Page 92 of Ignite

Rylee might as well have taken out full-page ads.

She was back with fuck-boi Darin.

The asshole’s car was still parked outside her home, screaming to the world they’d spent the night reconciling. My jaw tightened and my heart sunk. Rylee and Darin had spent the night together. The words refused to compute, but the evidence was parked in her driveway.

Rylee and Darin had spent the night together. Of course, they had. Sending a sucker punch straight to my groin with a detour through my heart.

She’d handed over her final obligation to me, through Korbin. She hadn’t even had the guts to tell me face-to-face, that we were through. All the flirty banter had been bullshit. She’d been playing me, and I’d fallen for her, hook, line, and sinker.

I drove past his car and around the block, needing the minutes to decide what to do. I couldn’t yell at her for not loving me. I couldn’t beat down her front door and belt the living crap out of the guy who loved her back. I couldn’t do Jack shit about the way I felt about her, or this town. What the hell did them getting back together mean for my job? Would the team kick my ass out of town and welcome back the fuck-boi?

I drove past her house, again. I needed another loop around the block to calm down my stupid crazy shit. I’d gone and fallen in love with a woman who was still in love with her cheating ex. He’d broken her heart, and now she’d broken—

No.

I pulled in behind his car. Poetic justice would be to leave the same sort of scratches along each panel as Rylee had left on my chest, thighs, back, and heart. Even now, I imagined one had become a scar. A faint red tinge that I might as well tattoo her name across.

Perhaps, I would. I’d drive out of town in my restored ute that would only ever remind me of her, and find the nearest tattoo parlor. I’d walk in and get ink that would remind me not to believe in miracles, or good things happening.

Dad died.

Mum got sick.

When given the choice between caring for mum and keeping my business, I’d chosen correctly.

When mum didn’t make it—not even in my head could I word it another way—I went searching for a new life where I could stop being angry at the world. I’d accepted a job in a town I’d never heard of with the only criteria being able to park my ute without remembering all the times I’d parked in the disabled car parking, taking mum to her next appointment or the multitude of tests.

Meringa. A two-bit country town where I could walk down a main street without knowing the layout of every drugstore chemist. Where I was at least three hours and twenty-seven minutes’ drive from spending too many hours camped out on the twin graves. I was sick of being angry at dad for fighting too much for strangers, and not enough time fighting to live. And I felt guilty at holding onto my anger at mum because she let go before I was ready let her go.

Meringa had been my second chance, and all it had done was prove that life sucked big crazy balls.

That didn’t mean Darin deserved to have his car trashed.

It also didn’t mean I needed to knock on the door and see the happy couple in post-fuck glow.

I did, however, need to leave the herbal tea and shredded flowers on her doorstep.

Because that was the most subtle way I could tell her I got it—we were fucking done.

Chapter 25

Better Shape Up

“You’veheardthewarnings.I hope you’ve heeded the warnings because today might test us all. If the wind changes as expected at lunchtime, Meringa and the south coast of New South Wales could be in a world of pain. Today will be the day to know when to walk away from your property and know when to run …”

Rylee

I woke with renewed hope that Ethan and I could sort things out. I also felt relief for everything Darin—that we could go back to being friends, and that we had ended before either getting married or bringing children into what would have become a broken marriage.

Walking through to the front room, I got excited at seeing my screen door ajar and hurried to check it out. Occasionally, Flick would drop off leftovers or fresh baking and it was always a race to see if I could rescue the food before one of the local dogs found it.

What the hell?

The crushed flowers strewn over my front porch could have been from any disgruntled customer.

A week ago, I could have even blamed Trixi or Darin.

But the herbal teas could only have come from one person, Ethan Cooper.

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