Backlash

by Geneva Lee

  BACKLASH

  Copyright © 2020 by Geneva Lee.

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the

  author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  A branch of Geneva Lee, LLC.

  www.GenevaLee.com

  First published, 2020.

  * * *

  Cover design © Date Book Designs / Image © pvstory/Adobe Stock.

  Electronic ISBN-13: 978-1-945163-44-9

  Contents

  1. Adair

  2. Adair

  3. Sterling

  4. Sterling

  5. Adair

  6. Sterling

  7. Adair

  8. Sterling

  9. Adair

  10. Adair

  11. Sterling

  12. Sterling

  13. Adair

  14. Sterling

  15. Adair

  16. Adair

  17. Sterling

  18. Sterling

  19. Adair

  20. Sterling

  21. Sterling

  22. Adair

  23. Adair

  24. Sterling

  25. Adair

  26. Adair

  27. Sterling

  28. Sterling

  29. Adair

  Also by Geneva Lee

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To every teacher that reads this—

  I appreciate you more than you know

  1

  Adair

  Present Day

  I thought my life was hell until the devil walked through my door. He wore a wicked smile and a familiar face. That day I looked into his blue eyes—the eyes of the only man I’ll ever love—and all I found was hatred.

  Baudelaire said the loveliest trick of the devil is to persuade you he doesn’t exist.

  He’s wrong. Sterling Ford is the devil, and his greatest trick was convincing me we had something real. Five years ago. Last night. It doesn’t matter. I fell for his lies.

  One month. That’s how long it took him to get under my skin and to get me back in his bed. Stupid doesn’t begin to cover it. Reckless? Maybe. Self-destructive? Definitely. And now he thinks he can mess with my heart. Two can play that game. Let’s see how he likes coming home to an empty bed.

  That’s why I’m sitting in my car at the stoplight on the corner, blinking back tears, as he jogs down the street with Zeus. Sterling looks as free as his adopted bulldog as they run toward his apartment building, Twelve and South. My insides twist and I consider ducking out of sight.

  I don’t.

  I’m done hiding from this man. I’m not running from him or his lies anymore. I’m walking away. I should have set his house on fire. The message would have been loud and clear. Maybe then he’d stop toying with me. I eye his black canine companion and remind myself that I love him—the dog, not the man. Zeus deserves a good home. At least his owner is better with pets than people.

  Despite that, I’m watching him in my rearview mirror. Sterling pauses at the entrance to open a door for someone with a baby stroller, and I wonder for an instant what would happen if he looked up. My car is directly in his line of sight. He’s not about to mistake the Roadster for someone else’s car. I imagine him spotting me. He’d walk over, and what? Ask me where I was going? What would I say? Would I explain myself? I can almost hear it: Sorry your girlfriend texted you. I figured I should bow out. That would be damn near civil. I can’t have that. Maybe I would demand answers? Except I don’t want to hear his excuses. Sterling doesn’t deserve a second more of my time. He’s stolen enough from me. Five years of my life gone like they mean nothing. Anger churns inside me until I wish he would see me. Maybe I should have stayed and confronted him. Gotten the answers I deserve.

  He steps inside the building, and my fantasies dissolve. He’s not going to come after me. There will be no reckoning. I don’t realize how tightly I’m gripping the leather steering wheel until a loud honk sends me jumping in my seat, the wheel my only anchor. The light turns green and I gun it through the intersection, speeding away from the wreckage of us.

  I’m glad he didn’t see me. This time I’m not waiting around for Sterling to leave again. I refuse to look for a reason for his betrayal, because I already know why he did it. I need to accept the truth that’s been right in front of me the whole time. Sterling Ford didn’t come back because he loves me. He came back because he hates me.

  This isn’t a game anymore. This is war.

  2

  Adair

  Five Year in the Past

  This is going exactly as I expected.

  A surprise birthday party—the last thing I wanted tonight—and now an obviously pissed Sterling stalking back to me.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  He doesn’t look up. He just keeps his hands shoved into his jeans, his glare directed at the driveway. “Too many people,” he grumbles. “I just wanted to get out of here. I didn’t think you’d care.”

  “You didn’t think I’d…” How can he think that after I made it clear he was the only person I wanted to see today? A raw ache swells in my throat. “You were just going to take off. I was going to…”

  I cut myself off again. The only way to be even more inexperienced in Sterling’s eyes is to make a big deal over losing my virginity. That’s so not how I want that to happen. I’m not some maiden waiting for my wedding night in a novel. It just seemed like a pretty good way to take my mind off my birthday. I thought he understood that. I guess I was wrong.

  Sterling’s head lifts and he studies me for a second, the look on his face inscrutable. Finally, he shakes his head. “You just seemed busy,” he says, sounding more tired than mad now. “I’m not much of a partier. I didn’t want to rain on your parade.”

  “I know that.” I force a smile, the knot in my throat loosening a little. “We can sneak off after—”

  “There you are!” Poppy’s voice trills. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”

  I glance between my best friend and my boyfriend, torn.

  Sterling bobs his head in her direction. “Go on. I’ll stick around.”

  “No way.” I pull on his arm until he slips his hand from his pocket and twines it with mine. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “Sure.” He sounds anything but; however, he comes with us.

  The party is moving inside to the ballroom, DJ included. A fresh champagne tower is already flowing, and the bar is open. The presents have been brought in, stacked high next to a table full of jars of candy and small plastic balls with a sign that reads ‘Trick-or-treat.’ Poppy’s thought of everything my mom would have done, down to the Halloween candy and the party favors.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” she orders me. “I want you to open presents in a minute.”

  I force myself to smile—to pretend like I’m enjoying myself.

  “How are you doing?” Sterling asks when we’re alone. He hasn’t spoken once since we came inside, and he’s no longer holding my hand.

  I rectify that, clasping his again, and shake my head. “My mom loved to throw me birthday parties. Every year there was a theme centered around Halloween. I know Poppy meant well, but all I see are the ways this isn’t the party my mother would throw.”

  “Like?” he asks.

  “She definitely would have stuck with champagne and sk
ipped the hard liquor,” I tell him. “Mom didn’t like underage drinking.”

  “But champagne was okay?” Behind his puzzled expression something darker flashes.

  “She would say drinking is to escape.” I can practically hear her speaking. “But champagne is to experience.”

  The ache is back, amplified by thoughts of her. I clear my throat, trying to get rid of it. “Candy?”

  Sterling shrugs. He really doesn’t want to be here. I can’t blame him. Instead, I hold his hand tighter. We make our way to the jars on the table, and Sterling picks up a plastic ball while I unwrap a Belgian chocolate.

  “What’s this?” He holds it up.

  “A trick or a treat. It is Halloween.” I try to sound cheerful, but I wonder if he picks up on the strain.

  He pops it open and his eyes grow wide.

  “What did you get?” I angle my head to peek, discovering a folded up bill.

  Sterling unfolds it to reveal the face of Ulysses S. Grant.

  “Not bad.” I grab one and pop it open to discover a condom. Panic seizes me and I snap it closed.

  “Trick or treat?” he asks.

  I swallow. “Hard to say. Definitely not as good as yours.”

  “You keep it.” He holds the fifty-dollar bill out to me. “It’s your birthday.”

  “No way. You chose it.” When he scowls, I grab another prize and toss it to him. “Maybe you’ll like this more.” I drop the ball, holding the condom on the table nonchalantly while he opens the new one.

  “That’s more like it,” he mutters and withdraws a rubber duck.

  “It’s cute,” I protest.

  Before I can grab another, Poppy glides towards us, smiling widely. “I can’t wait for you to see what I got you.”

  “Come with me,” I beg Sterling as she hooks her arm through mine to lead me off.

  He waves off my request, shoving the plastic ball in his pocket. “Go open your gifts. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Why does he sound so resigned? I allow Poppy to lead me over to the gift table, daring a glance back just in time to see Sterling deposit one of his prize balls back into a jar. Poppy thrusts a package into my hands, and I slip into hostess mode. Not something I enjoy, but a trait that seems encoded in my DNA. The Southern woman’s curse. My gaze darts back to Sterling to see if he’s watching as I tear off the bow.

  He’s standing with Cyrus, talking. Or rather, Cyrus is. At least he’s not alone. I relax and focus on the present, which turns out to be a Tiffany bracelet from Cyrus himself. Poppy gushes over the heart charm dangling from it.

  “He’s so thoughtful,” she says meaningfully, and I wonder how much champagne she’s had to drink.

  I look up to thank him, but he’s gone—along with Sterling.

  3

  Sterling

  Present Day

  Zeus acts like a puppy in the elevator, trying to jump up and lick me. I barely keep him off poor Percy, even if the old bellhop doesn’t seem to mind.

  “He’s fine, Mr. Ford,” he reassures me as I haul Zeus off him.

  “Sorry.” I gently grab Zeus’s collar and drop to one knee to keep him contained. “He’s had an exciting day. We’ve had company.”

  “Company?” Percy asks with a knowing smile. “A pretty girl, maybe?”

  Of course he met Adair. He only runs the elevators during the daytime hours when people come and go more frequently. I can’t keep a goofy grin off my face just thinking of her. I nod.

  “She’s been coming around a bit,” he notes. “A little quiet this evening, but a looker. Will we be seeing Miss…”

  “MacLaine,” I give him the name he’s fishing for. It’s a matter of professional curiosity, I know. He likes to know his passengers, but I spy the way his eyes widen slightly under his bushy eyebrows when he realizes who is visiting me.

  “Will we be seeing more of Miss MacLaine in the future?” he asks smoothly. That’s Percy—a consummate professional. He’ll be discreet.

  “I don’t know which one of us likes her more: me or the dog.”

  “If the dog likes her, she’s good people,” Percy advises me.

  “She introduced me to him.” I scratch Zeus’s ears.

  “So, you brought them together, huh, boy?” Percy asks Zeus who responds with an enthusiastic bark.

  “Something like that,” I murmur. The truth is that the dog did bring us together—back together.

  “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe Miss MacLaine, too, if she comes back around. Shift’s over,” Percy says as we reach my floor. “You two will have to push your own buttons the rest of the evening if you’re coming and going again.”

  I bite back a smile. There’s something about the old-fashioned way Percy views the world. It’s not often that I find that old Southern sensibility charming, but the thought of Percy waiting to deliver my lady caller to me during proper visiting hours is as sweet as Hennie’s iced tea. If only he knew that I plan on pushing as many of Adair’s buttons tonight as I can. “I think I can handle that.”

  Zeus races to our door as soon as we’re out of the elevator. We both know she’s there, waiting for us. The second we’re inside, we both stop dead as an eerie silence greets us. I toss my keys on the counter, bend to unhook the leash from Zeus’s collar, and look around. Nothing is out of place, but everything feels wrong.

  “Adair?” I call. Zeus shoves his wet nose into my palm and whimpers at the sound of her name. My stomach drops and I tell myself he wants a treat. That’s all. Given how impatient I was on our walk—eager to get back to the woman I’d left in my bed—I can’t blame him. I snag one from the canister I keep in the kitchen and toss it to him.

  But Zeus doesn’t go for it. That’s the second sign something is wrong. Instead, he lopes toward the bedroom, tongue lolling from his mouth, and lets out a howl.

  Panic seizes me, and I can’t move. Déjà vu does that. It sticks you to a spot until dread forces you to move. I do that now as calmly as possible. “Lucky? You in there?”

  She’s probably in the shower or fallen back asleep. There’s absolutely no reason to suspect anything is wrong. Other than the quiet house and worried dog—a dog that loves her as much as I do. I’m not stupid enough to believe that we’ve earned a happily ever after. There are things she doesn’t know about me—things I need to tell her.

  When she was a mark—a line on my blacklist—I didn’t worry about that. Now?

  Things are different now.

  Now she’s on a different list. One I reserve for my makeshift family. It’s a list of people I’d die for. It’s a select group. I didn’t know until this moment that she’d not only made the cut, she’d worked her way up to the top.

  I pause in the butler’s pantry, opening a cabinet and reach toward the back, sliding free a Glock 19. The safety’s already off. If I’m reaching for it, I don’t have time to mess around. I know that from experience. What I don’t know is what’s waiting for me in my bedroom.

  But whatever I expect to find, it isn’t this. The bedroom is empty. There’s no running shower. No clothes on the floor. No trace of her except the unmade bed I’d left her in twenty minutes ago and the slight hint of magnolia lingering in the air. I want to believe she’s in the bathroom. I lower my gun, and not because I’m worried she’ll surprise me. I lower it because I know I’m alone. The room feels cold, like all the light and warmth has been sucked from it. She’s not here. I feel her absence as acutely as I would feel her presence. Something is missing. There’s a gaping hole in this place now. I carved a spot for her without knowing it. Her absence makes me see that.

  The imprint of her body lingers on the sheets. I can still see where her head rested against the pillow minutes ago. For one chilling moment I wonder if someone took her. I wonder if I’ve dragged her into a world she knows nothing about. I wonder if someone else is crossing her off their list right now.

  Then I see the pages.

  Words ripped from a book like the heart the
sight rips from my chest, scattered with its remains across the bed. I don’t need to check the book she’s tossed on the nightstand. I know which book it is. Of course, she knew where it was. Heat swells inside me as I cross to the piece of torn page she’s left in the spot she occupied when I left.

  So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

  She tore up my favorite book.

  She tore up my heart.

  I don’t know which hurts more.

  More than that, I don’t know what it means. When she’d come here tonight seeking shelter from her brother, I thought we’d turned a corner. I’d taken the first step with the flowers and the note. I’d given us a blank slate. I’d listened to my fucking heart instead of my head and this is where it landed me: a vandalized book and an empty bed.

  She chose that line for a reason. Because it was the end? Because there’s no happily ever after? No.

  Into the past.

  It’s a message. We can’t escape the current, the riptide will keep dragging us back out to sea—lost and separated, making it impossible to find our way back to one another. That’s where we were in the past.

  So that’s how Adair sees it. I thought when she came here last night that she’d agreed with what I’d written on that note:

  I’m all in, Lucky.