Hundred Reasons Read online

  “Because you’re lonely.”

  Garret’s words were blunt. I sighed and cocked my head to the side. He stared at me without blinking. Garret was never one to back down.

  “I know you worry about me,” I said kindly. “And I appreciate it. I really do. But, it’s not necessary. I’m fine.”

  “Yes,” Garret said. “But, what about being happy?”

  Luckily, I didn’t have to find an answer to his question. A car pulled into the parking lot, and two guys about my age got out. They walked quickly up to the shop. I recognized one as the owner of the bike I’d been working on.

  “Travis,” I said, waving my grease rag at the bike in front of me. “Perfect timing.”

  “Miss Alexandria,” he said, bowing in a cutesy way that was meant to be flirtatious.

  “Just Alex,” I said. “She’s all ready for you.”

  “Mind if I fire her up?” Travis asked.

  “Be my guest.”

  I stood back and let Travis step up to his motorcycle. He ran his hands over the seat before turning on the engine and listening to the beautiful roar. I grinned at my handiwork. Travis wiggled his eyebrows at me and then cut the engine.

  “I’m impressed,” he said. “I took this thing to three different repair shops before I came here. Every single one of them told me it was destined for the trash heap.”

  “What can I say?” I asked. “I’m just that good.”

  “You most certainly are.” Travis looked me up and down, making Garret clear his throat loudly and take a step forward.

  “Garret,” I said quickly. “Would you mind running inside and getting Travis’s bill for me?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Garret shot Travis a look of contempt before hurrying inside the office. Once we were alone, Travis took a step toward me and grinned mischievously.

  “I really can’t believe you fixed it,” he said. “I am seriously impressed, Alex.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  I took an obvious step backward and wiped my face of any emotion. Travis was obviously interested, but I certainly wasn’t. Not only was Travis not my type, but I was in a strict no-dating phase. Guys were the last thing on my mind.

  “Listen,” Travis said. He stepped forward again. “It isn’t often that you meet a woman who knows her way around an engine.”

  He paused, clearly waiting for me to blush or thank him for the compliment. I didn’t. Instead, I just stared at him.

  “I think you know I like you,” Travis said. “But, in case you didn’t before, I’m telling you now.”

  Again, he paused and waited for my response. I could tell from the way he looked me up and down that he’d done this a million times before. Most women probably swooned over his dirty blond hair and soft hazel eyes. He was the kind of guy who came off sweet and endearing, but beneath the surface, he was a raging dickhead.

  “Let me take you out,” he said boldly. “As a thank you for fixing the bike.”

  “The only thanks I need is a payment in full,” I said simply.

  Travis laughed as if it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. I wasn’t making a joke, and the fact that he thought I was showed just how sleazy he was.

  “Just drinks then,” he said. “Come on, I bet you need to unwind after a long day in the shop.”

  “My days aren’t that long.”

  “Alex,” he said softly. “I know you like me. I can see it in your eyes. You want to say yes.”

  “Trust me,” I said. “If I wanted to say yes, I would.”

  “Is it because I’m a customer?” he asked.

  “Nope.” I turned away from him and made my way toward the office.

  I hoped he would get the hint, but he didn’t. Heavy footsteps told me he had followed me. I rolled my eyes and pushed the door open. Garret was standing behind the counter. He shuffled a couple pieces of paper and then looked up. When he saw my irritated expression, he turned his glare on Travis.

  “Here you go,” he said pointedly. He laid the papers on the counter. “Total is highlighted on the first page.”

  “Thanks,” Travis said. He put his hand on the paper but didn’t look at it. “So, Alex, what do you say? Is that a yes?”

  That was the last straw. I’d made myself as clear as I could without being a full-on bitch. I wheeled around to face him.

  “Are you serious?” I demanded. “Did you really not get the hint?”

  “What hint?” Travis asked innocently.

  “I’m not interested,” I snapped. “Now, this is my place of employment, so please, if you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you’d treat me with a little more respect.”

  “I’ve treated you with nothing but respect,” Travis said. “Come on, don’t be so angry. I was complimenting you.”

  “You were harassing me,” I said.

  “That’s ridiculous!” Travis laughed.

  “Listen,” I said. “I don’t date, okay? Just pay Garret, take your bike, and go.”

  “Whatever.” Travis’s casual manner changed in an instant. “You can’t even give a girl a compliment anymore without getting bitched out.”

  “Are you going to pay or not?” Garret asked loudly. “Because I could use a new bike, and yours is a beauty.”

  Travis yanked his wallet from his back pocket and threw down a credit card. Garret ran it and printed out Travis’s receipt. He grinned when he handed it over.

  “Thanks for coming,” Garret said. “Remember Tanner Bikes for all your future servicing needs.”

  Travis scoffed and stomped out of the office. Garret and I stood shoulder to shoulder and watched him climb onto his bike and zip away from the shop. His buddy got back in his car and followed close behind. When they were both gone, I looked at Garret, and we erupted in a fit of laughter.

  “What a dick,” Garret said.

  “And you’re the one who wants me to date,” I scoffed.

  “Not him, that’s for damn sure.”

  “That’s most guys,” I said. “Not exactly the way I want to spend my time. Besides, I’m too busy here to even think about having a life.”

  “Your dad would want you to be happy,” Garret said. “He wouldn’t want to see you hiding yourself away.”

  “I’m not hiding,” I said defensively. “I’m running a business.”

  “I know.” Garret sighed. “Just think about it, okay?”

  I nodded and turned toward the back of the office. My dad had a tiny little back room where he kept the books. I collapsed onto his old chair and pulled myself up to the desk.

  Paperwork covered every surface. I grabbed the latest stack of bills and my calculator and set to work. The computer was still on from that morning, my monthly budget shining down on me. I tried not to look at it. I knew exactly what it would show me. A big negative mark. A bright red number that haunted me every day.

  “We’re out of money,” I said to myself.

  Our bank account had been dwindling for years before Dad died, but in the months since his death, things had only gotten worse. No matter how much business I brought in, I just couldn’t seem to get ahead.

  I rifled through the bills and came up with a game plan. If I was careful, I could get away with being late on a couple bills. I paid what I could and crunched the numbers on the rest. It wasn’t easy, but I was determined to keep the shop open.

  After I paid the bills, I leaned back and closed my eyes. My entire body felt rigid from the stress. The money we’d made from Travis’s repair would hold us over for a couple weeks. If we could just get a couple more people in before the end of the month, I might be able to scrape by.

  Even as I thought it, I knew it wasn’t realistic. Business was slower than ever. It would take a miracle for me to keep the shop open until the end of the year.

  I groaned and opened my eyes. No matter how hard it would be, I was determined. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to keep the doors of Tanner Bikes open. My dad had started the shop when he was
younger than me. I’d already lost him. I wouldn’t lose his legacy too.

  3

  Declan

  Saturday morning arrived in a blur of sunlight and shocking red hair. Mila sprinted into my room and threw herself on the bed, bouncing up and down until my eyes finally opened.

  “Daddy!” she squealed and collapsed on my chest.

  “Oof,” I said with a dramatic groan. “Don’t break me before I’ve had breakfast.”

  “You can’t break,” Mila said. “You’re a super soldier.”

  “You’re thinking of Captain America,” I said.

  “Nope.” Mila shook her head, making her red curls fly back and forth. “Uncle Samson said you were a soldier before I was born.”

  “And for a little bit after,” I said. “But, I wasn’t super.”

  “You’re the superest!” Mila threw her hands up in the air dramatically.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked, pushing Mila off me and climbing out of bed.

  “Waffles?” she asked eagerly.

  “It’s our Saturday tradition.” I laughed. “What else would we have?”

  “Sometimes, you make pancakes,” Mila said.

  “Not on Saturdays.”

  “But sometimes.”

  I rolled my eyes and ushered her into the kitchen. She scooted onto her usual chair while I mixed the waffle batter. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her struggle to pull her wild hair back into a ponytail.

  “Need help?” I asked.

  “Nope.”

  She finished wrangling the last of the curls and then tied a rubber band around the mess. She looked up at me with proud defiance in her eyes. It was a look I knew all too well.

  “It looks beautiful.” I chuckled.

  “Beautiful?” She wrinkled her nose. “Do you have to say that?”

  “It’s the truth, Mila,” I said. “No matter what you do, you’ll always be beautiful.”

  “I’d rather be strong,” Mila said. She flexed her arms. “Strong enough to hit a home run. Or kick a soccer ball from one end of the field to the other. Or! Strong enough to climb a mountain.”

  “You can do all of those things one day,” I said.

  “When?” Mila demanded.

  “When you’re bigger.”

  “When will that be?” She stared at me with wide blue eyes that were the exact shape and size of my own.

  “You’re only five,” I said. “Slow down a little.”

  “Never.” She shook her head. “When does Little League start?”

  “Two weeks,” I said.

  “That’s forever.” She groaned and sat back in her chair.

  “Fourteen days is not forever.”

  “It is when you’re five,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Drama queen.” I shook my head.

  “Drama king.” She corrected. “Girls can be kings, too, you know.”

  “What’s wrong with being a queen?” I asked.

  “Kings have more power.” She shrugged.

  “That’s not true,” I said. “Historically, queens are actually much more influential. Women hold all the power.”

  “They do?” Mila asked, her eyes widening.

  “Yup.”

  Mila considered my words for a second as if she weren’t quite sure what to believe. After a minute, she nodded and accepted them as fact. I fought the urge to laugh.

  This was the way almost every morning unfolded with my daughter. From the day she could talk, she challenged me. Everything about her screamed independent and headstrong. When she was little, it had scared the shit of me. I hated the idea of having such a bold little girl, but as she grew, I realized how lucky I was.

  I never had to deal with the Barbies and the bullshit. She was talkative and dramatic, just like every other little girl I knew, but beyond that, she was entirely original. Mila was unique. Strong but beautiful. Excitable but calculating. And me? I was just lucky.

  “Where are my waffles, old man?” she demanded playfully.

  “Patience, child.”

  She sighed and watched as I finished making breakfast. Waffles were her favorite. She would eat nothing else if I allowed it. But, in an effort to be a good father, I threw some fruit onto her plate before setting it in front of her.

  “Strawberries?” She wrinkled her nose.

  “Just eat them.”

  “Peanut butter, please.” She grinned as I rolled my eyes and handed over the jar.

  “I will never get used to that,” I said.

  “Why?” she asked. “It’s good.”

  “It’s disgusting.”

  “Waffles? Good. Peanut butter? Good. Why not eat both together?”

  I laughed and shook my head. There were moments in my life when I realized how rare Mila was. I often had to remind myself that, despite her open-minded nature and her constant curiosity, she was just a little girl.

  “I wanna oh shoming,” she said with a mouth full of waffle.

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

  She gulped. “I want to go shopping.”

  “You?” I raised my eyebrows. “You hate shopping.”

  “I need a glove,” she said. “And a bat.”

  “We have two weeks,” I said.

  “But, I have to practice! Otherwise, I’ll suck.”

  “You won’t suck,” I said. “But fine, we can go shopping.”

  “Good.” She beamed. “Plus, I need some T-shirts for practice.”

  “Your drawers are full of T-shirts.”

  “They’re old.”

  “No T-shirts,” I said firmly.

  “But, I can get the glove and bat?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Awesome!” She pumped her fist in the air. “Tyler’s going to be so jealous. His mom said he couldn’t have anything new because his brother still has stuff from when he played so Tyler has to use that stuff.”

  “Don’t rub it in,” I said.

  “I won’t,” Mila said. “But still, I’ll have a brand-new glove and bat. Tyler won’t. That means I’ll be better, and I’ll probably get to pitch, and he won’t and—”

  “It’s coach pitch,” I said.

  “What’s that?” Mila frowned.

  “It means the coaches pitch,” I said. “You won’t get to pitch for a couple of years.”

  “What? Are you kidding?”

  “Nope. That’s the rules.”

  “But I’m good!” Mila’s eyes narrowed angrily.

  “You are,” I said. “Those are the rules, though.”

  “Well, they should change them!”

  “Relax.” I laughed. “You’ll still have fun. You may even hit a home run.”

  “Yeah,” Mila said. “Yeah, I will! I’ll get the first home run of the season, and Tyler won’t because he’ll have his brother’s stinking old bat, and I’ll have a brand new one and -”

  She continued chattering excitedly. Her competitive nature was something I tried to quell, but it was no use. She had too much of me in her. No matter how hard I tried to make her nice and sweet, she simply ignored me. Her personality was too strong. Deep down, I was glad my efforts continued to fail.

  “Can we go to the beach after we shop?” Mila asked.

  “Sure.” I shrugged.

  “With Uncle Samson?”

  “I’ll call him.” I nodded. “Put your plate in the sink and go get dressed.”

  Mila jumped out of her chair and quickly dropped her plate in the sink before sprinting to her room. I watched her go with amusement. She challenged me in so many ways, but she was the best thing I’d ever done with my life.

  “There you are!” Samson called.

  Mila took off running, her feet kicking up sand as she sprinted toward her uncle. She threw herself in the air when she was feet from him. Samson grabbed her easily and spun her in a quick circle before flinging her in the air. She giggled when he caught her and pretended to drop her in the sand.

  “Where have you been?
” Samson demanded when I reached them.

  “Shopping.”

  “Shopping?” Samson frowned at Mila. “Did he drag you shopping? You poor thing.”

  “She asked to go,” I said.

  “Are you dying?” Samson pretended to check her temperature.

  “I needed baseball stuff,” Mila said.

  “Ah,” Samson said. “Season starts in two weeks, right?”

  “Yup!” Mila grinned. “Will you come to the first game?”

  “I’ll come to them all,” Samson said.

  “Awesome!” Mila jumped up and down. “Race you to the water?”

  “You’ll lose,” Samson said simply.

  “Not a chance.”

  They each readied themselves to take off. Samson counted them off, and they ran into the waves. I watched them closely as I laid out towels and set up the cooler.

  Samson was an amazing uncle. He loved to play with Mila. When I’d moved her back to Virginia Beach, Samson had stayed with us for two weeks to help me get Mila settled. She was just six months old, and the sudden change was hard for someone so little, but she’d adjusted quickly. Samson had been her best friend ever since.

  “Hey!” I called after an hour. “Lunch!”

  Samson carried Mila over his shoulder and deposited her on the towels.

  “What’d you bring?” Samson asked.

  “Sandwiches,” I said.

  “You know we’re rich, right?” Samson asked, wrinkling his nose at the food in front of him.

  “Doesn’t mean we have to be snooty,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, it does.”

  “Daddy says sandwiches are the food of every man,” Mila said wisely.

  “Well,” Samson said. “Daddy is forgetting that Gram and Grandpa used to cater our trips to the beach with fruit trays and freshly baked pastries from Gillian’s bakery.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” I said pointedly.

  Samson shot me a look but dropped the subject. Our childhood was another thing I didn’t like to talk about.

  “Will we see Gram and Gramps this weekend?” Mila asked.

  “Maybe,” I said with a shrug.

  “Doubtful,” Samson said under his breath.

  I kicked him in the shin, and he quickly shoved half a sandwich in his mouth. We didn’t often see our mother and stepfather. We’d barely seen our mother since Dad died and she remarried. I rolled my eyes and focused my attention on Mila. We ate lunch, and then Mila scooted away from us to build a sand castle.