Page 12 of Forbidden Love Still Blooms

Before he can grab the new tire to place it on, I take the other side. He doesn't need my help—that's clear—but I want to give it. “Why not?”

“Because he wasn't interested. He hates learning anything from me.” He says it bluntly, the sound of the tire slamming into place on my car's hub emphasizing the harshness of his statement.

There's something here. It hangs in the air around Jordan like an invisible shroud. There are tense wrinkles by his lips, across his forehead. His bare forearms are taut even though he's finished the manual labor.

He's not happy about his son.My heart starts to race. This is an opportunity. Jordan and I, alone in the dark, talking as we are—sharing a moment with our walls down—and now Dez is on the table. My main problem that got me here. I can taste the chance to find myself an ally.

Keeping my voice light, I say, “I'm sorry about that. In your defense, Dezmond comes off as an asshole.”

He lifts his head slightly; we're eye to eye. “Tell me something I don't know.”

The excitement inside of me threatens to break my casual mask open like an egg. I can't show him how hopeful I am. Not until I know for sure we feel the same way about his son. “He was a bully in school. Kind of a creep. And now he spends all of his time buying or selling drugs or gambling whatever money he has away in that disgusting poker den near the plaza with all themassage parlors.” As beautiful as Crestwind is, it has its sordid spots. Every place with people living and breathing in it does.

Jordan returns to finishing the job of changing my tire, wrench rising repetitively. “You're right. His life is in a spiral.”

I perk up. “Exactly.”

“Dezmond has been on a long road of poor choices and his character is deeply flawed. I was nothing like him when I was his age.”

My smile hurts my face. “So, youdoget it.”

“I do.” Jordan looks at me with a smile that hurts him, too, but in a different way than mine. “It's why I have to be there for him. Why I have to help make him into a better man. It's my responsibility.”

There's ice crystallizing in my center. I don't hold back the disgust on my tongue. “You can't possibly think you can change him. He's twenty-two years old and he's been arrestedhowmany times?”

“He's not perfect, but he's still young.”

“Don't make excuses,” I growl. “Jordan, he's an awful,awfulperson! You can't defend the things he's done to people.”Things he's done to me.

Lifting the jack, Jordan stands over me. At this angle his face is a void, his emotions unreadable. But I think, even if I could see them in the light, I still wouldn't understand. “I know that. It's on me to fix what he does in the future, not the past. I don't expect it to make sense to you.”

The tendons in my jaw are throbbing. “You're right,” I say viciously, “how can I understand? He's still fresh and figuring out the world. Young and dumb. Just like me.”

That turns all the muscle and bone in Jordan's body into steel. Nothing can move him, making him no different than the hollow, metal shells of the cars littering the lot around us. I'm sure he has more to say, but I don't care. I wasted enough time on him already.

Climbing into my car, I jam my key into the ignition. “Thanks for the tow and the tire,” I say, keeping my attention on my mirrors. I don't want to look at him anymore. Jordan isn't going to help me with the Dezmond mess.

He'll always side with his son.

Loyalty. Sacrifice.Those were his own words. He said them like he thought I didn't know their meaning. But I know them better than anybody.

Chapter 5

Whenmymotherwalksthrough the front door of our floral shop at 6:30 a.m. on the dot, she studies me for a long moment, then asks, “How are you so bright and bushy when Iknowyou had to wake up before sunrise to beat me here?”

I smile because her question means the concealer layered over the purple bags under my eyes worked. I was nervous I couldn't disguise my exhaustion; I've never been great with makeup. I spent so much time in the water as a kid that putting it on was pointless. Mascara, even the good kind, would turn into a gray smear after a few dives under the waves.

“I knew it would be busy in here today, so I decided to get in and start prepping.” I didn't wake up early. I just never went to bed.

Mom pulls a brown apron off a peg behind the counter, tying it around her neck then her waist. I'm standing next to the register, waiting for her to pop it open. Wondering what she'll do when she sees inside of it. How good is the show I'm putting on? Award worthy?

“Lori,” she says, yawning into the back of her right hand. I see the scars on her palm that criss-cross like the rips in my tire last night. “I think you forgot something.”

“I did?” I ask warily.

“Did you think I wouldn't notice?”

My attention snaps to the shelves near the front door. I put a different terracotta pot there to replace the smaller pair that shattered when Jake kicked his way inside. My jugular begins to twinge. Did she notice the replacement? I prepare my next lie like an arrow on a bow string.

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