Fighting Love: The Complete Series

by Ash, Nikki

  One Year Ago Today

  The community clubhouse is filled to the hilt with people. Socialites, politicians, there’s even a few celebrities here. Everybody is laughing and socializing, celebrating Georgia’s third birthday. Professionals have been brought in to decorate. The balloons and streamers are pink and white, and the cake is a three-tier triple berry. The tables are covered with the finest of linens. Everything about this party screams elegance and wealth. But do you know what it doesn’t scream? A child’s birthday party.

  Georgia is escorted from guest to guest by my mother-in-law, Hilda Reynolds, thanking everybody for coming. There are a few children present, but mostly the guests in attendance are here to mingle with my husband, who is one of the wealthiest oil tycoons in the United States. He privately owns and runs a large oil company out of Texas, where we live. It was passed down to him from his father, who died a few years back of a heart attack.

  Georgia wanted a princess party. She wanted Princess Aurora and Cinderella, and her favorite, Jasmine, to all be on the cake. She wanted to invite her friends from the mom’s group we’re in, and she wanted it to be a tea party. Unfortunately, what Georgia wants doesn’t matter. Her father grimaced when she explained what she wanted. Afterward, he told me I needed to stop poisoning her mind with Disney shit and forbade me from attending any more mom’s group meetings.

  After cake is served, Hilda thanks everyone for coming, and Justin escorts Georgia and me to the town car to take us home. “I’ll see you later,” he says, giving me a soft kiss on my cheek. He’s great at putting on a show in front of others. Georgia and I arrive at home, and since I know Justin won’t be home for a couple days, I crawl into Georgia’s bed with her and give her my gift.

  She smiles sweetly and opens it. It’s the only gift she will be given that isn’t clothes or money. “Mom!” She squeals. It’s a Disney princess tea set—made of ceramic instead of plastic. “Thank you, Mommy! I love it.”

  “I love you, Georgia.” I give her a kiss on her forehead and play with her hair until she falls asleep, clutching the tea set to her chest.

  I wake up to being dragged out of bed, pain radiating from my scalp. That’s when I realize I fell asleep in Georgia’s bed. And the pain is from Justin, who is dragging me out of her bed by my mane. My body hits the hard ground and Georgia wakes up screaming. “Daddy, stop! You’re hurting mommy!” It’s the first time he’s hurt me in front of our daughter and she’s scared. Up until now, she has only witnessed him yelling.

  “Justin, please stop,” I beg. “Not in front of our daughter.” But he doesn’t listen. He drags me a bit farther then leans over me—the stench of alcohol on his breath making me gag—slapping me in the face the same way he always does. Georgia screams and jumps out of bed.

  “No, Georgia!” I yell. “Stay back.” But she doesn’t listen, and when she grabs Justin’s arm to stop him from hitting me, he flings her off him, her head hitting the ground, screams of pain wailing from her.

  It’s in this moment, I make the conscious decision to leave him as soon as possible. It’s one thing to hurt me, it’s another to hurt my daughter. He gets off me and picks her up. “See what you did, Charlotte?” He glares my way, then stalks out of the room with Georgia. I follow behind him to the kitchen where he makes an ice pack and places it on the back of her head.

  He starts off sweet, apologizing to her, saying he didn’t realize she was that close to him. When she continues to cry, he gets agitated and snaps at her. “Stop crying. It’s enough.” Then he turns toward me. “I only came home to grab a file and I find you sleeping in our daughter’s bed. Stop treating her like a damn baby. This is why she cries over everything.”

  He stalks out of the room, and a few minutes later the door slams behind him. I run to Georgia and hold her close, apologizing for not being able to protect her. She cries that her daddy is mean and I vow to get us away, sooner rather than later.

  * * *

  I look at the clock and see it’s already three in the afternoon. I have spent the entire day crying instead of going to the library to see Lexi. Then a thought occurs to me—while I can’t be with Georgia, I can be with Lexi. I might have let one little girl down, but there’s no reason to let another one down. She’s expecting me at the library and I’m going to be there. It’s not like her father would leave me in charge of her. He pretty much made it clear how little he thinks of me when he commented on me being a stripper. As long as I keep my distance I can’t hurt her, right?

  I jump out of bed, take a quick shower, then try my best to cover my red streaked and puffy face with makeup—the result from the hours I’ve spent crying. Once I accept that’s the best I’m going to get, I get dressed and grab my purse, lock the door behind me, and grab a cab downtown. I get there at ten ‘til four and run through the doors, following the arrow up the stairs to the children’s floor of the library.

  The place is quiet and it doesn’t look like a painting contest is going on. “Excuse me,” I say to the librarian, “Do you know where the painting contest is being held?”

  “Downstairs in community meeting room A.”

  Shit! I thank her and run back downstairs. I find room A, but when I do, the place is almost empty. Canvases and easels are spread out through the room, all covered in completed art. The smell of fresh paint permeating in the air. I’m too late, but I try to see if maybe Lexi is still here. Chances are she probably forgot about me by now, but I still feel the need to find her, or at least her finished painting.

  “You’re late,” a voice behind me says causing me to turn around. It’s Lexi’s dad and if looks could kill I would be a dead woman—his voice is cold and his face is devoid of all emotion. My mind goes back to Justin and the way he would speak to me. Instinctively, I avert my eyes, not wanting to look at him.

  “I know. I’m sorry. It’s been a rough day. I’m assuming she’s still here?” My eyes dart around the room trying to find her.

  He doesn’t answer me, but instead says, “Her uncle and aunt both came to watch her. I’m here watching her, supporting her. But the entire time, she kept looking for you. You shouldn’t have said you would be here if you couldn’t make it. I went by your work last night and the bouncer said you called in sick. Are you sick?”

  I want so badly to explain why I’m late, but it would mean talking about my past. It would mean having to explain the significance of October 10th, and I’m not ready to speak about today or any other day regarding my daughter for that matter. Speaking to the therapist is hard enough. Most days we focus on me. On me healing and moving forward from an abusive relationship as well as moving forward from—

  “Hello?” Tristan waves his hand in the air, clearly annoyed with me. I must’ve gotten lost in my thoughts. It’s been a long time since I’ve conversed with others—almost a year since I moved here, and before that, my entire world revolved around Georgia. Other than the few mom group gatherings we attended, I lived a lonely life for many years. I may be a bartender at Plush, but with the loud music, and people coming there with the purpose of drinking, dancing, and hopefully getting laid, most pay me no mind. And those who do, generally do all the talking. While I’m friendly with the women I work with, I don’t hang out with them. We don’t converse. Everybody is busy living their life.

  “No, I’m not sick,” I say, answering his question. “I’m sorry I’m late, but may I please see her?”

  He lets out a sigh and swipes his hand to the left, indicating where I can find her, then leads the way. Lexi is sitting on the stool in front of her canvas. She’s done with her painting and my goodness, it’s beautiful. This little girl can paint better than most adults.

  She looks up, and when she spots me, she smiles wide, but it quickly morphs into a frown when she remembers I’m late. “You came,” she says softly, and my heart cracks. All I want to do is rewind the time and get my head out of my ass so I could be here at noon.

  I kneel in front of her so we’re eye level. �
�I am so sorry, sweet girl. I should have been here sooner.” Tears prick my eyes as I imagine how many times my daughter felt let down by her dad. I don’t blame Lexi’s father for being upset with me. He’s doing what a good parent does—he’s protecting his daughter.

  “Why were you late?” she asks, and I feel myself losing my resolve. I owe her the truth, but I don’t want to lose it in front of her and scare her, so I go with a partial truth.

  “Today is an important day for someone I love, and because I couldn’t share the day with her, I was very sad.”

  Lexi places her hands on my cheeks to make sure she has my attention, and the last of my resolve breaks. Tears stream down my face and she wipes them away. “It’s okay. I forgive you. I don’t want you to be sad.” Then she looks to her dad. “Can we take Charlie for ice cream? That’s what you do when I’m sad.”

  “I think that’s a great idea, Lexi girl.”

  Not recognizing the answering voice, I turn around to see who spoke. Standing there next to Tristan is a man I recognize from the other night at the club. He’s almost as good looking as Tristan with messy black hair and blue eyes. Only his are a bright baby blue like a cloudless sky, whereas Lexi and her dad’s eyes are more of a cobalt blue almost indigo. He’s in a grey hoodie and jeans and sporting a huge smirk on his face, unlike the man next to him, who is still giving me the death glare.

  “Mason Street.” He puts his hand out to shake mine, ignoring the fact I’m practically in tears. After swiping away any leftover tears, I wipe my hands on my jeans to dry my hands before putting my hand in his. “Charlie Pratt,” I say, giving him my maiden name. When I left from Texas to LA, I made the decision to revert back to my maiden name. While most people won’t know who Justin Reynolds is, I would rather be on the safe side.

  “So, ice cream?” Lexi asks, batting her eyelashes at her father.

  “Sure,” he says to her. Then to me he says, “I’m Tristan.”

  “Yes, I know. I heard your friends using your name the other night,” I point out. Mason chuckles at my response, but Tristan only gives me a small smile and a quick nod.

  Lexi spends the next fifteen minutes showing me her painting, explaining in detail each part of the picture, why she chose each color, and she even complains about the lack of choices, saying if she would have been allowed to bring her own paints it would have been even better.

  “Lexi, how old are you?”

  “I’m five! My birthday was October first.”

  “You did such an amazing job. Even if you don’t win, you should be so proud of yourself.”

  “Thank you,” she says shyly.

  “All right. Ice cream,” Tristan speaks up. “There’s Moo’s Creamery over in Larchmont and it’s only about a mile from our home. Where do you live?”

  “I actually live in a loft apartment on Larchmont Boulevard above the hardware store.”

  “Perfect. Did you drive?”

  “I took a cab.”

  “You can ride back with us. Mason brought his own car in case he had to leave.”

  We walk out of the library and into the parking garage. The lights beep on a gorgeous four-door truck. When we get closer, I see it’s a Ford Raptor. The truck is midnight blue with black trim. The windows are tinted dark and the tires are black on black. You don’t normally see this type of vehicle in LA—usually it’s Porsches and Ferraris, cars that draw attention and scream wealth.

  “Wow! Your tires are almost up to my chest,” I say, making Tristan and Mason laugh. Mason’s smaller vehicle beeps and it’s more of the type of car I’m expecting. A BMW of some sort but still a four-door like Tristan’s truck.

  Tristan opens the driver door and turns the truck on. Then he walks around to the passenger side and opens the back door, lifting Lexi up into her booster seat. He opens the passenger side door for me and I stare up for a second wondering how in the world I’m going to get into this truck without making a fool out of myself. I look down and notice the only step is coming out from under the door Tristan put Lexi into.

  “How about I ride with Mason?” I glance back at his low to the ground car.

  Mason throws his head back with a laugh, and Tristan shakes his head.

  “Tristan, be a gentleman and help the lady in. It’s not her fault you’re trying to overcompensate with your tall as hell truck.”

  “I don’t need to overcompensate for shit,” Tristan argues. “I’m not the one buying a fancy foreign car to impress women.”

  “You know what they say… big truck, small dick.” When Mason says this, I turn around to hide my smile and make sure Lexi didn’t just hear that—luckily the door is closed.

  “You’re just mad because my truck will run the hell over your little car.”

  “When it works! What does Ford stand for? Fix or repair daily.” Mason chortles and Tristan rolls his eyes.

  “Well, you better hope your car never breaks down because you know what BMW stands for… breaks my wallet!”

  I listen to the two grown men throw digs back and forth about each other’s vehicles for a couple minutes until there’s a knock on the window followed by it rolling down.

  “Hello! Ice cream is waiting!” Lexi doesn’t wait for an answer before she presses the button to roll the window back up.

  Both guys smile, shaking their heads, then Mason says, “You heard the princess. Ice cream is waiting.”

  I’m about to head over to Mason’s car, hoping he’ll give me a ride, when strong hands grab hold of my waist. I jump forward in shock, screeching a little, and turn around defensively.

  Tristan throws his hands up in the air. “I’m sorry. I was just going to help you up.”

  I take a few breaths in and out to calm myself while Tristan eyes me curiously, waiting for me to say something, to give an explanation as to why I just freaked out over his simple touch.

  “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting that.”

  He quirks up a brow in a way that tells me he thinks my answer is utter bullshit, but I don’t give him anything else, so he lets it go.

  “Come here and I’ll help you up,” he says softly.

  I walk in front of him, face the passenger seat, and wait for him to hoist me up. This time, when his hands find my waist, I’m prepared for his touch. He leans in and I can smell his cologne. He doesn’t smell like a woman. No, he smells like a mixture of sandalwood and citrus, and for some reason it reminds me of winter in Georgia when I was growing up.

  “Are you sniffing me?” he asks, amusement in his voice. I turn to look at him only to find his face is less than six inches from mine. His hands grip my waist a little tighter and I can feel his hard front against my back.

  “No,” I blurt out.

  “Yes, you were. I heard you inhale.”

  Feeling my cheeks heat up, I try to pull away from him so he doesn’t see the evidence of my embarrassment. “That’s it! I’m going with Mason.”

  I try to get out of his hold, but before I can, Tristan lifts me up by my hips and plops me onto the seat before slamming the door closed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Tristan

  Charlie showed up late to the library and I almost bit her head off. I was so focused on her hurting my daughter, I didn’t even notice her puffy eyes and tearstained cheeks, the telltale signs she’s been crying. She gave me some bullshit excuse about having a rough day when it was clear whatever is going on is more than simply having a shitty day. I know she called in sick to work, but she doesn’t look sick—she looks sad as fuck.

  While she was talking to Lexi, I heard her voice breaking, heard her choking up, despite trying to remain strong for my daughter. I saw the tears silently falling and her trying to hide them. I watched my daughter wipe them away and offer her ice cream to make her feel better. I don’t know what’s wrong with Charlie, but it’s obvious, whatever it is, it’s something huge, and it appears she’s dealing with it by herself.

  Not to mention the way she freaked out when I grabbed h
er waist to stop her from going to Mason’s car. Something tells me this woman has an invisible sign dangling from her neck that reads handle with care.

  The five-minute drive to Moo’s Creamery is filled with Lexi telling us what kind of ice cream she wants and which mix-ins she plans to get. After she lists ten different items, we negotiate she can have three. She then asks Charlie how many she plans to get. When Charlie tells her she’s a plain vanilla kind of girl, my daughter asks if she can use Charlie’s mix-ins.

  Charlie cracks up, and the sound of her laughter has me smiling. It’s the first time I’ve seen her genuinely laugh. I sneak a glance at her sitting next to me and notice she’s back to wearing a bit more makeup like the night at the club. While I prefer her more natural, the woman is beautiful. Luscious breasts with an ample amount of cleavage peeking out of her low-cut sweater, a curvy ass I want to grab a hold of, and fuck, those thick thighs men dream about holding onto during sex. Add in her rain forest-colored eyes, that whether she’s laughing or crying hit straight to your soul, and her thick wavy hair that would wrap nicely around my fist. And don’t even get me started on her pouty lips I want to nibble on. This woman has me imagining shit I have no business imagining.

  And all that is just on the outside. I don’t know her well enough to speak as to what type of person she is on the inside. However, the patience she’s already shown for my daughter, as well as the way she praised her artwork and told her she’s an artist, speaks volumes. For the first time in a long time, I find myself wanting to get to know a woman. Wanting to know more than just her body.

  “What?” she asks when she notices me glancing at her.

  “You’re beautiful,” I tell her honestly.

  She grants me a smile, and I find myself grinning back, but then the next words out of her mouth have me barking out a laugh. “Too bad you can’t afford me.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I challenge through my laughter, and she rolls her eyes at me.