Three Reckless Words: A Grumpy Sunshine Romance (The Rory Brothers Book 3)
Three Reckless Words: Chapter 19

You couldn’t keep me away from Solitude with a flamethrower.

Archer persuaded me to come back and sleep at his place, yes—and that’s fine, after Holden wrecked everything, it didn’t take much persuading—but I head back early the next day to sort it out.

I know it’s crazy, but I feel weirdly responsible.

If I hadn’t come here with my raggedy life and questionable decisions trailing behind me like a flimsy caboose, none of this would’ve happened.

Holden wouldn’t have shown up to mess with Archer’s property. He wouldn’t have destroyed those poor bees.

It makes me tear up even now. The implications are brutal.

Too personal.

Too cruel.

Too flipping heartbreaking.

Every time I stop to think about it, my throat closes and I forget how to breathe. It’s this odd defensive thing where my body shuts down and falls into stabbing pain all over, from head to toe.

I just have to sit and wait it out.

Wait for my lungs to start working again and remind me I don’t have to lie down and die.

I still have a chance to make it better.

Right. Back to work then.

First, I work on planting new flowers even though it’s getting late in the season. Next year, they’ll come up nice for sure.

Archer stays busy with the new cameras he’s putting up around the place. I try to figure out ways to make the property more appealing for the bees without ruining its commercial curb appeal.

Of course, there aren’t many around here now.

Most of them escaped when their homes were hammered to pieces, but there are still a few around, and we’re going to bring them back.

The bees will prevail, and so will we.

And what if there’s that teensy-tiny chance it was a random attack? Hard to believe, yes, but we still have no proof.

Maybe the new cameras and large surveillance sign and a proper fence around future bee boxes will be enough to keep anyone else from attacking them.

Just in case, though, I wonder about putting more boxes closer to the forest. The attacker overlooked that one. Maybe they’d be safer with more natural camouflage, even with all this technology.

Plus, it would put them closer to the kudzu and black locust trees. Maybe the honey would turn even more purple.

I’m on my knees, replanting some of the disturbed flowers, when I see it. It’s a tiny thing, really, barely noticeable if I wasn’t brushing plants and leaves aside.

A gum wrapper.

It’s small and pink, with the words ‘berry bomb’ on the front in a goofy retro font.

My hands start shaking before I even pick it up.

My body does that thing where it forgets how to breathe.

God, there’s no mistaking the truth now.

I’ve seen this brand, this exact flavor of gum so many times I couldn’t miss it.

Fucking. Holden.

I always knew it was him.

No one else would’ve made the journey here from Springfield, and no one else is petty and spiteful enough to do something this vindictive.

Dad wouldn’t come in swinging a hammer, much less get his hands dirty with petty destruction. That’s not his style.

He’s already cut me off, taking the legal route.

But Holden is a spoiled child, no matter how much he pretends otherwise.

Here’s proof—and a warning that he throws a bigger temper tantrum than I thought.

God, what else will he do with his temper?

My vision blurs.

I hear my own breathing in my head as I stand, the world spinning, that stupid gum wrapper fluttering in my fingers. Thinking Holden did it abstractly and having absolute proof he did are two different things.

I’ve never hated anyone in my life.

Not like the way I hate him now.

It’s almost explosive, this ugly feeling throbbing under my skin.

I want him to pay.

I want to hurt him.

To take his balls and twist because he just destroyed the homes of so many precious bees, and for what? To get back at me?

Sweet Jesus.

I’m not thinking straight as I yank my phone out and dial his number. There’s a cooler breeze today, but I’m flushed, sweat running down my back as I stand in the flower beds he ruined and listen to the sound of it ringing.

“Winnie,” Holden says softly when he answers. “Hi.”

“Don’t give me that crap. Why did you do it?”

“I wondered when you’d call.” He blows right past my question. Typical.

“Holden, how could you?” I snap. Everything is shaking—my hands, my voice, my bones. I feel like I’m about to shatter. “How dare you.”

“Oh,” he says, his voice hollow with disappointment. “Yes. I thought you might have had a change of heart.”

“Change of heart? Go to hell.” I’m so mad I’m spitting. I start pacing across the crumbling soil of the flower beds. “I know what you did and you don’t get to deny it.”

“Winnie—”

“No. You listen and listen good. If you ever come here again, it’s all-out war. Do you hear me? Do you understand?”

He sighs. Just like he has a thousand times before when I complained, like I’m some petulant child burdening him. “You’re confused. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The fuck you do.”

“You’re really going to swear at me?”

“Why not?” I mock through acid tears.

I hate how I cry when I’m angry—it takes the edge off my rage. No one takes a crybaby seriously.

“Let me guess, it isn’t proper like nice young ladies are supposed to be for a senator’s son? Newsflash, Holden. I’m not nice. But I’m still a thousand times kinder than you.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice after you fled our wedding.”

“Then why are you going around destroying other people’s property in some sick, stupid attempt to get me back? I don’t do threats.” It’s laughable, really, the fact that he thought this could bully me back into line.

Is that all I am to him? To my family?

A throwaway who’s easily intimidated.

No!

Actually, I’m so angry I can’t see straight.

“Winnie, I didn’t do whatever you’re accusing me of,” he says.

I laugh, high-pitched and scornful.

There’s a chance I might be losing it, but I don’t care.

“Save yourself the gaslighting, Holden. I know it was you. And FYI, there’s nothing you could do to ever convince me to marry you again. I told you, we’re done. You were a rotten boyfriend and you would’ve been the worst husband.”

“Like you were perfect?” he snarls, then hesitates, like he remembers he’s supposed to be winning me over. “Look, no one’s perfect, not all the time, but—”

“All the time? You want to know what it was like dating you? It felt like looking across the table and seeing my father. Cold, indifferent, obsessed with his image and his next career move. You never loved me.”

“That’s… that’s not true,” he sputters.

“Isn’t it? You put your career first, second, and third.” It feels good to get this out while he’s struck speechless.

Cathartic in a way.

I’ve never said any of this to his face, and he deserves to hear it.

I want him to know how shitty he was, even if the memories make my throat tight.

“You’re remembering things wrong,” he whispers, back to his practiced tone, numb with the endless patience.

“And you’re patronizing as hell,” I snap. “You’re belittling, you’re childish, you’re selfish. Worst of all, you’re a coward, Holden, lashing out like a kid when you don’t get your way. You never once made me feel special, you know. You never put me first. And looking at you, I could see my future… I’d wind up just like my mother. No thanks.”

“Your mom is—”

“Miserable.” I’m full-on crying now, yes, and it’s gross. All snot and tears and those heaving panicked breaths I can’t control. My body doesn’t know what it’s doing today. “My mom is miserable and lonely and a pushover. That’s not me, Holden. Go replace yourself another doormat.”

“Doormat? Hold up—”

“No. Why don’t you just admit it?” I practically scream. “The only thing you care about is your fucking career. I embarrassed you and you want to make me pay. You don’t even want me back at all. Say it.”

Holden yells something through the phone, unintelligible and garbled, and the phone flies out of my hand.

I don’t know what happened until I look up.

I never saw Archer approach, but he’s here now, a stone expression on his face that’s ready for murder.

If Holden was here, there would be blood on the ground, I’m pretty sure. And I’m not sure I’d mind seeing it.

“You’re blocked, asshole,” Archer says. He has no right sounding so menacing when I was—and still am—falling apart. “You’re not breathing another word to Winnie. Not today. Not fucking ever.”

More incoherent buzz from the speaker.

Holden hates it when people talk down to him, and Archer is so clearly the dominant man in this situation. Holden will hate that even more.

Serves you right, I think viciously.

“If you ever show up on any property I own again, I will hunt you down. Pressing charges will be the easy part,” Archer growls, pausing. “You’ll get them in spades, then I will turn your fucking skull into honeycomb. Understand me?”

This time, I catch the gist of what Holden says. “You’re threatening a senator’s son? Are you stupid?”

Archer snorts.

“I don’t give a shit what you are.” He hangs up, following through with the block setting in my contacts.

It’s a load off my mind, knowing Holden can’t contact me again unless he comes here.

And I don’t think he will.

Holden is many things, but brave is far from it.

Sure, he risked a little of his skin breaking and entering, but that was before he got caught. Before Archer knew it was him.

I don’t have time to think about anything else before he’s on me, his big hands on my face, pulling me into a kiss.

His mouth is so possessive, so demanding, and he doesn’t seem to notice there’s still snot on my face or that I’m hiccupping and crying.

But that’s fine by me.

What I really need now is a distraction, and Archer obliges.

When he’s kissing me, there’s no room to think about anything else. When he pulls me against his body, he squeezes out everything else, all the poison.

Holden, my dad, my stupid wedding, the bees.

Everything is smothered in him.

His smell, his taste, the way he holds the back of my neck. There’s this primal, jealous edge to the gesture, and I love it.

Call me sick.

I don’t care.

Even if he has no reason to be jealous. Only a total fool would choose Holden over him. It’s the difference between a little boy who’s full of himself and a man who drips life experience.

Archer’s thumbs swipe at my cheeks, wiping away the tears that keep falling as he holds me.

I can’t seem to stop them, but that’s okay.

With him, everything is fine, even when it’s not.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” I force out, and he shakes his head, wiping my face with his sleeve.

“Don’t apologize, Winnie.” His voice is hard and hoarse, and he kisses me again, one arm locked against my waist. “Don’t ever apologize for him.”

“O-okay.”

I could get used to this version of Archer.

He’s normally a man of few words, but right now, he’s giving me everything I could ever want to hear with his hands, his mouth, the way his breath catches when I grab his shirt and pull him closer.

We kiss harder, until I know my lips are swollen.

By the time we come back up for air, a haze of emotion and throbbing need, Holden and his destruction are already forgotten.

He’s the past.

Archer Rory is my present.

And if I don’t have my future figured out yet, he’s part of that too.

I don’t care if we’re destined for a storybook ending or a great big nothing.

With him in my life, holding me together, I’ll survive.

“Let’s go,” he whispers so gently, brushing my messy hair back from my face.

I gladly listen.

I expect him to take me home.

At first, we’re heading in that direction, but before we’re too far down the road, we turn off down another minor road surrounded by leafy trees. Archer’s hands are white-knuckled, tight on the wheel, and he doesn’t say much.

Every so often, though, he puts a hand on my leg.

It’s this silent, sweet assurance he’s still here.

Still thinking about me.

Still checking in.

It makes my chest feel like it’s too big for my body. Like if I’m not careful, I might just pop like a balloon from too much feeling.

The route he’s chosen leads deep into the forest, and I watch as the trees swallow the landscape.

It’s gorgeous, this path through dense greenery that feels like a well-kept secret, just as quiet and tucked away as Solitude itself.

Maybe that’s the point. Archer, he’s like me—he craves the silence, peace without worries and no one else around to tangle you up in their woes.

I’m not used to feeling this about another person.

Even Lyssie, as much as I love her, can get annoying sometimes. She’s a great friend, but she’s not a perfect puzzle piece who instantly snaps in to complete my life.

If I wasn’t scared he’d bolt like a frightened rabbit, I’d be tempted to tell him how much this means, how connected I feel.

Right now, we’re two halves of a whole. Whatever corny phrase doesn’t feel as devastating as ‘soulmate.’

But I am scared.

Scared he would dump me on the side of the road if I confessed my feelings and hightail it back to Kansas City, so I wait until he’s driven deeper into these woods.

Of course, he’s way too much of a gentleman to do that, but the jittery rabbit in my brain won’t let me ruin a good thing.

There’s a little parking space off the side of the road, a rest stop of sorts made from a mix of dried mud and gravel. He pulls over there.

The vehicle shuts off.

In the silence, I look at him again, very slowly like I want to hide behind my hands.

In the dappled light coming through the trees, he’s a patchwork of sun and shadows, the human version of a mountain catching the sun.

For a second, I freeze.

My irrational side reaches peak self-loathing when I’m actually terrified he might lay down the law right here and end things.

What if that kiss was a goodbye? And now here comes the breakup in this calm, beautiful place he’s chosen to soften the blow.

I inhale so sharply I almost choke.

But his big hand on my leg lingers, screaming reassurance.

It’s so gentle. That’s not what someone who’s about to go full heartbreaker does, right?

Not that I’m his partner or girlfriend or we’re technically together. He made that clear with his mother.

I’m sure that whole mess gives him plenty to regret.

There’s a growing list, and my ex breaking in and destroying his property is probably at the top, soon followed by the hard reality that I’ve infiltrated his home and his life.

“Winnie?” he asks, his blue eyes flashing with concern. I realize my hysterical laughter must be bubbling close to the surface if he can see it.

My eyes water from the effort of keeping it in.

That breakdown is coming, faster than I thought.

“I’m fine,” I rush out. “Why did you bring me here?”

He hesitates. “Walk with me?”

How could anyone say no to that? Anyone who’s not afraid of being axe-murdered, anyway—which I’m not with him. The grim, intrusive thought is just more hysteria because that kind of cartoon evil almost feels preferable to him gently letting me go.

I get out and we follow a narrow trail into the forest. He reaches out and takes my hand, gingerly holding it the entire time.

We walk into a silence barely disturbed by birdsongs.

I’m afraid to break it.

While the sweet hand-holding suggests he’s not about to smash my heart like an ornament, it’s not like I haven’t caused him a lot of trouble.

Infinitely more than he bargained for.

We come to a fallen tree, mossy and ancient and kind of majestic. He leads me to it, holding on as I stumble over the uneven ground gnarled in rocks and roots, urging me to sit.

We’re in this little fairy-tale clearing with the blue sky above and birds flitting in and out of branches.

Breathtaking.

A little slice of heaven—or as close as you can get in Missouri, just thirty minutes or so away from a teeming city.

“I’m sorry for crying all over you back there,” I start before he has a chance to speak. “And I’m really sorry for what Holden did… coming to Solitude and destroying the bees like that? God.”

“Will you stop apologizing for him?” His voice hardens.

Eek. I don’t know how to stop.

If my lovely parents ingrained anything, it’s the guilt trip—and apologies are how you get demanding people to forgive your mistakes. And I’ve made a truckload of errors since moving here.

“Sorry. It’s just, you don’t need this.” You don’t need me is what I really mean.

But he shakes his head fiercely.

“You think I brought you here so I could listen to you apologize for shit that’s not your fault while you rake yourself over the coals?”

“But—”

“Winnie, no. We’re here so I can tell you something.” His grip on my hand tightens. “I need you to just sit and listen, okay?”

Sit and listen.

Okay.

I can do that.

“I couldn’t care less about this ‘trouble’ you’ve caused. That’s part of keeping you safe,” he rumbles. “I want to be honest with you, and I haven’t been. No, that’s not fair.” He searches for the right words. I hold my breath, unsure where this is going. “What I mean is, I haven’t been open enough with you. That’s my fault, and I want to be.”

Listen, listen.

He told me to listen so I’ll keep my mouth shut, but it’s hard when his words are so heavy and I want to kiss him, to tell him he doesn’t need to go out of his way to confess whatever it is that’s eating him up.

I’m trying not to cry again.

“I was very young when I met Rina, and it moved way too fast,” he says. “I didn’t have my life figured out before she got pregnant, before we were even serious. I tried to make the impossible work.”

Yep, the tone of his voice alone means I’m definitely going to cry now, but I keep listening.

“On paper, I did all the right stuff,” he says, bitterness creeping into his voice. “I proposed. I gave her a big-ass ring, quit the army, came home, and tried to make a family. Everything was for her and my boy. Then she grew restless. She put her dreams over our family—and it fucked me up because I let it.”

“Archer,” I whisper.

He shifts, pivoting until he’s looking at me.

“This life I put everything on hold for was over, and I blamed her for years. Maybe it wasn’t all her fault, but the fact is, she left. She ran away from me and her son. And I don’t think I ever got over it.”

“I’m sorry.” I put my other hand over his and squeeze. “That must’ve been so hard. But I… I don’t understand. Is that why we’re here? So you could tell me about Rina?” And the fact that he’s not over her haunting him.

That stings more than it should.

“Not Rina. Not specifically.” He makes an impatient gesture with his free hand. “I brought you here because everything that’s happened lately peeled my blinders off. Having you around showed me how much I’ve let Rina fuck me up, Winnie. I let her put chains on my life without even being here, and I’m done with all that.”

“Done?” I swallow.

“Yeah. Done with letting the past have any power over me, Winnie.” He touches my face, tracing where the tears traveled half an hour before. “I’m done with dancing around the damn elephant in the room. I’d rather be trampled than keep pretending I don’t want to be with you for real.”

My laugh comes out startled and definitely snotty. “You mean… Are you being serious right now?”

“I am.”

“You want to be with me? For real?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, woman?” He tugs me closer and our lips graze. “I want that fuckhead out of your life. Permanently,” he growls. “I also want to make you forget he ever existed.”

Holy hell.

This might be it.

The moment for me to say it, to gush love all over him like the crazy idiot I am, but I just wrap my arms around him and kiss him like my life will end if I don’t.

Right now, it might.

He kisses me back just as fiercely, and in the middle of the forest, with just Archer, it feels right.

Like this is meant to be.

Not just a distraction, but destiny.

Archer Rory tastes like home, my very own nest of honey-sweet words and ferocious muscle, and the realization doesn’t scare me.

If he’s not afraid to be with me, how can I be scared to love him with my whole heart?