“Dane.”
He leaned closer, his breath rank with the scent of whiskey, his eyes red-rimmed and heavy-lidded. “I get that you think you have to leave.” He pointed over his shoulder toward the house. “I respect that you’re giving them their space. But Jesus H. Christ, woman, this bullshit?” He rocked on his bare feet, drunk, at six in the morning.
“Dane.”
His face crumpled, and my guts twisted into painful knots.
He opened his mouth. Snapped it shut. Crinkled the letter in his fist, then shoved the wad into his pocket.
I stared at his bare chest, realizing he must’ve been awake when I pushed the note under his door.
I swallowed, wetting my dry throat. “You’re drunk.”
“Rough night.” He grunted.
For all of us, I wanted to say, but I knew better than to argue, or attempt a civilized conversation with an inebriated individual. “I have to go. I’ll call you when we land.”
Hands hung at his sides, he dropped his head back and cussed at the sky. When he met my gaze, he begged, “Don’t go.”
“I have to go.”
“Don’t go.”
“Dane. I—”
“I’m not a good guy.” He took a step back, ducking his head to catch my gaze. “I’ve got shit to offer. No home. No family. Not even a fucking job.” He huffed, shaking his head. “But you stay? You stay here, you own me, body and soul. And I promise you, ain’t nobody gonna hurt you or that little girl, ever. I’ll kill anyone who tries. Ain’t a soul on Earth gonna fight for you like I can. I can give you that. I can give you every dirty fucking piece of me, and I’ll spend every God damned second of every day making sure the two of you are happy.”
Ouch. His words lashed every inch of my heart. Too bad he wouldn’t remember saying them.
I took a step closer. His eyes seemed to lose focus. He swayed, then steadied himself.
“I’ll call you when we land.” I lifted my hands to his chest, raised up on my toes, and kissed his jaw.
“Don’t go.”
“Go to bed, Dane. Sleep it off. We’ll talk later.”
Hardest thing I’d ever done, hands down, was turn my back on that man. But I forced myself to keep moving. I got in the cab, hurried the driver, and didn’t turn back as we drove away.
Tears flowed.
Mim curled her fingers around my pinky, and I looked down to find her eyes wet, too. She offered me a brave smile, and she held my hand, for the first time ever, all the way to the airport.
# # #
“This will be your room, Mim.” I dropped her suitcase on the bed, then squatted to meet her face to face, struggling to ignore the fact that Matthew had not moved his furniture out of my extra bedroom, or any of the rooms for that matter.
“How about we just take it easy today? Tomorrow, we’ll sit down, make a list of the things you need, the food you like, and we’ll go shopping. Sound good?”
That sweet little angel curled her bottom lip between her teeth and fought a smile.
“Would you like to unpack your suitcase first?” I pushed to stand, pulled open one drawer. Slammed it shut. Opened the next. Then the next, biting back all the ugly words. Matthew had not removed any of his “winter” wardrobe. Sweaters. Jeans. Thermals. The man had more clothes than any woman I’d ever met.
“I’m sorry, sweetie. Let me empty this dresser quick, then we can put your clothes away.”
I dashed to the garage, where again I found Matthew’s belongings untouched, and rifled through my gardening shelf until I found my box of heavy-duty trash bags. When I returned, Mim hadn’t budged, but her eyes worried when I began shoving Matthew’s clothes into one of the black bags. “My friend used to live here,” I explained. “He was supposed to move all of his things out. Looks like he hasn’t done that yet.”
Like she was happy to have something to do, Mim came next to me and sweater by sweater, helped me empty the next two drawers.
I wanted to be mad at Matthew. Had every right to be livid, but anger was impossible with my little girl at my side. My little helper. Mine.
God, she was mine.
The reality of the situation hit me hard, a sucker punch to the chest, and despite the challenges that lay ahead, I was happy. So happy, my eyes filled with liquid joy. I tucked that emotion away fast as I could because I didn’t want to ruin our moment.
The last drawer took some elbow grease to open, overstuffed with envelopes and papers, pens of all colors and sizes, a couple of old wallets. Outdated cell phones that he hadn’t recycled. I shoved those items into a bag as well, but what I found tucked in the very back of the drawer stopped me cold.
A little black box.
Of course I looked inside.
Of course the ring was gorgeous. A white gold band boasting a half-circle of petite diamonds complementing a round-cut centerpiece that had to be close to one and a half carats. The giddy girl in me wanted to try it on and dance around the house, catching the diamond’s sparkle under every light source. The woman in me knew I would never wear that ring.
I loved the ring. I loved Matthew. But I was not in love with him. Truth be told, he couldn’t be in love with me, either. We were comfortable. We were convenient. But we were not passionate. We were not a dent the wall, destroy the furniture, screw each other until the sun came up kind of couple, and until I’d had that with Dane, I hadn’t known I had it in me. Hadn’t realized I deserved that intense passion. And my, how I craved that feral hunger in Dane’s gaze every time he looked my way.
I could never go back to safe. Never go back to Matthew. Not when my soul had been splashed and stained with all the bright colors that made up Dane Reynolds.
I tossed the box into the bag, tied that sucker tight, then dragged Matthew’s belongings to the garage.
The rest of his things would follow suit, after Mim went to bed because the rest of the day, and every day after, would be about that sweet little girl.
We’d tucked the last of her clothing into the drawer when my cell buzzed.
“Hello?”
“You made it safe?” That deep gravelly voice sent my heart into a mad sprint.
“Yeah,” came out, breathy and desperate.
“How’d she do?”
God, I loved that Mim was on his mind. “She did great. She got the window seat, and she loved flying. I was so proud of her.”
“You good?”
“I’m good.” But I missed him, desperately and painfully.
His breaths came heavy through the phone. “Can I talk to her?”
Swear to the good Lord above, my chest cracked open and kittens and rainbows and all the beautiful things poured out. “Of course you can.”
“Mim.” I turned to find her big wise eyes smiling up at me, as if she knew her favorite man was on the phone. “Dane wants to say hi.”
My cell in her hand, she hurried to the bed, hopped up, and made herself cozy.
Giving them privacy, I headed to my own room to unpack, my spirits darkening when I entered.
Unmade bed.
Dirty clothes on the floor.
Closet door open.
Matthews suits hanging inside.
“What the eff?” I asked my closet. He hadn’t even tried to move out. That smug bastard hadn’t left.
I attacked, ripping his clothes off the hangers, throwing his shoes into the hallway, tearing his underwear out of the drawer. When I’d emptied his side of my closet, I grabbed the biggest armful I could manage and carried them through the garage, straight to the driveway, and tossed them in his parking spot.
I turned to head inside for another load when headlights beamed and tires screeched. The engine cut. A door slammed.
“Moe?” Matthew said, careful, calculated.
If I turned around, I’d see his “you’re acting crazy again” face. The expression he wore every time I brought up any non-agreeable issues involving our relationship. If I dared to look at that face, I’d lose my cool. I
didn’t turn around.
“I told you we were over. I told you to get out of my house. You can pick up your things tomorrow.” I stepped inside the garage, then pushed the button, lowering the garage door, way too slowly for my liking. Regardless, I’d made my point. At least, I’d thought I had, until I heard his keys working the lock of the front door.
I met him at the entryway, face heated, head pounding. “Give me my key. Turn around. Get out.”
He wore his favorite navy suit. Tie loose. Eyes sad. “Moriah. Let’s talk about this.”
“Nothing to discuss.”
“We’re not over. You can’t break up over a text.”
“I can. I did.”
He huffed. Shook his head. “I’m not leaving.” His smile was forced, and not the least bit genuine.
“Get out.”
“This is my home, too.”
Wrong. My name was on the title. Matthew was aware of that fact, so I didn’t bother arguing. “Get out.”
“I love you, Moe.”
“Last time. Hand over the key and leave.”
Matthew pushed past me, running a hand through his thick, blond hair. “If this is about the kid. We’ll figure something out.” He dropped his briefcase next to the La-Z-Boy. Kicked off his shiny brown loafers. “We’ll do right by her, whether she’s with us or someone else.”
“Someone else?” I shrieked, every ounce of my blood boiling. “Her name is Mim. And there is nothing to figure out. She’s mine, Matthew. Mine to protect. Mine to love. Mine! You are in no way involved. Now get the fuck out of my house.”
Matthew’s head jerked at my use of the actual F word, his eyes widening. Hands to hips, he dropped his head. Licked his lips, then lifted an angry gaze to my watery eyes. “You’re exhausted, clearly. Let’s sleep on this. We’ll talk in the morning.”
I searched my pockets for my phone because for damned sure, a call to the police would get rid of him. Only, my phone wasn’t in my pocket.
My phone was in Mim’s tiny fingers, where she stood right behind me, Dane still on the other end of the line, screaming, “Moriah, baby. What’s happening. Fuck! Shit! Moriah!”
Mim’s wide-eyed gaze darted from me to Matthew, back and forth.
I dropped to my knees and got right in her face. “Hey, Little Lady. Sorry you had to hear that.” I plucked the phone from her fingers and tucked her against my side, holding her tight. Dead set on getting that stubborn man out of my home and away from my niece, I mumbled into the cell, “I’ll call you right back,” then ended the call without explanation. Then I dialed 911.
The police arrived seventeen minutes later.
Matthew, being an attorney with the most prestigious law firm in Shelby County, convinced them that we were fine, merely having a lovers’ spat. After seeing that Mim and I were safe, and in no physical danger, the officers left, leaving me seething, but holding my shit together for Mim’s sake.
I could not give her reason to be afraid.
She’d come so far the past two weeks.
Buck up, little camper, I repeated to myself while I made dinner, the little girl clinging to my side. We ate at the table, Mim staring at Matthew, Matthew staring at me, while I wondered how I’d ever believed I could live happily ever after with that man.
# # #
A wall-shaking bang jolted me from sleep, and I blinked, trying to find my bearings in the darkness, darting my arm behind me to search for Mim.
Muffled shouts came from the kitchen.
More crashes. Grunts. Curses.
Behind me, Mim lay sprawled across the mattress, soft snores rising from her small body.
Another crash. More grunts. Two voices. Maybe three?
Matthew shouted. Glass shattered. The walls vibrated.
Legs tangled in the sheet, I kicked and shimmied until my feet freed, then bolted out of the room, my heart galloping, mind still ten steps behind.
I rounded the corner, heading for the light switch, and smashed into a lone figure, bouncing, then tripping over my feet and landing, ass to hardwood with a teeth-jarring bounce.
“Jesus. Fuck. Sorry, Moriah,” a gravelly voice grunted through the dark. Two hands slipped under my arms and lifted me back to my feet.
“Tito? What the eff?” I cupped my nose, eyes watering from the sting.
I felt for the light switch. Flipped it. Screamed, “Oh my God, Matthew!” Then winced, looking away because Matthew’s face was a bloody mess.
Worse? He was pinned to the wall, feet dangling, eyes bulging, fingers raking at the set of hands clamped around his throat. Hands that were attached to ridiculous, powerful arms. Arms that were attached to broad, bunched shoulders.
Matthew’s eyes darted to mine. He wheezed my name, a plea for help.
Dane shot me a glance over his shoulder, then focused again on his victim, head tilted just a bit, a menacing study of Matthew’s face, which had turned a grotesque shade of purple.
“Dane!” I shouted, storming their way, sidestepping the couch and the broken picture frame.
I grabbed his arm and yanked, my attempt to move the cannon-sized limb futile.
“Gorgeous,” he mumbled, glare drilling holes through Matthew’s skull. “You okay?”
How dare he. How. Dare. He. “Put him down,” I ordered through gritted teeth.
Dane chuckled. Effin’ chuckled. His grip loosened a tad, allowing Matthew a deep inhale, then asked, as if a man’s life wasn’t in his hands, “Where’s our girl?”
“She’s fine. Sleeping.”
“This numb-nuts hurt you?”
“No. God, no. What are you—”
“Let’s move back a bit.” Tito cut me off, hooking an arm around my waist. “In case things get ugly.” His voice, low and menacing, carried a trace of amusement, which only added fuel to my fire.
There was nothing amusing about the situation. Still, Tito was every bit as strong as Dane, and he lifted me with zero effort, moving us safely across the room.
“This isn’t ugly yet?” My question fell on deaf ears.
Shell-shocked, I watched the scene unfold, vaguely aware of Tito’s hand on my shoulder, acutely aware of Dane in all his violent, virile, menacing glory.
“Moriah told you to get out of her house,” Dane snarled, jaw set so tight he vibrated. “So why are you still here, shit-stain?”
Matthew’s mouth worked to no avail.
Dane twisted his head as if to listen, knowing damn well Matthew couldn’t speak, out of fear, self-preservation, or lack of oxygen, I wasn’t sure. What was clear, though, was that Dane was spot on with his intimidation game, with all his bulk, and threatening tone, and brute, bully strength.
“Don’t answer that… I hear any half-witted excuses, I might kill you.”
Throat dry, blood pressure rising, I managed to rasp, “Dane. Let him go.”
Dane brought his face closer to Matthew, studying him with a snarl, like he was about to tear his head off with his teeth.
“I’ma tell you one time. A lady asks you to leave, you leave.” He raised Matthew an inch higher. “My lady asks you to leave, you tuck tail and flee the motherfuckin’ state. Am I clear?”
Swear to all that was holy, that threat in Dane’s eyes made my knees buckle, and my body warm in all the wrong places.
Matthew glanced my way, broken, defeated, then blinked a slow blink at Dane.
“Let him go. He hears you.”
Dane growled. Growled. Like a freaking werewolf. I half-expected him to howl at the moon and rip his shirt to shreds.
“Don’t care where you go. Just get the fuck out. And you sure as hell don’t come back. We’ll let you know when and where you can collect your things.”
Matthew blinked again, all color drained from his face.
Dane wasn’t finished.
He slammed Matthew’s back against the wall. Once. Twice. Holding an impossible amount of weight. “You even think about calling the cops, you’ll be choking on your own cock faster tha
n you can set the phone down, and when you’ve breathed your last breath, I’m gonna bring you back, do it all over again.”
Now that was just overkill. And disgusting. I found my voice. “Enough!” Shrugging free of Tito’s grip, I charged Dane, pushing hard. “Enough! He gets it. He’s leaving.”
Dane dropped his arms but stayed firmly planted where he stood, unwilling to back down. Matthew shimmied along the wall, scooted clear, and without a word, or his shoes, he snagged his keys and left, the house going silent once more.
I shot Dane a glare, ripe with all the ugly things I wanted to say.
He huffed, hands fisting and stretching at his sides.
“Mo—”
I shoved at his chest. “Not a word. Not one word.”
Before I could lay into the hulking beast, my stomach clenched tight, a sudden wave of nausea forcing me to the bathroom.
When I finished with the dry-heaving and made my way out of the bathroom, Tito was fast asleep on my couch, and Dane was in Mim’s room, shoes off, stretched on the bed, little girl snoring at his side.
Exhausted, and more than over the day, I retreated to my bedroom, and tucked into the sheets that reeked of Matthew.
# # #
The thing about shock and awe is that you’re blind to the damage until after the smoke fades.
In the light of day, the quietude of morning, with my clear head and fresh perspective, I found the physical damage minimal: small dents in the walls, overturned chairs, broken picture, small bloodstains on the carpet. My heart and my head? Not so bad either. I wasn’t a mess, and I wasn’t scared. If anything, I was disappointed.
Dane showed his true colors. Exposed his dirty underbelly. The way he’d handled Matthew was nothing short of barbaric. Having glimpsed that brutish side of him, I should have cut and run. Kicked everyone out of my house. Changed the locks. Forget I’d ever met my inked bad boy.
The disappointment was not with Dane, however, but myself, because I’d suffered a morbid thrill, watching him scare the piss out of Matthew. Violence was bad. So why was I turned on? What kind of person did that make me?
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