Crazy Thing (The Brighton Family #5)

Chapter 5

5

ZIGGY

B ack at my quiet metaphysical shop in Honey Hill, I’m standing behind the front counter, shuffling my favorite tarot deck and throwing a pity party for one.

I slowly flip three cards over, setting them face up on the counter. The devil…the tower… and the death card?

Shit. It’s official. I’m screwed.

And so damn stressed. I’m stressed about the waterfall. I’m stressed about letting down my friends from Starlight Falls. I’m stressed about the fact that my shop’s lease won’t be renewed.And these grim cards aren’t offering much hope for a happy resolution.

With a sigh, I put down the tarot deck. My eyes fall on my growing stack of past due letters. Just more unpaid bills. I read through the letter from the landlord again, foolishly hoping that the verdict has changed.

Nope, it still says the same thing.

Due to multiple lapsed payments, we regretfully will not be able to renew the lease of your shop after the current rental agreement ends.

Ugh.

I tiredly gaze around at my jam-packed shop. I should clarify. It’s packed with things . Not with customers .

The shelves of Divine Treasures are stocked nearly to the ceiling with all my unsold merchandise. I used to be proud of the collection I’ve amassed over the years. Crystals and candles and incense sticks. Now it’s just a reminder of all the items I will have to box up with bubble wrap when it’s time to leave.

All of this is massively overwhelming.I’m starting to feel sick to my stomach again.

My eyes start to burn with unshed tears, and that just makes me even more frustrated. I’m not used to feeling this way. I usually trust in the universe to present a logical solution to my problems. But right now, my faith is shaken. I’ve been meditating on this for days now, and I’m getting nowhere.

No solutions. No positive energy. No relief.

I drop my forehead to the counter and utter another short prayer. Begging, pleading for a way out of this mess that I now find myself in.

When I hear the chimes above the door sound, I swiftly wipe at my tears and paste on a wide smile. Customers are good. A customer means that I’m one step closer to paying one of those overdue bills.

But when I look up at the entrance, my smile dies abruptly. It’s not a customer. It’s worse. It’s Darius Brighton.

What’s he doing here? All the way at my shop in Honey Hill?!

He stalks toward my counter, and my body is immediately on high alert. I brace myself for my day to get exponentially worse. Because this man is nothing but bad news. I learned that a long time ago.

For years, I’ve managed to steer clear of his path. At first, it was easy enough. I’ve been living in Honey Hill and according to the rumors—okay, fine—and my occasional social media searches, he was out in New York or California or wherever the hell. But lately, I’ve intuitively felt the degrees of separation falling away between us.

It started with rumors that he’d begun doing business with Cash Westbrook, my friend, Meghan’s husband. And then, my other friend, Nicky, fell in love with his brother, Ronan. But the biggest, rustiest nail in the coffin that sealed my fate was when Daphne got engaged to Felix. That’s when I knew for sure that I’d eventually have to come face to face with Darius Brighton. I’ve been silently bracing myself for our eventual meeting ever since.

When I was in Starlight Falls yesterday, I made eye contact with him a handful of times. But I always made sure that there was a crowd between us. That there was always space between us.

But now it’s just me and him. I have nowhere to hide.

And I’m totally unprepared.

Darius grumpily shoves a hand through the tousled golden streaks in his shiny chestnut hair, scowling as he twists and turns between displays. I’m exceedingly annoyed with the part of myself that can’t help but notice how unbelievably gorgeous he is.

Sheesh. Darius sure did grow up nicely. Holy hell—he looks so freaking big squeezing through the narrow aisles of my tiny store .

He was practically my height back when we knew each other eons ago. Now he’s easily over six feet tall, and his crisp white button-down shirt and slacks aren’t doing a whole lot to hide those muscles.

Just the sight of him makes my heart do a chaotic little dance inside my chest.

Darius doesn’t exist, Ziggy.

But it’s a little hard to convince myself that he doesn’t exist when his confident, masculine movements are quickly eating up the distance between us.

If I had more time, I’d allow myself to enjoy the view. But Darius is already here, towering over my counter, his honey-colored eyes piercing mine.

He stares.

I stare back.

Then, “What’s this?” he blurts with a frown, pointing at a set of bowls on a tiny shelf nearby.

I blink at him. “Oh, uh. It’s a charging bowl.”

His scowl grows.

So I add, “You use the bowl to charge and cleanse other crystals.”

His gaze lingers on the bowl. “Right.” But he doesn’t beat around the bushes for long. “So, I’m going to get straight to it. We need to team up to save the waterfall.”

My eyebrows pop upward. I can practically feel them hit my hairline.“Me and you?” I point back and forth between the two of us.

“Yes,” is his firm response.

I chuckle in disbelief. “I’m gonna have to decline.”

“If you don’t help me, Edison wins,” he grinds out.

At the mention of that man’s name, disgust surges in my veins. “How are you any different from Edison? You’re both greedy, rich men.” The ugly truth is, I know I can’t trust either one of them.

Darius seems to ignore my insult, casually sidestepping it like a pile of dog shit on the sidewalk. “I want to save the waterfall for the benefit of the townspeople.”

“Since when are you Mother Theresa?” I spit out sarcastically.

A man doesn’t climb to billionaire status without stepping on a few toes. And Darius is totally the type of man who’d break a promise to get ahead in life. He has never had a problem stepping all over other people to get what he wants.

I could never be like that.

Darius steps closer and I get a whiff of…money. Leather and musk and cedarwood and money. That’s what his cologne smells like. It’s distracting.

His eyes heat and passion bleeds from his voice when he speaks. “The waterfall means something to me, Ziggy. I can’t tell you how many of my core memories are tied to that place. It matters to me. And I protect the things that matter to me.”

As he speaks, a lock of silky hair tumbles effortlessly over his crinkled forehead. I whimper involuntarily.

I should probably move, put some distance between us. But the power of his honey brown stare has got my feet nailed to the floor.

And hearing the conviction in his voice makes my heart clench. I know that the waterfall is located on property that is very close to the small ranch where he grew up with his siblings. I can’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—there might be a caring, nostalgic bone in his muscle-bound body.

But I know better than to fall for this man’s empty words. I narrow my gaze. “Your little speech is very heartwarming. Unfortunately, experience has taught me that Darius Brighton only cares about Darius Brighton.”

He releases a mighty sigh and he’s silent for a long while. Just when I think that he’s ready to accept defeat, he tries again. “You can trust me, Ziggy.”

Ha. Doubtful.

I lift my chin defiantly. “Why? No one trusts you, Darius.”

He lowers his eyes to catch mine. His voice softens. “You used to.”

My entire body flinches. Ouch! The reminder is like a sucker punch to the gut.

Sweet memories try to climb out of the grave where the gullible teenaged version of myself buried them. I shake my head bitterly as I attempt to shake those memories to the wayside.

“That was a long time ago. A lot has changed, Money Man.” I desperately want to sound tough but I hear the quiver in my voice.

I try not to wander down memory lane. I try not to think about how things were with Darius in the past. I was young and stupid back then. Now I can see that I was wrong about him. I sure won’t make that same mistake twice.

As I fight an internal battle against the weaker part of myself, Darius keeps his eyes on me. He doesn’t look away. The intensity of his stare is making it so damn hard to keep my thoughts straight.

Thankfully, my lucky stars send a distraction right then. The chime above the door sounds again. This time, it really is a customer.

An older woman strolls into my shop, and I hastily excuse myself to go help my first—and probably last—customer of the day.

“Hi, how can I help you?” I ask sweetly.

“How much is this?” the woman questions, pointing to a hand-crafted wooden statue.

“Oh, that piece? That’s a special one.” I smile widely. “That’s a statue of an ancient goddess. It’s handmade from willow wood. It’s all yours for thirty-nine, ninety-nine,” I tell her.

The woman’s lips turn downward as she takes the statute off the shelf to examine it closer. “It’s kind of small. Would you take twenty for it?”

My shoulders sag. It’s so frustrating that everyone tries to haggle over my prices. This is not a yard sale. My shop carries so many one-of-a-kind items. I keep my prices as low as possible, barely asking for more than what I got it for.

“How about twenty-eight? And I’ll throw in a free pouch of gypsum stones,” I offer brightly, trying to negotiate with the woman, hoping she’ll be reasonable.

“I can’t do a penny over twenty,” the customer snaps, placing the statue back on the shelf.

“Okay, okay. It’s yours!” Hell—I’m ready to run after this woman and chase her down the street if I have to. I’m that desperate.

I’ll settle for the lower price because I figure that a little bit of money is better than no money at this point.

Grinning victoriously, she hands me a twenty, not even bothering to come up to the register. I guess she wasn’t kidding about not going a penny over, not even to pay the taxes.

She grabs the figurine and darts out the door.What a fucking robbery!

I stare out the front window, feeling so dang defeated, despite the little voice in the back of my mind, begging me to have faith. It’s getting harder and harder with each passing day.

When I turn back around, I startle. Shit—I’d forgotten all about Darius Brighton who’s lurking around my shop.

Now, I catch him standing in my spot behind the front counter. And he’s—oh my god!—he’s reading the non-renewal letter from the landlord!

How freaking dare he?!

“What the hell are you doing?” I shriek. “Isn’t it illegal to read someone's mail or something?”

I’m seething. Quite literally burning with anger. And with embarrassment.

Yet somehow, he doesn’t seem to care. His head lifts slowly and he’s dangling the letter between his fingers. “You’re… broke .”

Those two little words are a dagger to my chest. Especially coming from the richest guy in this part of the state. Thanks for the reminder, asshole.

But from the way he says it, I can tell he’s not trying to insult me. No. He’s sniffing blood in the water. Like the shark that he is. And he’s about to attack.

It’s what men like Darius and Edison do. They find unsuspecting victims and go in for the kill when they’re at their lowest.But I refuse to be one of his victims.

I stomp across my shop and snatch the letter out of his hand. I’m simmering when a small corner of the paper rips and remains pinched between his fingers.

“You should leave,” I grind out.

Darius steps closer, getting all up in my personal space and disrupting all remnants of my zen. “You’re broke,” he repeats, and I can see the wheels turning in his big, stupid, handsome head.

For a brief sliver of time in my awkward teenage years, I actually thought that Darius and I were friends. Real friends. But the truth is, that guy has always looked down on the weird little girl with her beads and her bangles and her colorful hair.

Way back then. And now, too.

That realization crushes what’s left of my pride.

My nostrils flare as I yell, “ Leave! ”

“You need me,” he mumbles, his sinister plan still taking form in his brain.

I laugh darkly. “You’re so full of yourself. I don’t need you, Darius Brighton.”

He gives his head a brisk shake. “I…Wait…That came out wrong,” he says.

“No shit,” I bite sarcastically. “Now, leave already.”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to try and reason with me, but I’m not in the mood for negotiations. And if he thinks he’s going to feed me more pathetic lies, he’s sorely mistaken. I want nothing to do with this man.

I grab the nearest thing to me—which ironically just so happens to be an authentic wooden witch’s broom—and I chase after him, smacking him over the head with the straw bristles.

“Ow! Ow!” He runs and weaves back through the aisles. “Stop! Are you insane?”

“Yes. Yes, I am,” I shriek. This man makes me certifiably crazy.

I don’t stop chasing and smacking until he bolts out the front exit.I slam the door behind him.

“And don’t come back!”