by C. A. Szarek
Shock at his harsh words rolled over her, as if she’d taken a full-body dip in ice water. Tears burned the corners of her eyes, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. She locked her jaw and met his eyes, battling back the hurt inside.
“I know you’re not stupid enough to think I’d be okay with this. You had to know it would end us. So you needed what? To fuck me one last time?”
Pain shot through her like the bullet had her arm. “You’ve got this all wrong.” What was a shout in her head left her mouth in a cracked whisper.
“No. You’re what’s wrong.” Shannon rammed his hand through his thick, dark hair, and whipped the appointment card off the countertop. He flung it at her, but the thing helicoptered to the tile floor. “How could you be so damn selfish?”
He’s right.
Taylor blanched all over again. Her heart slid to her toes. She had been selfish. But she’d changed her mind. She was petrified, but she wanted to try with him. Needed him.
She looked down.
Why can’t I say anything? Say. Something.
“I fucking love you, Taylor. How could you ruin that? How could you want to kill our baby?”
Shock hit her square in the chest, like an ice bolt. Constriction took all her attention, made it hard to breathe. She sucked in air, but it didn’t help.
Love?
Taylor couldn’t deal with that.
He loved her, and she’d lost him on the same day.
As Shannon ranted more and paced, she tuned him out.
She watched his jerky movements as if she were a fly on the wall, especially when he attacked her character, name called. Taylor put her hand over her mouth and sniffled.
Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
She slipped from the kitchen, fleeing to his bedroom. Damp pants made her gasp when the material hit her skin, but she didn’t pause.
Taylor shoved her feet into her shoes and whipped her car keys from her pocket. Then she ran from Shannon’s house without another word.
He made no move to stop her.
* * * *
He’d known Taylor capable of a lot of things, but not this. She’d really take the life of his unborn child? Without a word to him?
What was he—chopped liver?
Selfish bitch.
Guilt bit at him for the disrespectful words his mom had raised him better than to call any woman, but his mind was blown.
Does she know me at all?
Shannon had thought he’d known her. Being wrong had bite, too, because Taylor obviously didn’t trust him enough to tell him the fucking truth, let alone be there for her.
He’d lost it when he’d seen the little appointment card for the abortion clinic. Seen red…and felt so much pain his chest had caved in.
How could she?
Sure, he’d flown off at the mouth, but who wouldn’t have?
Remorse swirled up again, because of some of the things he’d said, and because he’d not really given Taylor a chance to say anything. She hadn’t really tried, anyway.
Her mind was made up.
And that was killing Shannon.
The perfect night he’d shared with her was shattered. Gone forever. Shannon didn’t want the good memory, or any of the others with her.
What Taylor intended, without consulting him, was worse than…anything.
“I guess I didn’t know her after all.”
“You say something, Sarge?” Brian McAuley asked. Like most evenings, he was running things at the local Antioch cop bar.
The place was an APD institution, but as far as the boys in blue were concerned, Shannon was on his own tonight. Not a cop in the place. A little odd, but Thank God.
“Nope.” He downed a shot of whiskey and slammed the glass on the bar. Then chased it with three gulps of beer. Finished the bottle off and tried not to think about how many he’d already had. “Gimme another.”
The guy hesitated and Shannon glared until his bidding was done and he’d put a twenty on the counter. Told Brian to keep the change.
He ignored the bartender’s concern—and Brian’s muttering about him being cut off. He’d deal with it when the man had the balls to say it to his face.
A hot blonde chick at the end of the bar kept catching his eye, but Shannon sure as hell wasn’t in the mood. He sucked back his newest shot and ignored her. Gripped the new beer, too, with both hands, in true nursing form.
The chick wouldn’t go away. Inched toward him, then away, and grabbed her cell phone from her tiny purse.
He finally caved and gave her a full onceover. She was smokin’ all right, sporting a short silver dress that stopped mid-thigh and was tight as hell over her perfect ass, hugging her waist and hips, but billowing out at the sleeves. It was low cut enough at the front to reveal some nice cleavage.
Still wasn’t interested.
Shannon threw her a nod for what-the-hells, but instead of a returning smile, she looked concerned, then went back to texting—or whatever she was doing on her cell.
She looked relatively familiar to his alcohol-muddled brain, but he couldn’t place her.
He sipped on the beer and his temples throbbed—he was more than halfway to the oblivion he sought. The next time he glanced over his shoulder, Hot Blonde was gone.
Shannon turned back to his frosty bottle. He didn’t run the hot chick brigade, and he sure as hell wasn’t in the market for anything. Not even a quick bathroom-stall fuck.
He wished Mark Rodriguez was still APD, but his buddy was in Dallas, and no way was he going to call him while said buddy was blissfully happy with his detective girlfriend.
“Jesus.” He dragged his hand down his face and scratched the stubble he’d not bothered with.
“Crowley.”
A familiar voice, but Shannon ignored it. Until a large hand crashed down on his shoulder and he didn’t have a choice but to find out who wanted his face smashed in.
He shoved the unwanted grip off and swiveled his bar stool around, glaring as hard as he could. His stomach pitched and his head spun, but he tried to focus on the surprise that washed over him. Even managed not reaching for the bar to steady himself when his world started to tilt. “Manning?”
The APD detective stood there, appraising him with narrowed eyes. His wife, Mel, stood arm-in-arm with Hot Blonde right behind him.
Manning sighed. “Carrigan worked you over, huh?”
Fuck off was his first instinct, but Shannon sucked it back and scowled. “Leave me alone.”
“No can do, bud.”
Bud? They knew each other, sure. But they weren’t close.
“Bri, some coffee, please.”
Relief was written all over the tall redheaded man’s face when he nodded, and did Jared Manning’s bidding.
“Let’s find a table, Crowley.”
“No.” Shannon turned back to the bar, and his beer.
“Shannon.”
He paused at his first name.
“Last thing you need is for word to get back to Chief that you’re piss drunk at McAuley’s. Word to the wise—if you want to drink yourself under the table, do it at home.”
I can’t. I can only see her there.
“Fuck you, Manning.” He heard the detective blow out a breath. “How’d you get stuck with my rescue, anyway?” he snapped.
“My wife’s best friend. She called because she recognized you. Val also realized there weren’t any other cops in here tonight. So you’re the lucky winner who gets yours truly all to yourself.”
Oh, goodie.
So that was why Hot Blonde looked familiar. He’d probably seen her at some APD family function.
“Come sit with me at the back table and sober up before I get you home.”
The back table. Unofficially designated for APD-only use.
Shannon groaned and turned to face his voluntold guardian angel. He didn’t want help getting home, let alone to sober up. If he wasn’t drunk off his ass, he’d crash at his mom�
�s, but there was no reason to bother her, or his too-curious niece, with Taylor’s shit.
Besides, Taylor had already destroyed his image of her today—there was no reason for that to happen to Cailey, too. Even if he didn’t tell her why, his niece would be shattered that they weren’t together anymore. She idolized Taylor. Asked about her almost every day.
Manning kissed his wife where she still stood with her friend, and kept his voice low, but not so much Shannon couldn’t hear him. “Don’t wait up, baby. This’ll take a while. Thanks for the call, Val. Can you take Mel home?”
“Sure.” Hot Blonde grimaced and gestured to Shannon. “I hope he doesn’t hate me.”
“He can hear you,” Shannon drawled.
Hot Blonde had the decency to blush, visible even in the dim light of the bar. Too bad he wasn’t in the market—she was gorgeous, and despite the tight clothing, she didn’t come off as slutty.
“Don’t be a dick because someone you don’t even know gave a shit about you, Crowley,” Manning growled.
Shannon wanted to roll his eyes, but he just averted his gaze from the whole scene. Finished his beer, even though Brian McAuley glared from the coffee pot.
All too soon, the taller man had ushered him to the back table and pushed a steaming mug in front of him. He didn’t thank him.
“You don’t have to talk. Just drink that.”
“Wasn’t planning on either one. Hope you don’t expect a thank you.”
The detective was quiet—too quiet. He narrowed his dark eyes. “This isn’t you, Crowley. You’re not an asshole like me.”
“Yeah, maybe I am. Maybe this is the real me.”
“Bullshit.” Manning shook his head.
Silence descended, and Shannon gave in to the coffee. He pulled the mug to him and took a sip. The bitterness played on his tongue, but he didn’t want cream or sugar. Bitter was pretty perfect for how he was feeling. Among other things.
“That bad, huh?” his coworker whispered.
“Thought you said I didn’t have to talk,” he quipped as he gripped the coffee cup with both hands. The warmth from the mug felt good on his palms.
“I thought you were bat-shit crazy when I heard you were involved with Carrigan. Then I thought, maybe you’re just a misguided saint. Looks like it didn’t matter, since she obviously fucked you over.”
“You don’t get to talk about her,” he snapped. Unwanted possessiveness and the need to protect Taylor rose up. Shannon growled—at himself for his idiocy, and at Manning for his nerve. He brought the mug to his lips and forced a sip so he wouldn’t deck the detective.
Are you serious right now? Chiding himself didn’t work. Taylor had done something unforgivable, but Shannon still loved her.
Dammit.
Manning’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit. You’ve got it bad. Do you love her?”
“Mind your own damn business.”
“God, you do, don’t you?” the guy asked, his voice full of awe—or pity. His mouth was agape. “Jesus Christ. Carrigan? Of all the women—”
“Go to hell, Manning.”
The detective blinked. “Sorry, dude.” But he sure as hell didn’t look repentant.
Shannon wanted to punch the look off his face. He gripped the mug until his knuckles ached. “None of it matters now.”
“Damn, I really am sorry.” Manning shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. His discomfort was obvious, but nothing close to what Shannon was feeling right now.
“Yeah, me too. Just don’t be a dick.” He nursed the coffee, wishing it was a beer.
“Look, if you really love her, take a day or two to breathe, then go get her.”
“Not an option. Not now. Not ever.” Shannon locked eyes with his coworker, daring him to ask what Taylor had done.
He didn’t.
Smart guy.
Agony swept up from his gut with every passing moment as sobriety settled over him.
“If you say so,” Manning whispered.
Shannon didn’t answer him, just stared at the liquid that was as black as his heart.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Taylor’s whole body shook as she left Baker’s office. She’d left her boss in stunned silence. Yeah, she’d never imagined having any conversation with him that included the words ‘I’m pregnant’, either. At least she’d had the floor with no arguments for a few minutes.
She’d explained to him she understood she’d be on desk duty until the baby came, but that wasn’t going to be a problem now that her case was over. She could still handle all the rest of whatever Ross Catrone needed of her regarding Bennett—it was all paperwork, interviews and eventually testifying when the asshole was back on his feet and they could go to court. Texas wasn’t the only state that wanted a piece of Bennett, but they were first up.
The bullet had nicked his spinal cord, so there was the question of whether he would walk again. Poetic justice for the car thief-turned-murderer.
She and Holman could attack their next case—but Taylor’s pregnancy would leave her in the office for whatever came their way, anyway. Being stuck at her desk was going to be hard to swallow, but she didn’t have a choice.
Baker hadn’t said much about her little speech, except, “Okay,” and nodded now and then. He approved of her plans. He hadn’t said congrats or anything, but that was fine, too.
Holman was quiet when she returned to their office, but her partner was far from stupid. He was just waiting for her to speak.
Taylor didn’t feel like it. She got back to the report she was putting the finishing touches to for the prosecutor. Dove right in, scrolling to the top so she could proof it.
She had to work.
If she didn’t, she’d fall apart, and that was unacceptable. It couldn’t happen. Wasn’t going to happen.
Not because emotion was weak.
Because emotion was everything, and she was a hot mess.
Shannon’s words resonated about her selfishness. Now that it’d been a few days, hurt and anger were there, too. He hadn’t listened. He’d shut her down over and over, slicing into her with everything he could.
Taylor was a badass, right? Like everyone always considered her, but it’d been nowhere around that day. She’d shut down, and when she’d fled his house, Taylor had had to pull over around the corner since she hadn’t been able to see. She’d cried so hard her gut had ached for the whole drive back to her very empty apartment.
She’d screamed and thrown things when she’d gotten home, including the framed picture of her and John that always lived on the entertainment center he’d set up.
That glass shattering had made the decisions she hadn’t been able to before. Taylor had thrown away everything in her apartment that reminded her of him, including the three or four video game systems she’d never bothered with after he’d died.
The two boxes of his things from the FBI office had gone into the dumpster—she hadn’t even opened one.
When she was done, she felt better…for about two seconds. Taylor might be over John, but she was far from over Shannon.
What was worse, she loved him.
She’d thrown herself on her bed and cried herself to sleep.
Taylor had shown up at work on Monday after puking her guts out. According to the doctor, that was normal now—she was nine weeks. Most likely, it’d be her new normal for the next few months, which was just perfect, because her whole life was vomit without Shannon.
She’d texted him, twice.
He hadn’t answered.
“Hey, can you hand me that file, please?” Taylor asked Holman. She pointed to a casefile on his desk. She needed to check the evidence contents for comparison with the report she was about to submit.
He didn’t say anything, but when she gripped the edge, he didn’t let go.
“Hey,” her partner whispered.
“What?”
“Should I say congratulations?”
She swallowed. Avoided his gaze. “If yo
u want,” Taylor whispered. Her emotions were up and down, and it was too early to blame it on the baby.
A baby she was going to have alone now.
She was scared shitless, but her actions were a deal-breaker for Shannon, so even though she’d changed her mind about things and wanted this baby, he didn’t want her.
“What did your man say?”
Taylor clenched her jaw. Tried not to fidget in her chair. If she spoke, she’d cry, and that so wasn’t happening at work. She cleared her throat and tried. “That’s not… I’m doing this alone.”
Holman closed his eyes and his chest rose and fell as if he’d taken a breath.
She almost lost it. Swallowed a whimper and had to look down. Noticed her shoe was untied, but it was hard to care.
“I’m so sorry, Taylor.” The use of her first name made her look up at him. His face was a mask of concern, with his brows drawn tight. “That’s such bullshit. Do you want me to go beat him up?”
Taylor snorted. The dose of amusement made her eyes burn less, but she shook her head. “No, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”
It’s my fault, and I’ll just have to get over him.
If she told herself that enough times, maybe it would sink in.
Maybe she’d start to believe it.
They stared at each other in silence for seconds that felt longer.
She wasn’t even uncomfortable at the idea that this man cared about her. She trusted him. Liked him. He was her partner.
“If you need anything, I mean anything, let me know. Okay?” Holman said finally.
She didn’t want to shoot him down. Alone hurt too much. “Thanks, Alec.”
He paused, then nodded, but he was wearing a small smile.
The phone rang, making them both jump.
Her partner grabbed it, and she couldn’t help but watch him, the open folder on her lap. Taylor sucked in a breath and smiled a little.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Taylor turned the corner and pulled into the gas station on Main Street as soon as she hit the middle of Antioch. She’d really pushed the Charger and should’ve stopped for fuel before now—the damn thing had gone past E, and was on fumes.