My blood temperature instantly spikes to a boil. I spring up from my seat and Vivian’s puzzled gaze follows my movement.
“Clinton?” she calls after me as I stomp into my boots and swing the door open. “Clinton? What’s going on?”
I’m so enraged that I’m incapable of slowing down to explain it all to her, to tell her that this man is the obstacle that’s been coming between us. I storm upstairs into the house, charging from room to room, searching for him. He’s not in the kitchen, not in the living room, not in the downstairs bathroom. Rat bastard! Of course he’d head straight for the bedroom.
I tear the door open and find that old fucker on the bed, on top of Lisa and I go absolutely psycho. I wrench him off the mattress and Pastor Norman Bullshit Peddler stumbles to the floor. Lisa is shrieking and yelling for me to stop, trying to pull me away as I stomp my foot into his ribs again and again and again.
“How many times, Lisa? How many times does he have to knock you up and leave you on your own? How many fucking times?!” She’s on my back, fighting me as her cowardly sperm donor tries to shield himself from my fury. “Three children with this bastard isn’t enough for you, is it? When will you learn your lesson?”
“I’m pregnant, jackass,” she reminds me as I struggle to shake her off my back, “You’re gonna hurt me.”
In my fury, her voice sounds strangely like Vivian’s. That shit causes me to freeze instantly. I drop to my knees, heart pounding in my chest, sweat beading down my skin.
Lisa rushes over to Norman’s side, crying as she rubs his bruised cheeks and buries her face in his chest. But his eyes are focused on the doorway just past my shoulder. “No…” he begs. “Please, no.”
My head snaps around and I see Vivian standing there, scared and disheveled, with her phone in hand. “You need an ambulance,” she says in a shaky voice.
“No,” he insists, “Call my wife. She’ll know what to do.”
Her eyes turn my way and she casts me a look. The disgust in her eyes, the disappointment—it makes me feel three inches tall. Sonny is crying on the floor. Rachel is standing right next to him with fear in her expression. When her eyes meet mine, she recoils, hiding behind Vivian.
Dammit. I’ve fucked everything up.
The pastor lies on the floor, bleeding and panting as Vivian takes Sonny and Rachel by the hand and goes into the hallway to call Blythe Becker, the ultimate enabler. I hear Vivian giving the woman a brief rundown of what happened and then telling her the address. Lisa is crying, crouched down next to the man who stands on a pulpit every week and preaches about morals while he refuses to take responsibility for the children he fathered outside of his marriage with a vulnerable woman who came to his women’s shelter for help. Still, she loves him fiercely for some reason I can’t explain. When I try to help her to her feet, she swats me away. I’m the enemy right now. I feel like shit.
Vivian stomps back into the room, sliding her phone into her pocket. She glares at the half-naked man on the floor. “I don’t know what the hell is going on but I called your wife and she really didn’t seem surprised by what I told her.”
“You wouldn’t understand, Vivian,” the man pleads.
She holds up a palm to him. “I don’t need your explanation. Your wife is on her way,” she spits out. Then her eyes turn to me, full of disappointment and anger. “I’m going to get out of here. And you are not going to follow me. Do you hear me?”
“Wait, Vivian, please.” I reach for her but she shrinks out of my hold.
“I thought you’d changed!” she explodes. “But you’re still violent and hot-tempered and vicious.”
I hate the expression of betrayal on her face. I hate knowing that I lost my cool and I let her down. “Let me explain.”
“No…I need space to calm the hell down before we talk. And you’re going to give me as much time as I need.”
In that moment, I know that if I chase after her, I’ll only make the situation worse. So I let her go. “Take your space, Vivian. But I’m not a patient man and I won’t be able to wait long.”
Chapter 33
Vivian
Tears pour down my face, blurring my vision, as I stuff clothes haphazardly into my overnight bag. As I move back and forth across the room, I carelessly step on a plastic tube. I hear a loud squirting sound and a massive glob of lube splatters the closet door. I grab the personal lubricant bottle off of the floor and groan in annoyance as I hurl it in the direction of the laundry hamper. The thing people don’t tell you is that when you start having sex in your every spare moment, other activities fall by the wayside. Activities such as sweeping, vacuuming and dusting.
How did my life turn into this mess?
My world used to be meticulously organized, painstakingly structured and impeccably sanitary. And then a handsome rogue rolled into town with his bad manners, his short temper and his cocky smirk. I fell recklessly in love. I pitched my good sense out the window and I fell pregnant with his child.
If I’m honest with myself, this pregnancy isn’t exactly a plot twist. I know how babies are made. Clinton and I have been shunning condoms from the beginning. I wanted a baby so much. I still do. But now this hasty decision is going to have consequences that I wasn’t really prepared to deal with.
I just watched the father of my unborn child nearly beat a pastor to death.
My head is still spinning and I don’t even know where to start making sense of all this. I’ve always considered Norman Becker to be a saint, an upstanding member of the community. I used to wish for a man who would be just like him. Someone loyal who stood by his values and cherished his family.
But now I see that he’s not at all who I thought he was. He’s a creepy old dude who runs around cheating on his wife, taking advantage of vulnerable women who come to his women’s shelter for help. And Blythe’s reaction when I called to tell her what had happened? She just sort of sighed and said, “This shit again?” and then told me that she was on her way. She was his accomplice. The whole time, her husband was cheating on her and she just stood by and accepted it. With a wholegrain, apple pie, All-American smile on her face. What the hell is that?
Still, Clinton wasn’t justified in pummeling the man to a pulp. Why’s he so damn invested in the situation anyway? Why is he making it his business?
I need answers but not now. Right this minute, I need to get away. I need to get away from this place before I loose my mind.
Yanking the zipper closed, I pull the bag onto my shoulder and stomp out of the room. I cast one last glance around my chaotic house—dishes on the coffee table, used tissues wadded up on the couch, half-eaten panties on the floor. This is the right decision for me. I need to get my life back. And in order to do that, I need to take some time to regroup. Away from Clinton. Away from this town.
After locking my front door, I hurry to my car and peel out of the driveway, headed for the highway.
Chapter 34
Clinton
I was a hot-headed fool yesterday.
It took a lot of work to convince Vivian that I deserved a place in her life, that I’m more than the jackass she thought I was when we first met. And I screwed things up epically by losing my cool on that philandering pastor yesterday. Now, I’m back at square one. And this time, when I try to prove to her that I’m a good man, I don’t know if she’ll believe me. But I have to try because she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had in my fucked up life.
When Vivian stormed out of Lisa’s house last night, she asked for space. I tried to respect that. But I was going crazy in my apartment, dying for the opportunity to come clean to her, to explain, to make her understand. Eventually, I broke down and went to her house. She wasn’t there. Her driveway was empty. I stayed there on my motorcycle in the cold almost the whole night. She never came back.
I couldn’t just go home and sleep, not with panic growing inside of me like a poisonous vine constricting my windpipe. I need my girl in my arms. I need the cha
nce to make things right. That’s why I’m here, knocking on the front glass of the Broken Cupcake at the break of dawn.
I see a form emerging from the kitchen, moving through the dark bakery toward the door. When the door opens a crack, it’s Vivian’s very angry little sister who glares up at me.
“Good morning, Reese,” I say through the tiny opening. I jam my hands into my pockets to keep from shoving the door open and storming inside to look for Vivian.
“Can I help you?” she asks through a tight jaw.
I pull in a breath. “I’m assuming you heard what happened last night.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She nods and draws her lips into her mouth, pursing them probably to restrain herself from yelling at me.
I wince. “You happen to know where Vivian is?”
“She doesn’t want to talk to you right now.”
Closing my eyes, I scrub a hand down my face. “Look, I fucked up. I just need to explain why. She doesn’t have the full picture. I need to make her understand once and for all.”
“She just really needs to be away from you right now. She needs some time to clear her head.”
“Is she okay?”
“No,” Reese deadpans without hesitation. The word is a hammer to my heart.
I rake both hands into my hair. Fuck! “I called her. She didn’t answer.”
“She blocked your number.”
“I need to talk to her.”
“She needs time.”
Reese may be little, but she sure is protective. And apparently, feistiness runs in the family. Why the hell am I not surprised?
I pinch the bridge of my nose. I could press the issue but I’d probably just be making the situation worse. I should just respect Vivian’s wishes but I’m so desperate to make her understand.
“Fine,” I say. It takes everything in me to walk away but it’s the best thing to do right now. I turn on my heel but stop myself a few steps away. “Just tell her that I love her.” I watch Reese over my shoulder. “Tell her that for the first time in my life, I know what love is and that’s because of her.”
The gravel crunches under my shoes, way too loud in the dead of dawn. I’m climbing onto my motorcycle when I hear Reese call out to me. “Wait…I’ll go talk to her.”
Chapter 35
Vivian
I’m on the couch in the office curled up in the fetal position. I have a wad of tissues clutched in my wrist and Shook Me All Night Long plays on low in the background. I have to admit that the song just isn’t the same when it isn’t vibrating the walls and causing picture frames to leap to their death. Nothing’s the same anymore.
I massage my temples with my thumbs. I have no clue what I’m going to do. The original plan had been to run away, to jump on the highway and go hide out in Springfield for as long as my parents would harbor me. But obviously, I can’t hide from Clinton forever. I’m carrying his child.
Still, I know that I’m not going to settle for a dysfunctional relationship just so I can have this man in my life. I’m prepared to raise this child on my own if Clinton won’t be honest with me…but I pray to god that he’ll be honest with me because I don’t want to have to be strong. I want to be happy. With him and our child. I want us to be a family.
My pulse shoots through the roof when I hear the thundering roar a motorcycle in the parking lot. No, I’m just imagining things.
It’s not him. Of course it’s not him.
I beg my heartbeat to slow down. This can’t be good for the baby. I draw my hand over my stomach, rubbing circles there. I’ve got a baby in there. A baby. New life taking form. This is what I’ve always wanted. It’s what I’ve yearned for over the years. Now, it’s right here and I’m letting it all fall apart. There’s that nagging voice at the back of my head, telling me that things aren’t supposed to be like this, saying that I’m not supposed to let anything come between Clinton and me.
I love that man.
And our love isn’t smooth and glossy, perfectly wrapped in a pretty, shiny bow. It’s rough with jagged edges and hard spikes. But it’s still love. It’s still worth fighting for…isn’t it?
Suddenly, it’s clear what I need to do.
Me and my man are gonna figure things out.
Once and for all.
I want my happily-ever-after, dammit!
I rise up from the couch and draw my knuckles over my eyes to wipe away the tears. I straighten my spine and smooth down my clothes.
That’s when Reese barrels into the room, her eyes wide. “Viv—Clinton’s here to talk to you.”
Chapter 36
Vivian
My heart gets locked in my throat as I step out into the shadowy coffee shop and I see him. “Clinton…”
“Hi Vivian.” The way he says my name causes the hairs on my nape to stand upright. He moves across the floor, taking long strides to close the space between us. “Sunflower, I’m here to tell you everything, to put everything on the table.”
I nod, too choked up with fear to speak as he takes my hand and gently pulls me around the counter. He takes two chairs down from on top of a table and helps me into my seat before pushing the chair in for me. He sits opposite me, drumming his fingers on the wood.
He opens and closes his mouth several times, as if he doesn’t know where to start. Then, in pure frustration, he reaches for his wallet in his pocket and slams his drivers’ license down on the table.
Confused, I reach across and pick it up. My eyes scan his gorgeous picture. He looks younger, with shorter hair and a bit less stubble on his chin but his eyes are hard and angry like they were on the first day, when we had that run-in on the sidewalk about the chalkboard sign. We’ve come so far since then and he’s grown softer, kinder. I smile lightly just thinking about his transformation.
Then, my eyes move over the words printed on the ID card, I find myself chuckling under my breath. Clinton Norman Alvarez. His middle name is Norm—
And then it strikes me. His middle name is Norman!
My eyes snap up to his and my jaw hangs loose. Oh my god…
It’s become incredibly hard to breathe. “Your middle name is…” I’m practically hyperventilating. “Your middle name is Norman.”
He nods without uttering a word.
“As in, your father is Norman Becker?”
His eyes shut and again, he nods.
My mind dashes to thoughts of Pastor Becker. Charitable, moral, good-hearted Pastor Becker. Married Pastor Becker.
“He’s not just my father, Vivian. He’s the father of Lisa’s children as well. And who knows how many other children that he never claimed. It makes me sick to think about it. Not only my mother and Lisa, but all the other troubled women he took advantage of. The women’s shelter is just a front for his fucked-up double life. He’s a predator.”
I feel like my entire world has spun off its axis. Pastor Becker is a man I respected, looked up to. Now I see that I was mistaken. The man is a deviant, a cheater. He’s the bad guy.
“That’s why you took care of Lisa’s children…”
Clinton nods. “Sonny and Rachel are my half-siblings. And Lisa is a wreck so I had to step in. I’m sorry I kept it a secret, Viv. I was only trying to protect the kids.”
“Why couldn’t you just tell me, Clint?”
“That was wrong of me. I just didn’t want anyone to judge them the way I was judged. When your very existence is a scandal, when the fact that you had the nerve to be born is a controversy, that's hard on a child. I remember what my childhood was like. The adults whispered about me. The kids teased me. My mother ignored me. And the Prez called me a cockroach. He was always a heartbeat away from stomping me into the ground. There was no peace, no security for me. That’s why I had to protect Rachel and Sonny from that. The only way to do it was to protect their secret. Our secret.”
“I would never judge them. Or you.”
“I know that now, Vivian. It’s just that, you come from a good family with parents who love
you and siblings who have your back. I didn’t think that you’d understand.”
We sit there quietly for a few moments as all this new information sinks in. And then I ask, “So how did you find out about them? How did you know that Becker was the father of Lisa’s children?”
He scratches his temple and sighs. “After that whole thing happened—the breaking and entering gone wrong—I knew I needed to get out of the MC life. It didn’t happen overnight. It took me far longer than I thought it would. I started trying to figure out where to go. That led me to start searching for my real father. It took me years to find out who it was but eventually, I stumbled upon this forum where people were discussing the Becker’s women’s shelter and everybody had these glowing, ass-kissing reviews. Except for this one woman.”
Bad Boy Page 18