Bitter Truth (Hawthorne Vines #1)

“Look, I don’t think Wes is the kind of guy you should be getting involved with.”

My eyebrows rise. “What do you mean by that?”

Micah lets out a long sigh but doesn’t say anything else.

He’s not ignoring me, I can tell. This is just one of his things. When he’s unsure about how to share something, he goes really quiet, weighing things over in his mind like he’s trying to decide what’s most important.

I like that I know him well enough to recognize that telltale face, but don’t like being on the receiving end of his careful contemplation to the point where he feels like he needs to be cautious with what he tells me.

“I just don’t trust him,” is all he finally says. I know he’s being a protective brother, but I don’t like the way those words settle like a sinking stone in my gut.

“Look, Micah. It doesn’t matter, okay?” We come to a stop outside the warehouse. “There’s nothing going on between me and Wes.”

My brother narrows his eyes at me.

I know he can hear it in my voice. The lack of sincerity.

I’m not trying to lie to him. I’m honestly not. There isn’t anything going on between me and Wes. And there won’t be moving forward, because something about Wes really does shake me up inside. I just know that it’s not a good idea to get entangled with him. And I don’t doubt he feels the same way.

But even though those things might be true, there’s something not entirely genuine about what I’ve said.

And Micah knows it, almost as much as I do.

“Really,” I continue, hoping to drive the point home.

My brother lets out another sigh, his hands on his hips.

“All right, well, just know that you can talk to me,” he eventually says.

I can tell he’s choosing to drop the topic of me and Wes—or at least set it to the side for now. He nods in the direction of the warehouse’s front door. “Let me show you around.”

His big hand rests gently on my shoulder for a quick moment before he turns and leads me inside.

I love my baby brother. I’m four years older than him, so when I was little, it was usually Memphis that I played with and talked to. He’s three years older than me, and I looked up to him a lot. Once Micah was old enough to talk, we grew a lot closer, though the truth is that all of us were pretty independent from each other.

The one thing I know for sure is that I’m thankful for who he has become in my life over the past nine years.

He’s the only one in our family who knows what happened in LA, and he’s the one who talked to Dad about me coming home. I know he probably had to go to bat for me in some way, and that he likely smoothed down some of my father’s ruffled feathers about me suddenly needing to come back.

I’m not sure if I’ll share the details with my dad or Memphis. Or even my aunt Sarah. As much as I truly do love my father and older brother and aunt, I just have no idea how they’ll respond. How they’ll react. Whether they’ll see me as a failure or a fraud. What kind of judgment they’ll heap on my shoulders.

And unfortunately, I’m feeling a little too fragile right now to take anything from them other than a job and a bed.

Someday, maybe things will be different. Someday, maybe we’ll be able to pick up the pieces of our broken family.

But those pieces were shattered to bits before I ever left for LA, and part of me wonders if they’ve been lying broken and forgotten for far too long to be repaired.

Chapter Ten

WES

The rest of the weekend passes by without incident.

I go on another run, get some laundry done, and meet a supplier at the restaurant for a delivery of pots and pans that were supposed to arrive a week ago.

Which is how I find myself in the kitchen cooking up a butternut squash ravioli at eight o’clock on a Sunday evening.

Or that’s the intention at least.