Page 98 of Screwed
“I deserved that,” he wheezed.
But when Beau drew back to hit him again, he threw up an arm to block him. He tried to shove him away—Jesus, he didn’t want to fight with his friend. But Beau swung, and rage burst inside him like a bonfire. Yeah, he deserved to be punched for sleeping with his friend’s ex-wife, but Beau fucking deserved to be punched, too, for how he’d treated Callie.
Cash landed a blow on Beau’s jaw. “That’s for fucking cheating on her, asshole,” he shouted.
Beau tried to punch him back. A flurry of arms punching and blocking ensued. More pain stung Cash as Beau landed another hit. Cash grabbed Beau’s shirt, and they spun around, knocking over a chair. Then they gripped each other and hung on, and Cash laid one more blow on him. That was for just…being the one who’d gotten Callie.Fucker.
Cash shoved Beau away, and they stood glaring at each other, chests heaving, shirts wrinkled and half untucked, hands clenched into fists. His knuckles throbbed. “Here’s the kicker,” he snarled. “She was only using me to get back at you.” He grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his desk chair and strode out of his office.
It wasn’t even noon yet, but he left the office, jumping into his truck and roaring out of the parking lot onto West Loop. He had no idea where he was going. In fact, he probably shouldn’t be driving, as he made a lane change without shoulder checking, resulting in another vehicle swerving out of his way and laying on the horn.
…
Callie felt like a zombie. Dead on the inside. Moving and walking and talking but completely detached. She forced herself to get up in the morning and go to work. She made cakes. She talked to people on the phone. She took pictures of her macarons, adding pretty little details like flower petals and fresh strawberries, and posted them on Instagram and Facebook.
None of it mattered. But she pretended that it did.
She pretended to Ginnie that everything was fine. She went out with Kristy, Emma, and Charlotte for dinner and a movie and acted like everything was fine.
She held a cake tasting for Arlyn Reyes, the daughter of the mayor of Houston. She and her fiancé came to the shop, and Callie served them the three different types of cake they’d narrowed it down to. They decided on banana cake and ordered a five-tiered design that was going to cost them fifteen hundred dollars. They wanted stunning and impressive. And Callie finally felt something—a flicker of excitement at the challenge of coming up with something that would dazzle them.
Okay, maybe shewasstill alive.
She had to dig herself out of this black hole and focus on her business. And her friends. And the family that totally ignored her business.
She was in the back, carefully assembling cookie sandwiches one afternoon, piping pink strawberry-flavored buttercream onto strawberry-flecked sugar cookies, when she heard a voice she recognized out front reply to Ginnie’s “How may I help you?”
“We’re looking for our granddaughter, Callie Sutherland,” the gravelly male voice said.
Callie’s head whipped up, and she dropped her piping bag to rush out front. Sure enough, Grandma and Grandpa Sutherland stood there in her little shop, brightness among all the white. Grandpa’s smile beamed in his short white beard and mustache, his still-thick white hair shining in the sunlight pouring through the front windows.
“Callie!” Grandma smiled at her. “Come here, child, I need a hug.”
Callie hurried over with a smile. Nobody would ever guess Grandma’s age, with her trim figure, glossy light-brown hair cut in stylish layers, and smooth skin. “What are you two doing here?”
“We came to see what you’re building here.” Grandpa gave her a hard squeeze. “Heard you started your own business.”
Callie grimaced. “I bet you heard that from Mama and Daddy.”
“Yes indeed. We were curious and kept asking questions, and your mama didn’t seem to have a lot of answers. So we came to see for ourselves.”
“Look at these cookies!” Grandma bent to peer into the glass display case. “They’re beautiful!”
“Do they taste as good as they look?” Grandpa asked.
Callie nodded at Ginnie, who reached in and pulled out a couple of the salted caramel shortbread sandwiches and handed them over. They each took a bite.
Grandma’s eyes closed. “Oh my stars! This is the best cookie I’ve ever had.”
Grandpa nodded enthusiastically and devoured his. “I agree.”
Happiness bubbled up in Callie, and she clasped her hands together. Others had complimented her baking, but hearing it from family was special.
“I love your little shop.” Grandma turned in a circle to survey it. “It’s so classy and pretty. Just like you.”
“Aw, thank you, Grandma.” Pleasure warmed Callie inside. She hesitated. “Mama and Daddy didn’t send you here to try to ‘talk some sense into me,’ did they?”
Grandma frowned. “Certainly not.”
