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“Yeah, I had a surgery first thing this morning and another tomorrow. Mind if I call it a night?”
“Nah, not at all,” he said, moving to get up.
I put my hand on his arm. “You’re fine. Stay. I know you have tomorrow off and that you love this band. My car is right out front.”
“You sure?” He frowned. “Are you okay to drive?”
“Yeah, I’m not that much of a lightweight.” I offered a smile and gave him a quick hug, thanking him for the night.
Outside, the summer air was muggy and warm, heavy with an oncoming rainstorm. But it was nice to get out of the smoky honky-tonk. The parking lot lights were blinking on and off with a loud buzz, giving the lot a strobe effect, but the moonlight was enough to help me find my car.
I put my hand into my purse to grab my keys and heard the shift of gravel somewhere behind me. I turned my head, on full alert. Verde Pass wasn’t exactly the crime capital of the world, but I wasn’t stupid enough to think bad things didn’t happen here. I didn’t see anything behind me, and I turned back around, rubbing the sudden chill off my arms. I had the sense that I wasn’t alone, that I was being watched. But a second later, the front door of the Rusty Wheel swung open, and a loud, rowdy group spilled out, instantly lifting that strange feeling I’d gotten. Quickly, I hit the fob to open my car and climbed inside, thinking in the back of my mind how Foster would’ve never let me walk out into a parking lot like this alone.
He wouldn’t have let me dismiss him so easily like I had Michael. It wasn’t fair for me to hold that against Mike. I had wanted him to stay behind, but still, the thought niggled at me like a rock in my shoe. I didn’t need to be taken care of. I was completely capable of managing things myself. But I couldn’t deny that part of me missed being . . . handled.
Foster had made me feel like I was something precious, something to be guarded.
Part of the time that had driven me mad.
But right now, as I drove home in the dark, still wearing that stupid ankle bracelet because I couldn’t bring myself to take it off, I felt . . . adrift.
THIRTY-FIVE
Foster sat in Pike’s car in the dark, not sure what he was more ready to do, punch something or throw up. He’d snuck into the damned cowboy joint, knowing he shouldn’t watch, but unable to stop the perverse need to see for himself. He’d tracked down Cela two days ago with the anklet and had been watching her, waiting for the right time to approach her.
He’d never planned to stay in the background this long. But he also hadn’t planned to find Cela dating someone. He should’ve assumed it was a possibility. It’s not like they had talked since he’d won the Asshat of the Year award in his office that day. But part of him had hoped that maybe she was having as hard a time moving on as he was. Dating hadn’t even been a possibility for him since she’d left. But here she was out on another date with Mr. Teeth. Who the fuck smiled that much? The guy seemed to have permanent hooks holding his mouth up. No doubt because he figured he was getting closer and closer to working his w
ay into Cela’s life . . . and bed.
Foster rubbed the back of his neck, tension gathering there at the thought of someone else touching Cela. He’d almost convinced himself that Cela was just friends with the guy . . . until tonight. Watching that fucker put his hands on her and kiss his woman had inspired murderous thoughts in Foster and had almost launched him into an unprovoked barroom brawl. But he’d held himself back, not wanting to embarrass Cela or cause trouble for her. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She was simply moving on.
Without him.
And really, if it was that easy for her to go on with someone new, maybe everything Foster had read into their relationship had been bullshit anyway. He’d wanted it to be her. He’d wanted Cela to be that girl for him. But maybe he’d laid all that expectation on her and then only saw what he wanted to see. He’d done it before with Darcy. And even with his parents early on. When it came to relationships, he saw what he hoped for instead of what really was. And if Cela could be happy with some vanilla dentist who didn’t even bother to walk her out to her car, then he couldn’t do a damned thing about it.
The kind of relationship he wanted with her wasn’t the type you persuaded someone into. You were either wired for it or not. And if she could walk away from it and not look back, that said everything he needed to know.
Of course, that hadn’t stopped him from following her home to make sure she got in okay. God, he was pathetic. He could now add creepy stalker to his list of attributes. What the fuck was wrong with him?
She was on the phone when she turned her car into her driveway, but waited until she ended the call before getting out. When she climbed out, she had her keys in her hand and peeked over her shoulder, quickly checking the perimeter. That brought a touch of a smile to his lips. Good girl. If nothing else, he could take comfort in knowing that she was being more aware now, looking out for herself.
Foster watched from his spot across the street a couple of houses down, drinking up the last view of her as she headed up the steps in her painted-on jeans and cowboy boots. Her hair hung loose along her back, and he remembered what it had felt like to wrap around his fingers. A pang went through his chest as she unlocked her door and slipped inside.
It’d be the last time he’d lay eyes on her.
Because as much as he wanted to bust her door right down and beg for another chance, he wasn’t going to disrupt her life like that again. She seemed to be doing fine without him. He took a long breath, daggers of regret knifing through him, then shifted forward to turn the key in the ignition. But a loud rap on the window had him jumping in his seat.
He turned to the left to find himself face-to-face with the barrel of a shotgun, the butt of it against the glass. “Fuck.”
He ducked down on instinct, his mind whirling.
“Get out the car,” a low, exceptionally calm voice said through the window.
“Motherfucker,” he muttered, grasping for any possible escape route. If he were in his car, he’d have a gun in the glove box. But Pike wouldn’t have anything—the guy had hated firearms since the days his dad used to wave one around for effect while he was shit-faced. Left without much choice, Foster put his hands up to indicate he was cooperating, then reached for the door handle.
Whoever was on the other side backed up to make room but kept the gun steady and pointed right at him. Foster pushed the door open and climbed out slowly, hands up, hoping it was just a carjacking. Pike would be so pissed, but Foster could replace his car. He silently thanked God that Cela had already gone inside or this could be her with the gun pointed at her head.
The man on the other side of the shotgun was older and shorter than him and seemed to be wearing . . . pajamas? But the dude had a determined look in his dark eyes, so Foster wasn’t going to attempt to overtake him unless he had to.
