The One You Can't Forget (The One, #1)

six

Hainsey

The small bell that's attached to the entrance rings, echoing out and splitting the silence in two. It frustrates me. I'm a handyman – helping and fixing things is what I do, so there's something about repairing the systematic structure of a mountain bike that calms me. It's my equivalent to finding solace in the middle of a forest as some people do.

Sighing and getting to my feet, I put away the tools I was using and then wipe my greasy hands on my ripped jean shorts. After cleaning them as best I can, I start heading for the front desk. As I walk, I paste on a fake smile and prepare to serve the next customer.

While I don't mind the job, it's the people I work for that I'm not a fan of. Mrs. Brantford – Emyln's mom – can be a bossy (pun intended), particular bitch. It's either her way or the highway when it comes to new ideas or changes that are made to the system. Well, that's how it goes for most employees. I seem to be an exception. Maybe it's my past ties with her daughter. Whatever it is, if we were to have rankings in this hometown business, I'd stand just under Mrs. Brantford.

I also like the job because it's basic: you meet with the customer, sign papers and shit, and then send them off with their own mountain bike.

So, just like any other day, today feels normal as I walk through the familiar building that smells of brand-new tires and oil.

That is until I step through the door that connects the garage to the main building.

Instead of making it to the front desk, I collide with someone. Hard. So hard that we both go tumbling to the concrete floor.

"Shit, sorry," she says.

"Sorry," I say at the same time.

As soon as I hear her voice, all my muscles tense and I have to blink twice to realize that Emyln is lying on top of me. Her brown hair is spilling over her shoulder and her face is so close I can smell the citrus gum she always chews. Taking in her beautiful face, I see that her cheeks are bruised pink and there's sweat coating her forehead. Her eyes look a little puffy too, like she was crying.

"Hainsey?" she asks, voice sounding nasally.

My first instinct is to ask her what's wrong. I want to know what's bothering her. I want to hug her as she confides in me.

But then I remember all the shit that's happened between us.

She left you behind. So why should you do anything for her?

Against my will, I remove my hands from her hips and lightly shove her off of me so I can get to my feet. When I'm standing, I don't bother reaching out to help her up. I already know what her touch can do to me, and I'm not in the mood to deal with that right now.

So I stand and watch, my stance rigid and my arms crossed.

"What are you doing here?" I ask as she dusts the dirt from her white shorts.

She looks at me like she's a wounded puppy, and then shakes her head. Pointing at the dark grey shirt she's wearing, she says, "My bitch of a mom said I couldn't stay at my own house unless I got a job. So here I am."

I almost stumble. I look down at my shirt that matches hers. Brantford Mountain Biking & Co. Emyln is the new employee I'm supposed to train? Shit. The whole point of working is to get away from people I know and get my mind off of reality. How am I supposed to do that when she's going to be working by my side? My mind begins to spin a little. What do I do when we have to take tourists from all around on the world on tours? Shit times two. Some of the mountain biking trips we go on include staying at the cabins or tenting. What the hell am I supposed to do about that? 

"So, uh, what are you doing here?" she asks. I watch, perhaps a little too intently, as she pulls a black hair elastic from her wrist and ties her hair up in a bun.

The sight of her elegantly curved neck brings back memories of the night I snuck into her bedroom after my parents broke the news to me about their divorce. We shared her bed that night, my face resting against the nook between her neck and shoulder as she ran her fingers through my hair and told me to let it all out.

It was the night before she abruptly left me behind. 

"I work here," I say, tearing myself away from those hurtful memories.

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "R-really?"

If there's excitement or surprise in her voice, I can't tell the difference at this moment.

I grimly nod my head, pressing my lips into a firm line. This screws up everything. Spending time with Emyln is a terrible idea. I know what time can do to two people. It can pull them apart or bring them together. And the last thing I need is her waltzing back into my life and thinking she be a part of it without facing the past.

Behind Ems, the bell rings. We both look in that direction and see Mrs. Brantford enter. The atmosphere instantly tenses, taut as an elastic that's been pulled too tight. My eyes flick back and forth between the two of them. Emyln is giving her mom a death stare like I've never seen, and Mrs. Brantford is doing it right back. It reminds me of a high school clique brawl – the pretty hockey player is in a quarrel with the head of the popular crew.

I knew that Emyln hated her mom, but I didn't know the hatred could last this long and still heat up a room like a volcanic eruption. I scratch the stubble on my jaw. They say curiosity killed the cat. Well, I'm that damn cat. Because I want to know what I've missed in Ems's family for the past five years.

"So," Mrs. Brantford says, turning to me. "I see you and Emyln have reintroduced yourselves to each other. Great. Now, Hainsey, my daughter is a fast learner – I'm sure she'll be able to catch on fast. You know what to do around this place better than anyone. That's why I've chosen you to train her. She's – "

"Mom," Emyln snaps, "I can bloody well speak for myself."

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Talk about drama. I know the basics of what happened with the Walker family, but is there something I missed? Mrs. Brantford can be a handful due to her perfectionism, yet something seems off about their relationship. It's like a ship with a broken rudder that's heading full speed toward a rocky shore.

Emyln turns to face me, the look of hatred replaced by something that's way too familiar. I know that look she's giving me because she's given it to me before. It's the same one I saw the night before she left. "Tell me what to do, Hains."

It's been years since someone has called me that, and hearing her say it is like a shot to the goddamned heart. But there's a part of me that relishes in it. "Ems" and "Hains" were exclusive nicknames between the two of us, proof of the undeniable connection we had when we were younger.

Although I want to tell Mrs. Brantford that she's making a huge mistake by letting me and her daughter work together, I don't. Mainly because this is work and not my social life. I need the money, and if it means working with Ems, then so be it. I can keep this categorized as a work environment. We can be two employees that exist on the planet. That's it, that's all.

So, I say to Mrs. Brantford in the most polite way possible, "I've got this covered. Emyln will be a responsible worker by the time this weekend is up. I can guarantee that. You can leave now if you want to."

Emyln's mom nods, and then she's heading back out the front door to do whatever she usually does on a Saturday at the end of June.

Her departure is followed by an awkward silence that is quickly demolished when I say, "So, what do you know about making reservations?"