Crazy Stupid Bromance (Bromance Book Club #3) - Lyssa Kay Adams Page 0,94

hours to do their homework or where book clubs meet to discuss their latest reads.”

Alexis licked her dry lips. “I addressed the specific items regarding the zoning classifications in my written correspondence. I do not believe I am in violation of my permit, nor do I believe that my café alone is responsible for the parking shortage that has always plagued our district. But I will publicly reiterate what I stated in my written response that I will seek an additional zoning variance to allow me to continue to host my yoga class if the commission finds that it does, indeed, violate the current zoning permit.”

Karen huffed behind her.

Alexis stared at her hands. She could stop now. She’d addressed the primary issue in Karen’s complaint. She could do what she usually did and just ignore the rest.

“Ms. Carlisle, does that complete your comments?” the chairwoman prompted.

Did it?

“Ms. Carlisle?”

No. It did not complete her comments. Because she hadn’t really told her story yet, and if she didn’t do it, people like Karen Murray would continue to tell it for her. If she didn’t continue this fight, the battle would never end.

Alexis licked her lips again and looked up. “No, I have a few more things to say, if I may.”

The chairwoman nodded. “Please continue.”

“This isn’t about a zoning violation.” Her heart pounded so hard that her ribs shook. “We all know that. If it were, then Ms. Murray would have filed complaints against Mrs. Bashar’s yarn shop for her weekly widows knitting club meeting. This complaint is about me, and more specifically, about Ms. Murray’s disapproval of me.”

“Now wait just a minute!” Karen shot to her feet.

“Ms. Murray,” the chairwoman said. “Please return to your seat.”

“But that is just a lie! She’s lying about me!”

Alexis tried not to roll her eyes.

“Ms. Murray,” the chairwoman snapped. “You are out of order. You had your chance to speak.”

Alexis continued. “In the year since I came forward with my accusation against Royce Preston, Ms. Murray has found almost weekly reasons to complain about something at my café. The state of my landscaping out front. My cat. She even complained about how bright the string lights are around my front window. I have been patient. More patient than most people would be, because I didn’t think it mattered what people like her thought of me. But I realize now that it does matter. It matters because attitudes like hers enable men like Royce Preston to get away with their crimes for so long. It matters because she is now trying to hurt people I care deeply about—women who have already been victimized. And if someone like Ms. Murray is allowed to use the zoning system to carry out some kind of vendetta, then the laws are meaningless.”

A round of applause interrupted her, and Alexis looked over her shoulder. It wasn’t just Jessica who was clapping, though. Strangers had joined in too.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” Alexis said. “I didn’t invite women to come to me to share their stories or to start gathering at my café to find support and strength in other survivors. But it happened, and I am so grateful for it. They have healed me, and I will make it my mission to ensure these women have a safe environment. And if that violates the zoning laws of this city, then the city needs to change its zoning laws. Because I am done hoping that I can change what is in Ms. Murray’s heart.”

The applause thundered as Alexis turned away from the podium. She met Karen’s eyes and smiled. Not out of spite. Not out of forced politeness. But because she honestly no longer cared what Karen thought.

The chairwoman pounded the table with her gavel and asked the audience to please quiet down. Alexis’s legs trembled as she walked back to Jessica, who yanked her in for a tight hug.

Tears threatened behind her eyes. “I need to go,” she whispered.

“Don’t you want to stay to see what the board decides?” Jessica asked.

Alexis shook her head. She’d done what she needed to do. She’d said what needed to be said.

Now there was someone else she needed to talk to.

* * *

* * *

The grass at the cemetery was soft beneath her shoes.

Damp and soggy. Every footfall sank heavier than the last.

The gas station bouquet in her clenched hand grew heavy, petals wilting and drooping upside down. It had been several weeks since she’d been to her mother’s grave. The urn next