Page 1 of Where You Left Me

CHAPTER 1

Jones

Mia fucking Cappella.

At one time she was my world. My everything. She owned my heart.

I was obsessed with her.

But that was a long time ago.

When Mia left town eight years ago, she took that pathetic fuck with her. And I swore I’d never be pussy-whipped again. I’m not that loser anymore.

I call the shots. Who I date. Who I fuck. It’s my business.

And just because Mia Cappella has turned up in Maple Ridge again doesn’t mean I’m about to change any of that. Even if she still looks as beautiful as she did the day she walked out on me.

“Hey?” Maverick calls from the other side of the bar, chucking a peanut at my head.

The soft whack to the side of my forehead is enough to snap me out of my Mia daze.

For now, at least.

“Man, the service here sucks lately,” he complains with a smirk. “I’m still waiting for the beer I ordered.”

“Shut the hell up,” I groan, swiping a glass off the shelf behind me. “When you become a paying customer around here, then you can complain.”

“Fine, fine.” Maverick holds up his palms in surrender. “But just because Mia is back in town doesn’t mean you gotta be Oscar-the-fucking-Grouch.”

I pull the tap and fill the pint glass for Maverick, exhaling a long breath. Between Mia leaving and my mom dying, I learned life is too short to spend it in a constant state of anger and sadness.

Being mad at Maverick never lasts long anyway. Not when he ditched me to go across the country for college while I stayed and went to the community college in Denver. And not even when he and my little sister hooked up and tried to keep it a secret from me.

“For the record, my mood has nothing to do with Mia,” I say as I slide the glass in front of him.

He quirks a brow at me but must decide to not call me on my bullshit today, and takes a sip of his beer. Maverick and I have been best friends for too many years that he probably knows what I’m gonna say before it even comes out of my own mouth. So why I thought I’d be able to lie about this, I have no clue. Maybe it’s an effort to not let any of this bother me.

Truthfully, having Mia back in town scares the shit out of me. Seeing her at Brew Box this morning was like stepping back in time. She hasn’t aged or changed a bit. If anything, she’s more beautiful.

And that pisses me the hell off.

If I wasn’t working tonight, I’d be sitting on that open bar stool next to Maverick, slinging back an ice-cold beer. The days of drinking while on the job, taking advantage of any kind of alcohol at my fingertips, and living day to day either drunk or hungover—or both—are over.

Thank God.

At my lowest, Maverick was not only by my side, but he also carried me. I can’t look at him and not remember all he did for me. And it’s enough for me to resist going down that road again. Because relying on people is not my forte.

I fill a glass with club soda, toss in a lime, and take a sip before leaning my elbows on the bar top. Maverick is still eyeing me. He knows I’m gonna blow, one way or the other. He’s patient, though. He’ll wait it out however long it takes me.

Rolling my eyes, I finally relent. “Eight years,” the words crawl out of my throat in a scratchy growl.

“Eight years,” he repeats, with a subtle shake of his head.

“What the hell?” I grumble. “She leaves town and doesn’t even bother contacting me once. In eight years.”

Maverick shakes his head. “It’s brutal.”

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “I understand her need to leave. I do. But to stay away so long? Without reaching out. It doesn’t make any sense.”

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