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“Not long enough, you raging asshole!” I shouted, then I stepped around his hunched form and stomped out of the club.
Added to the list of things I needed to do tonight once I got home was ice my hand. Butgod, that had felt good.
9
ALMA
My running shoes beat heavily against the unforgiving pavement with every step I took. I pushed myself harder on this run than I had in a very long time, forcing myself to go faster, faster, faster. Like I was trying to outrun my past.
Well, the joke was on me, because it was no longer only the nightmares plaguing me. Oh no. The asshole was live and in person! In my town. How he’d even found me in the first damn place was beyond me.
The sleep I’d been so desperate for the night before never came, of course, not that I expected it to after punching Roan Blackwell.
My lips curved at the memory of that perfect arrow-straight nose crunching beneath my knuckles. I wasn’t a particularly violent person, but what could I say? The man brought out the worst in me. We brought out the worst in each other. It was inevitably why we’d failed as a couple all those years ago. But the mind is a funny thing. When something ends, it tends to cling to the good, forgetting about the bad times. It had taken years for me to remember all the reasons why Roan and I hadn’t worked, what made our relationship so volatile, but once I had, it made letting go of the hope of a forever with him a little bit easier.
It wasn’t exactly the healthiest outlook, but hating Roan was easier than being sad. Than missing him. Hating him cut the cord on that niggling hope I’d clung to for longer than I should have. After all, he was the person who’d broken me so completely that I’d chosen never to go down that road again.
My breathing was labored and a stitch had formed in my side four blocks back, but I didn’t let up. I let my rage that he’d infiltrated my world push me until my legs felt like rubber and the houses along the quiet tree-lined street blurred past me.
I kept at that torturous pace as I rounded the corner onto my street, only slowing to a stop once my house was in sight, along with the crowd gathered on my front porch.
“Shit,” I hissed as I wiped at the sweat on my forehead with the back of one hand while I lifted the water bottle I had clutched in the other and gulped down the refreshing, icy liquid.
My crew from Whiskey Dolls had gathered and were waiting. They’d been blowing my phone up all morning, but I’d been putting them off. I’d forced myself out of bed after a sleepless night, ate a quick breakfast, then headed out on a much longer than normal run. All in an effort to not only avoid reality, but also my friends.
I knew it was only a matter of time before these gossips demanded answers for what happened last night, but I didn’t actually think they’d camp out on my doorstep.
It was times like this I thought maybe there was some merit to being a crazy shut-in with no friends.
I worked to calm my breathing as I slowly made my way up the walkway to my porch. “I don’t suppose you’d give me a chance to shower before jumping right into interrogation mode.”
Charlotte hit me with a flat stare that answered the question for me, but just in case I didn’t get it, Layla let out a snort and spoke out loud. “Not a chance in hell.” She held up a familiar pastry box and a paper to-go cup of coffee. “But to soften the blow, we brought coffee and an assortment of sweets.”
I’d definitely take the sweets, and I’d be damned if I planned on sharing.
Hardin, a Whiskey Doll by association, was also there, and lifted her hand hesitantly, “Uh, so I wasn’t there last night, but I’ve heard stories.” Of course she had. Asher was married to her brother now. The two were tighter than blood and didn’t keep anything from each other. “Did you seriously punch Roan Blackwell in the face?”
I couldn’t stop the tiny grin that tugged at the corners of my lips. “I did. And it was one of the most satisfying things I’ve done in a really long time.”
Her eyes went wide, her lips parting on a shocked exhale. It wasn’t every day a famous person wandered into town. That in itself was surprise enough, but to have one of their friends punch that famous person in the nose only added to the drama of it all.
“You know him,” Marin, ever the astute one, pointed out. “It was written all over your face the moment he walked through the door. And he didn’t hide the fact that he knew you, so what I want to know is how in the hell you know one of the most famous men in country music, and why last night was the first any of us has ever heard about it.”
Right to the point, I guess. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. Only the Band-Aid was stuck to a particularly hairy part of the body and ripped all those tiny hairs along with it.
“Um, well...”
Sloane threw her arms up in exasperation. “He had a nickname for you, for god’s sake. You don’t have a nickname for someone unless you were pretty close at one point in time.”
I heaved out a breath, bracing my hands on my hips as my head fell forward, like the strain of keeping it up was just too much for my neck. “Fine, you want to get into this, we’ll get into it. But I’m not telling this story without alcohol.”
Delanie, the sweet, innocent, quiet one in our bunch, widened her eyes so much I worried they might fall out. “Um, it’s barely eleven in the morning.”
McKenna elbowed her in the side. “Hey, it’s five o’clock somewhere, and if booze is what it’s going to take to get this story, I’ll do the pouring.”
I started up the three steps that led to the porch. Once I got close enough, I snatched the Muffin Top box out of Layla’s grip and tucked it under my arm while I pulled my keys from the hidden pocket in the waistband of my running tights. “And fair warning, I’m eating all those pastries my damn self, so hands off.”
I stepped over the threshold and was immediately assaulted by my asshole of a cat, Tortellini. He sat on his butt smack dab in the middle of the entryway, and let out the most obnoxious meow that sounded partly like a howl and partly like he’d just gotten his tail caught in a wood chipper.
