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“It was awful,” she cries, rubbing her hands over her face. “I caught Randy cheating on me there with some floozy, so I left and came back. My heart is broken—”
There’s no controlling it. My hand launches out, and I slap her face.
I immediately gasp and step backward, curling the offending hand to my chest where I cover it with my other. I’ve never hit another person in my life.
It stops my mom’s tirade, and she covers her red cheek with her palm. Her expression is wary.
I was going to ask her if she knew how much she hurt me, but I won’t. It’s clear she doesn’t care.
“I want my diary back,” I say coldly.
“I don’t have it.” Her tone is standoffish, her tears gone.
“Did you give it to Carmine?” I ask. I have no clue if she read the information to him or just turned it over, but I need to make sure she didn’t throw it away.
“Yes. He has it.”
I nod, knowing I have my work cut out for me. I’ll be paying him a visit tomorrow, but for now, I need to get to work. I don’t feel the need to berate her further. It would be a waste of breath.
“Do you forgive me?” my mother asks.
“No,” I reply and turn on my heel. I move down the porch steps and when I reach the bottom, I look back at her. “Don’t ever contact me again. As of this moment, we are finished. I won’t think about you from this day forward.”
Probably not quite accurate as I can’t control what thoughts pop into my head, but I won’t obsess over her anymore. I sure as hell will never wonder what could’ve been between us.
“Stevie,” she exclaims as I walk to my car. “Please don’t cut me out like this.”
I ignore her and make a hasty getaway. As soon as I’m a few blocks down, I call my dad.
After I recount everything that transpired, he asks, “You okay?”
“In some ways,” I admit. “I’m glad to know the truth. I’m glad she’s out of my life.”
“But she still hurt you,” he says knowingly. “And I guarantee she didn’t apologize.”
A laugh bubbles up and spills out. “No, she didn’t apologize. And weirdly, I’m not sure she really did hurt me all that much. I don’t know that I had high enough expectations of her that she could fail them. I’m more angry than anything, especially since she gave away my journal.”
“You’re more hurt by Hendrix,” he says.
I ignore it. It’s true, but I don’t want to discuss it. “The good news is she confirmed that Carmine Betta has my journal, and I’m going to get it tomorrow.”
“Hmm,” is all my dad says, and I wait for him to offer to get it for me or at the very least want to come with me to provide some muscle.
He does neither. I guess he’s really going to let me handle all this, which is fine. I’m nothing if not self-sufficient.
“Want me to bring lunch over today?” he asks.
“Sure. I’ll see you later.”
He hangs up, and I drive straight to my bar. I glance back longingly at the Target bag that holds my new journal and pens. I won’t be able to crack it open until tomorrow, given I’ll be working the late shift too. My feet already hurt just thinking about being on them that long, but that’s the price of being self-employed. You have to do whatever it takes to get the job done.
CHAPTER 27
Hendrix
I’m not happy about the loss to the Columbus Hawks. With home-ice advantage, we should have stomped our challenger as they’re struggling with injuries this season. Instead, they had one of those perfect games, and we were very imperfect. It happens.
We got our asses kicked 3–0, and everyone’s in a shitty mood. The only good thing about it is no one’s expecting me to go out for beers after. We don’t usually go out after a loss, preferring to head home and lick our wounds in private, but the guys have rallied around my love life to cheer me on in my quest to win Stevie back. I thought for sure there would be an invitation to get together and brainstorm over drinks.
Perhaps even an offer to storm Jerry’s Bar for me to make my stand.
Although I’d love them for the offer, I’d decline. I have other plans tonight.
I’m meeting Carmine Betta, and there’s no telling what’s going to happen.
I had thought about finding the journalist and kicking his ass. Not for the article… I get being a public figure means things will be written about me. Not even for the slanted reporting.
I’m enraged that he took Stevie’s journal and used her private words without permission. He violated her, and I want to make him pay with blood.
