Page 100 of Golden Touch
“She didn’tghostme.” It comes out sounding defensive. “There’s some trauma here, Mitch. Her ex burned down the brewery, and she’s freaking out.”
“Sure, but…” He sighs. “She doesn’t sound stable. Even if this girl is hurting, this isn’t a good sign. Haven’t you heard the saying—hurt people hurt people?”
I have, in fact, heard that saying. And it troubles me more than I care to admit. Especially because Livia might not even deny it. She’d told me early on that her ex had done a number on her and that she wasn’t in the right headspace to have another relationship.
Yet, I didn’t listen. I’d gone and fallen for her anyway. Not that I’ll admit it to anyone, but I’m truly angry at her for ghosting me right now.
Maybe she told Benito she was ready to see me. That’s the hope I’m clinging to.
“What’s she like?” Mitch asks.
“Hmm?”
“This girl who has you so wrecked. I’ve never seen you lose your shit over a woman. What’s so special about her?”
“Everything,” I mumble, turning on the high beams. “She’s smart. Sexy. Knows her own mind. Doesn’t play games. She’s a grownup.”
“And yet she’s not taking your calls?”
I sigh.
“Just…know your worth, bro. You’re a catch. If she can’t figure that out, then maybe you need to let her go.”
Hell. There’s a truth bomb in there that I’m not really ready to hear. “In my gut, though, Iknowwe’re not done.” I’ve known it since that first night when she gave me the slip at Speakeasy.
“Fox,” he says.
She is, I think, just when I realize my brother meant anactualfox. I slam on the breaks just as the little fucker runs off the road.
“Ow,” Mitch complains.
“I thought hockey players were tough.”
“But my season is over.”
It’s not a great joke, but I laugh because it’s so good to have him home.
“This is it,” Mitch says ten minutes later when we find the little house on Pine Lane. “Kinda dark in there.”
My heart sags, because itisdark in there. I park and get out anyway. I trot up to the front door in the fading light and knock.
Silence.
Shit.
After a few minutes waiting here, I duck around to peek in the garage window.
No car.
My stomach falls. I can’t believe she’s done a runner. I go back to the front and open the screen door so I can try the handle. Something flutters off the door and onto my shoes.
It’s a note.
Nash—
I’m so sorry about the brewery. It will never be okay. So it’s better if I go, like I meant to do before.
Once you have a little while to consider it, I know you’ll agree with me. Try to picture me at the Thanksgiving table with your family. Yeah, I can’t either. Nobody wants to pass the stuffing to the person who brought ruin to the Giltmaker legacy.
