Fix Her Up (Hot & Hammered #1) - Tessa Bailey Page 0,3

now. I’m nothing. I’m him.”

“That is garbage, Travis Ford,” she breathed, unable to speak above a whisper. “You did it. You achieved what you set out to do. Circumstances screw everyone once in a while—and they screwed you worst. But you’re only him if you lie down and play the victim.” She turned away before he could see the tears in her eyes. “You’re better than this.”

Georgie left Travis standing in the filth, looking like he’d been struck by lightning.

And he hadn’t seen the last of her, either.

Chapter Two

Travis squinted through his front windshield into the sunlight and wished it were raining. Maybe if the sun weren’t beating down on him like a cheerful asshole, he could have given himself an excuse to stay inside one more day. Instead of his usual routine of waking up, ordering breakfast delivery from the diner, chasing it with a six-pack, and going back to sleep, he’d found himself pulling on clean pants and walking out into the daylight. His sudden motivation had nothing to do with Georgie’s visit yesterday—nothing whatsoever. He’d simply hit his limit for staring at the same four walls and needed a change.

Was this the right change, though? A construction job?

He didn’t need the money. If he wanted to spend the next decade living like an antisocial vampire who drinks Bud instead of blood, he had the funds to do it comfortably. Frankly, that sounded pretty appealing at the moment.

I think you want to stay in here forever, because it means you don’t have to try again.

Travis pushed himself out of the truck with an annoyed growl. When did little Georgie Castle turn into such a ball-breaker? Last time he’d seen her she’d still been in middle school. She’d spoken only when necessary so she wouldn’t have to show off her mouthful of braces. Far more preferable than the whirlwind who’d blown through his apartment yesterday, engaging in a one-way food fight. Some things about Georgie hadn’t changed, like her uniform of ripped jeans and oversized sweatshirts, but she’d definitely found her voice. He wished she’d directed it elsewhere.

Travis tugged on the collar of his shirt, grimacing at the dampness. August in Port Jefferson. He’d been out of his air-conditioned truck for only five seconds and his clothes were already sticking to him. From his vantage point, he could follow the paths of residents hurrying down the gentle slope and curve of Main Street, rushing to get to their next, cooler destination. Beyond the town’s main drag, water spread out wide and blue, boats lifting and dipping with the current. Banners stretched over the road, advertising church festivals and town hall budget votes. Whether he wanted to be back home or not, time and distance had given him enough objectivity to admit Port Jeff wasn’t a terrible spot. It would just be hotter than the devil’s ass until fall hit.

Travis came to a stop on the sidewalk, looking through the giant picture window of Brick & Morty. Through the gold lettering that hadn’t changed since his youth, he could see his friend Stephen Castle on the phone, probably barking orders at some poor soul. Travis’s best friend had been groomed to take over the family house-flipping business since high school and he’d fallen right into rhythm, inheriting the institution from his father, Morty. Right after Travis’s ascent to the majors, his phone calls to Stephen had been the one thing keeping him grounded. When all the Rookie of the Year fanfare threatened to inflate his head, Stephen had no problem reminding Travis he was the same asshole who’d broken his arm at age nine attempting to ride a skateboard backward down the Castle driveway. Toward the end of his career, he hadn’t needed Stephen to deflate his ego.

Fate had handled that nicely on its own.

Would his easy friendship with Stephen be the same now that Travis’s identity had been stripped away? The death of his career seemed to cast a shadow over his every interaction now. He’d always been a baseball player. The game ran in his veins. It never failed to be the first thing people spoke to him about. How’s the shoulder? Better than ever. How’s the team looking for the upcoming season? We’re focused and ready to win games. Hit me one out of the park. I’ll hit you two. The few times he’d left the apartment since returning to Port Jefferson, the topic of baseball had been deftly avoided anywhere he went. If someone asked him