by Stacey Lynn
A complete, fucking dick. I had no excuse and I had to make it right.
“Bethany,” I said, turning toward my friend. “She’ll never forgive me for this. Never, not after her ex—”
She rolled her eyes and let her Southern drawl flow free. “Not if you stand here talking to me. Go after her. You spent hours last night droning on and on about how much you loved this woman, and she was here even after you said those things to her. Go explain it. All of it.”
I couldn’t. Not now. Not when my head hurt too much to think straight. Not when she’d just seen what she thought she saw.
Fuck. We were both half-naked.
There was absolutely no way she was going to believe me.
“Damn it!” I balled my hands into fists and forced myself not to punch the wall.
For two days, I’d sat with my father, fucking pissed at myself for the awful things I’d said to her, the way I’d handled her. Beaux had said nothing when he’d shown up at the hospital with most of the team to support me and my dad. He’d wanted to hit me.
I could see it in the glare in his eyes and the tenseness in his body.
“Oliver, go to her. Go talk to her. Make her understand.”
Bethany was sweet. Too innocent for her own damn good. The very fact that she thought that would work—after Shannon’s past and her lack of ability to trust again—told me she didn’t fucking get it.
“I can’t. I’ve got to shower and get my parents home. Damn it.”
“Oliver—”
She called to me again and I turned. “What?”
“My purse?”
I tossed it to her and shook my head. “I’ll handle it. I just don’t have the time. Not right now.”
“You let it go too long and you’re screwed, you know.”
I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and sighed. “I already am.”
Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN
SHANNON
It’d been a full twenty-four hours since I’d been to Oliver’s hotel room.
The pain wasn’t any better. I’d slept like shit, but had orders to fill and work to get done, so I’d dragged myself out of bed early in the morning to get to Stamped and start working.
I’d already changed my entire life after one horrific breakup. I couldn’t let this dream of mine fail, despite wanting to lament my inability to find a decent man.
“You know,” Melissa said, getting my attention from where she’d been perched on my worktable for the past few hours trying to keep me company. She’d brought her laptop with her and was working on some website designs for a few clients, but mostly she was talking, trying to keep me from not thinking about Oliver and the blonde.
I turned to her. She was holding a pair of pliers, opening and closing them repeatedly. A scary, maniacal grin on her face. “I really liked Oliver. Liked how he was with you. But this little tool is giving me some great ideas.” She winked at me.
I looked away and back to the metal bands laid out in front of me. I had to string them with charms before I finished embellishing them. “I don’t want to talk about him.”
“I don’t want to talk about him, either. Or talk to him.” I heard the squeak of metal as she squeezed and played with the pliers. “But hearing him scream while I wrap these around his balls—”
“God,” I said, unable to stop the laugh at her description. “Stop, Melissa. Please.”
She dropped the pliers and picked up her laptop. “I just wanted to see you smile.”
Rolling my eyes, I turned back to my work. “You’re a nutjob.”
“That’s what I was talking about. A smash-and-crush nutjob.”
I glared at her out of the corner of my eye at the same time a bell at the front door rang. We weren’t opened for business, wouldn’t be until Thursday, but I had deliveries scheduled.
“Can you go take care of that, please?” I asked as I began twisting a fine piece of sterling silver.
“Sure thing, hooker.”
I snorted as she walked out of my office, listening to her quick feet take her down the hallway.
She was back within seconds, and when she spoke, her voice had lost its playfulness.
“Holy shit, Shannon.” She grabbed my shoulders and spun me around, her eyes wide and her hands trembling. “Bethany Carlson is in your store...looking for you.”
Who?
“Who? What?”
“Bethany Carlson. Famous country singer?”
My eyes bugged out and I dropped my tools, my bracelet forgotten. “What the hell? Me? Why?”
“I don’t know,” Melissa breathed, the awe clear in her voice.
My hands began trembling at the same time she pulled me to standing.
“Go see her!”
My hands went to my wild hair. I’d forced myself to take the time to get ready that day because I was going to be at the store, but Bethany Carlson? She was famous. I freaking loved her music. I had tried to talk Patrick into taking me to her last concert that went through Des Moines two years before and then acted not that disappointed when he’d twisted his lips and went, “Eh. Really? Not really my thing.”
Dick. I knew how to pick ‘em.
I brushed the errant thought out of my mind and blew out a breath. “Okay. Okay, I’m going.”
We rushed out of the office, Melissa close on my heels, and then I froze when I reached the end of the hallway.
In front of me was a woman with her back turned to me.
Blond hair flowing to her waist. A tight, short skirt that barely covered her ass. Tanned and toned legs that went to gold strappy sandals I would die to own.
And all of it—from the hair to the waist to the legs—had all been parts of the woman that had been burned into my brain since the morning before.
“Holy shit,” I breathed, slamming to a halt in my tracks at the same time I reached out to squeeze onto Melissa’s hand.
“I know,” she hissed quietly, totally awed.
I shook my head and whispered back, “No. That’s her. That’s the woman who came out of Oliver’s yesterday. I knew she looked familiar then, but I couldn’t place her.”
Her eyes jumped open and her lips pulled back to a sneer. “That whore. Oh my God, what is she doing here?”
I wanted to hug my friend and her loyalty. To go from being in awe to getting her claws ready to attack, Melissa was the shit.
“Fuck,” I whisper-hissed. I forced my feet to move forward. As I walked toward her, Bethany turned to me and exhaled slowly.
“Hello, Shannon. I’m Bethany. We didn’t really get the chance to meet yesterday.”
She was famous. A country rock star who toured with the best of the best and had won handfuls of CMA awards.
She’d also walked out of my boyfriend’s home—or ex-boyfriend’s—dressed in barely anything and giggling about seeing him later.
I hated her.
I forced myself not to be enamored with the first part, to focus on the second, and didn’t take the hand she offered to me.
“Can I help you?” I asked, my voice dry and hoarse and blood rushing through my veins.
Her hand fell to her side and she sucked her lip between her teeth. “I, well, I’m not sure what I’m doing here, but I thought maybe it’d be best for me to come talk to you myself.”
To mark her new territory? She already had it. Oliver lost claim to me when he slipped his “I’ve never cheated and would never cheat” dick into her.
I crossed my shaking arms over my chest and said nothing.
“I’m really sorry,” she said, the words rushing out of her. She waved her hands in the air while she spoke, making her seem even sweeter. “Oliver and I, nothing happened, I swear. We’re friends. I stay in the room next door to his and I’m only in town a few days. I saw him at the bar the other night and he was so drunk, I helped him to his room. That’s it, I swear. I went there yesterday to make him coffee and make sure he was okay.”
She seemed honest, almost pleading with me t
o believe her and God, I wanted to.
It didn’t change anything, but I still really wanted to believe that Oliver hadn’t cheated on me. Or fucked another woman so quickly after kicking me to the curb.
“Thank you for letting me know,” I said. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“You don’t believe me.”
Her pretty blue eyes turned sad and she sucked a lip between her teeth again. “I can understand why, I really do. But well, I haven’t always had the best luck with guys, and sooner or later they all turn out to be assholes. But Oliver’s not like that, and he wouldn’t have…we’ve never, I swear, Shannon, nothing happened with us. Nothing ever has. We’re just friends and we get together occasionally when we’re both in town, but it’s never been anything more than drinks and laughter.”
I believed her. Her sincerity was too genuine, the pain in her voice was too obvious. “I believe you,” I finally said. “If that’s all…”
“So you’ll forgive him?” The pain switched to hopefulness so quickly I almost got whiplash.
Bethany was younger—around Beaux’s age, I figured, but she’d hit the music scene even before she was twenty-one and flown to the top of the charts where she’d been for years. I knew all this because I’d been a fan of her music and seen her perform on television during the music award shows. My hands still shook from overwhelmed excitement.
Sighing, I forced down my sudden, overwhelming need to fangirl. “The thing is, is that you’re here explaining it to me and he’s not. And he hasn’t.” Tears burned the backs of my eyes. The way he’d stared at me. “Thank you, I suppose, for explaining it to me. It helps, honest. But Oliver and I—”
“He loves you,” she cut in, stepping forward.
I held my ground even though I wanted to run from her.
“He told me. He talked about you for hours, felt so shitty about everything he said to you. I swear to you, if you give him a chance, he’ll explain it.”
“I’d have to see him for that to happen.” And it hadn’t.
“I know. He’s being an asswipe, but if you want to know the truth, all he talked about the other night was you.”
Tears filled my eyes, making her go blurry as I blinked them back. “I don’t know what to do with that.”
She looked lost for a bit, her gaze roaming my store as if she’d run out of her own things to say before she looked back at me and shrugged. “I don’t know either. Boys suck.”
I laughed then, unable to help myself.
Before I could respond in the affirmative, she clapped her hands together. “Now, this is totally off topic, but he also told me about these fabulous bracelet cuffs you made that he saw one day and had wanted to buy. Do you still have them?”
“Um.” What? “Yes,” I said, once again getting whiplash by this girl. She was too sweet to resist, and suddenly Melissa was at my side.
“Hi, I’m Melissa. How about I help you out with those?”
Bethany grinned. “I’d like that. And it was really great meeting you, Shannon. I hope I see you again.”
I doubted it. “Thank you,” I said, for lack of anything better.
“Go to the back and fix your mascara,” Melissa whispered before she guided Bethany over to the displays of cuff bracelets. “Take a few minutes. I’ll help her out, but you’re shaking so hard you might fall over.”
I hadn’t realized it until she said something, but my entire body shivered.
I nodded and went to the back. Then I dropped my ass to my chair in the office, put my head in the palms of my hands, and cried out all the residual pain I’d been feeling.
This changed nothing. So Oliver didn’t cheat. He still didn’t love me. There was no way he could, not after hurting me so deeply twice and ignoring me.
Another slice of pain hit my chest and more tears fell. He would tell another woman what he thought of me, how bad he felt for hurting me, but he didn’t have the time to make it right.
What good was it knowing any of it?
***
Later, after Melissa had helped Bethany and then brought me a bottle of iced tea and a salad from down the street, and after I’d finished up two more bracelets, I was finally able to try to focus on my work again.
I had just sat down to work after taking a small break upstairs in the apartment, and Melissa was out front, dealing with the deliveries that had just arrived.
Another bell chimed, and I assumed it was the UPS man leaving, when Melissa’s voice went shrill and she snapped, “What in the hell are you doing here?”
I jumped in my seat as a male voice murmured in response, and was on my feet and moving toward the front of the building when I heard Melissa’s angry demand.
“I don’t care. Get out.”
“What is going on?” I asked, turning the corner only to once again stumble on my feet.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Patrick said, turning toward me and smiling.
I blinked rapidly, unable to move.
“She’s not your sweetheart,” Melissa clipped harshly, baring her teeth like she wanted to rip him to shreds. “Go away.”
Patrick glanced at Melissa, a quick sneer twisting his lips before he ignored her and turned back to me. “I was hoping we could talk.”
That one look in his eyes he gave Melissa before quickly being able to erase it told me everything I needed to know.
“No, Patrick. I don’t know why you’re here, but I don’t want to talk to you. We broke up. Hell, I moved almost twenty hours away to get away from you. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I think I made it clear I want nothing to do with you.”
“Yes,” he said, his voice dropping in a way I used to think was sexy, but now I realized was arrogance. “I remember the last time we spoke.”
“Then you know she doesn’t want you,” Melissa said, still glaring at him.
Man, I loved my bestie. Now wasn’t the time for her to defend me. She and Patrick had always hated each other. “Melissa, please…give us a moment.”
“But—”
“No buts,” I said. “Please. This will take two minutes.”
She huffed, and I waited until she’d gone to the back before I turned and faced Patrick. He spoke before I could.
“I miss you, sweetheart. I know, I know I messed up, and I’m so sorry. But I love you. I still love you. Please, let’s go somewhere, let’s just go somewhere and talk.”
I shook my head, crossing my arms around my waist.
They were the right words, coming from the wrong damn man and for the wrong damn reasons.
I knew it.
Patrick was handsome. He was attractive in the pretty-boy way, and he took care of himself. Dressed in a long-sleeved plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and wearing gray linen shorts, he looked everything like the perfect, kind gentleman he’d always portrayed himself to be. I had been drawn in by his looks and his body and the security he’d offered me. His well-groomed ginger hair and light green eyes helped. He was just pretty.
I couldn’t summon up a single emotion for him. His eyes were hard as steel, his voice lacked sincerity.
“You’re here because you found out another man has me and you’re pissed I don’t want you. That’s all this is, Patrick.”
“Powell?” he asked, almost choking on the word. “He’s no good for you. Come on, he’s a rebound for you. Someone who wants to fuck you until he’s tired of you. You know football players, you’ve always said the same thing about them, and don’t think for a second I haven’t looked into his reputation. He’s a player. He fucks women, doesn’t go back for more, and leaves a trail of pussy who have spread their legs for him in every city he travels. You’re nothing but a meaningless fuck to him. But to me, you’re everything.”
My heart pounded in my ribs. My cheeks heated. There was no way for Patrick to know the full extent of the pain he’d just lanced straight through my already broken heart.
I shook my head back and forth rapidly,
trying to shake away the pain he was dishing out. “Patrick,” I said and took a step back. My chin wobbled. Fuck. I couldn’t cry in front of him. I wouldn’t.
“Shannon,” he said and closed the space between us in three quick strides. His hand reached for my forearm and I gasped from the surprise. His other hand pressed to my cheek. “Let me show you how sorry I am. It’s killing me. I hurt you, and I’m sorry. But it won’t happen again.”
“You don’t want me,” I said as I flinched again at his sudden hold on me. “You’re mad you can’t have me. We both know it, Patrick. I’m never coming back to Des Moines. I’m staying here.”
“With Powell?” he asked, his green eyes beginning to glint with jealousy. Damn it. I knew it. “He’s no good for you.”
“That may be,” a masculine, very familiar voice said.
I gasped and pulled back only to see him…Oliver…standing in my doorway. I’d been so focused on Patrick I hadn’t heard the bell chime at the door.
“But if you don’t want my fist in your face, you’re going to get your hands off my girlfriend.”
Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT
OLIVER
The asshole’s eyes narrowed on me.
Shannon’s widened in surprise.
“You’re still touching her,” I said, stepping closer.
Red blurred the edges of my vision. Ever since the day before, I’d been trying to figure out what to say to Shannon to get her to believe nothing had happened with Bethany, to apologize for being such a fucking dick at the hospital. All of it sounded like bullshit. There was no way I could go to her without being able to explain everything in a way that made sense—that would make her forgive me, like I needed her to…desperately.
On top of all of it, I’d driven my parents back to Georgia the day before, turned around, and driven home. I hadn’t slept in almost forty-eight hours, but when I got a text from Bethany telling me she’d gone to explain to Shannon, I had come as soon as I could.
I’d almost wanted to strangle the little shit for not minding her own business.
“What are you doing here?” Shannon asked, wide-eyed as Patrick finally let her go when I got close enough to punch him. Screw my catching hand. I’d love to jam my fist into his face. That she thought I wasn’t any better than him, thinking that I could have cheated on her—her, of all people—made me want to punch my own face, too.