Redemption

by Shey Stahl

  “Get in the truck.”

  I did as he said. My mind raced with how I didn’t see this coming. How I didn’t realize Marcus had set me up from the beginning.

  I had no idea what Destry was about to say to me, but I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be good. Not only had I hurt him with the article, but he’d warned me what Silas’s intentions were, and I’d ignored him.

  When I was inside the truck, he looked over at me. “Stay here. I’ll be right back. Do not move.”

  “What?” I snapped my eyes to his. “Where are you going?”

  “To take care of something.”

  And then he was gone before I could stop him.

  An unexpected punch that catches a person completely off guard. The term sucker punch dates back to 1947 in the sport of boxing.

  Destry returned to the truck ten minutes later, his breathing as heavy as it was inside the club. I wanted to ask what he did but by the blood on his gray T-shirt that hadn’t been there earlier, he’d been in another fight, or finished one.

  The drive to his apartment was quiet. No music, nothing. Streets were empty, houses dark, and businesses closed. At the stoplight, I snuck a peek at him, and his stare was forward, never yielding. Given his mood, I was nervous I had caused more drama he didn’t need. I shouldn’t have called him, but he’d been my only option.

  “Thank you,” I whispered into the silence.

  He nodded, but no words, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.

  With one hand on the wheel, Destry reached for my purse, dug out my phone and held my phone out to me. “What’s your password?”

  I typed it in without question.

  He swiped through to my contacts and hit Jared’s number. “Jared? Yeah…. It’s me, Destry. I have Tallan…. Yeah…. I’m takin’ her back to my place…. Okay.”

  And then he hung up and tossed my phone back at me, never bothering to put it back in my purse. It landed on my lap and then fell onto the floorboard.

  Like him, I made no attempt to retrieve it. Not only was I exhausted, physically and mentally, I was shaken. How the hell had the last hour happened? Why did I let it happen?

  He pulled in the parking garage below his building and turned off the ignition. “Jared said he’d come get you later.”

  “Okay.” I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “How did you know where I was?”

  He didn’t look at me as he spoke. Instead, his eyes were on his keys in his hand. “I followed you.”

  “Thank you.”

  His jaw flexed, his eyes drifting to mine. “You realize that if I hadn’t followed you, he would have raped you?”

  I nodded. “I know. I was an idiot for going.”

  With a heavy sigh, he reached for the handle. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

  The elevator doors slid open and we both walked in, still silent. As soon as we were inside the elevator of his apartment building, tears began to spill over my cheeks. Shaking his head, he glowered at his feet. “I warned you that’s all he wanted. Why didn’t you listen to me? Or to Jared?”

  To Jared? He’d talked to him? I wanted to say something snarky right then. But I had nothing. “I don’t know why I went.”

  His shoulder met the wall in the elevator and he frowned, looking over at me like he wanted to say something more. My heart flipped in my chest at the intensity in his eyes. “I hope it was worth it and you got the answers you needed.”

  “Why would you say that to me? I know what I did was wrong and you’re making me feel like shit about it.” My words were strained, desperate for him to listen to me, though my tone was clearly not insinuating my level of desperation, but he wasn’t hearing any of it. “Fuck you.”

  Okay, I didn’t need to add that last part but I was humiliated and he was digging the knife in only to make me feel worse about myself.

  Destry spread his arms, peeling himself from the wall, as if he was inviting me to, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Go ahead, baby.”

  “That’s not what I meant, asshole.” My voice was escalating again, my heart ready to beat out of my chest and throw itself on the ground before him.

  He raised his eyebrows. “You call me to beat up pretty boy for you and I’m the asshole?”

  “I didn’t think you’d make me feel bad about myself over it.”

  A scowl settled over his face as he crossed his arms over his chest when the elevator doors opened on the seventeenth floor. “Then leave.”

  His words hit me, leaving a sting against my skin.

  I scowled at him so furiously, hurt he wouldn’t listen, that I was scared my voice would break and I wouldn’t get out what I needed. I could have told him about Marcus right then. I could have. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t make a damn bit of difference.

  I choked out a breath as another round of tears started.

  His intensity returned at the sight, his body stiffening. He looked up at me then, his brow scrunched when I walked out of the elevator and down the hall to his apartment. Truthfully, I didn’t want to be at my apartment alone. If there was anywhere I was safe, it was with Destry, despite the tension between us.

  At his door, his pushed the key into the lock. “You never planned on telling me, did you?”

  I stared at my shaking hands, my grip on my bag slung over my shoulder tightening. “That’s not true.” My voice sounded weak, much like myself. “I planned on telling you about the article. I did. I just didn’t know how to tell you about it.”

  When we were inside Destry’s apartment, he said nothing more to me and my anger took over.

  He made me come here so he could treat me like shit. That was exactly what he was doing. For what? Revenge?

  I slammed the door behind me, which got his attention. He looked back at me, and I smiled, trying that condescending one he was so good at.

  With a slow shake of his head, Destry set his phone, keys, and wallet on the kitchen counter and then glared at me. “What’s the matter, honey?” He was taunting me with the curve of his lips and the smirk that touched his eyes. He was being vindictive. “Night not go as planned?”

  “Stop being an asshole, Destry.” I threw my purse down, not caring if it spilled out. “I know I fucked up. A lot. But it doesn’t give you the right to treat me like this.”

  He turned his back on me and walked further into the apartment.

  My eyes drifted to the scene before me. It was evident this last week hadn’t been easy on him. Around twenty longnecks were scattered around the living room along with a hole in the wall by his bedroom door. To the left, a chair lodged in the sheetrock next to it.

  Frowning, I stepped toward him but didn’t reach out and touch him like I wanted to. “I’m sorry I went there. I wasn’t trying to upset you.” I moved closer to him but kept my distance, afraid if I was too close, he’d shut down completely. “I had to know.”

  “Yeah, I know. You had to have your fucking answer.” His irritation spoke in his stance and when he turned around to face me, his eyes held mine as he paced the living room, his hands, red and swollen, clasped behind his head. He stopped pacing and stood in front of me, watchful of my reaction to him. “You made that perfectly clear. All you want is your story.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” I heaved in a heavy breath, as though I was suffocating with him this close, this angry, and this defensive for something he didn’t understand. Quickly, I brushed away the blame-worthy tears streaming down my face I couldn’t hide any longer and took a step back.

  “But you did,” he barked, keeping his eyes on mine. “You wrote that article. My story. Without my permission. What about me? Did you ever once consider how I would feel about it?”

  “I did.”

  “But not enough to stop you from doing it.”

  I was losing my patience with him. “My God, you’re so frustrating.”

  “Yeah, well...” He finally stepped back, creating a few inches of distance, his hands raised at me. “You’re a bitch.
”

  I gasped. “I am not.”

  He smiled. “Yep, you’re a bitch.”

  “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to push me away. Yeah, you helped me, but you had no intention of giving me a chance to explain myself, did you?” I gave him a glare that went unnoticed.

  “No, not really,” he said, keeping his eyes locked with mine. “I just wanted a chance to say I told you so.”

  “Well, you succeeded. Thanks.” I had every intention of leaving, but Destry had other plans.

  He reached out and grasped my hand. “You’re not leaving.”

  “You’re going to hold me hostage like he did?”

  He blinked in disbelief. “This is entirely different and you know it. I would never lay a hand on you without your permission.”

  My breath hit his face when I whispered, “But you’ll keep me here when I don’t want to be.”

  His jaw flexed, his stare challenging. He stepped back away from me. “Leave then, if that’s what you want.” Raising his hands, he sighed and turned around, stepping out onto the balcony.

  Fuck. He did that on purpose. He knew I wasn’t going to leave. I wasn’t finished with our argument and had a few things I wanted to say, so I followed him.

  He sighed when I came outside, dropping his head forward. “Haven’t had enough?”

  I sat beside him in a black metal chair, looking over the sleepy city. “Why are you acting like this?”

  His breath caught in his throat, his eyes immediately darkened, the anger still heavy and oppressing in his tone. “Why wouldn’t I? You betrayed me, like everyone else.”

  “You don’t even know what happened in the club.”

  “This isn’t all about the club and you know that. But while we’re at it, yeah, it’s pretty fucking clear what happened in there if you ask me. But you know what, go ahead,” he said, with another chuckle. “Tell me what he did so I can go back and kill him.”

  I wasn’t laughing. I wasn’t because I knew there was some seriousness to his threat. “That’s not nice, Destry. Don’t act like you have some kind of vengeance against him.”

  “Whatever,” he grunted, kicking his legs up onto the railing and leaning back in the chair. Beside him I noticed a dozen empty beer cans scattered around. His swollen bloody hand rose to rub the cut on his cheek that Silas left. “I’m not angry. I’m pissed off.”

  Like there’s a difference.

  My throat tightened, tears spilling once again. “Can you just take me home. I don’t want to be here.”

  “So, what?” Destry snapped, jerking his legs from the balcony to sit a little straighter, his posture tense as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “You fuckin’ hate me now because I was trying to protect you from being raped by a fucking douchebag or being angry because you used me to write a story about me?”

  “I wasn’t going to be raped, Destry.” Losing a little steam, I slumped back into the chair. “You’re exaggerating.” But he wasn’t, I was. Silas had every intention of taking something from me, regardless of my denial.

  “It sure as shit looked that way to me,” he mumbled, his voice rising at the end. “Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking naïve. What the fuck did you expect when you went there? Did you think he just wanted to talk? He’s a fucking rock star, Tallan. And a shitty one at that.”

  “You’ve made it perfectly clear you don’t give a shit. Why do you even care?” I asked. “I don’t need you to protect me. You’re not my father.”

  “Yeah, sweetheart.” He gave another scornful glare my way. He called me sweetheart just to pour salt in the wound his words left. “You can be goddamn sure I’m not your fucking dad. Why did you even call me?” I was ready to walk away when he grabbed my hand as I stood, the fire in him simmering down slightly. “Tell me, why did you call me to rescue you? Why not Jared?”

  I stepped back. “Because I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d want to save me, than you. But it’s clear you don’t feel the same way.”

  Standing, I went inside his apartment, intending on walking out of his life for good.

  A verbal command issued by the referee that the one-minute rest between rounds has ended, signaling that the fighters, trainers, coaches, and cut men must leave the corner and return ringside for the start of the next round.

  I didn’t leave. I couldn’t. For twenty minutes, Destry sat outside, and I remained on the couch, still in my dress, crying. Beside me, my phone vibrated. I glanced at the screen and the notification that I’d missed a call from Jared.

  Destry came back in so I set my phone on the table. He didn’t say anything and picked up a beer on the table, diverting his eyes from mine.

  After taking a drink, he set the bottle down, still with no eye contact. His expression remained the same. His eyes focused on the ceiling when he finally sat down beside me. “I’m not trying to make you feel like shit.”

  My eyes drifted to his. “Why couldn’t you have read the article?”

  He closed his eyes and breathed in deep. “Nothing in that article is going to tell me why you wrote it.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek nervously. “I wanted everyone saying that you threw the fight to know there was more to you than what they thought.”

  His head bent forward, shaking slowly as he took a seat next to me. “You don’t even know me.”

  “You’re right… I don’t. Because you wouldn’t let me. I know the guy who treated me like shit, and I know the one who fucked me. And they’re two different people if you ask me.”

  “Tallan....” He grimaced, refusing to look at me, as if doing so would be painful for him. “You look at that shit from my angle. You came to me looking for a personal trainer. You started asking questions. You asked me to fuck you. And you wrote that article and knew personal shit about me I hadn’t told anyone else. How would that look to me?”

  “But you didn’t even read it.”

  His palms pressed to his face, digging at his eyes, and then he groaned, dropping them beside him. “No. I didn’t. And I still haven’t. I won’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you think?” I didn’t like where this was going, and he knew it by the way his eyes wouldn’t meet mine. “I don’t give a shit what it says. You broke my trust. You should have told me in the beginning you were writing it.”

  I should have done everything a lot differently. I shouldn’t have trusted when Silas called me after five years. I should have been more curious as to why and how he got my number. Instead, I was starstruck in a way. I should have been concerned when Marcus pushed me to write the article. I looked for details for a living, yet I missed that one. I also should have told Destry in the beginning.

  A stabbing sensation twisted in my chest, and it was trying to beat around this foreign object, and this vital organ was simultaneously breaking in two, yet still trying to beat around the very thing that was ripping it apart. “I need to leave. Jared called. Maybe he can take me home.”

  Destry shook his head. “No. You can’t leave.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because… I said so.”

  “You’re impossible.” I made my way to his bathroom and slammed the door shut. I intended on going into the bathroom to run some cold water over my face, but then I stayed in there because at least in here I didn’t have to see the betrayal on his face.

  It may have been weak, but mustering any other type of emotion at this point was futile. I went after a man who was in my past, all the while forgetting about the man who was in my present and was sure to be my future, that was until I screwed everything up.

  IT WAS NEARING morning, I assumed by the light coming in from the small window, when Destry pounded on the door. I hadn’t realized how long I’d been in here. “What?”

  “Open the door. I have some things to say to you and I’m not going to say them to you while you’re crying on my bathroom floor and there’s a fucking door between us. Get out.”

  “I’m
constipated,” I said, trying hard to act like he hadn’t ripped my heart out. It wasn’t working though.

  “Not likely. Get the fuck out.”

  I stared at the toilet beside me, contemplating pulling my pants down and sitting on it to prove my point. I could fake constipation.

  He surprised me, yet again, when his voice came louder, his hand hitting the door. “You wrote a fucking article about my life, my family, and our experience together. At least let me explain some things to you.”

  Explain? He wouldn’t know what the article was about unless he’d read it. Hmmm. So, he read it? He had to have.

  “Well, you better say it through the door. I’m not moving.” I was more embarrassed than anything knowing he’d read it. I had prepared myself for him to read it, and now that he had, I was terrified of seeing his face. A good part of me wanted to rip the door open and leap into his arms, beg him to forgive me and offer up whatever sexual pleasure he wanted as an apology. But I didn’t do that. I played the stubborn card and remained on the floor.

  He must have known because what came next horrified me. “You better get up,” he said, some amusement sparking in his tone. “I’ve never cleaned that floor. Imagine the germs on it, and I can’t say I’ve hit the mark every time I’ve used the toilet.”

  I nearly vomited. I’d spent an hour crying on that floor. A second later, I was standing before him while he leaned into the doorframe with no shirt on.

  Nice. See, he’s teasing me.

  “Put your shirt on,” I demanded, as if I had any verbal power over this man, crossing my arms over my chest.

  He slowly drew his bottom lip into his mouth, and then let it out even slower. “No.” He shook his head, flexing his muscles. Bastard.

  I looked away. “Then I’m not talking to you.”

  “Why?” Amused, his eyebrows lifted.

  “Because I can’t focus when you don’t have a shirt on.”