself before, which makes me even more upset, especially since my dad and my older brother offered to teach me several times when I was in high school.

Rolling my eyes at the irony, I head toward the tiny shop, hoping that somebody can help me out.

But as soon as I push inside, I know I’m out of luck. The woman behind the counter looks to be in her seventies at least, and when I ask if there’s a mechanic on-site, she gives me an empathetic smile.

“I’m sorry, honey. But I’ve got a landline if you wanna call somebody.”

I give her a thin smile and shake my head, knowing I’m eventually going to have to resort to calling my brother. The amount of shit Memphis is going to give me …

Sighing in disbelief at just how bad my luck has turned out, I head back to my car, staring at the flat tire as if I’ll be able to will it to inflate.

If this doesn’t sum up my life right now, I don’t know what would. Getting so close, almost there, and then having everything fall apart.

And then, it just all becomes too much. The dam breaks. My emotions rush in—a culmination of my return home settling into my soul on top of all the other bullshit I’ve been dealing with. I burst into tears, overwhelmed and broken. Dropping down into a squat in the middle of the dirt parking lot, I hide my face in my hands and just let it all out. All the sadness and frustration and disappointment.

“You okay?”

My sob cuts off in the middle and I look to the side, embarrassment coursing through me as I realize someone has been watching me have a breakdown.

I stand quickly, wiping at my face and staring studiously at the man’s feet, not wanting to see his likely judgment of the woman sobbing in the gas station parking lot.

“Yeah, I’m fine, I—”

But my voice cuts off. I can’t even force the fake smile and customer-service voice that I’ve perfected over nearly ten years. Instead, I start crying again.