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I pause, not knowing how much to tell them about the past. It’s been years since I’ve seen Greg. He shouldn’t still hold this power over me. But while I’d love to say I’m over it—that I’ve moved on, that I’m stronger and more confident now—after last night, I’m not so sure. Greg knows I’m here. He knows where I work. And I’m ninety percent sure he’s going to use that information to force me to talk to him. I should tell them that but instead I show them my arm.
Dylan jumps up immediately. “I’m going to fucking kill him. I don’t give a fuck what happens. He’s a dead man walking.” He doesn’t even let me go into any detail; the bruise is enough. Summer grabs his hand and pulls him back onto the couch, trying to calm him down as I look to Joel for help, only to find his eyes just as murderous.
I give him a soft smile but he shakes his head. “I have to agree with Dylan on this one, Luce,” he says with a huff.
“You’re being stupid. Both of you,” Summer says as she rolls her eyes. “Neither of you are going anywhere near him. You should be focusing on Lucy, not that fucker.”
All eyes flash to Summer’s when the word fucker leaves her mouth. Sheneverswears. Looking at her stomach, she grimaces and pats her baby bump. “Sorry, little man, but it was necessary.”
Dylan visibly softens, and a small smile touches Joel’s lips. When my gaze locks with Summer’s, she gives me a sympathetic grin and winks, letting me know she has my back when it comes to the guys.
I knew they’d react this way, despite neither of them being fighters. It’s why I never told them what really happened back then. But I do now. Well, most of it anyway, except about the night Katie was conceived. That’s not something I’m prepared to talk to anyone about. But I tell them about the way Greg treated me before we broke up, and that he kept contacting me after I met Wes, and when I finally get to finish my story, which actually ends at the beginning, Dylan stares at me in shock. “You knew Wes before the conference?” he asks, trying to get his head around everything.
“Not really, no. But Ihadkissed him, so I guess you could say we weren’t strangers.”
Joel huffs out a laugh as Summer sighs. “I really wish things had worked out with him, but I understand why you left without pursuing it.”
“You know my thoughts on that,” Joel adds. “But if I’d known the whole story, I probably would have been easier on you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I was scared and I don’t know, maybe a little ashamed.”
That gets Dylan raging again. “Ashamed! Lucy, that fucker… He hurt you and I…” his voice cracks as he trails off, rubbing his hands into his eyes to stop the tears. My own eyes fill as I rush toward him, pulling him into a hug.
“God, Lucy, I’m sorry. So sorry I wasn’t there,” he whispers into my neck, his voice full of emotion. “What can we do now?”
“There’s nothing we can do. We just have to hope he doesn’t find out about Katie.”
“But he saw her last night?” Summer asks, her face white with panic.
“He did, but it was from a distance, and then she was with Logan. I can only hope he doesn’t think more of it.”
“We won’t let anything happen to either of you, Luce. You know that, right?” Dylan says, making sure to lock his eyes with mine so I really listen.
I nod because it’s true. I have a lot of people looking out for me; I should always feel safe. And yet, why am I surrounded by so much unease?
Chapter Twenty
Wes
Gettingmylegstowork and walk away from Lucy, when I was convinced something was wrong, had been fucking hard. Just like it had been hard in the parking garage almost five years ago. I’d known then that something was wrong, and yet, I’d let my stupid pride stop me from calling her and checking in, even though I thought about her all the time. I categorized her as a liar, just like everyone else in my life, and never gave her a chance to explain. Not that she ever tried.
But now…nowit’s different. And knowing I’m not going to see her until Monday is eating me alive. I think it’s safe to say I’m not over her. Yes, I’ve continually tried to tell myself she’s out of my head, like she’s out of my life, but my fierce need to protect her would suggest otherwise. Seeing her today, with fear in her eyes, took me straight back to that day in the pool when she’d flinched away from me and to the subsequent times following that. Sleepless nights were spent contemplating why she’d reacted that way, and no matter how many times I wanted to find another reason, I always came back to the same one—someone had physically abused her, and it had definitely been recent…back then. So now, I’m left wondering if this is something new, or if thatsomeoneis back in her life. Either answer kills me, making me want to keep her close to chase the fears away. A clear contradiction to how I felt about her last week.
I’m still angry. Angry at the way things ended between us. Angry that she’s back. But a little part of me is coming around to the fact that I may be partially to blame. After all, I didn’t eventryto contact her after walking away. I’ve thought about her often since that day. It’s safe to say she’s the only one that ever made her way into my soul. And I barely knew her. There was just something about her. Something that ate away at me for years because while I hated her for lying, I still fucking cared. Like now.Why do I care?
When I’m still wide awake at four a.m., with no sign that sleep will come, I throw on my workout gear and run to the local gym. Lately I’ve been working out at the stadium whenever I have time and giving myself Sundays off, but today it’s necessary. Not only to wear me out enough to sleep, but to burn this weird energy I have running through me—before I use it onsomething, or rather,someoneelse.
My quads burn as I push against the leg press for my third set. I need to do this more often or my muscles are going to disintegrate.Fast. Especially with the extra junk I’ve been putting into my body since I was injured.Pizza, anyone?
“Pump up the Jam,” by Technotronic fills the room as I look around. There are only a few people working out at this hour on a Sunday, so I’m thankfully left alone. But when the clock ticks over to six a.m. it’s a different story.
“No way! Johnson’s at my gym.” A kid, probably around nineteen, approaches while I’m cooling down. He has long, dark hair pulled up into a man bun and a thick gold chain around his neck, but that’s not what has me stopping to pay attention. It’s the fact that he’s wearing a jersey with my name on it. To the gym. At six a.m. on a Sunday.Am I being punked?My eyes dart around the space but I can’t see any cameras. Not that that’s reassuring. This can’t be real.
“I can’t believe you’re here, man. Look what I’m wearing.”
He spins around to show me his back, not realizing he’s standing in front of a mirror. I’m about to respond with some kind of dismissal when he cuts me off.
“Is it really you?” he whispers in awe, and that’s enough to change my mood. I bark out an incredulous laugh, shaking my head. These are the fans that make everything worth it. The excitement in his eyes. The passion. I used to love this. When did I become so bitter about it? About everything?
