Dark Moon Falls: Jaxson

by S. J. Pierce

  The town is also irritably small. So, maybe the chances were better than I allowed myself to consider. It’s inevitable I’ll run into any number of my exes here. Or even one of my old friends I’ve lost touch with since I packed my things and bailed.

  I’d rather it be one of them, though. As awkward as it would be. Anyone but him.

  I stare blankly at the front door and shift on my feet. My eyes sweep to my black Jetta. I’m not sober enough to drive and I still need to tip Janey.

  Crap.

  I have no choice but to go back in. I’ll keep my head down, leave a tip, and book it back out. There’s a diner down the street I can walk to and sober up.

  “Just in and out,” I tell myself. Open the door. “In and out.”

  Head to the bar over the black and white tiles. Head down. Don’t look for him.

  Find my seat. Pluck a couple fives from my purse.

  Almost there.

  Toss them onto the bar. Grab a potato skin.

  As soon as I stuff it into my mouth and turn, someone leans down from the seat beside me. A pair of icy blue eyes and a dimpled smile greets me. “Rhee?”

  I freeze. Bristle.

  It’s Trenton.

  I lift my head to meet his gaze, and what he finds there must jar him because he flinches and turns his attention to his drink.

  My mind is screaming to get out, to stick with the plan, but everything else inside me is ignoring it. I never got closure for what he did to me and his wife. Never got to say my peace. He blocked my number and all my social media accounts, and the one time I showed up to his body shop to look for answers, he acted like he didn’t know me and asked security to escort me out.

  Maybe this is something the universe decided to afford me.

  Slowly, I slip onto the barstool beside him, swallowing the potato skin, my eyes never leaving his stone-cold profile. He’s ignoring me now because I didn’t greet him as enthusiastically as he greeted me (apparently, seven years is plenty of time to get over what he did), and he knows what’s about to follow won’t be pleasant. Like all narcissists, if it’s not something that directly serves him or his ego, he wants nothing to do with it. “Trent Harper,” I say, drawing out every syllable the way an evil villain’s tongue caresses the name of its prey. “Fancy meeting you here.”

  I’m talking to a wall.

  My heart pounds wildly, but I somehow manage to remain calm on the outside…and I’m hoping it’s freaking him out. Nothing scarier than a pissed off woman who appears collected. Assuming he can feel things. “How’s Naomi?”

  He nurses his drink, and the muscle along his jawline flexes as he swallows. I’m irritating him.

  It fuels me. I take a sip of the water I ordered. “Heard you two are still together. Make sure to send her my condolences.”

  He throws a steely glare. Knocks back the rest of his drink. I study him for a moment. He looks exactly the same…right down to his haircut. Shaved close on the sides. The top longer and chestnut and so filled with product the rain doesn’t stand a chance. Just the right amount of stubble along his jawline to make a woman wonder what it feels like between her thighs.

  He’s beautiful. Probably the most beautiful man I’ve ever been with. But the most beautiful ones are often the deadliest.

  What is it about men that often leads us down the path to ruination? I’m afraid I’ll never know, and it scares the hell out of me.

  He finally speaks. “You come to try and steal me away from her again?” The way he smirks, the way his eyes shine with pure joy at the way he’s both teasing and insulting me, ignites something inside. So, I clench the drink in my hand and talk myself into walking away.

  Just walk away. Be the bigger person.

  This is a fight I’ll never win. His eyes might be the purest shade of blue, but he’s rotten to his core.

  “‘Cause I just might let you this time.” He winks for effect.

  “Screw you,” I hiss, and before my brain can register what my hand is doing, it empties the contents of my glass in his face.

  So much for taking the high road.

  A girl behind him squeals when some of it splashes into her hair.

  I set my glass onto the bar with a pointed thud, my eyes never leaving his. He wipes the wetness from his face and doesn’t break character. His grin is still Cheshire-cat evil. He seductively licks a bead of water from his top lip. “I’ve always liked your fire.”

  My fists ball at my sides. I debate decking him in his smug mouth. It’s only when I hear the roar of Lyall’s voice carry across the bar that my anger sobers. “Hey!” he yells, and as he storms over, the bar goes silent.

  Crap.

  I’m about to get kicked out again.

  I slink out of my chair.

  Trenton leans back into his, satisfied. After all, he’s the ‘victim’.

  Lyall sidles up to us, assesses the damage. The heat from his sudden presence rolls over me and I shiver. Wolves are hotter when they’re angry. Temperature-wise. And Zenesha already warned us he was in a bad mood.

  A girl flinging drinks in his bar isn’t helping.

  He gets a good look at me. Glares at Trenton. “You,” he growls. “Out.”

  Trenton throws him a questioning look. “Me?” He points at me. “But she’s the one who—”

  Lyall leans in with bared teeth. “I say it again and you’ll be thrown out on your ass.”

  Murmurs around us.

  Some customers start chatting again, disinterested.

  Zenesha appears behind the bar, leans into the conversation. “You heard him, sweet cheeks. Get movin’”

  Trenton pulls out his wallet and flings a twenty on the bar. It almost hits Zenesha, and Lyall immediately fists Trenton’s shirt in his hand and yanks him from the barstool. Lyall is the bigger of the two, so all Trenton can do is let it happen as he drags him toward the door.

  I watch in part shock, part amusement, at the way it bruises his ego. Look back to Zenesha.

  She smiles. “Gone so soon?” And she places another drink in front of me. Something fruity she was probably delivering to someone else before she joined our conversation. “Here, I know you need it.”

  Without argument, I hang my purse on the stool again and slide into place.

  4

  Jilted Lover

  “Why did I let him get to me?” I whisper into my drink. I knew better. It’s what guys like Trenton are good at. They’ll do and say whatever it takes to get a reaction. To feel in control and on top. The best thing I could have done was not give him anything at all.

  But damn, it felt good.

  The bar returns to normal as if me throwing a drink in Trenton’s face never happened, and I’m thankful. As a bonus, none of the guys here will hit on me anymore. No one wants to hit on the drink-thrower.

  A strong hand clasps my shoulder. “No more throwing drinks,” Lyall says in a fatherly way as he passes. He doesn’t look back to see if I’ll reply. It was a warning more than anything. My strike one.

  I take a sip of my too-sweet drink and make a face. Ugh. Who drinks this stuff? But it’s free so I won’t complain. I then wonder if Lyall knows about my father. He must. It’s the only logical reason he didn’t throw me out with Trenton. Either that, or he somehow knows the truth about what happened.

  No. Everyone here believes Trenton’s side of the story, Trenton and Naomi saw to it, so it couldn’t be that.

  I self-consciously tug on my shirt, that long-forgotten ache resurfacing. It’s been a while since I’ve wondered who around me knew. Who was judging. Back then, it felt like the whole world.

  I was only eighteen and freshly graduated. My summer job was working at the Hot Joy Café for Ms. Joy Darling. Trenton was a regular every morning, and boy, did he know how to get a girl’s attention. He certainly had mine.

  He always kept his eyes on me a little too long. Made sure to brush my hand when exchanging money. Lean against the counter with an achingly gorgeous smile to ask how
my day was going.

  But he was totally mated with Naomi, which meant he was totally off-limits.

  Lingering visits in the morning turned into unexpected late-night chats when Joy let me close shop. He said he ‘needed some caffeine’ after a long day at the shop, but turns out, what he really yearned for was a drink of me, except…I wasn’t giving in so easily, and I think he liked the challenge.

  Correction, he salivated at the challenge.

  Yes, I was a wild child, but I had my limits, and mated wolves or married men was the hardest limit I had. I saw what it did to my mom years before—she quit eating. Quit taking care of herself. She died the next year of a heart attack, but my sister and I knew what it really was. She died of a broken heart.

  “I never should have bit her,” Trenton said one night about Naomi, and being young and naïve at the time, I took the bait.

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s not my true mate.” His blue eyes bored into me.

  I reclined, hugging my iced coffee against my chest. Butterflies flitted around my stomach. “Oh?”

  A devilish smile masked in sadness. “Yeah. And I’m not sure what to do about it.”

  Many conversations followed, and in each one he injected more ‘details’ about his relationship with Naomi. He wasn’t happy, she wasn’t happy, and they’d finally found a witch who agreed to un-mate them so they could both move on. It wasn’t fun or painless, but the deed was done, and he could finally focus on moving on with his life.

  He started sending me sweet little late-night texts. Music to listen to. Pictures of his ‘new apartment’. Gifts. Promise after promise of trips and a family and a future. “You ready to move in with me soon?” he said the first night we made love. He picked up a lock of my hair, smelled it. Nuzzled my cheek before his mouth claimed mine.

  Yes. I was ready to be his. Move out of my dad’s. Things were as bad as ever.

  Our first time was in the back of the coffee shop. I’d closed five minutes early, and after an hour of the best sex of my teenage life, he left me trembling and deliciously sore. I didn’t think I’d ever get enough.

  Every three days, he made sure to find me and quench my thirst for him again, but eventually, things started to slow down and not add up. He quit mentioning the apartment and moving in together. His texts were fewer and far between.

  “I’m just busy, babe,” he would say. Or, “I’ve been asleep, dreaming of you.” And, of course, being young and naïve, I continued to buy the bullshit he served despite the nagging in my heart pleading with me to wake up and smell the coming rejection…up until the night Naomi made a surprise visit to the coffee shop.

  I was looking at my phone, obsessing over the unanswered text I’d sent him hours ago—Is everything okay? You’ve been distant.

  I sent another. Trent? I’m worried.

  A phone chimed in front of me, and someone flung a phone that looked just like his on the counter.

  I quickly tucked mine away to tend to the customer. “Sorry,” I muttered. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

  When I looked up, it was her.

  She met my gaze with a glare that could set an entire city ablaze. “You should be worried.”

  My stomach hollowed. What the…

  We just stood there, staring each other down. How did she have Trenton’s phone? Why was she so pissed? They’d been un-mated. They both wanted this. Did she not want him to move on and be happy? Did she have issues letting go?

  She was the one to break the silence. “You’ve been screwing him behind my back.”

  I reeled. Was this woman mental? “I…”

  “I found your texts on his phone. He told me everything.”

  I couldn’t breathe, my mind struggling to connect the dots.

  She leaned into the counter, eyes wide and furious. “He told me how you lured him into having an affair.” An aggressive wave of her hand. “With some kind of dark voodoo magic. How you’ve been plotting to take him away from me. But I will tell you this—he’ll never leave me. He loves me. So, I suggest you fuck off.” Spit flung from her lips on the last part, and all I could do was stand there and take it. Process her words. Had she completely lost her marbles?

  “Naomi,” I said calmly. I took a step back to get more distance between us. Thank God she was human because if she could shift, she would have already done so and tore me to pieces. “You and Trenton were un-mated weeks ago. We didn’t even do anything until he moved out and it was official. I don’t know what you’re—”

  She laughed a horrible laugh. “He said you’d say that.”

  “Say what?”

  “Some nonsense about how we were un-mated. That’s not even a thing, Rhee. And how all of this was his plan. How he came onto you. How he made promises and got an apartment and gave you gifts.”

  My lips parted but nothing came out. But he did. He did say all those things. Why would he make it seem like they were the lies of a jilted woman?

  She collected his phone and turned for the door. “Your time is up, sweetheart,” she hissed, and before she disappeared into the night, she turned and said, “Your name in this town will be shit by the time I’m through with you.”

  5

  Lesson Learned

  Your name in this town will be shit by the time I’m through with you.

  The words banged around in my mind months after. Mixed with the heartbreak of knowing I’d been taken advantage of by Trenton, and all the rumors that started flying (courtesy of Naomi) and cold shoulders I received as a result, the damage they caused were unbearable.

  If anyone deserved for their name to be shit after that whole ordeal, it was him. All he knew how to do was lie and scheme to get what he wanted, and then lie and scheme to get out of it. Made me look like the calculating one. The one who had ulterior motives so he could protect his relationship and reputation.

  I take a long sip of the fruity drink with closed eyes and whisper, “It’s not like I had a stellar reputation anyway.”

  Maybe that was why he picked me in the first place. The Disreputable Girl and the Evil Prince who likes to pretend he’s faultless. He’s nothing more than the ‘victim of my charms’. And apparently, the victim of some kind of dark voodoo magic. He told her I’d confessed to visiting a witch to bind his desires to me.

  Dick.

  “You over here giving yourself a hard time?”

  Zenesha.

  My eyes open to see her leaning against the bar in front of me.

  “Well, don’t,” she continues. “He’s not worth it. I heard what happened to you.”

  I just stare at her for a moment, this Halle Berry-looking creature with darker skin. The half wolf in her gives her a fierce kind of beauty that would make the prettiest human woman envious. To make her a double threat, she has the personality to go with it. Fierce and fiery. And basically flawless.

  It then hits me how she said, I heard what happened to you, not, I know what you did.

  “I never believed it for a minute.”

  “You didn’t?” I’d be lying if I said it didn’t relieve me, but I’d also never admit it aloud for fear people would think I wasn’t over it. I thought I was. Despite never getting closure, I thought I’d moved on as best I could…right up until he walked through that front door a few moments ago.

  “Not for a minute,” she repeats. She straightens. Smiles. “Working in a bar, you get a good read for people and their bullshit. He’s been here a couple times over the years…without Naomi, and I knew he wasn’t the victim he was portraying.” Her smile fades, and she grasps my arm sweetly. “I also knew what happened with your father before your mother…” She’s not sure if she should say it.

  “You mean how he cheated on her and it basically killed her?”

  She respects my bluntness. “Yes. People who witness heartbreak like that, especially when it hits so close to home, don’t do that to other people.”

  I nod in solemn agreement.

  �
�They just don’t. He should have been the one to suffer and move away.”

  I shift in my seat. “Yeah, well…it never quite works like that, does it?” Everyone says boys will be boys, but I had to walk around with a Scarlett letter, and no one, with the exception of a few close friends, wanted to be seen talking to me or have their boyfriends around me. The seed was planted and that was all it took. Accused means guilty in everyone else’s eyes. There is no trial and jury for things like this. Everyone is the jury and they all judge you based on their own doubts and fears and mistakes. It’s called projection. So, what I had to eventually tell myself was this—if someone shuns me without giving me a chance to hear my side of the story, then they don’t belong in my life anyway. Too bad it was most of the town. In their eyes, everything Naomi was saying fit the narrative because I wasn’t exactly a saint. I’d been arrested for vandalism. Theft. Had tattoos. Piercings. Dyed my blonde hair crazy colors. Snuck out with boys to go to concerts and wore barely-there clothes. I was the crazy girl with a bad reputation and cheating dad. Like father, like daughter.

  “Honey, you were nothing like your father.”

  I cringe. I didn’t mean to say the last part aloud.

  “At least, the father you knew.”

  I numbly stir my drink with the straw. What does that mean? I don’t ask.

  She lightly smacks the counter to signal the end of the conversation. Thirsty bargoers await. “But the question is,” she says with a pointed finger. “Did you learn from it? Because we both know Trenton didn’t.”

  “Yes ma’am, I did.” Mated and married men have no place spending time with (or confiding in) another female about their relationships or personal problems. If they do, there’s a motive. Stay away.