by Julia Bright
In baggage claim, Roan scanned the row of drivers who held signs. Once he spotted his name, he headed straight in that guy’s direction. Not until inside the backseat of the vehicle, with the driver starting the Tahoe, did he say, “Hang tight. Someone else’s coming.”
The back door ripped open, and Elle ducked her angry face inside. “Did you get my luggage?”
“Nope,” Roan answered and slid down in the seat, dropping his head on the headrest, closing his eyes.
“Dammit, Roan.”
“Shh. I’ve got a headache.” He lifted a finger to his lips, mocking her and the situation with the move.
“I’ll get them, ma’am,” the driver said, jumping out of the car. Elle gave a frustrated string of colorful curse words while forcibly slamming the door shut. At the same time, the driver’s side door shut. After the quick initial spike of pain from such loud noises, quiet settled over him. It was absolute bliss. He sat there with his eyes closed, trying hard to think of nothing. Which was becoming harder to do. His drinking had become a problem. He knew it. They wouldn’t have traded him if it weren’t.
Yeah, he’d have to work on that.
He’d also have to find a way to tell Elle that she wasn’t moving to Los Angeles with him, which seemed a bigger problem than cutting back on the alcohol. Anxiety struck again, making him want that drink right away. His parents’ reaction to a split with Elle twisted in his gut. His family loved Elle, already grooming her to be the perfect pain-in-the-ass wife.
No question, he saw exactly how he’d gotten in this shape. He’d never managed to break from the suffocating binds of his socialite parents. They’d dictated his whole pathetic life. It had been his mother who had announced to the room at a Christmas party that he and Elle were getting married. She justified her decision by saying the match was, of course, the perfect union, and by all outward appearances, she was right. The only blip in the otherwise perfect plan came from Roan. He’d grown to hate Elle, who made his life a complicated, tangled mess of pretention—though that was technically a lifelong problem.
The catalyst for his newly developed cut-the-cord attitude was his move to LA. He had five good years left of football, and up until the end of last season, he’d been improving every single year. If he worked hard enough, he could get his shit back together. He knew that for sure. Hell, being in LA, he didn’t even need to improve. The team seemed excited to have him. He just needed to stand firm, get over this hangover, and put the alcohol down.
The SUV jerked when the lift gate opened for a moment before slamming closed. Elle came around to the other side of the backseat. He rolled his head that direction, chuckling as she waited outside for the driver to open her door. She played her part well.
Rolling his head back, Roan stared at the ceiling. Decision made. By the end of the weekend, he’d have a place to live, Elle would be on her way home, not by her choice but by his, and he’d cut out the drinking. He mentally high-fived himself as Elle got inside the vehicle.
At just after two o’clock in the morning, Presley drove her compact car down the long dirt road of her mother’s house. Realistically, she should have stayed at her apartment tonight, gotten up early, and driven home first thing in the morning. It would have been a safer move, but the guilt of this voluntary separation from her daughter was getting to her. She needed to be with Madison like she needed to breathe, and the sooner she was there, the better.
All the lights were on inside her mom’s singlewide trailer. No surprise there. Her mom still worked at the Pioneer Saloon, waiting tables as she had done most of Presley’s life. Her little sister would be home now, watching Maddie who should be fast asleep. She walked up the front porch steps to the only home she’d ever known, sidestepping the broken board, and twisted the doorknob. Of course, it was open. In their small town, her mom never knew a stranger.
“Hey,” her sister Kylie said from her spot on the sofa where she watched TV. Her younger sister had always been a night owl. She was seventeen years old, almost ten years younger than Presley and would have to get up in less than six hours for school, but that never stopped Kylie from staying up late.
“Hey back. You should be asleep.”
“Yeah, but Maddie said you were coming home and promised to make me stay up to tell you that you need to be quiet because she has a big letters test tomorrow,” Kylie said, lifting the remote to silence the already quiet television.
“Oh really,” Presley said, putting her purse, laptop bag, and box filled with the gym’s applications on the chair beside the door. She tugged the rubber band from her hair before twisting the front door lock behind her. Kylie watched Maddie while her mom worked. Her mom would be at least another hour before she got home.
“Yes. Message delivered. I’m going to bed.” Kylie pushed the power button on the remote, turning off the TV. She tossed the remote on the coffee table and got to her feet.
“Me too. I’m tired.” Presley shook out her long hair. After a second more, she reached in her purse for her cell phone. Kady had made her promise to text when she got home. She’d learned the hard way that Kady didn’t play in things like this. The first time Presley had driven home and forgotten to call, Kady had the police banging on the door in the middle of the night to make sure she had arrived safely.
“You should have driven home in the morning,” Kylie said, stopping right at the entrance of the hall to their bedrooms.
“I know. I just missed her.” She typed a single word into the phone then hit send. She passed Kylie as she went down the hall to one of the two small bedrooms. She quietly pushed open the door to see Maddie sprawled across her twin bed, sound asleep. Presley smiled as she walked inside, silently shutting the door behind her. The room was small, and there was just one twin-size bed pushed against the wall that usually Kylie slept in with Maddie. Not tonight though. Presley crawled from the foot of the bed to the top, stretching out next to Maddie. They shared the room Presley and Kylie had grown up in.
Wrapping an arm around her daughter, she drew Maddie in the cradle of her arms. She missed her little girl more than anything. This had been a hard eight months. Presley closed her eyes, envisioning her and Maddie in their own place. The exact reason she’d gone into the city in the first place. There was no work in this town. If she’d stayed, she’d spend her life working at the Pioneer Saloon, just like her mom. And after tonight, seeing all those new applications, her dreams of being self-sufficient seemed more possible.
Moving Maddie’s long dark hair from her face, Presley thought about how she’d decorate her little girl’s room if she were ever able to give her one. She fell asleep before she could even remember the name of the specific pink she wanted to paint Maddie’s walls.
Chapter Eight
Roan casually strolled up the front porch steps to the fifth house they’d seen today. He had a much slower pace than Elle and the Realtor she’d hired, and didn’t make it inside more than the front entryway before he came to a stop and waited. Contrary to the anxiety coursing through him, Roan leisurely tucked his hands in his front slacks pockets. He tilted his head down, studying the tile work at his feet and never stopped the aggressive chew of the piece of Nicorette in his mouth.
The flooring in this foyer had to be marble. If he remembered the listing correctly and all the chatter from the ride over, this was the four-million-dollar home in Oceanside, California. What the hell did he need with a four-million-dollar home? He only planned to be in the area for half the year, why would he ever need a place like this? Besides, he’d already made his decision. The three-bedroom home on the golf course was a great bachelor pad.
A humorless bark of laughter escaped as he continued to chomp on the gum. Being with Elle had honestly been the longest eight months of his life. Deciding to cut out both alcohol and cigarettes this weekend had been harder than he’d ever thought possible. Elle was hard to take while drunk. Her ability to be a pain-in-the-ass ratcheted to a whole new level while sober.
/> No question, his life had spiraled out of control. Some might say it had always been destined to, but he didn’t truly believe that. He’d been much more solid when he was younger. He’d managed to keep his life reasonable and sensible, even in his parents’ world of extreme judgment and wealth. He knew firsthand the volume of skeletons that could be hidden in a house with nine bedrooms, but his parents had somehow managed to hold their shit together, keep all the facades in place, and gain even more success in the cutthroat, dog-eat-dog world of finance. Maybe things had changed when his family had followed him to Chicago. For two parents who had never been to one of his football games in school, they sure owned every single one of his successes in the NFL, and for some reason, that messed with his head.
“I like this one, Roan,” Elle called down from atop the catwalk. “I see a complete overhaul to the interior, but the view from right here’s worth the effort.” She twirled away, her long, perfectly curled hair floating around her as she walked across the landing, out of his sight. Elle was beautiful—he’d give her that—but that beauty came with a price. Elle’s family had money, so she’d never worked a day in her life, and never hurt for anything. She spent hours every single day to look as good as she did. Tall, perfectly dyed, honey-colored hair, a nose job, mile-long legs, and big fake tits. Yeah, he’d enjoyed those when they had first gotten together before that controlling bitch side had come roaring to life. Unfortunately, both of their families were involved in the relationship by then, and it had all gone south from there.
“We need to go, Elle,” Roan finally called out. He’d stalled long enough. This morning, he’d declared today the day. Had gone so far as to have his assistant book a flight home for her tonight. It was already after three in the afternoon on Saturday, so it was time for him to grow a pair. There would be a scene—hell, there was always a dramatic scene—but he figured, if she had to be on a flight in four hours, the production of the fit she would throw couldn’t last that long, especially if a driver was waiting at the hotel room door for her.
“Why? I really like this one. I need to take pictures and send them to our designer. You can talk contracts,” she said, walking back across the landing to what he assumed were the bedrooms on the other side.
“Come on. We need to talk.” Roan used the tone that left nothing open for discussion, even if the words used were easygoing. He must have been more hard-edged than he’d realized, because the Realtor came from the kitchen, her cell phone in hand, with a questioning look on her face.
“Do I hold off on the contract?” she asked, her gaze focused only on him. She knew who was footing this bill.
“Yep,” he answered, casting a look at the fuming beauty stalking down the stairs. Elle’s high heels clicked furiously as she came toward him.
“This is the one I want,” she said accusingly, instantly primed for a fight.
“Right. Got it. Let’s go.” He pointed a finger at her then toward the front door where he reached for the door handle. Her face flushed, and she started to speak as he opened the door and walked out. She furiously followed as he casually trotted down the front porch steps.
“What does that even mean? We can’t just leave. What if it gets sold out from under us? I want this house. It’s been on the market for less than a day…”
Roan ignored her as he opened the car door, got inside, and slammed it shut in her face. His driver, the same one who’d picked them up at the airport, lifted his gaze, questioning him through the rearview mirror.
“Stay close. I need you to come upstairs with us once we are at the hotel. She’s going to the airport this evening.” The driver nodded as an angry Elle burst through the door opposite him.
“I’m so tired of you treating me this way. I don’t deserve any of this. I’ve been very good to you, but whatever you’re going through needs to end. I will not continue like this. Do you understand?” With normal people in a normal fight, she might have ended her rant right there, giving him a chance to speak or at least explain himself. Not with Elle. Even when the Realtor got inside the front seat next to the driver, Elle kept her string of fury going. Roan ignored every word as she ranted all the way back to the hotel. Elle only stopped long enough to tell the Realtor to ignore Roan, and continue with the contract.
Roan left her there talking to the Realtor, going straight up to their room. As instructed, the driver followed, not saying a single word. He stood right inside the entry of the living room and waited. Yeah, this guy’s tip just got bigger.
For maybe as long as three minutes, they were alone inside the suite. Roan grabbed Elle’s suitcase, tossed it on the bed, and began emptying the drawers of her things, dumping them inside the luggage. He heard the suite door open and slam shut, those irritating heels that grated on his nerves, sending a chill up his spine the louder they got as she came closer. He swore right then he’d never date another woman who wore those damn high heels.
“What are you doing?” The screech in her voice was next-level outrage. Elle came forward, grabbing her clothes from his hands. “Stop! You’re wrinkling them!”
Of course, that was her concern. Roan turned toward the closet, steeling his spine, and hardened his tone. “We’re breaking up. You’re going home.”
He bent to gather her shoes in one sweep of his arms.
“Stop, Roan. This isn’t funny. You’re scuffing them,” she said at the dresser where she dropped her clothes back inside the drawer, now more alarmed about her shoes. He unceremoniously dumped them in the suitcase. She gave another more feral, outraged screech, diving for her precious shoes as he turned toward the bathroom. A solid, ear-popping scream pierced his skull when she realized his intent. Good, she’d finally caught on.
“Don’t you touch anything. I mean it. So help me!” She pushed past him, using her body to cover her makeup and hair products. “I’m not going anywhere, and you’ll stop this behavior right now.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. You have ten minutes to gather this up then the driver’s taking you to the airport,” he said, pointing a finger in her face as he came in close. Of course, she wasn’t afraid. He’d never lay a hand on her no matter how badly he wanted to. She challenged him, moving within an inch of his nose, and screamed as loud as he’d ever heard her before.
“No. I’m. Not.”
They were in a standoff. Roan could feel the tic in his jaw increase as his eye twitched under the strain of his restraint. His fist curled into a tight ball as he spoke through clenched teeth. “Yes, you are.”
She got that crazy look, her stare roaming everything as she stood her ground, locking her arms over her chest. “Well, I’m not leaving.”
“Yes, you are. Either willingly or with police escort.”
Instead of fighting any further, Roan pivoted on his heels, leaving her standing there, and went to the middle of the living room, trying to calm himself down. Elle must have read his calming moment wrong. She followed him and rested her palm gently on his back. His tensed muscles twitched underneath her hand. His body recoiled, begging him to move out from under the touch.
“Babe, we love each other. What’s happened?” She lovingly cooed those words as she came around him, her hands leaving his body to begin unbuttoning her blouse. That was their whole problem; how things never got resolved. Elle had literally fucked him into this corner.
Fuck that.
“You have ten minutes to get your shit and get out, Eleanor.” She hated that name. He stepped back away from her. Her hands stopped at the button covering her breasts. Fury lit her face.
“I’m not going anywhere.” Her jaw clenched tight as she faced off with him.
“Ten minutes.”
Ignoring the driver standing in the entry, Roan went straight to the stocked wet bar and poured himself a double of whatever the hell this bottle was. In a swift move, he spit the gum in the wastepaper bin and downed the drink in one long swallow. Damn, he wanted a cigarette. Instead of giving into that, he palmed
his cell phone to call downstairs.
“This is Roan Westfield in room 608. I need security to escort an unwanted guest out of my room. She’ll be ready in ten minutes.”
He honestly tried hard to hear the woman on the other end of the line, but Elle’s screaming drowned out everything. She came up beside him, knocking the phone out of his hand as those long fingernails swiped across his face.
That was as close as he’d ever come to putting his hands on a woman and that was too damn close for comfort. He shoved Elle away from him and grabbed his phone off the ground before going for the door that the horrified driver now held wide open. He could hear Elle’s screams even as he laid a fingertip on the elevator call button, willing the doors to open faster. The first object that came flying at him clocked Roan in the back of the head. The second had him ducking as the elevator doors slid open. The flower arrangement in the hall hit the elevator doors a second before they fully sealed, trapping a decapitated orchid in the steel seam.
She had taken this to a whole new level of crazy. On the descent, he looked down at his shaking hands, clenching his fists together until he realized the front desk was still on his phone, and he lifted the cell to his ear. “You still there?”
“I’ve called the police,” the woman on the other end said with worry in her voice.