Wasted Vows

by Colleen Charles

  “This is my establishment and if you don’t leave, I will call the police.”

  Yeah, that wasn’t a great idea either. Matthew would be all over it when he heard that particular call come over the two-way. Seeing him again and having him stick his nose in this was the last thing I needed.

  Gabe never once broke my gaze. “So call them.” He took a firm step forward and bent Pat’s wrist backward. “We need to talk, Allegra.”

  “So now you want to talk to her, asshole? How long’s it been? A day?” Kelly crossed her arms and leaned back until her spine touched mine. I drew strength from that tiny gesture.

  “You didn’t want to talk when your father was around,” I said, clearing my throat. Afraid if I said one more word I’d break down into the torrent of tears I’d managed to hold at bay in front of others. The one that came like a torrential downpour every night alone in bed.

  Gabe jumped and focused on me again. “Allegra, I can explain everything.”

  “I’m not interested in what you have to say, Gabe.” I bobbed my chin up and down; readjusted my ass on the stool. “This is over.”

  “That can’t be it,” Gabe replied. “This is what we do, Allegra, we mess up and forgive each other and carry on. We’ll get it right. I love—”

  “Don’t,” I said, raising my hand. “Nothing is worth this much pain.”

  “Get the hell out of here,” Pat grunted, walking Gabe backwards into the snowy street. “And don’t come back.”

  “Allegra!” Gabe yelled, strafing left and right to get past Pat and back to the front door. “I won’t give up. I’m never giving up.”

  I rose and walked around the counter and into Kelly’s office, taking my half-empty cup with me. I kicked the door shut with my heel, cutting off his cries. God. I couldn’t hear it anymore. I couldn’t see him anymore. I didn’t think emotional pain could be this agonizing.

  Chapter 39

  Ally

  I’d chosen an obscure bar, a place Kelly would never think to look, where I was unlikely to run into anyone I knew by name. Hell, most of the people in here were in their forties. I was pretty much on my own. I patted the handbag holding my can of pepper spray and beckoned the bartender.

  He was bald with a ring in his left ear and a bandanna tied at his throat. His cotton t-shirt was stained, and I could barely make out the Bart Simpson cartoon printed on it.

  “What’ll it be, sweetheart?” He stroked his mustache with two fingers and grinned, exposing yellow teeth.

  I readjusted my skimpy red dress and fanned myself in the muggy atmosphere. “A Screwdriver. And make it strong.”

  “Oh, I’ll cook it up real special, darling.” He brought out a highball glass and some orange juice, orange soda, and premium vodka. “Tell me when,” he said and sloshed the clear liquid into the glass.

  I held up two fingers and placed them against the glass. My hair flopped in front of my eye, shielding it from view.

  He stopped when he got to the top of my index, then began pouring the soda. “You look like you’ve got a story.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” I asked, looking up and down the bar. A woman in a dress less modest than mine fawned over a decrepit greying dude at the end. She shot me a stare that said, ‘Back off bitch, this one’s mine.’

  “Heartbreak?” The bartender — I’d already decided to call him Bob in my mind — slid the cocktail across the bar top, trailing two strands of water.

  “You sure you’re not a psychic?” I quipped and accepted a tiny neon pink straw from a dispenser and plopped it into the Screwdriver. I stirred the drink, clinking the ice against the sides of the glass, shutting my eyes for a second to enjoy the fizz and jingle.

  I wanted to spend an hour in the moment, without thoughts, just appreciating everything from the dirty tables to the weird characters wandering in and out of the place.

  This was my moment because I’d chosen it. No Gabe, no Matthew, no complications. Just Allegra, alone at the bar, fending for herself, making her own choices.

  I was on a date with myself. Because I was worth it. And I’d prove it.

  I didn’t need a rock on my finger or a baby in my belly to be a real woman.

  “Ally,” a man murmured in my ear, brushing hair back from my neck.

  Shivers traveled down my spine. I gripped my handbag, fingers creeping towards the zipper and the pepper spray within.

  “Leave me alone,” I said. I opened my eyes and turned my head to Matthew. His lips were inches from mine, puffy and moist. The thought of touching them with mine made me want to throw up my vodka all over the antique wooden bar.

  “I didn’t expect to find you here.” He didn’t back off. He just stood there, his gaze piercing through to my soul. “This doesn’t seem like your kind of haunt.”

  “Shows how little you know me,” I replied, taking a sip of the Screwdriver and relishing the tickle of juice on my tongue and the vodka burning down the back of my throat and into my belly. The sensation warming me inside. Since I’d left the Moreno mansion, I’d been a cold, impenetrable ice woman.

  “Mind if I join you?” Matthew asked.

  “Of course I mind. I just told you to leave me alone, didn’t I?”

  “Bitter. Party of one.” Matthew glanced around me, pretending to examine the empty chair on either side for the first time. He settled into one of them and rapped his knuckles on the bar. “Where’s that hotshot Moreno? Trouble in paradise already with your new lover?”

  “He’s not my lover,” I snapped, then calmed myself with another swig of orangey vodka delight. “Matthew, I didn’t come here for a torture session, so would you kindly fuck off?”

  “Feisty, eh?” My ex chuckled and stuck an index finger in the air to summon the bartender. “I’ll have what she’s having,” he said and pointed. “If it can help me look like her, I’m all for it.”

  “It would take more than ten Screwdrivers to make you look like her.” Bob scowled at him, and I liked him more for it. “And you wouldn’t be the one drinking them. The women looking at you would need to shit-faced.”

  The conversation died, spreading what would’ve been an awkward silence if not for the heavy rock beat pumping from the speakers near the tiny dance floor. A group of guys entered, and I turned on my stool, drink in one hand, to watch them.

  They walked to the nearest pool table and picked up pool cues. The shortest guy joked and pointed at one of his buddies, then brought out the triangle and started arranging the balls.

  So free. They were happy and relaxed; they didn’t have a damn care in the world apart from the next paycheck.

  “So,” Matthew said, swiveling with his Screwdriver, “your silence wouldn’t have anything to do with Moreno’s engagement, would it?”

  “How did you know about that?” I buried myself in my drink again. I kept falling into the trap of talking to my ex and I despised it. He was such a loser. I shouldn’t have given him the time of day, but here I was again, talking to him for Christ’s sake. Why didn’t I have the bravado to just get up and walk away? Because I wanted information about Gabe. Deep down, I craved the intel on him like a crack-whore in an alley. “Actually, I don’t care. I don’t want to know how you know, or why. I just want you to leave me alone.”

  And I’m a big, fat, fucking liar. Because I do want to know. Everything.

  The short pool table guy paused and nudged a friend, a tall man in ripped jeans with tattoos crawling down his muscle-bound arms. They examined Matthew closely, murmuring to each other.

  He didn’t notice because his psycho gaze was glued to the side of my face. I wanted to pry him off, I could practically feel him staring, but I couldn’t achieve it short of whipping my straw from my Screwdriver and poking him in the eye.

  Not a bad idea really.

  I slurped more vodka and licked my lips. I wasn’t used to drinking; this shit had gone straight to my head. I settled into the mellow and bobbed with the beat of the music, ignoring Matthew.

/>   “You need a man, Allegra, not a mouse. That Gabe fucker was rich and hot or whatever, but he was a slime ball. He can’t treat you right because he doesn’t know how.”

  “You’re one to talk,” I replied, still staring dead ahead. “Impregnated any women yet? That was your main goal while we were dating, wasn’t it?”

  “Low blow,” he remarked.

  The short guy broke the ball formation with a vicious strike. The balls clacked on the sides of the table and sped across the green felt. The big assed friend had his phone out, texting, but paused to laugh when the white ball sank into the corner pocket.

  “You’re coming home with me tonight,” Matthew said.

  I snorted, braver than I would’ve been if I’d forgotten the pepper spray at home. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Honestly, Matt, I don’t know why you even try anymore. What is it about me that’s got you so obsessed?” I swiveled on the chair and leaned forward to stare into his face, devoid of fear. “Seriously, what is it? Is it because of Gabe?”

  “No, I just really care about—”

  “Ha!” The music lulled at the exact moment I let out that piercing shrill of sound. “Don’t make me laugh. You threatened to arrest my mother, asshole. When will you get the point?” I poked him once, twice, three times in the forehead. “I don’t want you, you idiot. I will never want you. I will never negotiate with you. I will never fuck you. Get that into your thick skull.”

  The pool players paused to watch our argument.

  Matthew’s cheeks went bright red and his lips peeled back over his teeth. He grabbed my wrist and wrenched it down. “Don’t you fucking talk to me like that,” he growled, “I’ll make you regret your flippant words, whore.”

  “No, you won’t.” I jerked back and freed myself, but my handbag slapped to the floor. The contents spilled onto the sticky boards, lipstick, emergency tampons, mascara, wallet and, of course, the pepper spray.

  I groaned as it rolled away and came to rest under the pool table.

  Chapter 40

  Gabe

  I positioned myself near the door, watching him talk to her, his pathetic attempts to get into her pants. My woman.

  Mine.

  Seeing her at my dad’s house had been fucking painful. So painful I thought my guts were being Hoover’d out my asshole. Shit. She thought she knew the reasons why. That she knew me. Allegra Wilson didn’t know a goddamn thing.

  Rock music blared from the speakers overhead and a couple of decrepit assholes jived on the dance floor, hopping on the scratched boards, twining with each other, then separating again.

  Yeah, so I’d followed her to the bar. You think I’m a stalker? That I don’t deserve her? Well, fuck you. I protect what’s mine. She couldn’t think I’d let her stroll around Minneapolis unprotected when her abusive ex in law enforcement was constantly on her tail with the safety of the police department behind him.

  Allegra didn’t know the half of it. She didn’t realize just how deep Matthew’s obsession went. He was beyond the creepy phase. He’d upgraded to full blown fucking psycho and she still allowed him to sit close to her. God. I’d give anything to walk up to her. To tuck that errant strand of silky hair behind her ear and let my index finger trail from her jawline down the elegant column of her throat. To her pulse. The pulse that throbbed with desire every time we were together. Desire for me.

  She swayed on the chair, bobbing in time to the music and sipping from her bright orange drink. Probably had some girly name like Afternoon Delight or Silk Panty. Her asshole ex had ordered the same.

  Allegra had ignored Matthew most of the time I’d been here on my recognizance mission, but he was a persistent fucker. Though her silence had to grind at him because that little piss was used to getting what he wanted. Because he used his power as a civil servant to just take it. So much for the vow to protect and serve. The only person Matthew served was himself. An ugly vein throbbed at the man’s temple and he wrinkled his forehead between slurps on his pin-striped straw. Seems he was taking the rejection hard.

  Allegra turned towards Matthew and leaned in. My heart stopped but restarted a second later. No, she was just talking to him, they weren’t making out. She raised her finger and poked him three times in the forehead.

  Matthew went the color of pure rage. Purple. Like an eggplant. He grabbed her wrist and dragged her arm down. Her bag flopped to the ground and he rose, bringing her out of the chair with him, ramming his forehead against hers. I saw stars and stood up, knocking my beer over in haste.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, bitch?” Matthew shrieked.

  I charged across the wooden floorboards, muscles taut, room blurred to motion and sound. I’d kill him for touching her. I’d pulverize him into human grit and bone for this.

  “Hey, motherfucker!” I grabbed him by the throat and he released her immediately, eyes widening.

  I walked the cop back until he hit the far wall. His feet scrabbled against the plaster, loosening chips, which fell in a dust of crushed white chunks to the floor. He clawed at my hand.

  “Arrest you for this,” he managed, between wild-eyed glances and failed attempts to kick me.

  “Yeah, I’m sure the guys down at the station will be really interested to hear you’re harassing your ex. Can you say restraining order?” I dug my fingers into the meat of his throat, squeezing in increments, cutting off his airflow, driving the blood pressure up. Man, I’d fought underground, I’d been through shit, I knew that feeling, the seconds before unconsciousness. The moment when you thought ‘this is it.’ Lights out. The end.

  I wanted Matthew to experience that. He was a fucking bully, and there was only one way to break a bully.

  I jangled him, slamming the back of his skull into the wall.

  “Hey,” a woman croaked, appearing at my elbow. She had a studded chain around her neck and a cigarette dangled from between her chapped lips. “No fighting in my bar, Hercules.”

  “Or what?” I asked. “This fucker started it. He was messing with a lady. So it’s okay to harass and physically attack women in your bar?”

  Matthew’s attempts to escape had gone as slow as syrup. Shit, I’d better loosen my grip. I let a bit of oxygen into his system so he wouldn’t die before his time. Man, I was tempted. So fucking tempted to let him expire into a lifeless heap on this old chick’s mortgaged floor.

  The owner dragged on the cigarette. “I see,” she said, and the smoke bobbed up and down. She puffed out a cloud of grey and scratched at the skin beneath her studded collar. “Then let my boys handle him, sweetie. You be on your way. And take the woman with you and make sure she gets home okay. She had about a fifth of high-end vodka.” She jerked a thumb back towards the bar.

  I let Matthew slide to the ground, grasping at his throat. I was gratified by the red welts that had risen on his skin, and the sweat streaking his hair and cheeks. A burly guy in a stained biker’s jacket appeared beside me. He lifted the scumbag from the floor and walked him towards a back room.

  “See you later, Paul Blart,” I said, unable to resist a parting shot. Matthew’s gaze was pure terror. He looked from the massive man gripping him by the collar and then at me. Even though I knew it wasn’t over with him. It was never over with men like Matthew because they didn’t know when to quit.

  I strode back to the bar, scanning for Allegra. She was my woman and she always would be whether she understood it yet or not. We were meant to be together, because what we had was the only real fucking thing left in my obliterated universe.

  Allegra was under the pool table, scrambling for the contents of her purse. A few pool players had stopped their game under the guise of helping her when they were just staring at her glorious ass with their mouths hanging open. She kept telling them off. That was my Allegra. Feisty to a fault.

  “Hey,” I said, crouching beside her and offering a hand, “We need to go before Mae West changes her mind and has us thrown out of here.”

  “
I’m not going anywhere with you!” Allegra flapped her arms. She was definitely a little tipsy. “I told you I don’t want to see you again.”

  “There a problem here?” a tall guy said, flexing his biceps. “Seems like this little beauty doesn’t care for any male company tonight.”

  “There will be a problem if you make one.” I stroked a thumb down my jaw, scraping it against the stubble. “This is my girlfriend.”

  “Enough,” Allegra said, with an exasperated sigh. “God, enough macho for one night, please.” She shuffled out from underneath the table, holding a can of pepper spray and her handbag. She poked a tapered finger into my chest. The same one that had made a dent in Matthew’s forehead. “Don’t call me your girlfriend, you lying prick.”

  “I see I didn’t have to worry about you, after all,” I said, though I didn’t believe it for a second.

  “Whatever. I want to go home.” Ally tucked the bag over her shoulder and walked to the door. She had heels on and her flawless ass sashayed in her dress. I tried not to drool over her, but she had those killer curves I’d never been able to resist.

  Fantasies flashed through my mind. The moments we’d already shared and the ones we would share in the future. We would.

  “Allegra, wait,” I said, catching up to her with two great strides. “You can’t go home alone. I won’t let you drive.”

  “That’s what public transportation is for,” she replied, then opened the door and stepped into the snow without her coat on. She rubbed her arms and grimaced. “You think I’d drive when I knew I’d be drinking? Probably should’ve brought a coat.”

  I stripped off my leather jacket and draped it around her shoulders. “That’s it. I’m taking you home.”

  “Yeah, in your dreams, Robert Dewey Hoskins.” She straightened and went to stand by the edge of the road, looking both ways for her savior taxi. Nothing materialized except for a homeless guy near the trash cans at the side of the building. The degenerate stopped dead and stared at the view Allegra made as she tried to hunt down a paid ride.