I’d nearly driven into a tree when I got Paul’s text. CNN’s covering it. I still remembered what a comfort my brother had been to me as I’d spilled all my dirty secrets. It was bad enough that Paul had put two and two together with the little bit I’d told him, but what if Jeremy did, too? I guess I had let myself fall into a false sense of security as the days ticked by with no repercussions. Now I had a brother in the hospital and the media shining a spotlight on things.
I pulled over to check out the link Paul had texted. I scanned the article quickly and breathed a sigh of relief, dropping my phone back onto my lap. They didn’t seem to have too many details. It said that Richard was shot in his home and that his death was further proof we were losing the War on Drugs. No duh.
The situation clearly called for junk food, so I swung by Ollie’s Diner to pick some up for me and Paul. In his hospital room, we talked about the new development, but that only led to circular arguments. There was nowhere to go with this mess.
A day later, I sat in my car again, trying to muster the courage to head into the inn. Jeremy was painting in the living room and I had a bag of supplies on the passenger seat. I had to admit, once Jeremy had started pitching in, a lot more progress had been made on the renovations. I flitted from project to project, doing whatever caught my attention at that moment, but Jeremy always liked to finish what he started.
I couldn’t help but compare him to Richard. Richard never let me “flit around.” He was a massive control freak and needed to oversee everything from start to finish. That included people. We had met at the holiday party, back when I first started at the DA’s office. He was already a rising star. I thought we’d been swept away—that our relationship was like something out of a romance novel—whereas he saw a puppet he could manipulate.
Little did he know that there ain’t no strings on me.
My reverie was interrupted by a woodpecker doing its thing in the trees. I should run again. I knew I should, but…I didn’t really want to. Maybe I needed to be more like that woodpecker and just keep banging away until I got what I wanted. Maybe it was time to stand my ground and fight. Turning my head, I looked at my inn, the place I wanted to make my sanctuary. Over the past few days, Jeremy and I had bonded over our plans to renovate, and for once, things felt normal. I was dreaming of a future like any other average person.
And then it got blown apart by CNN.
All the blinds were pulled up in the living room, and I could see Jeremy standing on a ladder, painting the walls that I’d taped the other night. He’d sanded them yesterday, and now the plaster was getting new life under his roller with the paint I’d carefully picked out. My dreams were coming to life, but at any moment, they’d die in front of me.
God, could I be any more melodramatic?
Shaking my head, I cut the moping, straightening my spine. I wouldn’t be that girl. I would be the girl who fought. Look at what I’d done to get here. If the cartels wanted a fight? Well, then, I’d give them a fight on my turf. If they wanted to come at me, they’d have to do it in the broad light of day. No more shadows for me. That part of my life was over. It had to be. I was Chelsea…Adams.
And I wasn’t going anywhere.
Besides, if they knew where I was, I’d be dead already. They were obviously using the cops to try to flush me out, so I had time to come up with a game plan. My aim was to win. I grabbed the supplies out of the backseat and trudged up to the front door. Rock music blared out the open windows, and Jeremy sang along loudly and out of tune. Smiling, I glanced up at the old inn and saw home.
And Jeremy was undeniably a part of that picture, whether I liked it or not. I wasn’t sure if I did yet. But that was okay. For once, I was okay with being unsure. Waiting to see how things worked out between the two of us should have scared me, but with danger lurking…yeah, it didn’t. It was freeing to not give a damn anymore. Opening the door, I set the bags down. Jeremy’s biceps flexed and hardened as he stroked the roller up the wall, set on making my dreams a reality. I took a second to admire the view, then called out, “I’m home.”
“Did you get everything?”
“Yup.” I came into the room, studying his workmanship. It was flawless. Excitement built inside me and I smiled. “That light peach is even prettier on the walls than it was on the card.”
“It really brightens up the place,” he agreed, grinning. “Did you decide whether you want the fireplace painted?”
“Yep.” I pointed to the cans of paint at my feet. “Antique white won.”
He nodded. “Good choice.”
“Yeah. Paul suggested it.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “He’ll be coming to live here, with us, once he’s out next week, by the way. Once he’s healed, he can help us out with renovations.”
“Do you think that’s—?” He gave the wall one more stroke before turning around mid-sentence. As he did, his sleeve brushed the wet wall. “Well, shit.”
I laughed, but cut it off quickly when he shot me a narrow-eyed look. Forcing a straight face, I asked, “Do I think it’s what?”
“Funny?” he asked, ripping his shirt over his head and hopping off the ladder effortlessly. He landed on both feet, dropping the shirt as his feet touched. I gulped down air, because, God, those abs. He stalked toward me, his eyes narrow.
I forced myself to stand my ground, even though I wanted to flee for my life. The cartel didn’t send me running, but give me a shirtless Jeremy and I was a goner. “Yes?”
That brow shot up, and he took another step toward me. “Is that a question?”
“No.” I lifted my chin. “I think it’s funny you got paint on you, without a doubt.”
Reaching out, he rested a tender hand on my shoulder, skimming his hand over the bare skin of my shoulder by my tank top straps. “Good. I’d hate to make you uncertain about anything when it comes to me. I know what I want from you, and I want you to feel the same certainty I do.”
He lowered his face to mine, his eyes seductive.
I closed my eyes, breath held, ready to be kissed, and then he…
Ran the paint roller down my face.
Fricking Jeremy Holland.