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“S’okay. It had to happen. Better sooner than later.”
Jonah gave her a clumsy pat on the back. Even though he was a cretin, she’d developed a reluctant fondness for him.
Within a few minutes of Jonah’s departure, the crowd again started pressing in on Coop, and she had her work cut out for her. “Let the man have some room.”
Most people didn’t give her trouble, and the few who did were drunk and easy to handle. It was a good thing nobody was getting in her face, because she needed a target for every raw, painful emotion swirling inside her. Only a few more hours . . .
A bro in a fedora and V-neck sweater wedged in on Coop. She grew increasingly furious as she listened to the moron relive every snap Coop had fumbled and every ball he’d thrown late. Coop was used to this kind of bull, and he was handling it fine. But she wasn’t. As the bro started in on Coop’s lousy leadership skills, all the horrible feelings churning inside her found their target, and her temper exploded. She shoved between a couple of his pals, reared up on her stilettos, and grabbed the guy’s shirtfront. “Back off, asshole, or I will rip your fucking head off. Do you understand me?”
Coop’s eyebrows shot up. The guy blinked, then jutted out his jaw with false bravado. “Yeah? Who are you?”
“She’s my bodyguard,” Coop said evenly. “Best not to mess with her.”
The guy began edging away. “Who needs this shithole club?”
Bryan quickly separated the jerk from the crowd. Coop looked down at her with displeasure. “Real smooth.”
“He irritated me.”
“Cut it out.”
She couldn’t handle this any longer, and she walked away. One more hour, and her job would be over.
She checked the ladies’ room and VIP. All well. When she finally came back downstairs, she ran into a group of men surrounding Coop near the mezzanine stairs. An especially loud, gel-haired jock type had positioned himself as close as he could and was gesturing toward him with his beer. “You and me, Coop. We know what it’s like. I had a bitch try to nail me once. Just like what happened to you.”
“You don’t say.” Coop turned away.
But the guy wasn’t done. “Bitch was asking for it. She wanted it. Anybody could see that.”
And then the idiot made the mistake of grabbing Coop’s arm. Coop spun and, with no more warning than that, drew back his fist and punched the guy, sending him bouncing into the crowd.
Crap. Piper shot forward. The guy hit the floor and rolled to his knees, cradling his jaw. She knelt next to him and gazed up at her ex-lover. “Real smooth, Coop.”
Coop glared down and threw her words right back at her. “He irritated me.”
Despite his ferocious expression, she nearly hugged him. This is for all the women who told the truth but nobody believed them.
***
Three o’clock finally came. She slipped off her heels and dragged herself upstairs to spend her last night in the apartment. Tomorrow, she’d be sleeping in Amber’s double bed underneath an Aida poster.
She got undressed and pulled a plain brown T-shirt over her underpants. She gazed down at the alley from her back window. Coop had left, the spot where he parked his car was empty. As empty as she felt inside.
She crawled into her too-big bed and stared up at the ceiling. She’d done the right thing. She might not believe she could hurt any more than she did now, but staying with him longer—hiding how much she cared—would only make their inevitable breakup more agonizing.
She finally fell into a restless sleep only to be plagued by nightmare figures with clown faces, jackboots, and selfie sticks. They chased her into a crimson jungle where dead women hung head down from telephone poles. She had to scream. But she couldn’t find the air. She had to find air. She struggled to find a scream somewhere. Anywhere.
She jolted awake. It was still dark. Her T-shirt stuck to her skin, and she’d drooled on the pillow. Her heart was racing. Only a dream . . . Only a dream . . .
Somebody stood in the doorway. A dark, silent silhouette. Her voice came out in a grateful croak. “Coop?”
He rushed toward the bed.
It happened so fast. One moment she was trapped in a nightmare, and the next moment, a man was grabbing her. A man who was not Coop.
She screamed.
“Shut up!” He had her by the arm. Shook her. She tried to fight, but the sheet trapped her. His hard shake wrenched her neck. She freed an arm and clawed at his face. He slapped her. Her ears rang. The struggle was frantic, the only sounds her gasps. And then even those stopped as his fingers closed around her neck and his thumbs pressed her windpipe.
