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“Well, because,” I stuttered. “Because is why.”
“‘Because’ isn’t a reason. You said you loved me and wanted us to work through our stuff. I want that now, too,” he stated. “That’s what you said.”
“Yeah, I did say that,” I agreed. “I said that continually, in fact, while you were shutting down, but that was for the several months before you up and quit on us unexpectedly.”
“Don’t matter. I want you back,” he said, crossing his arms defiantly.
I pride myself on my loving nature. Losing my temper or acting pissed off isn’t part of my DNA. I couldn’t be hateful. Didn’t want to be mean. People were too important to me to be terrible about disagreements, but his visit was seriously testing even my limits. I wanted to scream in his face and slam my fist against his ridiculously huge chest. I took a deep breath and focused on anything but revenge.
“Don’t,” a familiar voice whispered. “He’s hurting. Be the bigger person here.”
“Jack?” I whispered.
Clint leaned forward. “Who?” he asked, quickly glancing behind him in case someone else had arrived. His eyes narrowed when he turned back. “Jack still talks to you?”
“Not lately,” I replied. “But I think he knows you’re here, Clint.”
“Good,” he said. “Ask him about me. He’ll tell ya I’m serious about us.”
“I’m sorry, Clint. I truly am, but you hurt me,” I began, determined not to cry. “You walked out after leaving a note. Not after a face-to-face talk. Not even after a courtesy call. Zero heads-up. Just a note.” He flinched at my hostility. I leaned forward just as tears sprung from my eyes. “A note, Clint! A… fuc…” I bit my tongue as my eyes exploded with every ounce of pain he’d inflicted on me. “A note?” I asked, choking on the question.
He reached across the table for my hand, but I jerked back. I was blinded by rage I had never experienced. His face went white. He knew what he’d done. His guilt over the note and my evident pain were written on his face like a goddamned miner had chiseled it there.
“A NOTE!” I screamed, lunging across the table at him. “A fucking note, Clint? Damn you!” I cried, pummeling him with my fists.
He let me release my anger and rage without so much as raising a hand. Every wild blow bounced off his rock-solid body like my fists were pillows. The more I tried to inflict hurt on him, the more ridiculous my effort seemed. I wasn’t a fighter.
He didn’t move or speak after I reluctantly forced myself to return to my side of the table. I did my very best to remain calm, but a rage I’d never imagined lived inside of me wouldn’t back off. I glared at him while warnings entered my mind, telling me to remain calm, breathe, and focus on good things. I couldn’t explain the feelings I was experiencing inside. I’d never felt anything like the emotions surging through me. I wanted him to hurt the way I hurt. No! I wanted him to hurt fifty times worse.
“A fucking note,” I muttered, shaking my head and scowling at him as nasty as I could. He said nothing. “You left a note, Clint, and then you… just… left,” I seethed, spit exiting my drawn mouth. “Not a single call. Not one! YOU DON’T DESERVE ME!” I raged.
Before I knew it, I was over the table again and slamming my fists into him, screaming wildly as I accused him of destroying my life. He fell backward off the table and I landed on top of him, still trying to inflict as much damage on his body as he had on my heart.
The back door of the food truck flung open and Rat and Bodie ran over, yanking me off him, me yelling and struggling to get back to Clint, back to leaving imprints of my agony on his flesh.
They dragged me back to the truck doors while I let out every emotion I’d bottled inside since discovering the note where he’d written that he ‘just couldn’t do it.’
I screamed at him. “You want me back? You’re a liar! You said you couldn’t do it! You liar!”
“Chad! Calm the fuck down,” Bodie said, slapping my face.
I fought Rat and Bodie, raising my fists toward a hurriedly moving away Clint. “A fucking note! You chicken-shit liar!” I screamed. “Goddamn you, Clint.”
I collapsed to the ground. “Goddamn you, Clint. Goddamn you…”
I was completely beyond any rational explanation for my outburst. And then… everything went black.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT: Cole
His eyes darted behind their lids. Crazy and frantic movements, as if Chad was afraid or being haunted by a bad dream.
“He’s fighting a nightmare,” Maggie said, soothing her son by stroking his arm.
“I can’t imagine what got into him,” Chad’s father added, pacing at the foot of Chad’s childhood bed in the main house.
Maggie reached across her sleeping son to where I was seated on the other side of the bed and held my hand. “He’s not a fighter, Cole,” she said. “Truthfully, far from it,” she added.
“Clint surprised him, is all,” Alex said. “Chad had to have been upset. Surprised. Yeah, surprised,” he mumbled, unsure of an explanation to defend the behavior Chad’s friends had described.
