Before I can even make it to the bar, his arm is around my waist and he’s leading me to the dance floor.
“What are you doing?!” I shriek as he spins me around in time with an upbeat club anthem.
He grins that panty-wrecking grin. “You wanted to dance, no? So, we’re dancing. The sooner we get this bug out of your system, the sooner we go home.”
I let him twist and twirl me around the dance floor. I’m panting and out of breath but I don’t want to let go of these hard-earned good vibes.
As the song is winding down, a realization pops into my head.
I freeze. Brace his shoulders. Look up into his face with wide eyes. “You’re not limping!” I yell above the music.
He blinks. “Holy fuck…I’m not limping!”
There isn’t even a trace of pain in Jude’s movements, not a trace of a wince on his face. And that feels like a victory worth celebrating.
My uproarious giggles mix with the music. He joins along, the sound happy and unbridled. I feel eyes on us. The crowd is cheering us on but I don’t care who’s watching. This man has vanquished my inhibitions and I just pray they’re gone for good. Because…
I’m in love…
I thought I’d felt love before but it was nothing like this.
Right there, in the middle of the dance floor, I take his handsome face in my hands and I kiss his sexy mouth.
Life is funny sometimes. A few weeks ago, we weren’t even friends. And now, I’m in love? I’m done trying to predict the future. I think I’m just gonna live my life and see where it takes me.
When we pull apart, breathless, he stares into my face, those dark eyes of his boring into my soul. He brings his lips to my ear. “Be my girl, Iris.”
I snap back to inspect his expression. “What?”
“I want you to be with me. Be mine.” He says it like he can’t wait one more second to utter the words.
Old insecurities sprout up like poisonous hanging vines, trying to block the pathway to this thing I want so much. But not this time, not this man. This just feels too right.
My tongue darts across my lower lip. “Yes. Yes, I’ll be your girl.”
Jude kisses me again. This time softer, sweeter, slower. And when he pulls back, he looks happier than I’ve ever seen him. Gosh, I’m happy, too.
“I’ll go grab us some drinks,” he shouts above the music and gently tucks my wild hair behind my ear. “Find us a table.”
I nod, jerking my thumb back to the corner. I watch after him as he walks away. Every part of me tingles with excited energy.
We turn in different directions. I weave my way toward the darkest corner of the room and I struggle to keep myself from melting into a lovestruck ball of goo on the dirty bar floor.
But my good mood doesn’t last long. I sense a presence following behind me. The shadow lingers just long enough that I feel an eerie chill climb up my forearms. I don’t have time to question it. Someone grips my arm. Hard.
What in the ever loving fu—?
I stagger on my feet and spin around. “Kirk.”
This is the first time I’ve seen him since our divorce became final. Standing here in front of my ex-husband right now, I don’t feel sorrow or grief or heartache. I don’t feel that overwhelming sense of longing or failure that I experienced months ago. No. I just feel…disgust.
His hands definitely don’t belong on me.
“What are you doing? Stop. Let go of my arm,” I demand in my firmest voice. Sudden, unsolicited memories—him yelling, name calling and ridiculing me in those final months—hit me harder than I expected. I grit my teeth. I narrow my gaze on his face, and I swear, red tinges the corners of my vision.
There’s something off about him today. The man standing right here, gripping my wrist hard enough that I feel the bones scrape together, this man is just...off. His eyes tell me something I’m afraid to see—Kirk Bunting is unhinged.
My pulse picks up and I am truly afraid.
I take a step back. Not a smart move because now, I’m only further into the shadows, further away from help. “Kirk. Let go. You’re hurting me,” I grit, trying to pull my sore arm free. My struggle only seems to encourage him. I twist my wrist, and my arm follows, managing to only bring me closer to him, and I smell the sickly sweet liquor on his breath. It’s enough to make my stomach flip.
“I knew you were fucking him,” he spits, and I hold my breath against the hot stench. “What a slut you are. Banging my so-called friend. Is this why you couldn’t pick up your damn phone whenever I called? Too busy whoring yourself out, just to try and hold onto a piece of me?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I underestimated you. Really, I never thought you’d stoop so low. Jude Kingston?! Are you fucking kidding me?” His voice keeps climbing. Though I’m afraid to glance around the bar, I can feel lots of eyes on me.
I don’t know how much he knows about Jude and me, but right now, I just need to focus on getting him calmed down. Because I’m nervous about the rage he’ll fly into if he comes face-to-face with his former friend right now. I feel helpless. And the music is so loud, I can hardly hear the frantic thoughts crashing about inside my head.
I just want him out the door. Maybe if security sees his drunken ass, they’ll deal with him?
His eyes turn absolutely feral as he leans into me. “Stop trying to squirm away from me,” he threatens. “You’re going to listen to me, bitch, and you’re going to—”
Just as I open my mouth to scream for help, my ex-husband's grip disappears. The sudden movement makes me trip over my own feet. My hip crashes into a nearby table—ouch!—but I’m just grateful to be out of Kirk’s painful grip.
When I’m steady on my feet again, I look up into the dark, protective eyes of my rescuer.
My sexy-ass new boyfriend.
Jude Kingston.
43
Jude
It takes all my self-restraint not to go elbowing my way across the packed room when I see Kirk crowding Iris against a booth.
The bartender slides my two drinks across the counter and stretches a hand full of change to me, but I’m too focused on Iris to pay the guy any mind. I slide off my stool and stalk slowly over the distance. They were together for years. I don’t want to go charging into the situation like a fucking neanderthal if all Iris is looking for is a conversation to bring a little bit of closure with her ex. I wouldn’t want to deprive her of that if it’s what she needs.
Instantly, I think back to that night a few weeks ago, when he had showed up at her door, spouting his venom and jealousy. I never told her about that incident. I’d wanted to shield her from her ex’s melodrama and accusations. But now, I wish I had said something to her. At least then she would have had her guard up against the pathetic raging idiot.
Iris shifts to the side, just long enough that I get a glimpse of her face. I discover a moment of dark terror on her pretty features that I have never witnessed before.
Fuck.
They are not having a hushed heart-to-heart, tying up loose ends between former spouses. That rat bastard is bullying her.
Drinks long forgotten, now I’m tearing my way through the crowd. When I realize that Kirk has his hands on my woman, I’m overtaken by a violent, territorial rage that swells in my bones. Then I’m right there, seizing my former friend by the back of the shirt and yanking him away from Iris. My girl yelps.
He stumbles into a neighboring table, clearly not his best self right now. I’m tempted to lay his ass out, but considering the way he’s already teetering around, I decide against it. I don’t have much desire to put someone in the ground tonight.
I turn to find Iris crouched by a table. Her diamond blue eyes are wide with fear when they meet mine. I’m reaching out to catch her elbow and hold her up, when she looks past my shoulder and shouts, “No!”
I’m blindsided by a concrete fist to the side of my face. I blink, daz
ed. I sure as shit was not expecting that kind of thing from someone I once called my best friend.
Arms up and ready, I twist, but I’m too late. Kirk is already charging me like a bull. His shoulder connects with my gut, stealing my breath and sending us both to the ground.
We wrestle around on the floor. But Kirk forgot one key point; he’s not a goddamnned professional athlete. I have at least 50 pounds on him, all muscle, even despite my recent injury. I leverage my upper body to flip him and gain control. My legs pin his struggling body to the sticky hardwood as I get in a few solid jabs. My fist connects with his jaw. Then his nose. Blood flies when I punch him a third time.
I hear screams in the background. Iris’s voice rises above the frenzied sounds of the bar crowd.
Too far. Too far, asshole, something in me cries out.
I untangle my body from Kirk’s, rising to my feet and stepping away. “That’s enough,” I shout above the noise. My chest rises with each deep inhale. “Enough!”
Cellphones are pointed in my face recording the spectacle. Fuck…
He struggles, standing and dripping blood on the floor. “You always had to have everything for yourself,” he seethes, his venom filling the air with a putrid stench. “All the attention, all the pussy, all the glory. Fuck, now you’ve gotta take my wife, too.”
A hushed murmur rises from the crowd. I can only imagine Iris’s face heating with mortification. I feel the unshakeable need to defend her reputation. “She’s not your wife, Kirk. You fucked that up all on your own.”
His eyes narrow down to hateful blades. “I always suspected it was you. You’re the one who broke us up in college. It was you who put those pictures in her dorm room. I know it. You son of a bitch.”
“Son of a what?!”
For years, I felt guilty for betraying Kirk by slipping those photos under the door of Iris’s dorm room. Right now, I don’t give a fuck. This guy is begging for another punch in the face.
But Iris is gripping my arm now, shaking it. “Jude, is that true? It was you? You slipped the pictures under my door?”
Guilt bulges inside my ribcage. “I can explain…” I say weakly. The classic line used by jackasses the world over.
Nice going, Jude.
I try to take her hand but she wrenches out of my grasp. My sigh is like gravel coming up my chest. “Look, about those pictures…I’m sorry for how I handled the situation. I knew that this asshole was fooling around with other girls and I didn’t know how to come out and tell you because you needed to know the truth.”
She presses her fingers to her lips. She gasps. And now, she’s shaking her head in disappointment. “Jude…”
“That’s why I slipped the pictures under your door.” Frustrated, I shove my tense fingers through my hair. “And if I…”
I glance up and make eye contact with a half dozen camera lenses. Shit—this is a private moment. I don’t want it ending up on some asshole’s YouTube channel or Facebook wall.
I step closer to Iris and lay a hand on her arm. “Petal, can we go somewhere private to talk? Let’s get out of here.”
The drunken man hawks sarcastically. “Yeah, go on with him, you lousy bitch.”
If he calls her that one more time, I’m going to lose my shit.
“Go home, Kirk,” I warn through gritted teeth. “You don’t want to do this.” Part of me still cares about this stupid fucker. I’m either going to embarrass him or beat him to a pulp if he stays. So this is me, giving him an out.
And how does Kirk Bunting thank me?
He smiles maniacally, crimson blood running over his lips and teeth. Then he swipes his leg out, with surprising speed for a man with his blood-alcohol level. His boot smashes into the side of my knee—my surgically repaired knee—with destructive force and I drop.
Lights out.
Blinding white pain sears through my leg, shooting up my thigh like a bolt of lightning.
I cannot hear anything.
I cannot see anything.
Just the deafening sound of colorless explosions firing throughout my body.
I lose track of everything and everyone else as I desperately clutch my leg and howl like a baby on the floor.
44
Iris
Jude Kingston’s family?”
I’ve been standing in this overcrowded emergency room for over an hour. The only available seat is next to a man who’s slumped over stock-still in his chair. I’m not sure if he’s dead or passed out or just in horrific pain, but my instincts tell me that standing against the wall is the safest choice.
Everywhere I look, there’s coughing and sniffling and medical masks, and I’m absolutely certain I’ll be taking home an incurable disease when I leave the ER.
“Here,” I lie, raising my hand and stepping forward to someone dressed in turquoise scrubs.
This is the first person I’ve seen tonight that has uttered Jude’s name, and I’m not passing up on these updates just because Jude’s parents haven’t arrived yet.
The short woman, who I presume to be a nurse, approaches me. “Jude is being admitted, so he will be moved to a room upstairs and undergo some testing.”
“How is he? How is his knee? Can I go back there?” I’m overly aggressive, but the nurse must be used to this behavior. Adrenaline is still zipping through my veins, and I have to do something. Have to help. Have to have some clear information to offer when Jude’s parents arrive.
The nurse takes a step back, out of my line of fire, but smiles grimly. “Sorry, they haven’t given me any updates. But I do know which floor he’s being moved to, so I can take you up there. That way, you can be in that waiting area. The on-call doctor will find you there to provide updates as they become available.”
I want to argue, but the woman has probably already told me more than she’s supposed to, considering I’m not actually family. I don’t want to push my luck, because I really suck at lying.
Are you family, ma’am?
Nope, but my ex-husband’s foot put him in the hospital. Does that count?
I follow her to the fourth floor, grateful to be out of the germ-infested cesspool downstairs. This waiting area is a bit quieter, but I find that even with available seating, my body refuses to relax. I’m jittery as I pace the room, uncaring about annoying other families, as I weave through the chairs, pass the coffee station, and loop back again.
I’m not sure how many times I’ve circled around the place when Diana and Lucas rush down the hall.
Jude’s mom frantically grasps my hand. “Oh, Iris. Is he okay? What happened?”
I swallow the golf ball sized knot in my throat and take a shaky breath. “They haven’t said anything. Just that he’s been moved upstairs, and they’re going to admit him.”
“Oh God,” Diana exhales. I’m thinking she is considering what I’ve already deduced, too. If Jude is not just in and out of the emergency room, then it’s clearly a serious situation. I couldn’t bring myself to say that, but Jude’s parents have done this before. I don’t need to state the obvious.
“I’m so sorry.” My voice is small as I force myself to meet both of their gazes. Lucas’s demeanor is making me nervous. His hand absently rubs his wife’s back, but he doesn't utter a single word.
“What happened, Iris? Did you see what happened?” Diana questions, begging to know more.
I was afraid of this. God. This is why I was hoping for some solid updates before they arrived.
I called Lexi as soon as we got to the hospital, and she passed the information along to the family quickly. Once they know that this is all my fault, they’re going to kick me out onto my ass. I’m responsible for this.
But I can’t lie to them. This is their son.
“It’s his knee,” I squeak. Jude’s dad smacks his hand against the wall hard and turns, dropping into a seat nearby. “We were at a bar, and there was a fight, and he got kicked.” I angrily swipe at a couple traitorous tears. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Diana squeezes my hands. “Dear, this isn’t your fault. We’ll get through this. He will get through this.”
No one dares mention that ‘this’ could very well be the end to Jude’s lifelong dream.
“It was Kirk,” I confess shakily. “It was my ex-husband who kicked him.”
“W-what?” Diana peers at me through wet eyelashes.
The room grows silent. It seems that even the other occupants of the waiting area are suddenly interested in the tragic calamity my life has become.
I can’t meet Diana’s eyes. “We were at the bar. And Kirk showed up out of nowhere. He cornered me. Jude intervened and there was a scuffle. Jude tried to walk away…” I drop my head and shake it. Tears course down my face. In my mind’s eye, I keep seeing Kirk brutally tackling Jude to the ground. In the brief moment before that, I witnessed the raw anger on Jude’s face, but he was strong enough to try and leave. To be the bigger man. “He tried to walk away. And then Kirk attacked him. Kicked him in the knee.”
A pained sound tears from Diana’s throat. “What?”
Lucas’s arms come around her in time, right as her legs give out under her. He walks her across the room and seats her in a chair.
The waiting room’s atmosphere remains cold, sterile, and hushed while we wait. I hear only the sound of Diana’s whimpers against her husband’s chest.
I feel absolutely helpless. Powerless. Weak. Flashbacks of Jude on the ground, howling and clutching his knee, hit me on repeat. Again and again, I’m assaulted by the image of the man I love in so much pain.
And what’s the point in denying it now? It’s never been clearer to me.
I love that man.
I. Love. Him.
He’s noble and caring and protective, and he didn’t deserve this shit.
The way he treats me, the way he’s helped me grow. He’s taken care of me, he’s made me stronger. But right now, I feel entirely undeserving of that.
Mister Baller: A Small Town Enemies-to-Lovers Sports Romance (Bad Boys in Love Book 2) Page 23