Side Squeeze (Jasper Falls 6)

How did she do that? How had she processed their past so completely and moved on?

Waiting at the traffic light, he stared at the road out of town. His inability to cope with his past urged him to keep driving. This place made him think about shit he didn’t like to contemplate.

There was no point to these confusing emotions. The marks would always be there, scars and emotional damage poorly disguised under fancy hand towels and fresh paint.

If he returned to New York, the commotion in his head would fade, drowned out by the unignorable rush of life. He longed for such metropolitan distractions, missing the sense of urgency and steady force of motion.

Of course his head was a mess. There was nothing to do but think in a town as quiet as Jasper Falls, but his thoughts were starting to piss him off. Inconsequential bullshit that wouldn’t matter the second he returned to the city, so why the hell did he care about such things now?

That was it. He did care. He cared about Erin, and he cared about Mariella. He even cared about chatty old Mrs. McCullough enough that he’d probably arrange to have her items delivered to her eight-hundred kids. But, damn it, caring was a pain in the ass, and he didn’t recall signing up for this.

He could just bail. Cut out and let everyone else smooth out the loose ends. But then he’d do exactly what they expected—leave before any grass could grow beneath his feet.

That Giovanni was a real asshole. Who did he think he was, psychoanalyzing him?

He knew nothing about Harrison’s life outside of this town. If not for Erin, he might have said something to put the guy in his place, but he didn’t want to upset his sister more than he already had.

And there was the crux of it. As mad as he was at her husband for calling him out, he respected the guy for protecting Erin in such an unflinching way. Without actually saying the words, Giovanni made it loud and clear that Harrison had no business getting involved in Erin’s life if he only planned to take off again.

And he wasn’t the only Mosconi sending such warnings his way.

CHAPTER 22

It wasn’t even seven-thirty when the bell above the door rang, announcing the first customer of the day. “We’re not open yet,” Harrison yelled from the back.

“Wow, you’re even starting to sound like him.”

“Erin?” He staggered out of the back with a stack of invoices and order slips in his hands, unsure if he’d imagined her voice.

His sister admired the vacant racks and empty displays. “Are you giving stuff away.”

“Pretty much.” He set the paperwork on the front counter. “What are you doing here?”

After the miserable way he behaved at dinner, she was the last person he expected to see.

“I couldn’t sleep last night. I didn’t like the way we left things, and you being you, I was worried you’d skip out of town before we had a chance to make things right.”

He rolled his eyes and waved a hand at the endless aisles of inventory. “Does it look like I’m taking off anytime soon? Someone has to stick around and deal with all this crap.”

“See, right there. That’s a tried-and-true Montgomery trait—bitch and moan about your personal obstacles and somehow blame others for the challenging stuff. I’ve done my share, Harrison. I handled everything after he died. He left the store to you.”

“Yeah, one final way for him to say fuck you.”

“Or maybe it was the only way he could think to keep us together as a family.”

“Don’t.” He grabbed a box of drill bits and pushed past her. “Let’s not pretend he did this for any reason other than to insult you and interfere with my life in New York.”

She followed. “I’m not letting you go until we fix this.”

“Fix what?” he snapped. “There’s nothing to f—”

His words cut off as his gaze fell on the casserole dish sitting on the front table beside a bag of coffee grounds. “What the hell is that doing here?”

She didn’t need to follow his stare. “We don’t have a lot of traditions, but that crumb cake kept customers coming to this store for decades, and those customers kept food on our table and a roof over our heads.”

“Now who sounds like him?” He shook his head and turned away. “You can’t rewrite history, Erin. That cake caused more problems than it solved. And he loved this store more than he ever loved us.”

“He’s dead, Harrison. Dead.” She didn’t raise her voice or yell, but he sensed her frustration all the same. “We grew up in an abusive house with a cruel father, but our home was not absent of love.”

Her words sharpened and poked at something tender in his chest, causing his eyes to prickle. He firmed his lips and shoved the sensation of guilt away. “I won’t glorify his memory.”