by K. Bromberg
“Fuck you!” he screams, rage winding with each and every word. “You’re the one who caused all of this. Not me. You want to point a finger? Point it at yourself, you arrogant son of a bitch.”
“I caused this? You’re out of your goddamn mind!” Come at me. Please. Give me a fucking reason to go against my promise to myself. Motherfucker. My fists are clenched, my blood is on fire, and it is taking every ounce of restraint I have to not knock his teeth out. But I don’t. He’s baiting me. Doing a damn fine job of it. But a black eye is one thing. Knocking his teeth out is another.
But damn is it tempting.
His jaw clenches. Hands fist. His body physically bristles at my criticism. His ego so large he’s dying to correct me. “You’re such an arrogant asshole. I knew you wouldn’t part with your money. Even planted some seeds with the tabloids to put pressure on you. But fuck, you’re the goddamn golden boy so you figured you’d take the hit in stride. Get an ego boost from the attention it sure as fuck was going to get you. But not once did you think about that precious wife of yours, did you?” His words serve their purpose. Dig at me. Carve into the guilt. “Threw her to the goddamn wolves rather than pay me the money. You proved me right. You’re all about you and could give a fuck less about Rylee or her reputation—”
“Don’t you fucking say her name again,” I yell. I connect with him, forearm against his throat as I pin him against the wall behind him. And he doesn’t resist. Knows damn well he’s pushing my buttons and he’s having way too much fun doing it because he thinks I can’t touch him. His lack of reaction a non-verbal, fuck you.
“Why? Does it bug you, Donavan, that I called it right? That when I knew you weren’t going to pay, I chose to fuck your wife over anyway. Prove to her what a piece of shit her husband is. That he chose money over her?” I press my arm harder into him, needing to shut him up yet wanting the torture of hearing more. “How did it feel when she pushed away from you? When she blamed you for losing her job? I hoped it ripped you apart inside. Fucked with your head because it’s nowhere close to how I felt when you took my wife from me.”
“Go to hell,” I grit out, unable to move because I know if I do, I’m not going to be able to stop myself. My fury has a mind of its own and all it’s waiting for is any little thing to set it off. “I’m not playing into your mind games. Because you’re leaving out that you’re the one who fucked up. You were so goddamn thirsty for revenge that you forgot about the loan sharks waiting to crawl up your ass. You let your temper get the best of you, uploaded the video without even negotiating, and were shit out of luck because your bargaining chip just went out the goddamn window. You lost your money and knew the bill collectors were coming.” I let the smirk play the corners of my mouth as my fists beg to finish the talking for us.
“I get the last laugh though, don’t I?” he taunts in his calm, even voice despite the pressure on his chest. “That little video made you the ‘it couple’ for the media. Caused a frenzy. Frenzy means more money. Upped the price of the photo of your son to a pretty penny. Killed two birds with one stone: paid off my debts and got a final ‘fuck you’ in with your kid.” He leans his head forward as far as he can so his face is inches from mine. He whispers but I can hear it clear as fucking day. “You’re not such a badass when every man in America is watching that wife of yours come and fantasizing it was them with her, now are you?”
Restraint snapped.
Promise to myself reneged.
The fucker deserves it.
This one’s for Rylee
My fist flies. The impact is bittersweet as his head snaps to the side, blood spurting from his nose, a groan falling out as he brings his hands to his face and slides down the wall. I’m only allowing myself one.
Fuck it’s going to be hard to walk away. So I don’t. I step closer, rein in the fury and take the high road when all I want to do is crawl in the gutter with him. I reach out and yank his hair so his head snaps up to look at me.
“Don’t ever come near my family again.” My threat is plain as day. I let go of his hair, shoving his head back. “What is it they say about revenge? Before you try to get it, make sure to dig two graves?” I grate out, voice shaking, body amped up on adrenaline. “Maybe you should have taken the advice.” He looks up, confusion flickering in his eyes as to what I mean. His mind only focused on the grave he dug for me, and not the one he should have dug for himself.
Well, if he doesn’t get it now, he sure as fuck is going to understand in about two minutes.
“Fuck you,” he says as I walk toward the door.
I stop and hang my head down as a chuckle falls from my mouth that clearly says the same thing back to him. I let the silence eat up the room. Allow him to think this is all there is going to be.
And then I drop the hammer.
“You may have paid your debts back. But I think you forgot about the interest you owe them. I guess I’ll let someone else do my dirty work for me after all.”
I open the door and walk out of the apartment, a part of me wishing I could see the expression on his face, the other part of me never wanting to see him again. Holding my hand up, I ask the guys standing a few feet away to give me a minute. A goddamn second to catch my breath and figure out how the fuck I feel about getting but not getting what I wanted.
Because yes, I got my answers. Got them tied up with a nice little bow that normally I’d question the ease in which he confessed them. But I know that fucker inside out. I worked with him for years, watched him across the table from me in mediation and on the stand during the trial, can read him like a fucking road map. Do I question the answers’ validity? Not enough to care because he was so itching to one-up me. Desperate to prove he stuck it to me in the end—got me back—that he was so amped up on the high of it, there was no way in hell he’d be able to spin the truth.
So yes, I’m good with his explanations. But fuck if I’m not struggling with giving him what he deserves by my own hand. Rylee. The reason. The answer. The goddamn everything. That’s why I have to be okay with this outcome. With someone else doing my dirty work to reach the same endgame.
And when I look up, they are there, ready and willing to do it for me. And for them. Three fuckers solid as tree stumps. Scary shit to owe money to these guys.
“You have five minutes to collect your interest before Kelly calls the cops. Make sure he’s alive when they get here. He seems to be in violation of a restraining order.”
Fucker has no idea what’s about to hit him. Fairly sure it’ll wipe the smarmy smirk off his face.
I think he’ll welcome going back to jail after they get done with him.
I meet Sammy’s eyes. I see the question there. You’ve wanted a piece of Eddie for so damn long, why are you walking away now?
But Sammy knows why. Probably can still hear the fury in my voice from the hospital all these days later. Her. Safety. Comes. First.
And if not, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to justify shit to anyone. I have two perfectly good reasons at home. They’re what matters. My end all, be all.
The reason I’ll never stop trying to be the man deserving of them.
I just shake my head and slide into the waiting car. I’ve wasted enough time on Eddie fucking Kimball.
Eddie will not be bugging you again. He’s in custody.
My feet stop as I look at the text. I need a minute.
Fuck, I need more than a minute. I need to drown myself in a fifth and take a whole goddamn evening to swim in it. So I can brood. Be that cocky asshole I used to be and not give a fuck about anything or anyone.
But I can’t.
So I sit down on the step to the front door and sigh, close my eyes, hang my head, and give myself sixty seconds I can’t afford to take. Because once I walk in the door, I need to be the same man who just walked away from Eddie without throwing another punch. Responsible. Mature. Selfless.
Right now I want to be anything but.
Or is it that I’m a p
ussy and fear what I’m walking in on? A goddamn powder keg of unknown. Will my wife be here? Because I miss her so fucking much. Or just that shell of her that I’ve grown to despise?
Yeah, you’ve been pussified, Donavan. Needing a woman to complete you when you used to not need shit. My, how the player has fallen.
I chuckle. Not for relief but because I need something to take the edge off all this pent-up emotion. And because I know what else I need to do when I go inside, what I need to tell Ry is going to happen, and I just hope the news about Eddie helps take the sting out of it.
The door opens behind me. It closes. And I wait for it. Know it’s coming.
“You okay?” Haddie asks as she sits down beside me and holds out a beer and a bag of ice to me. I look over to her, wondering how she knew I needed both. “Call it a lucky guess.”
“Thanks.” I take them and hiss when I put the ice on my knuckles. We sit in silence for a few moments.
“Shane stopped by unexpectedly. He’s in with Ace right now,” she says, surprising me. But I shouldn’t be. Shane’s one of Ry’s boys. He knows something is wrong just like I do. “Ry’s out on the upstairs patio. I talked her into getting some fresh air.”
“She is?” Hope tinges my voice. She must be feeling better. I knew she’d come around.
“Colton?” By the way Haddie says my name, I know: Rylee isn’t better at all. In fact, it reinforces what I have to do even more.
“I’m calling the doctor in the morning.” I answer the unspoken question she left hanging out there, bring the beer to my lips, and take a long pull on it. And I hate myself for saying it because now I’ve put it out there, I have to admit there is something wrong with Rylee.
And I don’t want there to be something wrong with her.
“At first I was pissed at you, at her . . . You didn’t tell me and I’m her bestie. I should know this. But I get it. I understand how proud Ry is. How she thinks she can handle everything and if she admits she can’t then it makes it even worse. But, Colton, this is about her getting better. Not about her being weak.” She leans her head on my shoulder and sighs.
I shake my head. Emotions fucked. Head more so. “I thought that dealing with Eddie today would help. I could come back and tell her he won’t bother us anymore. Maybe knowing that worry was gone might be what she needed to help her break through . . .” I stop when I realize how fucking stupid that sounds.
“It might help some,” Haddie says softly, “but it’s not going to fix her. We’re back to Matchbox Twenty on repeat again but there’s no music this time. In fact, there’s no sound at all. She needs help, Colton.”
I scrub my hands over my face. “I know, Had. I know.”
“She tried to keep it together for a while but I know her well enough to know better,” she says as I stand up.
“Thank you . . . for everything.” Our hug is brief, my need to see Ry ruling my thoughts.
“Always,” Haddie says as I open the door and walk into my house.
I hear voices, my hopes rising to be dashed once again when I see Shane on the couch talking to Ace. And fuck, for some reason seeing Ace hits me hard, validates the reasons why I walked away from Eddie.
My end all, be all.
Shane looks up when he notices me. “Hey,” he says as he stands immediately, eyes locked on mine. I know a threat when I see one but for the fucking life of me can’t figure out why Shane’s the one giving it to me.
“What’s wrong, Shane?” I ask, mind spinning as he hands Ace off to Haddie without letting me see him first.
“Can we talk?”
And if he wasn’t so dead serious, I might laugh at the sudden growl to his voice and stiffening of his spine. “Sure,” I say as I fire a look at Haddie and get a shrug in response. “Why don’t we head into the office?”
I lead the way, let him walk in first, and then shut the door. We take seats on opposite sides of the desk, and this time when he looks at me I see so much more than the threat from a moment ago. I see a scared kid trying to be a brave man and I’m not sure of the footwork of how to go about this.
Well, I’m scared too. For different reasons. But scared nonetheless.
“What’d you want to talk about, Shane?”
He shifts in his seat, fidgets his hands, and before he even speaks, I can see we need to spend some more time together so I can help him look controlled when he’s not feeling it. That’s a must for a man and I’ve dropped the ball in teaching him that.
“You’re supposed to be the one who takes care of her,” he accuses with more certainty than his eyes reflect, suddenly nervous now that he’s actually standing his ground. “I mean, you can see something’s wrong with her, right?”
I bite back the flippant comment I’d normally give—how I sure as shit know how to take care of my fucking wife. The exhaustion and the shit with Eddie make it so goddamn tempting, but I’m able to find my restraint. To realize this is Shane in front of me trying to make sure Ry’s okay.
I lean back in the chair and roll my shoulders, put myself in his shoes. “She’s having a tough go of it, isn’t she?” I meet his gaze. I don’t shy away from it, because I want him to see I understand Rylee needs help.
“If you’re not going to get her a doctor, then I will,” he states, voice resolute but then throws me for a fucking loop when his eyes well up with tears before he quickly looks down.
“I’m calling one tomorrow. She asked me for time to try and get through it,” I explain with more patience than I feel. But it’s one of her boys, a part of her family. “But she’s not getting any better so I’m going to get her some help. She’s going to be okay, Shane.”
“Don’t say that,” he says between clenched teeth. He squeezes his eyes closed and his face transforms. “That’s what they said about my mom. And look what happened to her.” His voice breaks as he delivers the words.
Fuck. How could I have not seen this coming? How could I have not realized Shane would compare Rylee’s postpartum depression to his mother’s depression? The illness that caused her to take her own life in an overdose of pills. Or the fact he is the one who found her and is forever scarred by the memory.
“Look at me, Shane.” I pause, waiting for him to lift his head and meet my eyes. The courageous man who walked in here is gone. The broken boy who lost his world when his mom died has replaced him. I scramble to fix it. Him. Use words that won’t do shit but will sound like it. “She will get better.” And I’m not sure if the strong resolve in my voice is to convince him or me. “I am going to have a doctor see her tomorrow. It might take some time, but we’ll get our Rylee back, okay?”
He stares at me no doubt deciding if he believes me or not. He nods his head slowly as he begins to speak. “Rylee is the only mom I have. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she gets better.”
I nod my head, the words he doesn’t say are reflected in his eyes: I can’t lose another person.
I understand that more than you know, kid.
“That makes two of us.”
“RY?”
Colton’s voice shocks me from the darkness of my mind into the blinding light of the patio.
Everything wars inside me: relief against spite, fear against hope, numbness against pain.
He stands in the doorway. Vitriol-laced accusations scream in my head but don’t form into words. Can’t. It’s too much effort.
“You left me.” My voice sounds hollow, unaffected. Numb.
I missed you like a drowning person misses the air.
The baby monitor clicks as he sets it on the table. The cushion whooshes as he sits beside me. His eyes give an apology I don’t want to accept.
“I had to take care of some things, Ry.” He sounds tired. Rough. Something’s going on and yet I can’t find enough energy to care.
My body begins to hum. The ghost of the panic attack I had when I found out he had left comes back to haunt me. I wring my hands. Try to hold on to my control even though I can fee
l it slowly slipping away from me.
I can’t breathe.
“I went to see Eddie.”
Air feels like water, slowly filling my lungs with each inhale. Closing over my head and pulling me under.
“It was the first time he’d surfaced so I had to go.”
The deeper I fall the more my body begins to burn with heat from the inside out.
“He won’t be bugging us ever again.”
I fight back. Break the surface. My lungs heaving for the air his words bring me.
My eyes open wide and meet his, a moment of clarity amidst this haze.
“Thank you,” I say, voice hoarse as I try to elicit the emotion to match my words. But I can’t feel. When I don’t want to it’s all I can do, and when I do want to, I can’t.
I keep my eyes locked on his. Hope they’ll be the lifeline I need to keep me afloat, and sustain this feeling of normalcy for a little longer. The span of time seems to be less and less as the days go on.
Colton reaches out and runs the back of his hand down the side of my cheek. Tears well. I fight them back. I open my mouth to speak, but the words don’t come out.
I need help.
He moves to sit next to me, pulls me in close to him. I try to find comfort, try to use that hum of our bodies touching to tell me I’m still alive. And if I’m alive I can keep treading water until I can get to the edge.
I close my eyes. A tear slides over. A little piece of me leaving with it.
“Shane is really worried about you.”
I saw it in his eyes: the fear, the memories of his mom, the worry. I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t reassure him. He saw right through it.
Guilt. The one constant I feel is back, swims in my head.
“Your mom. I’m not going to be able to keep her away much longer, Ry. She’s worried.” I am too. I can hear the unspoken words in his voice but don’t have the wherewithal to respond. “I’ve kept her happy with pictures and videos. Telling her you’re sleeping when she calls. She’s going to come up this weekend.”