Three Reckless Words: A Grumpy Sunshine Romance (The Rory Brothers Book 3)
Three Reckless Words: Chapter 18

Well, fuck.

I’m staring at a disaster that has me stunned. It’s like a whole pack of ferocious Pooh bears hit the bee boxes in search of honey, tearing apart every last one of them.

There’s wood scattered everywhere, bits of purple honey splattering the ground, pieces of honeycomb littering the flower beds.

Before I have time to process the massacre properly, Winnie throws herself at me, burying her face in my chest.

“Who… who would do this? Who?” she demands between sobs. Her whole body shakes.

Only Winnie Emberly could get this emotional over a few destroyed beehives, but honestly, she has good reason this time.

The police officers who showed up just before us are still poking through the debris, but I already know the verdict.

Nothing.

No clear evidence.

Whoever did this knew the property was empty. They knew there was no one else around to worry about.

They were also savvy enough to use gloves and not leave any obvious prints or DNA around, even in the unlikely event this went up the forensics’ chain.

Still, there’s no denying it’s a targeted attack.

I just don’t fucking get it.

There’s plenty on this property that’s far more valuable to destroy, if someone came here with an axe to swing against me.

Hell, the whole damn cottage, for starters.

Yet, it looks like it’s been left untouched. The doors are securely shut; there’s not even a smudge on any windows.

The bee boxes, on the other hand—some hyperactive little perp sledgehammered them to pieces.

How they avoided getting stung unconscious, that’s another mystery, but I have an idea when I see the door to the shed hanging open.

The lock’s been broken.

They took the goddamned beekeeping equipment.

They used a bee suit to destroy the bees.

The nasty discovery kicks hot rage through my gut. I grit my teeth to keep it from my voice.

What kind of fucking animal does this?

“They… they were just bees. Oh my God!” Winnie bawls into my shirt.

I can’t replace the right words to soothe her. Not when I’m bristling with murder like this.

Sighing, I stroke her hair, hold her closer, squeeze her so hard her chest strains to breathe. But she just clings to me more, fisting her hands in my shirt.

How did we get here from mind-blowing sex in the blink of an eye? In the space of an hour, life just unraveled, and I don’t have a clue how to fix it.

“We’ll replace who did it,” I promise, resting my chin on the top of her head, staring at the carnage.

The mess, the financial damage, that’s not what I give a fuck about.

No, the way this feels like a pointed attack on Winnie personally, that’s what makes me see blood.

Who else cares enough about her fix on bees to invade my property and smash them this violently?

I have one very good guess.

And I already regret not punching his ass out cold when I had the chance, consequences be damned.

I hear rustling and turn to see the lead officer picking his way through the debris field to us. His name is Paul Higgins, but he told us to call him Paul when he arrived. His deputy heads back to the car, a bulky tablet tucked under his arm.

Sniffing, Winnie pulls away, trying to pull herself together for the cop.

“I’m awful sorry about this, Mr. Rory,” Paul says, addressing me after an uncomfortable glance at Winnie. “Did y’all say you had cameras up?”

“Over the entrance, yes, but not facing the back gardens where we installed the boxes.” A huge annoying oversight.

“Well, any footage should be useful. There’s only one way in if our suspect came by car. If you can pull the video and send that over, I’d be glad to have a look.”

“Of course, Officer. I’ll have my assistant at the office pull it from the cloud as soon as she can.” I give him her details and fire off a quick message to let her know Paul is waiting, and it’s urgent.

Then it’s just us, alone with the catastrophe.

Simon Chance, the maintenance manager, follows the cops back to the station, presumably to give the statement he volunteered and do all the official shit. We’re the ones left cleaning up this mess.

I swipe a thumb gently over Winnie’s tear-streaked face.

Seeing her in ruins makes me want to punch something, but a caveman eruption won’t help anything right now.

“Hey,” I whisper. “It’s going to be okay. Leave the cleanup to me if it’s too much.”

“Archer, no. How can you even say that after they did this?” She stares blindly across the smashed boxes.

Not many bees are around now. I guess they dissipated in a hurry after their homes were obliterated.

How many of them died in the attack?

I’ve seen a few crushed bees around, but I don’t want to think about it, even if the swarming bugs themselves creep me out a little.

I let Winnie wander through the wreckage, taking it in, mourning her happy work.

I’m still getting a leash on my anger when she shouts behind me.

A surprisingly happy shout, I think. Did she replace some good news in this mess?

“There!” she whispers, pointing to the forest. “They missed the one in the woods, I think.”

Before I can say another word, she takes off, sprinting across the garden lawn and heading through the tall wild grasses where the forest begins just past the farthest ruined boxes.

Just like she thought, there’s a box the attacker missed.

“Hey, babies,” she murmurs to the bees as she falls to her knees next to them. “Hey, hey. You guys made it. Y-you’re safe.” She’s crying again, but I’m pretty sure these are happy tears.

A few bees hover up, drifting lazily around her hair and occasionally landing before they take off again. As usual, she doesn’t mind.

Winnie damn Emberly, the patron saint of purple nectar.

The best friend on two legs a bee will ever have.

I stop a little ways back, not wanting to get too close to the small swarm, but she just glances back at me, her face slick with sweat in the balmy air.

“There’s still one left. We can keep this going.”

“Great. When I’m through with it, we’ll turn it into Fort goddamned Bees-Knox, Winnie,” I tell her.

It’s the least I can do.

I’m not used to feeling powerless after I’ve been assaulted.

I hate this shit down to my bones.

I failed to protect my own property, knowing bad actors might come sniffing around.

Worse, I failed to protect her heart.

Her body, her life, maybe.

But what would have happened if she’d been here when the prick who did this showed up?

The thought chills my blood, forming a burning boulder in my throat.

There’s nothing else I can say, so I move toward her, mentally pulling together what we need to protect this last box.

“Cameras, barbed wire, fencing, whatever it takes. If they come back, they’ll be on camera this time. I’ll have access to the app and automations set up to notify me and the police before they get too far.”

“Y-yeah.” She sniffs again, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. She slowly leaves the bee box to rejoin me.

The bees’ distant buzzing gets louder. I swear it sounds unsettled, but she doesn’t make any quick movements, and eventually the last insects unhook themselves from her and rejoin the group.

Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to bugs crawling all over me. Especially ones that sting.

But the fact that they mean so much to her means I’ll guard them with my life.

“I don’t know, Archer. It’s a nice thought, but will it make a difference?” She looks into my face. “Whoever did this, surely they won’t be back again. Assuming they got away with it.”

“We’ll replace out soon. The front camera might turn up a license plate number, a vehicle type, but—”

“I don’t mean that.” She sighs, taking my hand and looking down as she twines our fingers together. “I already know who did it.”

“Yeah. I didn’t want to say it out loud with no evidence.” I massage my temples.

“…it makes sense, though, right?” Her eyes are clear green pools now, no sign of the tears she shed before. “This is just the kind of shitty, petty thing Holden would do.”

“Fuck Holden Corban.” I snarl the words like the man hit me with a sledgehammer instead of the bee boxes. “If we replace proof, I will nail his dick to the wall. All the trespassing and destruction of property charges known to man. Hell, maybe terroristic threats if they’ll apply.”

“We’ll see what turns up.” She smiles sadly. “But I really hate looking at all this mess. Can we try to put our lives back together?”

She’s talking about the crime scene, but I read more into her words.

That’s why I nod, roll up my sleeves, and head for the shed.

It takes a couple hours to clean up the disaster zone.

I offered to call in a couple maintenance people to help before we got started, but she insisted we handle it ourselves.

I think she wants to feel every single piece of hurt in her own hands.

As if it was her fault some weak little bastard couldn’t take the hint that she didn’t want to marry him.

Knowing she almost went through with it and married a thin-skinned, passive-aggressive little skidmark makes my blood boil.

I don’t condone murder, obviously, but I wouldn’t shed a tear if he drove himself into a tree.

This shit was a step too far, well beyond any petty acting out.

I have my on-call driver bring Colt over after his math class and brunch with Rina. There’s no use hiding what’s going on when he’s at that age where he’ll just replace out anyway.

He arrives around two o’clock, heading into the back garden where we’re gathered.

When he sees what’s left of the devastation, the bee boxes gone, he stops in the middle of the pathway with his eyes like marbles.

“Shit,” he says.

Usually, I’d correct him for his language, but this time it’s warranted.

“Shit,” I agree.

“What happened, guys? Are you all right?” He looks innocently at Winnie, who’s so pale, so fragile in the bright sunlight, like the vivid hurt of this chaos has drained away her color.

“I’m fine, Colt,” she says with an unconvincing smile.

“Hey, bud, you’re just in time. Help me convince Winnie she should go inside and take a break? A nap wouldn’t hurt.” The place probably doesn’t feel safe anymore, but she’s worked through her misery enough for one day.

I don’t want her cleaning the rest out here.

Winnie makes a face. “No, I slept for a million hours last night.”

“You’ll sleep some more.”

Colt glances between us. “…are you guys hooking up?”

Fucking hell, this kid and his mouth.

“Colt,” I say sharply. “You don’t just ask people that.”

“You do when it’s obvious,” Winnie quips and grimaces. “Sorry. Not that I’m saying it’s—”

“Whoa.” Colt frowns at her. “I mean, that’s cool and all. None of my business. I just—”

“Damn straight,” I growl. “You were about to shut your mouth and help me bag some trash.”

“It’s okay.” She glances at me and hesitates. “You know what, I think I will head inside for a break. It’s pretty hot out here and I’m already burned. Should’ve brought sunscreen.”

“Good idea.” It will get her away from my son, who clearly needs another reminder not to run his mouth. “If you need anything, just give me a shout.”

“Sure thing.” She shades her face with her hand and gives me a small, sad smile that makes my heart twist before she walks through the sliding doors inside.

Goddammit.

I turn on Colt. “What the hell was that?”

“What, I can’t ask?”

“No, you can’t. Worming your way into someone’s private business makes them uncomfortable.”

“She wasn’t that uncomfortable,” he says. “I mean, you’re the only one acting like it’s a big deal. It isn’t, Dad, you’re just another guy. I get it. You guys can answer a question or two without freaking out.”

“I don’t need to answer anything. But for the record, it’s not like you think.”

“Cool, more vagueness.” He snorts and shakes his head. I watch him grab the gardening gloves Winnie left on the ground. “So, what is it like, then?”

“None of your business, for one.” I grab a bulging trash bag and haul it to the gate. I’ll have the maintenance crew pick them up later. “How was brunch with your mom?”

“Awesome! I had eggs Benedict with lobster at that new place. She asked me about summer school and we talked about the bees.” He shrugs. “It was nice to talk to her. She said I should come out west later this year in the fall and she’d take me up to the San Juans or Vancouver Island.”

In other words, a long fucking way from home for my son and his irresponsible mother.

“Mm-hmm,” I grunt, barely biting my tongue.

This is the part I hate.

Being a parent means manning up and moving past the drama so you can co-parent effectively, yes. Only, no one tells you how fucking hard it is.

Or how much you want to shake your kid sometimes because you can’t shake the hell out of your stupid, conniving ex.

Rina’s done this before.

She’s raised his hopes and then left me to pick up the pieces, to explain why his mom has a screw loose that stops her from ever growing up and following through on big plans.

Sure, Colton deserves a mother, and I will never hide her from him, but he should get to walk into this with his eyes open.

“Is she heading home soon?” I try not to sound too hopeful.

“Dunno. Sounds more like she’s going to stay in town for a little bit. She said she wants to come to the next parent-teacher conference, to meet all my teachers and see how I’m doing.” There’s pride in his voice. “Oh, and I promised I’d carve her something.”

“Right.”

He looks at me. “Are you mad?”

“No.”

“But you’re mad at Mom.”

That doesn’t deserve an answer. I don’t want to lie to him.

Yes, I’m angry at his mother for charging in like this after ghosting him for years. I’ve been angry at Rina over that shit for years, and there’s still no good reason to believe this time will be different.

“So you had fun?” I ask flatly.

“Yeah! Did you know she makes TikToks? Just product reviews and some lip-sync videos showing off her art, but they’re sorta funny.”

Sure.

Simply hilarious when Rina always was a master manipulator, and it seems like the perfect place for her smoke and mirrors. Also, her latest desperate attempt to relate to a kid she’s actively chosen not to care about until now.

He grabs an overstuffed trash bag and grunts as he picks it up.

I know better than to suggest I carry it.

At his age, he’s sensitive to every suggestion that he’s not strong or capable enough, just like every boy.

He’s a fit kid, too, even if he’s always put brains over athletics.

If I’m being honest, after what he’s been through, he’s stronger and smarter than I was at his age. Like it or not, my boy is halfway to being a young man.

Fucking terrifying.

“I get it, Dad,” Colt pants as we lug the bags to the gate. “Why you’re mad at Mom, I mean.”

“Did I say I was mad at her?”

“You didn’t need to. It’s kinda obvious.” He rolls his eyes and drops the bag. It clatters against the fence and he dusts off his hands. “Like, it makes sense. She ghosted you, then turned up out of the blue, stealing me away. You’re pissed. Fine, whatever.”

She didn’t just ghost me—I could’ve lived with that.

The trouble is, she ghosted him.

“Why do I have a feeling there’s a but?”

“Well, but… isn’t it worth giving things a shot? It’s been so long.” He sounds so sincere. So sure that what he’s suggesting is the right thing. “Especially if she’s changed.”

I turn that over as we head back to the debris and start piling more wood into another bag.

“Trouble is, Colt, I don’t know that for sure. Hanging around a few weeks and picking you up for parks and lunches doesn’t prove much.” And I hate myself for saying it even though it’s the stone-cold truth. There’s too much bad history to just walk blindly into the future.

“Why? What proof do you need?” he demands.

Shit.

For a thirteen-year-old, he’s a hell of an inquisitor, always homing in on questions that make me squirm.

“Because. A leopard doesn’t change its spots overnight. They need bleach for that.” A fucking lame cliché. Real nice.

What does that even mean?

I’m frowning because I sound like my father, speaking in rhymes meant to sound more profound than they are, even if my heart’s in the right place. All that poetry from Dad rubbed off too much.

Didn’t I loathe that shit he’d give me when I was Colt’s age? Like I needed riddles because I was too young to handle a real human conversation.

My old man was wrong then, and I have a sneaking suspicion I’m wrong now.

“You know, Mom isn’t even weird with you and Winnie,” he says, not looking at me. “Like, you guys being together, she just laughs it off.”

“We aren’t together,” I snap. “I’m helping her out. Temporarily. Case closed. As soon as she’s found a new place and once this bee thing is back on track without any surprises, Winnie will get on with her life and so will we. So don’t keep acting like she’s a fixture now, okay?”

Colt stares up at me with a frown.

He shrugs, his thin shoulders jerky, and looks away again.

“Whatever,” he huffs. “So you don’t care about her. Got it.”

Damn.

“Colt, I didn’t mean—”

“Dad, it’s—whatever!” He tears an empty trash bag off the roll and heads back into the last of the mess to start raking it up, surly and wounded.

My heart sinks like lead.

Everything keeps coming out wrong and it’s fucking me up royally.

Colt’s old enough to have an adult conversation about this stuff—and he deserves to be let into parts of my life now that he’s getting older. Especially when it concerns his mom and the woman I’m sort of maybe with.

But no, I go and blow up at him because talking about either of them feels like tearing open fresh wounds.

And that’s not accounting for the mess Winnie’s ex-fiancé left behind.

We had an unhinged intruder on my property destroying her stuff. All because she turned his ass down, and he never learned to respect a woman’s wishes.

Oh, I’d love nothing more than to wind up alone in a room with Holden for a few minutes with no cameras.

But I hate how violent it makes me feel, how impossible it is to deny my gut feeling for Winnie—or how hard I’m running from the truth.

The similarities to how I handled the late Rina situation beat me in the face.

It sticks in my head like a burr. No matter how hard I try to focus on cleaning up, I can’t stop thinking about it.

Winnie and Rina.

Rina and Winnie.

Two very different women.

Both bringing pure electric chaos into my life.

By the time I’ve faced the long-delayed truth they bring, cleaning up Solitude might be a cakewalk.