“Take it!” I tossed the phone, leaving him no choice but to catch it. “Now go.”
“Ren, please, honey, talk to me.”
Fire lit in my chest and singed my windpipe as I exhaled and charred my lungs with every breath.
I couldn’t break down in front of him. I couldn’t let him see how affected I was.
I hated it was Logan who saw Guy cheat. I hated he knew my humiliation. I hated he’d been right all along. I hated that no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t stop thinking about all the things he’d never give me.
“I have nothing to say to you, Logan.”
If he wasn’t leaving I was. I turned and as calmly as I could even though I wanted to sprint to my bedroom, I walked. I gently closed the door, turned the meager lock he could pick in two seconds flat, and made my way across my room.
Not until I was behind another locked door, in the shower with icy cold water pounding on my back, did I let the first tear fall.
The worst part was I wasn’t crying because Guy Stevens was a slimy piece of dog shit. I wasn’t even crying because I was sad. My tears were frustrated, angry, and pitiful. Like a two-year-old, I cried over what I’d never have. The one man I wanted didn’t want me—not even physically. And after Guy’s shit-tastic lesson that was all I had left to offer.
I was thirty-four years old—and my heart was closed for business.
3
“Yo,” Matt greeted from the doorway. “Are you coming?”
I looked at my friend’s smiling face and I wondered what had him so happy. The last week had been shit. No, the last three months since Lauren had started dating The Weasel had been fucking torture. Watching her smile at her phone while she texted that bastard had given me heartburn. Hearing her make plans with the fucker had made my blood boil. And the few times I’d seen them together had me plotting murder.
I knew she’d ended it with Guy and without me having to say anything to her, she didn’t give him the real reason. Lauren was smart, she’d worked at TC longer than me, she understood operational security. From what I’d heard from Brady, my friend and co-worker, who’d heard it from his wife Hadley, Guy was still texting Lauren asking what he could do to change her mind. The creep had another few days, then he’d be getting a visit from me to convey just how done Lauren was with his lying, cheating ass.
What had not happened in the last nine days had me getting more and more irritated by the hour. Lauren refused to speak to me. She did her job, she gave one-word answers when I asked her work-related questions, but walked away if I tried to ask something personal. But that wasn’t the worst of it. She was different. The shy, happy receptionist with a quick smile and quicker comeback was gone. I wouldn’t call her sullen because she wasn’t sulking. But the old Lauren was gone.
I fucking hated it almost as much as I’d hated hearing her say that I’d been right and love wasn’t real. Or perhaps I hated her telling me I wasn’t her friend more than anything else she’d said that night.
“Hello, earth to Logan,” Matt said and snapped his fingers.
“What time are you going?”
“Now.”
I glanced at the right corner of my laptop and damn if it wasn’t already close to seven. Two hours after I normally left work.
“I’m gonna finish this up and I’ll meet you there. Balls, right?”
Matt’s mouth quirked like the juvenile idiot he was and nodded.
“The owner missed a golden opportunity, shoulda named it Balls Deep.”
“It’s a pool hall, not a porn set,” I reminded him.
“So? Think of all the marketing opportunities,” he said and shook his head.
“I think you should buy it then. Rename it Balls Deep and market to your heart’s content.”
“You know what?” Matt started with a swift jerk of his chin. “That’s a good idea. I just might.”
God knows Matt Kessler could afford to buy Balls and still have more money than he’d know what to do with. The guy didn’t need to work—he was loaded with a capital L. Too bad his friends didn’t suffer from the same predicament, forcing Matt to keep his job if for no other reason but to stave off boredom.
“Go on, Money Bags, leave so I can finish up.”
I waited for Matt to push off the doorframe and head out but he didn’t. And he was no longer smiling. As a matter of fact, his serious-as-a-heart-attack look told me I wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
“Your mom and sisters are coming next week.”
Jesus. I didn’t want to think about my mother’s upcoming visit. I really didn’t want to think about the reason why she was coming down to Georgia from Michigan. And I had zero interest in playing nice with my mother’s boyfriend. The only part of the visit I was looking forward to was sizing the asshole up.
“Yep.”
“That’s it? Just yep?”
“What, do you want their itinerary?”
“Don’t be a dick,” Matt sighed.
“Then drop the subject. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Matt eyed me skeptically and I knew it was a pipedream he’d actually do as I asked when he stepped farther into my office.
“I’m gonna say one thing then I’ll leave,” he announced. “You know not all men hit women, Logan. You fucking know Luke would never touch Shiloh in anger. Drake would never hit Liberty. Brady would never beat Hadley. Trey would die before he let anything ever hurt Addy again. Brice would—”
“Christ. I get it.” I cut Matt off before he could list every man I’d served with or my current co-workers.
“Do you? Because sometimes I think you’re waiting for one of them to snap and prove your theory correct—that all men are abusers. Which I hafta tell you is goddamn insulting, you think I’d smack a woman around.”
For fuck’s sake, is that what he thought?
“I don’t think any of you would ever hit a woman.”
“So, what? You think it’s just your mom and sisters and any men they’d be with would hit them? Like it’s their fault and they’d bring it on themselves? Or do you just think it’s you? That deep down you’re hiding the wife-beater within.”
I’m hiding all right. How could I not, I share DNA with that fucker.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked and shoved out of my chair. “My mother’s not to blame for my father beating her.”
“No shit, Sherlock. It’s your father’s fault. He’s to blame. Yet you’ve got this chip on your shoulder like all men are filth and will turn out to be monsters. You haven’t even met her boyfriend, yet you already hate him. And in the past, I don’t know how many years have I known you? Fifteen? Sixteen? Any guy your sisters have dated you’ve vehemently despised. Then there’s you.”
I fought the urge to rub the scar on my stomach. The scar my father’s blade left. The reason my mother killed her husband.
“First, they’re my sisters and the twins shouldn’t be dating at all, they should be concentrating on their futures. And Lucy’s gay so there’s never been a guy to hate. Besides, I love her wife; they’re perfect for each other. Secondly, my mother spent half her life with a man who beat the holy fuck out of her and her children. Why would she want to chance finding another man who beat her?”