Five Weeks (Seven Series #3)

When he pulled up the driveway, Lexi stalked toward his truck with her hands on her hips. She had on a pair of cutoff jeans and a brown T-shirt with a logo on the front promoting barbecue.

 

“Austin’s going to kill you,” she announced, tucking her straight brown hair behind her ears. “You were supposed to be home with the truck two hours ago. He needed it to haul dirt for Mom’s garden so she could do some work before it got too hot.”

 

Jericho rolled up the window and popped open the door. She continued to lecture him as he pulled his guitar out from behind the seat. A sick feeling gnawed at his stomach that he couldn’t shake, as if he were in the middle of a waking nightmare. It’s something that had begun not long after Isabelle ran out of Howlers, and it had progressively gotten worse.

 

He ignored Lexi and headed toward the house. All the roses were in bloom—huge bushes filled with exquisite red blossoms. Lexi’s mom, Lynn, crouched in front of one, pruning a thorny branch with her shears. Austin had built her a little wooden stool for gardening, and Maizy had painted it bright yellow.

 

Jericho swatted at a mosquito on his neck and realized he had left his jacket at the bar. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d come home from a show shirtless. The waitress at the diner hadn’t raised any complaints; she’d refilled his coffee cup at least six times.

 

He tromped up the porch steps and went inside, hanging his keys on the nail above the letter J. He didn’t bother taking off his shoes but created a calamity of noise as he stormed up the stairs.

 

“What’s up with you?” Austin asked, pulling a white tank top over his head as he walked down the hall.

 

Jericho ignored him and went straight for the game room. He took a seat at the bar and poured himself a shot of whiskey. After he knocked it back and grimaced, he poured another.

 

“You wanna tell me what’s bothering you that you’re drinking this early in the morning?” Austin put his left forearm on the doorjamb and leaned against it.

 

“Ghosts,” Jericho murmured.

 

“Is one of them named Izzy?”

 

He polished off the rest of his glass, and when he pushed it away, it tipped over and rolled around. “Have you ever met a girl who was so wrong for you she was right?”

 

Austin laughed richly and entered the room, swaggering up to a barstool and easing onto it. “I’m living with one. I’ve always thought Lexi was too damn good for me. I wanted her for a long time; I just never thought I deserved a woman like her.”

 

“Yeah,” Jericho agreed. “That about sums it up.”

 

“Denver told me what happened back in California. Are you sure you aren’t putting a girl on a pedestal who doesn’t belong there?”

 

“She’s different.”

 

How could he explain it? Isabelle still retained that purity that had drawn him to her all those years ago. He resented the fact that she’d stolen from him, but he could hardly blame her for leaving his ass. Jericho had done plenty of unforgivable shit back then. He’d once gotten so fucked up on coke that he had left her alone at the beach with a group of strangers they’d just met. He simply forgot her, thanks to the drugs. She’d worshipped him, as if he could do no wrong, and he’d never taken a moment to appreciate what they had together. He’d abused her trust and friendship, and in the end, he’d gotten exactly what he deserved.

 

He couldn’t help but look back with remorse. There were ugly parts of their friendship he’d just as soon forget. Sure, it was nice to remember the night she slept against him, snuggled close to keep warm. But the reason they slept in the alley that night was because Jericho had blown all his money partying. Isabelle knew why, but she always stayed by his side, and a man rarely found that kind of unrelenting devotion.

 

In the beginning, Jericho had drifted through different towns, struggling to find his place in the world. It’s something many wolves did before joining a pack. Then he met Isabelle and discovered they shared a common spirit. He showed her how to live, and she showed him how much potential he had. It wasn’t until after he formed his band that the lifestyle had swallowed him up.

 

“Where are you, Jericho?” Austin snapped him back into the present.

 

“Do you believe in second chances?”

 

Austin rubbed the cleft in his chin and stared into the mirror behind the liquor bottles. “I’d be a fool to say I didn’t. The thing about second chances is there’s more to prove the second time around, and more to lose. You fuck it up, and it can never be fixed.”

 

“I can’t stop thinking about her, even when she’s not around.” Jericho began combing his fingers through stringy hair in need of a wash. “On top of that, she’s playing house with a complete asshole,” he added.