The Bully (Calamity Montana)
The Bully: Chapter 2

THE SOUNDS of a coffee shop were as comforting to me as a warm blanket on a winter day. The sputter of a steam wand in milk. The banging of a barista emptying a portafilter. The drip of espresso into a shot glass.

Years ago, I’d been in between jobs and struggling to decide my next step. At the time, I’d been living in Charlotte, and four blocks from my apartment, there’d been this moody little coffee shop in search of a waitress. I’d contemplated taking the minimum-wage job for the scents and sounds alone. If it wouldn’t have sent my mother into a tizzy about wasting my education, I might have applied.

Instead, I’d moved back to Denver and had randomly bumped into Pierce. He’d offered me a job at his company, Grays Peak Investments, and Mom would never know that for a brief moment, I’d nearly followed in her footsteps.

It was for the best. Mom hated coffee. If I’d taken that waitress job, I’d probably hate coffee too, and then I would have missed out on the charm of the Calamity Coffee Co.

A man with a mustache joined the line for the counter, smiling politely as he took his place behind me. “Morning.”

“Good morning.”

He wore the signature brown uniform of a delivery driver. Maybe my neighborhood was on his route.

My neighborhood. Two weeks in Montana and I still couldn’t believe I lived here. That this was home.

This was my coffee shop. The tourists taking up every table were visiting my town. The Memorial Day parade later this morning would honor the fallen in my community.

Mine. Calamity was mine.

From the charming shops along First, to the welcoming neighborhoods, to the rugged countryside, there was a lot to love.

Pierce had moved here two years ago, even though Grays Peak had its headquarters in Denver. After about a year of working remotely, he’d decided it was time to establish a satellite office. When he’d asked me if I’d consider a move, I’d immediately agreed.

Twenty of us would be making Calamity home. Construction on the office building had just finished, and the keys were safely tucked in my purse. I’d be working in the space alone for a while until the others arrived.

Everyone else moving to Montana had kids. They’d wait until the school year was finished before making the trip. But there’d been nothing keeping me in Denver.

My parents had left the city three years ago, relocating to Arizona for milder winters. After too many years working in the dirt, hunched over flower beds, Dad’s knees bothered him in the cold.

There’d been no friends begging me to stay. Certainly no love interests. When was the last time I’d gone on a date? A year ago? I made a mental note to delete my dating profile.

I hadn’t missed Denver for a minute. The only blemish on my first two weeks in Calamity was Cal. I’d chastise Kerrigan and Pierce later for failing to mention that he was moving here too.

“Nellie,” a woman called my name.

I spun around, seeing Larke breeze through the coffee shop’s doors. The UPS guy was the only one behind me, so I shifted aside. “You can go in front of me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.” I motioned him forward, then hugged Larke as she joined me in line. “Hey!”

“Hi! How are you?”

“Good. Congratulations, Aunt Larke.”

“Thanks.” Her smile widened, making her look more like Kerrigan. The sisters had the same chestnut hair and pretty brown eyes. “She’s so cute and tiny.”

Pierce and Kerrigan had a beautiful baby girl. Constance Sullivan had joined the world in the early hours yesterday morning. They’d been released from the hospital already and had decided to get out of town for a few days, retreating to their cabin in the mountains. Though cabin wasn’t exactly the right term. More like a mountain ski lodge.

“What are you up to?” Larke asked.

“Oh, nothing much. I came down for coffee before the parade and to do a little wandering.”

“Smart. It will be crazy busy in about an hour.”

“I was thinking of taking an adventure to the hardware store. I’ve dug through every remaining box in my house, and I can’t replace my Swiffer wand or my can opener.”

“Well, after the excitement of the hardware store, I doubt I’ll be able to compete,” she teased. “But a few of us are meeting at Jane’s this afternoon. You should join us.”

“Oh, um . . . sure.”

“It’s just a small group of girlfriends. There aren’t a lot of women our age in Calamity, so we tend to stick together.”

“Sounds fantastic.” My voice was too bright. My stomach began to knot. I wasn’t good at joining girl groups. Not that I didn’t like them, I just didn’t have much experience.

The line inched forward, the two of us shuffling along with it.

“I’ll warn you that we mostly gossip,” Larke said. “Most of us grew up here, so we know everyone in town. If we talk about other people the whole time, it’s not to leave you out. It’s just . . . that’s what we know.”

“Got it.” At least I had been warned instead of showing up and feeling like the outsider.

Maybe she could sense my unease because she put a hand on my forearm and gave it a squeeze. “It’s a fun group. Everyone will love having you there.”

I hoped so. I didn’t have a lot of close friends, especially given this was a new town. Pierce and Kerrigan were at the top of my list, but they were busy growing their family.

My one and only female friend from high school had gone to college in Florida and the two of us had grown apart. I hadn’t spoken to Sareena in years.

Girls in college had been more interested in partying than their studies. I’d had a scholarship to maintain, so slacking off to attend keggers and chase boys hadn’t been an option. My Friday nights had been spent at the library.

Or maybe those were just the excuses I’d made for myself. I hadn’t made friends in Charlotte or Denver either.

“What time?” I asked Larke.

“Three or four?”

“I’ll be there.” And maybe it was just that easy.

Meet for a drink. See new faces. Engage in a bit of harmless gossip.

Make friends.

The barista, a pretty young woman with a honey-blond ponytail and silver nose ring, greeted us when we reached the counter. “Hey, Larke. Want your usual?”

“Yes, please.” She gestured between us as she did introductions. “Kristen, this is Nellie. Nellie, Kristen.”

“Hi.” I waved.

“Hey. Nice to meet you.”

“Nellie’s going to meet us at Jane’s later,” Larke said.

“Oh, sweet.” Kristen nodded. “Do you want a coffee?”

“Please. Iced vanilla latte. Double.”

“Coming right up.” Kristen plucked two plastic cups from the stack, writing our orders on the sides with a green marker.

Larke and I shifted out of the way to make room for the next customer, sharing pictures of baby Constance as we waited. Then, with our drinks in hand, walked outside together.

“Good luck shopping. I’ll see you in a bit.” Larke took a step away, but I stopped her before she could leave.

“Hey, Larke? Thanks for inviting me. I don’t, um . . . I don’t have a lot of friends.”

Maybe admitting it was unnecessary. But Mom had always told me that part of friendship was letting your vulnerabilities show. Dropping my guard was never going to get easier if I didn’t get more practice.

“This is a small town.” Larke laughed. “You’re going to have more friends than you know how to deal with. That’s a blessing and a curse, by the way.”

I smiled. “Noted.”

“See ya soon.” She set off in one direction, while I turned in the opposite.

The sky was a cloudless blue, the morning air crisp. The sun shone brightly, warming my face as I set out on a leisurely stroll.

Calamity was tucked into a mountain valley in southwest Montana. Sweeping, green meadows sprawled toward the towering, indigo peaks in the distance. The new Grays Peak building was located in the outskirts of town, and from my corner office, I’d have an unobstructed view of the breathtaking landscape.

Cars and trucks rolled down the street, their pace not much faster than my own. The absence of noise was noticeable. No honking. No sirens. No beeping crosswalk alarms.

People meandered the sidewalks. No one was in a hurry to get from one end of town to the other. The tourists were here to explore and soak in every detail. So I joined them, window-shopping as I sipped my coffee.

Calamity had history and character. Once upon a time, maybe one of these buildings had been called the General Store. Jane’s might have been the saloon, complete with swinging doors and a hitching post. Instead of cars parked in diagonal spaces, horse-drawn buggies would have traversed this street.

Part of the reason I’d bought a home built in 1953 was because I wanted to soak in the old stories. I wanted to live in a place where memories had been made. My house reminded me of my childhood home in Denver. That two-bedroom house, albeit small, had been happy.

No more high-rise apartments where I had a better relationship with the doorman than my neighbors. No more lonely weekends working because I had nothing else to do but focus on my career. No more Friday nights alone with a sudoku puzzle and a pint of ice cream.

I wasn’t just in Calamity for a job and change of location. I was here to banish my solitary life. To create a home.

Why was Cal moving to Calamity? Why did he pop into my mind so often?

This sleepy town was not his scene. He was all about loud stadiums and ruckus fans. He craved the spotlight and attention, even if it was negative. He’d be miserable here.

And that misery would be contagious.

There wasn’t a person on earth who set me on edge like Cal Stark. A single glare from his hazel eyes and my blood pressure would spike. He always had a rude comment. His favorite pastime outside of football was making fun of my hair or clothes. Rarely an encounter passed when he didn’t deliver at least one insult.

Granted, he could say the same about me. Neither of us held back when it came to the censure.

The constant tension between us would ruin everything. Cal couldn’t move here. He had to leave.

My entire adult life—and most of my teenage years—I’d worked to prove myself to the world. And to Cal. I was honest enough with myself to admit that part of what drove me was a desire to show him I was good enough. To show him that I wasn’t . . . less.

The doubts and insecurities he’d helped create in my years at Benton still existed deep beneath the surface. Maybe they always would.

God bless high school.

If Cal lived here, I’d be tiptoeing around Calamity, constantly on guard. I didn’t want to go to the grocery store and fear my cart would bump into his in the frozen food aisle. I didn’t want to walk into Jane’s for a girls’ night and see him sitting at the bar.

I didn’t want to walk down First Street on Memorial Day weekend and spot him at the other end of the block.

Speak of the devil. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

There was a crowd surrounding him. It was mostly men and teenage boys but a few women were mixed in with the huddle. A brunette was in the process of hiking up the hem of her skirt. And in the center of the cluster, Cal stood head and shoulders above the rest.

His chocolate-brown hair had grown out this spring, the ends curling at the nape. His chiseled jaw was dusted with stubble. His biceps strained at the sleeves of his T-shirt.

The man hadn’t just been given exceptional athletic talent, he’d also been gifted with an extraordinarily handsome face. It was unfair. Utterly unfair.

Cal wore a tight, fake smile on his smooth lips as he scribbled his name on caps and napkins and whatever else the mob was thrusting his way. His knuckles were white as they gripped the marker. His shoulders were tense. His eyes narrowed. Even irritated, he was devastatingly good-looking.

For a split second, I felt bad for him. For just a moment, I wished those people would leave him be. Constantly being hounded for an autograph or a photo had to be exhausting.

My empathy was short-lived. Every time I felt compassion toward Cal, a memory from high school would pop into my head.

Like the time he’d accidentally thrown water on me my freshman year. I’d been wearing a white shirt and a thin bra. To this day I could hear the jeers from the football players who’d been in the hallway.

No, I refused to pity Cal.

“Not after he made me self-conscious about my nipples,” I mumbled.

An older woman gave me a sideways look as she passed by.

Whoops.

No, Cal could not live here too. He needed to be in Tennessee or Tallahassee or Timbuktu for all I cared. Somewhere far, far away from Montana.

But God, that man was stubborn. He’d stay here just because I wanted him to leave. Unless . . .

What if I made his life agony? Yes, he was pig headed, but if he was unhappy, maybe he’d reconsider. An evil grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. I doubted it would work, but it was worth a try.

Calamity was mine.

“I got here first.”

The ice in my coffee rattled as it melted. The sound sparked an idea. With a smirk on my lips, I marched toward the group. The woman with the skirt looked me up and down as I approached, probably thinking I’d be a threat to her chances at scoring a famous, wealthy man.

I didn’t spare her a glance. My eyes stayed locked on Cal.

He shifted, taking another paper to sign, when he spotted me. For the briefest moment, there was relief in his gaze. Did he think I was coming to his rescue? That was Pierce’s job, not mine.

But I used his assumption to my advantage, and when he started nudging through the crush, pushing my way, I let him use that strong, muscled body to clear a path.

“Excuse me,” he told one guy.

Cal usually started off polite. It was when people didn’t budge that he’d snap a get the fuck out of my way. And those moments were typically the ones caught on camera, then posted to YouTube and Twitter.

I steeled my spine as he pushed past the edge of the gathering. My hand threatened to tremble, but I kept my grip on my coffee cup tight. So tight the lid popped free.

Perfect.

“Hey.” Cal jerked up his chin. “Can we go some—”

His question was cut short when my hand shot out for the waistband of his jeans. I gripped it, tugged, and poured the remainder of my vanilla latte down his pants. He gasped, jumping back with a yelp. Ice cubes traveled down his legs, escaping the hem and clattering to the sidewalk, breaking beside his feet. The creamy liquid darkened the denim of his crotch as it spread.

God, that is satisfying.

“What the hell, Nellie?” Cal swept at his pants, his palm coming away wet. Droplets went flying as he shook it out.

He glared down the straight line of his nose. The sharp corners of his jaw flexed. His gray T-shirt molded to the broad planes of his chest and accentuated the hard lines of his pecs as he seethed.

“That’s for sending a dick pic to my mom!” I lied.

A chorus of gasps filled the air. Men inched away. The woman with the short skirt turned on a heel and vanished. One of the younger teens looked Cal up and down and muttered, “Dude. Gross.”

My pulse raced. My hands shook. But I stood still, fighting to keep a straight face as I faced the man who’d been my archnemesis for nearly twenty years.

Damn, that had been satisfying. Almost orgasmic.

“The. Fuck?” Cal’s nostrils flared as he planted his hands on his narrow hips.

I stood on my toes, leaning in closer. “You threw water on me once. Remember? Consider this leveling the score.”

His eyes widened, the sun catching the flecks of gold and caramel in his irises.

Maybe I shouldn’t have reminded him. Maybe I should have let him wonder why I’d doused him with espresso and milk.

But I remembered everything from high school. Every time he’d bullied me. Every time he’d made me cry. Every time I’d cursed his name.

It had taken me a long time to feel comfortable in my own skin. Maybe that was normal for all women. The only treatment for our insecurities was time and age—even then, there wasn’t a cure. Some days, I was sure the self-conscious thoughts about my hair or my career or my success or my body were gone for good. Others, those familiar doubts would creep out from their depths and ruin a beautiful day.

Behind each of my insecurities was a face. Cal’s teenaged face. Intentionally and unintentionally, his high school antics had given me flaws. He’d shined a light on my imperfections, ripping away my youthful rose-colored glasses.

He made me vulnerable. He made me weak. No one could tear through my defenses quite like Cal.

I wanted to live here without the fear of him lurking behind every corner. So I’d use my memories, I’d steal the plays from his book and do my best to run Cal out of town.

This was my home now.

And Calamity wasn’t big enough for us both.