Page 81 of Bad Boy Crush

Ant hated the ugly spike of hope that pierced his heart. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I can’t divulge the secrets of the sisterhood or Elliott will strangle me. What I can tell you is that Lou is struggling too. Maybe as much as you are.”

“Then where is she?” Not to be a dick, but seriously. Where? “I’ve showed up, man. I’ve put my ass on the line. I gave one of those big speeches like they do at the end of romantic movies, and then do you know what she said?”

Brady shook his head.

“Nothing.” Ant felt his lips curl. He’d poured out every undignified emotion he had regarding her, and she had offered him nothing in return. She’d been silent in the days that followed. He had vowed not to put himself in the line of fire again. He didn’t think he could hurt worse, but who the fuck knew at this point. “For what it’s worth, I appreciate the cake. Thank Beemer for me. I know she’s trying to help.”

“Oh, I’m not leaving.” Brady crossed to the beer fridge in the corner of the shop and uncapped two bottles.

Ant didn’t want a beer, but he took one anyway. “What will we talk about,” he grumbled against the mouth of the bottle.

“You could start with an explanation for whatever that is you’re carving.” Brady’s voice echoed as he walked across the shop and eyed the sculpture that was taller than him.

“It’s not finished.” Ant paced over to stand next to him. Both men tipped their beer bottles back.

“What’s missing?” Brady cocked his head to one side.

Ant knew but refused to say.

twenty-four

Lou was so excited she was shaking. She’d felt as if her head was floating above her body as she showered and put on her makeup this morning. She’d dressed in a summer-appropriate tank dress and flat, white tennis shoes, and then had run out to the nearest office supply store.

“Here you are.” An hour later, the clerk behind the counter handed Lou the bound pages she’d been patiently waiting for.

“Thank you!” She practically jogged to her car and then had a mini battle with the seatbelt. After three unsuccessful yanks, she eased the belt over her waist and set out for Ant’s house.

Only then did a frisson of doubt creep in.

After Elli left yesterday, Lou had sat at the dining room table for hours poring over her journal. She’d read every word she’d written. Twice. On both passes she’d stumbled over chunks she had no memory of writing. Such an odd feeling.

Elliott had been right—about lots of things, as it’d turned out. Lou had to trust her past self as much as she trusted herself now. Taking risks became a foreign concept after Liam had demolished her trust and their marriage in one fell swoop. But she refused to live the rest of her life being afraid. Like a powerful thunderstorm that refilled the lake and pruned down weaker trees so that they could grow, her challenges had filled her up and cleared a path for a braver version of herself.

At the beginning of the text, she’d encountered Liam’s name often, but as she’d continued writing, Ant’s name was more and more prevalent. Even before they’d become friends again, she’d mentioned him several times.

On the second read-through, she was curious just how many times their names appeared. She’d used the find feature and had run a search. “Liam” appeared in the document thirty-seven times. “Ant,” a whopping 154 times.

154 times.

She had typed out Ant’s name 154 times during her transformation from bitter divorced woman to the woman she was today. Who was she today? She finally knew. She was a woman with a clear intention, and a clearer understanding of how her emotions had spoken to her from in between the lines. Literally, in this case.

She hadn’t been aware at the time, but she’d written a love story. Her and Ant’s love story.

When that shocking, all-consuming realization had dawned, she’d cried for a different reason. She was no longer scared of losing him. She was going to win him back. She was going to prove to him that she’d loved him for longer than she’d known.

How? By showing him the truth in stark black and white.

In his driveway, she collected herself and the manuscript lying on the passenger seat. She stepped out of her car, knees quaking as she approached his shop door. The sign in the window read CLOSED, but she made out the shadowed shape of him in the back.

Her heart ached as she lifted her fist to knock.

The grainy image of him sharpened as he drew closer to the door. When he pulled it open, every bit of love for him burst to the surface of her skin. How had she ever convinced herself she hadn’t known whether she loved him?

“H-hi,” she stammered, her heart refusing to slow. “I, um, didn’t want to call in case you were still mad.”

He folded his arms and looked her up and down. For evidence she’d changed? For proof she wasn’t going to hurt him again? She wasn’t sure.