Chapter 5: The Renegade Billionaire: Chapter 5

The space is cozy and inviting. It’s so far removed from my sterile office at Omni-Reyes, and I’m honestly not sure why I never changed the office after I moved in.

Or you could have taken Ace’s office, the voice in my head taunts.

Madison’s Chugaloo is much more my speed. Or what it would have been had I not been hardened by learning of Alistair’s choices the last few years.

I told Madison I was searching for my happy. Who the fuck says that? It just…happened.

I want you to find your happy, Braxton. Find your purpose and reason for getting up in the morning. Ace’s letter has been messing with my mind since I read it.

And don’t get me started on why I offered the football player help. I must be bored—that’s it. My body’s used to working eighty hours a week. It’s all I’ve done for the last six months.

Rolling my neck and enjoying the crackle of the stretch, I open my new laptop. I need to focus on something other than Madison Ryan.

Which should have been easy because she’s spent a good part of the last hour hiding, something I know courtesy of Blissy. The older woman filled me in on a little of the Chugaloo’s history while Madison’s been MIA.

She told me enough to know that Madison has dumped her blood, sweat, and tears into this place, and it shows in every piece of local artwork on the walls, in the comfy chairs she chose for the quiet room, and in the relaxed expressions of every person who enters.

I’ve been here for a couple of hours, and before she went into hiding, the woman hadn’t stopped once. She’s the fucking Energizer Bunny for the entire town. So far today, I’ve seen her help Blissy with the trash, work with the football players on a time management plan, and then she helped a group of high schoolers from the local high school sign up for time in the sound booth to record their own podcasts for a class they’re taking.

Does she ever do anything for herself?

Now she’s sitting with her back to me with who I assume are her close friends because the second they walked in, they grabbed her by the arms, dragged her to the table farthest from me, put their heads together, and all I’ve heard are hissing sounds ever since.

Every once in a while, one of them will lift their head to look around, but their gazes always land on me. I know because I haven’t been able to stop staring at them.

When did I turn into a stalker?

When the assertive-looking one with brown hair pulled into a severely high ponytail glares at me, I know it’s time to distract myself.

Opening up the messaging app on my new MacBook, I type out a quick message.

He chooses now to call me out?

My gaze darts around the room as though I’m about to get caught robbing a bank. When I don’t find any police or Blissy holding a broom to my throat, I go back to typing out another message.

Jesus. I just had texting diarrhea.

I groan because I know exactly where this is heading.

Or it was.

If feels different helping now.

When the Montgomerys donate money, they give it to whatever charity will offer them the most recognition, and they never volunteer unless there’s a camera crew following them. The DDD, Discreet Daily Deeds, is something we started after my parents stepped so far over the line that I knew I would never be like them.

That was the year Greyson and I both got our start-up money from Ace and pooled it together. Half of it we invested—luckily Grey is a savant with investments—and the other half we used to buy into an early-stage online commerce website.

Later that year, we left college for good.

We’ve funded our lives, Sage’s, and the DDD ever since. I don’t even remember the last time I touched my trust fund.

Doing good deeds anonymously also keeps the risk of being used to a minimum. If no one knows I’m doing it, then no one can try to get shit from me.

As soon as I hit send, I know I’ve just sunk myself. My phone rings. Thankfully it’s on silent, and I ignore it.

I frown at my screen, then reread our messages. I guess I can see why he’d assume Madison is older, and for my own sake, I continue to let him believe that.

I groan so loudly it has heads turning my way. Madison lifts a brow.

“Everything all right over there?” she asks.

“Sorry, yes. Just a meeting with someone who annoys me.”

Her smile is soft but tired, and it makes me want to fix that too. She returns to her friends who’ve raised their voices to normal volume now. I guess they’re done discussing me and my reactions to Madison.

I came on too strong today, but when I saw her shimmying in the kitchen as water sprayed all over her, something snapped in my chest, and I haven’t been able to think straight since.

For some reason, I’m drawn to Madison Ryan, and luckily, I have all the time in the world to find out why.

By three in the afternoon, I can no longer sit and stare at Madison, whom Blissy has informed me is the town sweetheart—something that stays with her until marriage, and then they announce a new one.

It was also the first time I saw Madison appear truly upset as Blissy off-handedly mentioned this bit of news. Her agitation was clear in the way she plucked at the elastic on her wrist, but it made me want to know all her whys and what-ifs.

I didn’t want to make her any more uncomfortable though, so I grabbed a coffee—and a tea because I haven’t chosen sides yet—and I’m trying not to spill them as I pull into the Hideaway’s driveway.

Holding the cardboard tray in one hand, I exit the truck that I didn’t stall once, thank you very much.

“Nice truck,” Pops says from the porch swing.

I shut the door and instantly feel my shoulders relax. There’s something about this old man that I really connect with.

“Bought it today.” Why do I sound so proud? I’ve bought cars worth forty times what this cost.

“Looks good. Let’s go.” The older man stands from the swing and walks with his left arm out as though he’s feeling his way around, but I saw him reading the paper this morning, so it catches me off guard.

“Everything okay?” I ask, hurrying to the stairs in case he falls.

“Just peachy. I got some errands to run. Whatcha got in there?” He points to the tray I’m still holding in the air.

“Coffee and a tea.”

His laugh is a comfort I didn’t know I needed.

“Ya weren’t ready to pick a side, huh? Smart. I’ll take the coffee.” Pops sticks his nose into the cup closest to him, takes it from the holder, then runs his free hand along the hood of the truck and climbs in.

“Should we let Madison know we’re heading out?” The driver’s door creaks as I open it.

“I’m not her ward, boy. Back her up and head toward town.”

Suppressing my laughter, I buckle my seatbelt, put the tea I have no intention of drinking into the cup holder, and follow his directions to town.

“So, what kind of errands are we doing this afternoon?”

“Gotta run to Huckabees. I’ve got some fixin’ to do, and now I’ve got a helper, so we’re doing it together.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s your helper?” Looking both ways, I turn left at the four-way intersection.

“This here is called Compassion Corner. If you keep going straight, it’d take you to Bitter Creek.”

My lips tilt up at the corners. “So the town really stuck with its emotional theme, huh?”

“Damn straight, boy. Happiness folk ain’t afraid of crying.”

“Good to know. What other areas should I be aware of?”

“Joy Junction’s where the movie theater is. Bitter Creek has the best swimming hole in all of Georgia. Envy’s Edge is a beauty at night—y’all never seen so many stars. Oh, and Pride Peak is where all you young folk go hiking. Turn right up here.”

I do as he says, and a few moments later, we’re parking in front of Huckabees Hardware Store.

“This is a good truck, boy. You did good.” Pops, who still hasn’t given me his real name, waltzes into the store with me trailing behind.

“Afternoon, Marty,” Pops says to the man behind the counter.

“Pops, what are you doing in here today? Is Madi with you?”

Does everyone call him Pops?

“Nah, she’s over doing her thing at the Chug. I’ve got some shutters to hang and some drywall to patch up.” Pops turns to me. “Grab a cart, boy.”

Dutifully, I obey.

“Ah, Pops.” Marty groans, then tosses his hands into the air. “Don’t get me in trouble with Madi again. You know she doesn’t want you working on the inn right now.”

“Don’t you worry about it,” Pops says with a thread of defiance in his tone. “I’ve got a helper. Marty, meet Brax. Brax, meet Marty.”

My head snaps up. “I’m the helper?”

Marty chuckles, and Pops keeps on moseying down the aisle.

“Pops, you know I can’t let you charge stuff to your account. Madi said things were tough⁠—”

“I know what Madi said, Marty. But we gotta fix some shit.”

Pops moves farther into the store, and Marty scratches the side of his head. I could tell the Hideaway had seen better days, but is it because they’re not able to afford the repairs?

One look into Marty’s conflicted expression tells me everything.

“Hey, ah, Marty?”

“Yeah, kid?”

I slip him my credit card. “Whatever Pops gets today, put it on my card, okay?”

He stares at it as if it’s going to bite him. His big arms cross over his chest, and everything from the line between his eyes to his rigid posture indicates he’s put up his guard. “Why would you do that?”

I shrug. Why am I doing it? I have no explanation other than I have the same feeling I got when I had Grey order Ethan’s laptop—it makes my bitter ass feel better.

And it’s what Ace would’ve done.

“Just helping out,” I say, then walk away to find Pops.

He’s already in the back of the store, talking to a man about my age.

“There you are,” he says to me. “Didn’t take you for a slacker though. Braxton, this is Hunter. He dated Madi in the eighth grade.”

I’m not sure who blushes harder, Hunter or me.

“That’s a bit of history you probably didn’t need to know,” Hunter says with an easy drawl. “Nice to meet you. Glad Pops has some help over at the Hideaway. Sure would be a shame to see it shut down.”

“Shut down?” The back of my neck itches.

“Oh, you run your gossip somewhere else. Boy, grab three of these sheetrock slabs and stick ’em in the truck for me.”

I glance between Hunter and Pops, then do as I was asked, stopping by the counter first so Marty can see what I’m taking.

By the time I find Pops, he’s got an entire cart full of supplies and is heading toward the checkout.

“I should probably tell you, Pops, I’ve never fixed anything before.”

“Pfft,” he grumbles. “Ya shut the water off this morning, didn’t ya?”

“Well, yeah, but Madi gave me instructions.”

“So will I. Marty, you got all this?”

Marty looks from Pops to me, and I give my best “don’t tell him I’m paying” look. Marty nods, peers into the cart, and rings us up while Pops struts—yes, struts—toward the door. It’s the only way to describe the way he saunters out to the truck.

“Thanks for that. If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if we kept this between you and me.”

Marty stares at me for a long moment before his face relaxes. “You’ve never lived in a small town, have you, son?”

How the hell does everyone know that?

“No, sir.”

“Well, I’ll keep your secret, but those two over there have probably already told half the town. The other half will know by suppertime.”

I look to where he’s pointing and find two older gentlemen whispering to a third who’s staring at me.

“Great,” I say as my spine locks up like a zipper. “Thanks, Marty.” As I walk away, I’m assaulted by the gossip of strangers. Their hushed words peck at my skin, picking away at the confidence doing good deeds had awarded me.

At the truck, Pops is talking to a young couple who stand arm in arm. It’s like he knows every person in town.

“Braxton, this is Jenny and Peter Cowles. Peter dated Madi in, what? Was that the seventh grade, Jenny?”

What the hell is happening right now?

“Yup,” the woman says as if it doesn’t bother her in the slightest. “Then again after…you know.”

“Yes, but before Mark down at the station,” Peter says with a laugh.

“It’s really not as strange as it sounds,” Jenny says quietly. “It’s a small town. Everyone has dated someone else’s ex at one point or another.”

“That’s…interesting,” I mutter, still unsure why I’m irrationally upset by this conversation.

“Half the time, Madi’s simply matchmaking, but Pops insists they’re dates. It’s what she does, she’s the very best matchmaker I know. Pops just wants her to be happy,” Jenny says.

“The first week she came to live with us, she had a pet wedding between a neighbor boy’s rabbit and Mrs. Cracken’s cat, Louie.” Pops voice fades as he speaks. When he blinks hard three times, he chuckles. “She’s gotten a hell of a lot better since then.”

“She sure has. We’re living proof. Nice to meet you, Braxton.” Peter takes Jenny’s hand and guides her back to the sidewalk while I put all the supplies in the bed of the truck and Pops sits up front.

“Where to next?” I grumble, climbing into the driver’s seat.

Pops pulls out three sheets of paper. “I’ve got a list,” he says.

“I see that.” Giving him the side-eye, I wonder just how wily this old man is. “How’d you know I didn’t have to work or something?”

“Ya said you didn’t know how long you were staying. You didn’t come with much luggage, and you don’t seem to be in a hurry to go nowhere. Figure if you’ve got the time, might as well make an honest man out of ya.”

My spine slowly curves in, releasing my shoulders from my ears in the process, because now it’s my turn to laugh. Pops doesn’t sugarcoat anything, and you have to appreciate that about a man. “All right, Pops. Where to next?”

His expression is something I’d expect to see on a naughty little boy, and I have the distinct impression that we’re both going to be on Madison’s shit list by the time we make it home.

It might even be worth it.