Follow Me Back (Fight for Me 2)

That was the problem. It was those dead, dark places that didn’t know how to move on. If I even wanted to.

Hope’s face flashed behind my eyes, and I wasn’t quite sure where the fresh bolt of regret was coming from.

The lump that rose in my throat was nothing but cragged, pitted rocks. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. Hope’s got her own shit.”

Standing, he drained his beer and then pointed at me with the same hand wrapped around the empty bottle. “Then pull her out of it.” He smirked. “And why don’t you pull yourself out of yours while you’re at it.”

It was Monday morning, and I sat at the red light, drumming my thumbs on my steering wheel as if it might keep me busy enough not to notice where I was.

Like I could drive right by and pretend the little coffee shop wasn’t tucked under the quaint, three-story building or keep the colorful umbrellas that were shading the small tables out front from singing out in welcome, begging me to stop in.

Hell, the little A-frame chalkboard sign literally read: It’s a beautiful day. We’re about to make it better. Come on in.

Motherfucking sunshine.

I accelerated through the intersection, a war going on inside me, knowing she was fighting one of her own. I tried to convince myself to let it go. To just man the fuck up and get to the office because God knew I had plenty to do.

Leave all this nonsense behind.

Because all Hope had given me was one night.

I kept my attention facing forward as I passed, the logo calling out to me where it was printed on the large plate glass window.

A Drop of Hope.

“Fuck it.” I whipped my car into an available spot and jumped out into the warm Alabama morning, probably a little quicker than necessary.

Like I said, pathetic.

My insides were nothing but a jumble of nerves, but I pasted on a smile and roughed an easy hand through my hair as I jerked open the door, figuring what the hell.

Some things were just worth a second try.

The bell jingled overhead, and movement rustled in the back. The door swung open, and Jenna rushed out while drying her hands on a dishtowel.

A little too eagerly, my gaze jumped around the small space, across the tables littered with people enjoying their morning coffee and a muffin rather than taking it on the go.

“You lookin’ for someone?” The question was delivered with an undercurrent of laughter.

I jerked my attention back to Jenna, who stood there grinning.

Like she didn’t know exactly why I was there. It was written all over me. “Just wanted to grab a cup of coffee before work.”

It wasn’t like I was going to admit it, either.

“Is that so?”

“It is the best coffee in town. It says so right there.” I pointed at the little plaque proudly affixed to the wall.

She grinned. “I guess it does, doesn’t it?” She turned away and grabbed a large paper cup, talking as she did. “If I remember right, since you seem to just keep stumbling in for our award-winning brew, you prefer a regular ol’ cup of Joe. Nothing fancy.” She shot me a look from over her shoulder. “I mean, unlike your clothes and your car and that face.”

My chuckle was two-parts unease and one-part amusement. “Hey, I was born with this face.”

She turned back around, head angled in scrutiny as she slid the coffee across the counter in my direction. “Really. Here I was thinking it might have been cosmetically enhanced.”

“I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not.”

Her eyes went wide. “Well, probably depends on who you’re talking to.”

I laughed again, this time lighter. “Which would you be?”

She leaned against the counter. “Depends.”

I pulled a ten from my wallet and passed it to her. “On what?”

“On what you’re really doing here.”

I pushed out a breath, eyes darting around, searching for that fall of red. “Is she around?” I asked. Clearly, Jenna already had my intentions pegged.

“No, she has an appointment this morning.”

Disappointment.

It was there in the way the anxious tension in my shoulders slumped in some kind of defeat.

That should have been warning enough.

“I love her like a sister, you know? So you probably should be aware I’ll happily cut your dick off if you hurt her.”

Apparently, I really was fluent in silent conversations. I’d gotten that one spot on.

“She’s the one who said she could only give me one night.”

“Did she?” Jenna handed me the change, looking at me like I was dense. “Or was that her asking you to be careful with her because she’s terrified of getting herself mixed up in another situation that isn’t healthy? But you need to know that when she tells you her life is complicated, she isn’t exaggerating or feeling sorry for herself. It’s because her life is really that damned complicated.”