Scooter

by Marie James

  A relieved breath escapes her lips, and the tension drawing up her shoulders flows away. I know she was anticipating a fight or argument, but there’s nothing here, including Jason, worth fighting for.

  “Your things are in here.”

  I follow Cynthia to the guest bedroom, grateful that my belongings are packed neatly away in plastic containers rather than trash bags. It’s clear she packed them because Jason wouldn’t have bothered to fold my clothes neatly or wrap my breakable items in bubble wrap.

  “Thank you for taking such great care with my things,” I tell her.

  “I feel like I owe you an explanation.”

  “Did you know we were together when you started dating?”

  Her head shakes back and forth.

  “I didn’t know until they—until you were—I didn’t know until he had to fly to Miami.” She swallows, and when tears form in the corner of her eyes, I know she’s about to deliver a blow. “He told me you were dead. He asked me for help with packing your things because it was too hard for him to do it alone.”

  “You deserve better,” I tell her without emotion.

  “I just—” I hold my hand up to keep the excuses from slipping past her lips.

  “You don’t owe me anything, but I’d be grateful if you could help me get some of these things down to my dad’s car.” I hold up my cast in explanation.

  “Of course.”

  “Just the clothing for now. I’ll get my dad to swing by some other time for the rest.”

  I’m able to help by grabbing the handle of my rolling suitcase. I don’t have a clue what’s in it, but since I don’t want to be helpless, I drag it behind me while she carries one of the plastic totes.

  Thankfully, neither one of my parents say a word as the stranger helps me load my things in the trunk.

  Cynthia is heading back inside to grab one more container since there’s room in the trunk when Jason whips into the parking lot. His truck rocks back and forth because he slammed it in park before he even stopped moving.

  “Mia!” He runs to me, wrapping his arms around me in an embrace that doesn’t even hold an ounce of the comfort I feel when Ryan does the same. “Oh, God, baby. I’m so glad you’re home.”

  “I’m not home, Jason.” I wiggle out of his arms, pressing my palm to his chest to get the distance I need. “You’re home.”

  “But—”

  I angle my head in Cynthia’s direction as she watches her boyfriend or whatever he is to her look at me like I’m the long-lost love of his life.

  “She’s home.”

  His face pales when he realizes that I’ve already been inside and met her.

  “This isn’t my home.” As I say the words, I realize that I’m referring to Louisiana as a whole.

  “We can work through this,” he insists, pushing his chest against my hand to get closer to me. “I’ll never love another woman the way I love you.”

  I don’t have a damn clue why he’s fighting for what we had when it was dead long before he ever gave his current girlfriend some sob story about me dying. He gave up on me long before my hope for him faded with the setting sun after weeks in Miami.

  “It’s over, Jason.”

  “Mia,” he sighs, his head hanging low between his shoulders, and I can’t help but sense relief coming from him as well.

  Maybe he feels like he has to act a certain way because of everything that has happened, but he’s off the hook for all of it because I just can’t find the energy to care.

  He watches as I close the trunk and nods his head in understanding when I let him know that my dad will be by soon to get the rest of my things.

  He doesn’t say another word or beg me to stay when I climb inside the car. He merely nods like he’s grateful everything went as smoothly with me as it did. When I look up at Cynthia as my dad pulls away, I can tell by the look on her face that things won’t be as simple with her. That makes a genuine smile spread across my face.

  Chapter 25

  Scooter

  Agitation with myself kept me away until well after the sun set.

  But my draw to her brought me back, just like I know it always will.

  She’s in my blood, so deep in my soul that staying away from her isn’t an option.

  I don’t think I’ll ever regain blood flow in my hands from being out so long in the dead of winter, but I hope a quick shower and lying with her in the bed will thaw me out.

  The clubhouse is a little rowdy when I step inside. The guys are always looking for a good time, especially after being gone for a couple of days. Music plays through the speakers as a few women from town dance near the sofas.

  I don’t see Mia, but it seems the booze is flowing, and I know she’d never be out here with all of that going on.

  I head straight for my room. I’ve already been away from her long enough, and I have a ton of explaining to do. I have a million questions that need answering, and a slew of confessions I need to make to her.

  “She’s gone,” Max says as I pass by Kingston’s room on the way to my own.

  I stop in my tracks and back up. Jasmine is sitting on the bed as Kingston packs his things into cardboard boxes. Max is stationed in the recliner by the window.

  “What was that?” I ask, certain he didn’t just say what I thought he did.

  “Mia is gone.”

  “Gone shopping? Gone to the doctor?”

  “Gone home. Back to Louisiana.”

  I want to chuckle and call him an asshole for trying to get me riled up, but it’s clear by the look on his face that he isn’t joking.

  “What happened?” She was sleeping soundly when I left this morning.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing.” His voice is just short of a growl, and it’s filled with accusation. “She wouldn’t talk to me today. She just insisted I get her back home today.”

  “You put her on a plane alone?” I hiss. “Are you fucking crazy?”

  My heart rate doubles, and it’s taking all my power not to cross the room and knock his fucking head off.

  Kingston steps out of the bedroom and challenges me with a single look. Without words, he’s telling me that if I move on his man, he’ll move on me.

  I don’t back down because of fear. I can hold my own against Kingston “Tug” Jacks, but I don’t engage because I know Mia enough to know that my silence last night drove her away. Her head is filling with all sorts of misplaced thoughts about me not wanting her, me not needing her, me not caring for her. She thinks she’s a burden like she’s felt in the past.

  “She made it home safely,” Max offers, and I’m thankful he’s given me this nugget of information when it’s clear he isn’t going to spare me much else. “She’s with my parents.”

  Does that mean she didn’t go home to him?

  Not necessarily, and that thought hits me in the chest like a wrecking ball.

  “You moving out, man?” I turn my attention to Tug since I don’t know what to do with the information given to me.

  I’m on lockdown orders while suspended, unable to leave town. It’s not time to go and do what I want. If I head to Louisiana to get her back, I’ll lose my job with Cerberus. It’s a breach of contract and automatic dismissal. My suspension isn’t a vacation. It’s meant to be a time of reflection and introspection, an adult version of a timeout so to speak.

  “Figured I’m not staying here much anyway. Kincaid asked me to clean out my room. I think he’s got someone new coming in,” Tug answers as he shoves a pile of jeans in a box.

  Jasmine huffs and shoos him out of the way. She reaches in the box and removes the pile of clothes before refolding each pair of jeans and placing them back inside. Tug pinches her ass. Jasmine squeals, and Max smiles at their antics.

  I don’t feel like joining in on their playfulness, so I walk away. I can’t go to my room. I don’t want to see it empty. I don’t want the visual reminder that she took off.

  I head in the opposite direction,
straight to the bar. Grinch sees me coming and pours a glass for me while he’s topping off his own.

  “Thanks, man,” I mutter before bringing the heavy glass to my lips.

  He nods, and I expect him to scurry away, since that’s what most of the guys have been doing since shit went down in Venezuela, but he stands there beside me drinking and taking in the crowd. It’s not too crazy. It’s not even close to some of the parties we have here, but I know it’ll only grow. If we—if they—don’t get orders to head out for another job, this place will be packed come Friday night, and things will be even crazier once the guys realize that Mia isn’t here.

  What she doesn’t know is that every one of them has kept things as chill as possible since she arrived. They respect her need to heal in a calm environment, and she’s got no clue that the Cerberus clubhouse, usually is never calm and peaceful. The guys find tranquility in willing women, loud music, and enough alcohol to make them forget about the things they’ve done and seen. We live our lives to the fullest, one party, one sexed-up night at a time until the orders come down that we’re heading out. Then we’re all business.

  Grinch drains his glass, and I swallow what’s left of mine so he can refill it when he pours himself another one.

  “Surprised you’re out here,” Grinch says as he screws the lid back on the whiskey.

  “She’s gone.” I know what he’s hinting at, so there’s no sense in beating around the bush.

  “Gone?” He repositions, standing in front of me and blocking my view of the rowdy crowd.

  “Back to Louisiana.” I clench my jaw.

  “For good?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “No clue.”

  I turn the glass up and drain it for the second time in less than ten minutes. I’m not going to feel anything very soon, but I know I’m going to regret this in the morning.

  Other than an occasional beer, I haven’t drank much in the last month. My tolerance has taken a nosedive in such a short time. I question my reasoning for a third as Grinch pours us both another.

  “I know why I’m drinking like this,” I mutter as I look up at him. “Why are you drinking like the weight of the world is on your shoulders?”

  He shrugs. “Got bad news from home.”

  “Fucking sucks.” I tap my glass against his in solidarity, and we both chug.

  We’re five glasses in when he spots something he says will make him feel better. That something is about five feet tall and has red hair down to her ass. I chuckle as he walks away, but the laughter falls from my lips as I watch Kirsty walk toward me with a seductive sway in her hips.

  “Hey there, stranger,” she coos as she gets close enough that I can hear her over the din of the music.

  I catch her wrist before she can drag her red fingernail down my chest.

  “It’s not nice to touch people without permission,” I chastise.

  A lazy grin tugs up the corners of her lips. “Is that how we’re playing it?”

  Her eyes sparkle as she takes in my face, and I know she can tell I’m drunk. She’s seen it enough times to recognize the cues, and it’s also clear that she isn’t concerned that I haven’t called or stopped by her place in over a month. Kirsty’s a free-loving woman. She wasn’t the only chick I spent time with before, and I wasn’t the only man to warm her bed in recent months either.

  “Do I need to ask permission to suck your cock, too?”

  She makes like she’s going to hit her knees right here in the middle of the clubhouse living room, but I grab her hip with my free hand before she can lower herself to the floor. I wouldn’t put it past her to give me head in view of everyone. I’ve seen her do it before. Jinx is into a little public sex, but it’s never been my thing.

  “You’re wasting your time, Kirsty.”

  “So, you just want to jump straight to fucking me in the ass?”

  In another lifetime, my cock would stiffen with her words, the suggestion of letting me in her ass, and the seductive way she licks her lips, but things have changed drastically over the last several weeks. She doesn’t appeal to me at all. Emotionless sex doesn’t carry the same thrill it once did.

  “We had a good time.” She nods her head, too intoxicated to sense where this conversation is going. I stand from the stool in front of the bar and back away from her. She tries to step closer, taking it as an invitation to join me, but I hold both hands up to stop her. “It was fun, but that’s all it was, and whatever it was, it’s over now.”

  Her eyes narrow, but it’s with confusion rather than animosity. “You sure?”

  “One hundred percent,” I tell her with an overexaggerated nod. “Have a good night.”

  She shrugs, much like I figured she would and walks back to the group of guys near the pool table.

  When I turn back around, finally ready to face my empty room, I run right into Max’s chest.

  “You surprised me, Scooter.”

  I take a step back, only now realizing how unsteady I am on my own two feet.

  “Surprised?” I slur. I felt sober as a church mouse while I was sitting, but it’s like the alcohol just hit me.

  “Your turning her away isn’t exactly how I saw you reacting to that woman.”

  I huff, my eyes closing on a slow blink that takes more power than it should to reopen them. “Men in love don’t go looking for cheap thrills.”

  I walk past him, praying I can make it to my fucking bed before I pass out when I hear him mutter, “Indeed, they don’t.”

  My sheets still smell like her pear body wash, and I don’t bother kicking my shoes off as I crash onto my mattress and bury my face into the pillows. I’m not giving up on her. I’m not giving up on us, but I will give her time to figure out that here with me is exactly where she needs to be.

  Chapter 26

  Mia

  I’m regretting my decision as I sit in the corner booth of the diner and shred another napkin. The first three are in a neat little pile near my empty coffee cup. It’s not empty because of poor service. I turned the waitress away the last time she stopped by. I’ve had two cups already on top of what I drank at my parents’ house this morning, and I’m feeling like I should go out and run a marathon, which is alarming because I loathe running. Always have, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

  My head fills with memories as I watch Jason walk toward me. He was once the man of my dreams, the smiling handsome man who had goals and dreams that we often spoke about accomplishing together. While he was still in law school and we had our whole lives in front of us, we’d lie in bed and whisper our plans to one another. We’d spend entire weekends together, never really getting out of bed unless it was to eat or shower the sweat from our bodies after hours of lovemaking. I remember running my fingers through his hair and watching his eyes flutter closed with the contact.

  And even as hard as I try, I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when things changed. I don’t even know if there was an exact second in time that he became someone I no longer recognized. Maybe it was a gradual transition once he got hired at the law firm. Maybe he saw what others had, and since he was never willing to put in the same amount of work, he became bitter and entitled. None of it matters now. These are his and Cynthia’s problems to contend with.

  Jason isn’t smiling now, and his eyes are circled with exhaustion, the normally vibrant skin a sickly dull color. It’s clear he didn’t get much sleep last night, and I can already predict how this conversation is going to go before he takes a seat across from me.

  He holds his hand up and snaps his fingers to get the waitress’s attention before he even greets me.

  Has he always behaved this way? Was I blind to his blatant level of disrespect for others?

  My parents told me they didn’t have a clue that Jason had moved another woman into our apartment. My mother sobbed for over an hour last night when I explained who the woman was that helped me get my things in the car. She’s more distraught than I am over the dissolution of
our relationship. I never confessed the decline in our relationship with my parents. I figured if I hadn’t made a plan to leave him, then complaining about something I was tolerating was unnecessary.

  Like any good man, my father wanted to go to his house and beat the crap out of him, but I reminded him that doing so would be illegal, and he backed down rather quickly. I explained things then, letting them know that I was unhappy long before I was abducted. Ma’s tears began to dry, but Pa spent the remainder of the evening consoling her and reminding me how strong and beautiful I am, and that I don’t need a man to be whole.

  This isn’t something new to me. My father has always urged me to be independent. I think that’s why I’m in my early thirties and still haven’t gotten married yet. It’s why I knew deep down that I’d never take the next step to spend the rest of my life with a man like Jason.

  I didn’t explain my feelings for Ryan simply because I don’t completely understand them myself.

  As I watch Jason chastise the waitress for overfilling his coffee cup, I can’t help feeling relief over dodging this bullet. It still doesn’t keep me from criticizing myself to agreeing to meet him today, though. I should’ve left well enough alone, but after he called my parents’ house incessantly this morning, I gave in, capitulating to a final meeting before I wash my hands of him for good.

  “What did you want to discuss?”

  He looks up from his coffee as if he’s annoyed that I’m sitting here in front of him when he’s the one who suggested we meet, and it takes a lot of control to keep my lip from twitching with how funny it is to me now, how easy it is to take a step back and see his true colors.

  He watches me for a few long moments, and I want to shy away when his eyes dart to the scarf covering my shaved head. I know he saw the damage that was done to my hair before he took off from Miami, and the look on his face tells me that he sees me as less than a woman. It’s what I felt as Ryan used the clippers to trim away the long tresses. Only now, I stiffen my spine rather than give in to the burn of tears behind my eyes.

  “You look like a cancer patient,” he says as he tilts his head to the side, and I can see the wheels turning in his own head. He’s trying to figure out a way to take advantage of this entire situation, to use my tragedy to gain a higher foothold for himself.