Page 28 of Jonny’s Redemption

“I’m not letting you face this by yourself.”

I watched Jonny’s truck in front of me swerve right before he cursed and straightened. I would bet his face was pinched and his knuckles were white.

“Goddamn it, Bobby. I don’t want you there.”

Okay, that stung—a little. Logically I knew he didn’t want me to see his mother. But someplace deep inside of me, I’d hoped he would be relieved I was with him.

“I’m coming with you.”

“So you don’t fucking care I don’t want you coming.”

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeated.

“Yeah, Jonny, why don’t you want me there?”

If he’d given me a good reason, I would’ve turned around and gone home. I would’ve left him to handle his business and called him later.

“Because I don’t.”

“Jonny—”

“None of this is your business.”

“So you’re not my business?”

“No. Not this. Not when she’s involved. My family is not your business.”

Welp, that stung more than a little. Actually, that hurt—a lot.

Regrettably, he went on and he did it nastily. “Just because I’m fucking you doesn’t mean you get to butt into my life. If I wanted you to witness this shitshow, I would’ve invited you. I didn’t, so have a clue, go home, and I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“Stop talking. Now, Jonny, you’ll stop talking if in the future you’d like the opportunity to fuck me again. You’ve got five minutes until we get to the station to come up with a reason why I should go home and leave you to clean up yet another mess you didn’t create. And here’s your warning, your reason better not have anything to do with embarrassment, shame, or trying to protect me. Alternately, you can use the next five minutes to think about how you’re going to apologize for being an asshole. See you at the station, I’m hanging up now.”

I hit the disconnect button and let out a frustrated sigh. I wasn’t known for my tolerance. I was too impulsive, too short-tempered, two things that didn’t mix well when what I needed was a truckload of patience to help Jonny work through his issues. Especially when we hadn’t scratched the surface. I had grit and strength but all too often I let my attitude get the better of me. Which meant I went from happy-go-lucky Bobby to raging-bitch-Bobby in two-point-five seconds. Most anyone who knew me understood this. They also knew not to push me there. Jonny was the exception to that because he, too, had a short fuse.

The difference between him and I was that I let my crazy fly when I was pissed, hurt, or felt threatened. Jonny locked his hurt away. No, he buried it and he kept burying it for twenty years until he’d finally cracked. He’d quit his job, gone into hiding, and pushed all of his friends away. Three days of outrageously good sex and conversation wasn’t going to heal that. It would take me a long time to dig through the rubble—something I desperately wanted to do. But I wouldn’t be tunneling through the wreckage his family buried him under while he was shoving shit at me.

That we would talk about, just not while his mother was in county jail after being arrested for a DWI on his dead father’s birthday. No, I was smart enough to wait until clearer heads prevailed. Then I’d tell him where he could shove his nasty comments.

All too soon Jonny pulled into the parking lot of the sheriff’s department and I followed. He parked and was out of his truck before I pulled into a spot. I didn’t even have my seat belt off and Jonny was yanking open my door. Face like thunder, cold, stormy blue eyes.

It seemed Jonny Spencer had come to the wrong conclusion. Another thing we’d be discussing when we had the ‘shove your dickhead comments up your ass’ conversation.

Jonny reached across me, unbuckled my belt, tagged my fob out of the cupholder, and hauled me out of the car. Throughout his unbelievably annoying manhandling he didn’t cause an ounce of discomfort. Vaguely I wondered if he learned that being a cop—how to remove a suspect from the car without causing injury. I would’ve asked if I wasn’t so bloody mad he’d pulled me from my car.

Then just as fast as he’d yanked me out, he slammed the door and I found my back pressed against metal.

“Fucked up,” he ground out.

“You did,” I confirmed.

Some of my anger had started to wane but I was still holding on to annoyance. There was forgiveness, then there was pushover—and the last thing I was, was a pushover.

“I do not want you to see this.”

I had nothing to say to that because I already knew he didn’t, and since I wasn’t going to argue with him I didn’t say anything. If he wanted to be an asshole, he could be one, but I was still going inside and standing by him.