“Can’t we stay here tonight or go to your apartment? I don’t want to go to a party,” I say, with a sexy pout on my lips.
“We’re going to the party, Elle.”
“But I don’t want to go to a frat party, Scott. Why don’t you go alone and then come back here later?”
His fingers close tightly around my upper arm, digging into the flesh. “I said we’re going and we’re fucking going.” His pupils dilate with anger as he stares down at me.
“You’re hurting me, Scott,” I cry, tugging my arm to free it from his hold. It doesn’t work and only angers him more.
“Are you trying to get away from me, Elle? Is that what you want?” Gripping my other arm, he holds firmly to both. He shakes me back and forth like a rag doll, an unhinged expression on his face. “Is there someone else?”
“No,” I sob. “I love you.”
“There better not be. If I find out you’re lying to me, there will be hell to pay.”
“I’m not lying,” I shout.
His hand meets my cheek with the sharp crack of a slap. My head spins to the side from the force, my hand slipping between us to cover my stinging skin. My eyes fill with tears. I can’t believe he hit me. Instantly, I sob. I’m so hurt and confused by his actions. Why? What did I do that was so bad?
He gentles his hold and slides his hands up and down my arms. “I’m sorry, Elle. If you’d do as I said, this never would have happened. Is it too much to ask that we go to one party?”
I shake my head and avoid looking at him.
He lifts my chin with an index finger. “Look at me,” he orders and I do as he says. “Go fix your makeup and hair. You’re a fucking mess. I don’t want to be seen with you right now.” He raises his hand, gesturing at my overall appearance and I flinch in reaction. I’m afraid of this new version of my boyfriend. I’m seeing him like this more often lately and I don’t know what to do to make things the way they used to be. What am I doing wrong?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Josh
My phone buzzes with an incoming text when I’m between clients. Swiping the screen, I notice it’s Elle.
Elle: I won’t be able to make it tonight. Bad migraine. Going to bed. Talk tomorrow.
Frowning as I reread the words, I type out a reply.
Me: I’m sorry to hear this. I’ll miss you. Get some rest and know I’ll be thinking of you.
Slipping my phone into my back pocket, I rake my teeth over my lip. This isn’t like Elle. Normally, she would call me - even if it was to say a quick goodnight. Texting is so impersonal; we prefer to hear each other’s voices.
I’m not sure what’s up with her, but I can give her the space she obviously needs. This will give me an opportunity to work on my paintings for the art competition. I’ve been using what little spare time I have to finish them, but there’s still quite a bit to do. Maybe if I pull an all-nighter, I can knock out most of it.
* * *
Elle has been radio silent all day. My texts and calls have gone unanswered. It’s obvious something’s wrong and it’s typical of Elle not to burden me or anyone else with her problems.
By the time the studio closes, I’m chomping at the bit to get over to her place and find out what the fuck is going on.
My fist pounds on the door. I’m frustrated she’s pulling away and worried she’s not going to let me drag her back in. Again, my knuckles knock against the steel. “Elle,” I call her name so she’ll know it’s me.
The door slowly opens and a disheveled version of Elle appears in the space. She squints and blinks indicating she’s just waking up. Her eyes are red and puffy as if she’s been crying.
“Are you okay?” She’s a mess - a hauntingly beautiful mess.
Pushing her hair back from her face, she rubs her eyes with the heels of her palms. “Yeah, I was asleep. Do you want to come in?” She steps back, allowing me to pass, before closing the door. “Have a seat. Do you want something to drink? Water? Beer?”
“No,” I say, catching her hand in mine. Pulling her over to the couch, I tug her down beside me. “What’s going on with you?” I question, turning to face her. Trailing my fingertips down her cheek, I study her face. She’s definitely been crying. I can always tell with her. The redness along her lower lids is a dead giveaway most people might not notice. Small details can turn an average piece of art into something special. Once I learned to see things with an artistic bent, I couldn’t turn it off. I began to notice things I never had before and now I see more than I should or want to.
“Elle, talk to me,” I coax.
Her eyes lower to her lap where her hands fidget, clasping and unclasping. Her chest fills with a deep breath as she inhales. When she exhales her gaze sweeps in my direction. There’s so much turmoil shining in her warm golden eyes. Whatever’s on her mind, I want to take it all away.
“Elle,” I prod.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she whispers, staring down at her clasped hands.
“Can’t do what?” I question.
“Us.”
Fuck. My heart pitches. I swear it stops and then begins again, erratically beating inside my chest. “What do you mean?” I question, numbly, raking a hand through my hair.
“I can’t be with you anymore.” Her voice cracks.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I raise my voice. “After all we’ve been through, you’re going to back out now?” I shake my head with disgust.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“Save it.” I gesture, swiping my fingers across my neck. “Save it for the next sucker who falls for you.”
“Josh, I’m sorry.” Her eyes fill with tears.
I steel myself. I shouldn’t feel sorry for her no matter how much the sight of her crying upsets me. This is her choice. No one’s holding a gun to her head. “Is that all you have to say?” My eyebrows draw together in a scowl.
“I don’t know what to say. I care about you so much, but…” She sniffs, wiping the tears from under her eyes.
“But what?” I throw my hands up in the air. “You either care or you don’t. There’s no but in that equation.”
“I’m not the right person for you.”
“Here we fucking go again. I’ve heard this excuse before. Although it’s a good one; it’s not valid in this case. We’re perfect for each other so don’t spout off some unfounded bullshit to me. I’m not buying it.” Gripping my hair with both hands, I tug on the short strands. This conversation has reached an all-time high level of disappointment. “I’m not sure what’s got you running scared, but I’m going to figure it out. And when I do, I’m coming for you, Elle. I hope you’re ready.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Elle
Tugging the top of my green strapless dress up, my eyes search the crowd for any sign of Scott. I haven’t seen him since the night we went to dinner. He’s called me a few times. I didn’t answer the first time and he immediately sent me a text ordering me to answer. I didn’t dare push my luck for fear he’d follow through with his threats against Josh. When I forced myself to answer the second call, he informed me I’d be his plus one for this charity auction. I wish Josh was here, instead. We’d have fun checking out the items being auctioned and I’m sure he would even bid on one or two of them.
We haven’t spoken in a week now and I miss him more than I thought possible. My heart aches to hear his voice or feel his strong arms around me. I want him to pull me into an embrace and promise me everything’s going to be fine...but it’s not. I realize no matter how much I long for him, he can’t save me from the current mess I’m in. I’m hopelessly in love with Josh Dawson and I’m sure I always will be. Time apart won’t diminish my feelings. I only wish I’d told him before Scott sent our relationship off the rails. Now he’ll never know how I feel.
“Hey, baby. Don’t you look nice,” Scott says, coming up beside me. His eyes roam over me from head to toe. “I’ll be with the most beautiful girl in the room.”
�
�Thank you.” When he says things like this, it’s easy for me to realize how he sucked me in all those years ago. He’s charming, handsome, wealthy and a couple years older than me. All the qualities every woman would find to be attractive in a man.
Scott kept up the charade of being a good guy until we’d been together for a few months. Once my virginity was gone, he became a different person. He’s the reason why I’ve never had another relationship until Josh. If men change after a few months, then why keep them around for more than a fun time? I imagined after three months of Scott telling me he loved me and treating me like a queen, things would always be that way. I couldn’t have been more wrong. His personality changed almost overnight and he became someone I didn’t recognize or want to be with.
Our relationship taught me to keep my distance and not to let my heart become involved. Fucking was fine, but I had to construct an emotional barrier so no one would ever be able to hurt me again. And I’d succeeded beautifully until Josh and I shared our first kiss in Las Vegas. It’s hard to believe that was nine months ago. I can still feel the heat of his lips on mine and the way he tugged my head back controlling the kiss. It was incredibly hot. Every moment Josh and I spent together since is special. I wouldn’t trade any of them. Especially now, when my memories are all I have.
“Did you take care of tattoo boy or do I need to?”
There he is.
I knew his bastard side wouldn’t take long to show. “We broke up a week ago.”
“I wish I could say I’m sorry, but we both know that’d be a lie.”
“I don’t want you to say anything about Josh. I’d prefer you never speak his name again.”
“Well, don’t give me a reason to. The ball is in your court, Elle. What happens next is up to you.”
He says this, but he’s the most unpredictable man I’ve ever met. He can turn on a dime. I never know which personality I’ll be dealing with.
“How do you figure?”
“Do what you’re supposed to and Josh will never have to deal with the ramifications.”
“What does that even mean? Talk about vague.”
“It means you do whatever the fuck I say.”
Biting my tongue, I hold in the retort that wants to escape. “Gotcha.”
Two hours later and all I want is to already be home as far away from Scott as possible, but instead I’m trapped on the dance floor - in his arms.
His large hands roam over the length of my back, before moving down to cup my ass.
“Scott, please move your hands.”
He chuckles. “I like where they are just fine.”
“I don’t. Get them off my ass, now.”
His smile fades from his lips, transforming into an angry scowl. “Don’t tell me what to do, Elle. I’m the one who gives the orders, not you.”
“I don’t want your hands all over me. I might have to pretend to date you, but that doesn’t mean you get to touch me anytime you want.”
“There’s no pretending about this. We’re together and it’s a fact whether you want to admit it or not.”
“Just because you say so doesn’t make it true. I’m only with you to save Josh’s reputation. You can pretend it’s because I can’t live without you, or whatever the hell you want to tell yourself. Either way I don’t want your hands on me.”
“What are you going to do, tell your daddy? I’m pretty sure he’d side with me. I’m the son he always wanted and never had.”
The truth in his words find their mark, spearing into my heart and playing on my insecurity. No matter how hard I try, I’ve never had my father’s approval. I doubt I ever will. Reminding myself I don’t need it, doesn’t seem to help. Deep down it’s what I want the most from him. I work hard at my profession and make a great living. I pay my own bills and haven’t asked him for anything. Is it too much for him to say he’s proud of me?
* * *
It’s been ten days since I’ve seen Josh and I can’t make it a second longer. I want to touch him and kiss him, but neither of those things can happen. At the least, I can see him - speak to him.
Walking into Canvas, I smile at Tatum behind the front counter.
“He’s with a client now, but he should be done soon,” she says without missing a beat. I guess it’s no big secret who I’m here to see. Unless, he’s told his friends we’re no longer together.
I’m about to take a seat on the black leather couch in the reception area when my eyes land on the man who strides up to the front counter as if he owns the place.
Oh my God. Scott.
What the hell is he doing here?
My heart races and my throat tightens with fear. My fight or flight instinct kicks in. My legs carry me to the door in a hurried stride. My hand’s on the handle when Tatum says my name.
“Elle, he’s done now, if you’d like to see him.”
I freeze in place, squeezing my eyes shut. Every hair on my arms stands on end. My lids raise, and I push out the door without acknowledging that I heard Tatum call to me.
Racing down the sidewalk, my lungs get tighter and my breathing becomes more labored with every step. I dart into the alcove of a building and lean forward, my hands on my knees.
“Well, this day keeps getting better,” Scott says, in a smug voice.
Fuck. Why can’t he go away forever?
“Would you like to see my new tattoo?”
I fight the urge to look. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction, but curiosity wins out and my eyes sweep in his direction. His sleeve is rolled up past his forearm. There’s a large black capital E inked on the inside of his forearm. A vine artistically twists it’s way around the letter. As repulsive as this gesture is coming from Scott, there’s no denying the artwork is impeccable.
“Why would you tattoo that on yourself?”
“You’re my girl.” He winks then his eyes narrow, glinting with anger. His emotions can flip without notice. “It’s to remind you I can get to Dawson any time I want to.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Josh
Glancing down at my watch, I notice it’s almost midnight. Day ten of missing Elle has come and almost gone.
“Hey, Josh,” Liberty says. She slips onto the vacant stool beside me and smiles. “How have you been?”
“I’m good.”
“Are you sure? Because you look miserable.” She spins to face me on the barstool.
“Yep,” I say, before raising the bottle to my lips for a refreshing sip.
“I wanted to make sure things were okay between you and Elle.” She leans an elbow on the bar.
“Why wouldn’t they be?” I question, sending an annoyed glance her way.
“Well,” she pauses, long red nails tapping on the bar. “The last night we were all out at Tito’s, I kinda told Elle you and I were together for the past two months.” She says, chagrined.
“Why would you do that, Liberty?” I ask, angrily.
“I wanted her to break up with you and then you’d finally see me for who I am.”
“See you for your conniving ways?” I question.
She flushes, embarrassed at her actions. “No, I obviously don’t want you to think bad of me. Yes, what I did was wrong. That’s why I’m confessing it to you, now. I’ve been feeling guilty about what I did.”
“It’s good to know you have a conscience. Don’t ever fuck with my relationship again. My friends don’t do that shit.”
“Okay.” She slips from the stool and places her hand on my arm. “I’m really sorry, Josh,” she says before walking away.
My mind works overtime wondering if Liberty’s actions played into Elle breaking up with me. I’d like to think she knows me well enough to realize I’d never cheat on her, but she has baggage from a past relationship. I’m not sure of all the details yet, but I know it made her lack self confidence. Her lack of a relationship with her father doesn’t help. She’s always questioning whether she’s good enough for me.
I didn�
��t see our relationship playing out this way. When she came to Canvas looking for me, I imagined Elle coming to her senses. I thought we’d be together by now, but then she was gone without any explanation. Obviously, there’s more to the situation than she let on. After everything we went through to be a couple, she wouldn’t walk away for no reason - which is why I reached out to Jam, yesterday. If anyone can find out what’s really going on, it’s him. Being part of an outlaw biker club, he has connections who can help him with whatever he needs. And most importantly, I’ve no doubt, he’ll keep it close to the vest.
* * *
Staring down into my whiskey, the amber hue reminds me of the flecks in Elle’s eyes.
Fourteen fucking days. Fourteen days of missing Elle with no end in sight.
Shifting my weight on the stool, I grip the small glass and knock it back. Depositing it down on the bar, I slide it toward the bartender, signaling I’d like another.
“Don’t go drowning your sorrows now, little brother. It never does anyone, any good. Besides, you’ll never find the answers you’re looking for in the bottom of a glass.” He slaps me on the back and sits on the vacant stool next to me. “Trust me, the only thing you’ll find down there…,” he looks at my empty glass, upside down on the bar, “is more questions.” He quickly breaks into a shit eating grin. “Me, I’m different.” He snatches up the fresh glass of whiskey the bartender slid my way and downs it like it’s water. “Me, I’m an answers kinda guy.”
Now, he has my full attention. “You are?”
“You had doubts?” Jam throws his hand up and signals for another two drinks to be brought over. I can’t help but notice the bartender moves quicker for Jam’s slight hand motion than he has for anyone else all night. My brother tends to have that effect on people.
“What the fuck is going on then?” I question. I’m done drinking and wanting answers.
The Complete Quake Series Page 67