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“I have to go, Lucca. You can be a dick to me another day, okay?”
Not okay. Not fucking okay.
I don’t want to be a dick to her any day.
“What happened to your face? Did that club owner prick do that?”
Her bottom lip trembles. “Why do you care?”
“I never stopped caring, Breezy,” I sigh out.
“Stop calling me that! I’m not her anymore,” she barks, fumbling with her keys, trying to open her car.
“You’ll always be her. It doesn’t matter what name you give yourself or how much you think you’ve changed.”
I watch her swallow the pain she’s harboring as I track the tear that drops from her eye. I’ve seen her cry a million tears. She could create an ocean with the amount she’s shed over me—us.
“I have to go,” she whispers.
“Talk to me,” I beg.
“I can’t.” She shakes her head, then opens her car door and slips inside, throwing her purse on the passenger side. She gazes at me for a couple silent beats, then ticks over the engine.
“Autumn, we need to fucking talk,” I bite out, gaining attention from a couple girls smoking near the exit Autumn came from.
Her wheels kick up gravel as she peels out the car park, leaving me in a dust cloud. Fucking perfect. Sums my life up entirely. I pick up her discarded money and shove it in my pocket. I’ll give this shit back to her the first chance I get. She clearly needs it more than I do.
I march over to the girls smoking, already knowing this is going to cost me. “Who bruised Summer’s face?” I ask.
One of the girls shrugs, popping gum. Cliché as fuck.
“Who wants to know? Are you Christian?” She places a hand on her hip, giving me a once over.
Who the fuck’s Christian?
“Shhh,” the other one snaps, shoving her coworker with her shoulder.
I dig out a hundred dollar bill, hold it up between two fingers, and quirk a brow. The one who told the other to shush rolls her eyes before snatching it out of the air.
“The boss can be a bit hands-on, but he doesn’t usually act that way with Summer. She’s his flavor of the month.”
“Who’s Christian?” I ask.
She holds her hand out for more money. Growling, I dig out a fifty and slap it onto her palm. She shrugs, stuffing it in her bra. “Not sure. She mentions him to John like it’s her man or something. A husband, perhaps, waiting at home for her.”
My gut coils. Visions of her breathing my name tonight and coming undone over my cock assault me. I shake my head in disbelief. No way can there be a husband.
Jogging over to my car, I pull out of the parking lot, my head racing with the new information. She didn’t have that bruise when I was fucking her. That cunt boss must have gotten handsy with her afterward. He’s going to pay for putting his hands on my girl. My girl. No matter what her situation is, she will always be my girl. I have no clue where I’m going, or what direction she went in. I contemplate going back and fishing out more money for those girls in hopes they know where she lives, but like fucking fate is on my side for once, I see her car in a gas station across the street. I wait for her to get back in, then follow her. This isn’t done between us, and I can’t stew on shit another night wondering who the hell gets to take her home—who gets to love her like I used to—like I did tonight.
She’s mine. She’s fucking mine.
When she turns onto a back road, I kill my lights so she won’t see she’s being followed and panic over it being one of the dicks from the club. It is a dick from the club.
When she pulls into a driveway, I recognize the place straightaway—her mother’s house. A white, beat-up wooden farmhouse with a wraparound porch and wind chimes hanging from every branch of the surrounding trees. That noise used to drive her fucking crazy.
I pull in behind her. She jumps out of the car, her expression startled as soon as she sees me. I frown. Her mother wasn’t my biggest fan, but there’s more fear on her face than warranted. She runs over to my car and tries to shove me back inside. “Get the hell outta here, stalker. I will meet you tomorrow. You can’t be here.”
“Why?” I snap. “Because of your husband, Christian?”
She looks surprised by my words and shakes her head manically. “How do you…? N-No, he’s not my husband, Lucca.”
“Then who the fuck is he? I’m done with dancing around everything. I need to know what the fuck happened to you. You gave up on me for this shit, Breezy?”
