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“Shit, dude. I was just messing with you,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I know you wouldn’t mess around on Sophie.”
I narrow my eyes on the dickhead and see the sincerity in his eyes before letting him go. “Good,” I grunt, as he takes two big steps away from me.
“Who do you think did it?” he questions.
“No clue,” I say, as I notice nearly half the team has formed a semi-circle around the truck.
“Go check the surveillance. There’s a camera pointing right at the team parking,” Miller says.
Why the fuck didn’t I think about that? I take off with Miller by my side because, let’s face it, the fucker isn’t going anywhere. He’s now my ride home.
We make our way to the security section of the building and get them to pull up the footage. It doesn’t take long before I see Crazy Jill appear on the screen carrying a bag and a baseball bat.
I cringe as I watch her approach my truck and start rubbing her body all over it, and from this angle, I’m pretty sure she just got off on my truck, squirting all over the fucking hood. Then, things change. She grabs the bag and bends down as she searches through it. She pulls out a knife and gets to work slashing the tires as if it is the most casual thing in the world.
Next comes the baseball bat, which honestly makes me look away. My stomach starts to turn as I then watch her go to town with the spray paint before climbing up in the bed. My brows furrow, unsure of what she’s doing before she pulls her pants down and takes a massive shit right in the back.
“Ahh, fuck no,” I groan, not even bothering to try and save it now.
“That bitch is fucking crazy,” Miller mutters.
Damn straight. First, it’s the constant calls and messages to me and Sophie, then she intrudes in our home and defiles it, and now she trashes my truck and takes a dump in the bed. Fucking hell. This shit has got to stop. I’m fucking over it.
Not to mention, I’ll be putting in a complaint to the head of security at the rink. I mean, what the fuck have they been doing all afternoon while this shit was going down? How do they miss a crazy bitch swinging a bat and backing one out in the back of a fucking lifted truck?
We step out of the surveillance room and head back out to the parking lot as I call the police and get them to come and document the damage. They arrive in no time, and after I’ve given a statement, my beautiful truck is towed away, shit and all.
They explain as it’s Crazy Jill’s first offense against the restraining order, that she’ll only be given a warning, and will obviously be lumped with the charges of the repairs to my truck. But come to think of it, I don’t want a repaired truck. I want a brand-new one. One that isn’t tainted by Crazy Jill.
Shortly after, Miller gives me a ride home, and I soon find myself spread out on the couch with Sophie on top of me as I tell her all about my afternoon.
“I swear, if I ever see that crazy as shit woman again, I’m going to give her the beat down of her life,” Sophie vows with that gorgeous little crease between her eyebrows, suddenly thinking she’s some kind of professional MMA fighter after her bar brawl.
“Calm down, woman. You gave a beat down a few days ago and got yourself locked up. I don’t want you getting a reputation.”
“What?” she shrieks. “I was defending your honor.”
“I know, babe,” I laugh. “But my honor doesn’t need defending. Trust me, nothing is going to knock me down.”
A grin creeps over my wife’s face, and I know exactly what she’s thinking. “You know, you’re damn sexy when you talk like that.”
“You mean when I talk with my ego?” I grin.
“Mmhmm,” she murmurs as her lips come down to mine. “It’s just that your ego is so damn big.”
I let out a laugh as I hold my wife close to my body. “Fuck, I love you.”
“I know,” she smiles. “I’m just so damn loveable.”
We lay silently on the couch, taking comfort in being in each other’s arms, when Sophie lets out the softest sigh, and I run my hands down her back. “What is it, babe?” I question.
“Hmmm?” she murmurs as she raises her head to look at me.
“You’re thinking about something.”
“Oh,” she says with another sigh. “I don’t know. Dani kind of mentioned something today, and I don’t know if it’s a good idea or not.”
“What’s that?”
“That we should hold a little memorial for Tyler,” she says.
“Why wouldn’t it be a good idea?” I question, already completely on board and mentally running through all the things we could do to celebrate his short existence in our lives.
