Interference (18 page)

I glanced over my shoulder, across the dimly lit room, and found Indie immediately. I'd never felt such a connection to anyone before. I had no way to explain how I could spot her anywhere, even through the tangled trees of a lush forest in the middle of the night. Every time I looked at her, she glowed as if she'd just drunk some kind of solution that made her light up from the inside.

On a regular day, Indie's natural beauty blew my mind, whether she wore her Peak City uniform—a maroon polo shirt and khaki pants—or the old T-shirts and soft sweats she threw on to slug around her house. But her outfit tonight pierced my heart. An electric-blue dress that wrapped around every beautiful curve of her chest and torso, and flared out at her waist to skim her legs as she walked.

Fuck me.

I turned back to the bar and set my eyes and my thoughts on my beer. Examining the amber liquid beat obsessing over my memories of being with her. How amazing her strong, slim legs felt wrapped around my hips. Or how every time those limbs tightened against me in fear that I'd drop her, I'd almost blown my load before I even got inside her.

Because that's how much she affected me. Every squeeze set my senses on fire. Every touch made my skin tingle.

Unable to stop myself, I turned around again. The dress cinched her slender waist, but my eyes traveled up to the deep V in front and the soft skin the plunging neckline revealed. The memory of listening to her heartbeat while curled up against her sleeping body would haunt my dreams for a few weeks. Or years. Or maybe my entire fucking lifetime.

How could I have let her go?

Because I couldn't stay in Bridgeland. I couldn't take Tim Antonio threatening me to stay away from his son. I couldn't get in the way of Holden getting to know his dad. I couldn't admit that I'm acting like a complete fucking coward, just like Indie said.

I watched as a large male slung his python-like arm across her shoulders. Her body stiffened and the radiance she emitted dimmed. Why would she be with someone who sucked away the warm glow of who she was?

A girl at the end of the bar called out to Indie and they both turned around. I stared, waiting to get a glimpse of the guy clutching her to him like he owned her.

What the fuck?

I rose to my feet, knocking my barstool to the floor in my anger and haste. The douchebag with his arm around the women I loved was Tim.

“Hey, man, you okay?” The bartender's words broke into my thoughts and saved me from putting my fist into Tim's ugly, square jaw.

Why the fuck would she get back together with him?

“Yeah, I'm good,” I told the bartender as I bent down to pick up the barstool I'd knocked to the floor. When I straightened, I made the mistake of glancing at Indie one last time.

This time, she was looking my way. Our eyes locked.

I couldn't look at her and not want her. I couldn't see her and not regret what I gave up.

I should have left the bar. I should have left the situation alone. I should have left her alone.

But I've always done what I should. Hell, I uphold the laws that force others to do what they should.

Jealousy, lust, and the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream made me rush to Indie. “Are you back together with him?”

Instead of letting Indie speak, Tone stepped in front of her. His massive body blocked her from my sight. “That's none of your business.” He balled his fists at his side. “Now fuck off and leave us alone.”

Pure rage flashed through me, more rage than I'd ever felt in my life. So much rage I couldn't even look at Linden.

I wanted to punch Tim Antonio, the deadbeat, piece-of-shit dad who didn't give a flying fuck about his kid. I wanted to slam my pistol against his face. I wanted to jump on his massive back and twist his thick neck until it snapped.

Instead, I rushed through the crowd, shouldering through innocent bystanders to get out of the bar as fast as possible. I didn't stop to apologize. Didn't stop to see if I'd knocked anyone on their ass. Just bolted through and slammed my palms against the door.

Once I stepped outside, I took a deep breath. The thick, humid air didn't do anything to lessen the anger that had taken over my body. I smashed my fist into the nearest inanimate object, which happened to be a tree.

“Fucking stupid,” I mumbled, shaking my wrist. Pieces of skin stuck to the bark where my knuckles had scraped. Blood beaded on the surface when I flexed my fingers to get the feeling back. I dragged my hand across my jeans, smearing crimson into the fabric. The blood bubbled back immediately. I kicked the bottom of the tree.

That'll teach it to make me bleed when it's supposed to accept my idiotic punches.

Fuck fuck fuck. I trudged to my car before I got into an all-out brawl with the elm or pine. Whatever the fuck kind of tree it was.

Then I stopped, knowing I shouldn't—couldn't—drive right now, and started walking toward the street. I'd had only a few beers, but in my current state of mind, my driving had the potential to be erratic. Stained jeans and a bleeding hand wouldn't help my case if I were pulled over, either.

Streetlights felt like interrogation-room spotlights, pointing out everything I'd ever done wrong. Why couldn't I have been honest with Indie?

Instead of being a fucking idiot and saying that we were just having fun. Instead of telling her we didn't have a future because she was stuck in Bridgeland. Instead of acting like I should have any say in the choices she made.

But it wasn't even about Indie.

It was about me. And my issues.

A biological mom and an ex-girlfriend who both played a pivotal part in fucking with my head. In making relationships next to impossible.

My relationship with Heather had been comfortable and easy. She never asked for more than I wanted to give. And when she broke up with me, it wasn't because I couldn't commit. Heather said she wouldn't move to Bridgeland with me because she couldn't make that kind of commitment to a cop. Something about the danger of the job, and not wanting to get a call saying I'd been killed while on duty. Pretty intense—not to mention morbid—thoughts for someone who'd spent two years dating a criminal justice major who'd always intended to become a cop.

Why would she waste our time if she knew we never had a future?

Which was exactly what Indie had said to me when she told me about her son. Yet I pursued the relationship and I led her on.

Indie knew the dangers of my job. She had to, because she's the type of person who thinks about things before making decisions that involve her son. But I pushed her away and broke her heart.

Indie. The girl who made me laugh and busted my balls. The girl who inspired me with her strength and determination to give her son the best life she could give him. The girl who made me realize that my own biological mother gave me up for adoption because she loved me and wanted me to have a better life than she could give me herself.

I fucked her over by telling her I didn't want to stay in Bridgeland to be with her, and sending her back into the arms of her immature, arrogant ex.

The image of Tim Antonio's thick arm sliding across Indie's shoulders flashed through my mind and I stopped walking.

Fuck that.

I spun around and started running back toward the bar. Because there was one thing I knew for sure.

Tim would never have another chance with Indie. Or with Holden. They were my family, and I was finally ready to fight for them.

“Please, Tim, just leave me alone.” I wriggled out from under his heavy arm. “I don't want to dance.”

“Come on, Indie. Let's just get it on like we used to. Rememmer?” Tim slurred.

I could barely understand him, but I didn't need to, since he grabbed at my arm and pulled me toward the dance floor. He slid his arm around me, squeezing my waist with his hand.

“Tim, stop, please.” I twisted around, trying to break free, but his hold was strong. Every time I moved, his fingers dug into my skin. My heart sped up and my breath quickened. I had to get away.

I had to get to Jason.

I glanced around, looking for help of any kind. I couldn't believe I didn't recognize one face. College kids filled the bar, rather than locals, but I usually knew a lot of them from bartending at Peak City.

“We should give it another try, Indie. I already talked to the cop. Told him to keep his dirty dick out of you.” Tim yanked me toward him and threw his arms around me, crushing me to him and pinning my arms at my sides.

“What?” I asked, trying to break free of his hold.

Tim talked to Jason? Was that why he suddenly wanted nothing to do with me? The reason for his abrupt decision to move to Detroit? Was that why he's been so adamant about not getting in Tim's way of being a father? Shit.

Between Tim's rancid body odor, beer breath, and the drops of spit that speckled my face every time he slurred, I wanted to puke. And if I could have puked, I would have. No better way to get out of someone's hold than to blow chunks on him.

He swayed from side to side, moving our bodies along with the crowd. Maybe an inebriated person would think we were dancing, but any sober person should be able to tell that I was not enjoying it. I threw my head back and tried to head-butt him, but he was so much taller than me that my forehead hit his chest and bounced off like it was a firm mattress.

“It's all coming back to me, Indie. You like it rough and dirty.” Tim lifted me off my feet and staggered toward the doors.

I wiggled and writhed to get out of his grasp. I caught a chunk of what I thought was his leg and squeezed with all the strength I had, hoping to pinch his thick, disgusting skin. But I must've grabbed his pocket, because all I felt was something rectangular and hard, like a cellphone or wallet.

“Tim, please put me down. I don't want to go with you,” I begged. “Just let me down.”

“It'll be like old times. You and me in the back of my truck.” In his attempt to whisper, Tim's slobbery tongue covered my ear with a thin layer of saliva. “Remember how I fucked you from behind and you loved it so much you screamed? That was an amazing time.”

Oh yeah, that amazing time he made me get on all fours in a miniskirt and screwed me in the bed of his truck. The most romantic night of my life.

“Just put me down. I'll drive you home in your truck. Just like old times.”

Maybe he'd let me go if I pretended to play his game. Hopefully, it didn't sound like consent. There was absolutely no consent in my quavering tone.

How did no one notice my fear? My anger? Did we really live in a world where people looked the other way if it wasn't their business?

I looked around, frantically searching for the face of one of the friends I'd come here with. I should never have come here. I'd barely spoken to any of my old friends from high school since graduation. Why had I felt the need to join them tonight?

Because I'd been searching for something to take away the pain of losing Jason. The pain of being alone again. I thought rekindling old friendships would help.

And now I was stuck battling my drunk ex-boyfriend on my own.

Tim didn't relent until we'd left the bar. In the empty parking lot, he released his grip and dumped me on my feet. “You're not as light as you used to be, Linden. Too many Peak City brews.” He reached out to pinch my stomach and I grabbed his hand.

But instead of pretending we'd stroll toward his car with our hands tenderly joined, I bent his fingers as far backward as possible, trying to inflict the most pain.

“What the fuck, Indie?” He jerked his arm away.

I lost my grip on his fingers and flew forward into the gravel of the parking lot.

Tim stood over me with a disgusting, horrifying sneer on his face. “You're already dirty. Ready to take it rough?”

Scurrying up onto my hands and knees, I jumped to my feet before he could reach me. “I'll call you a cab, Tim. I'll call you a cab and we can forget all about this.”

My heart pounded like a jackhammer about to burst through my rib cage. My palms beaded with sweat, despite the cool April night.

I couldn't cry. I was too scared to cry.

“I can't forget about all of this, Indie. I'm reminded every day since you fucking trapped me with that kid. ‘It's your turn to watch him, Tim. Come get Holden, Tim,' ” he said, mocking me in a high-pitched voice. “I didn't want that fucking kid. You're the one who kept him. I wanted you to get an abortion.”

Complete shock took hold of my body. I stared at Tim, unable to move or speak, but I didn't have to, because he continued.

“Then you go and fuck that dirty cop. I came back here to try and do what everyone said was right. Have a family. Take care of you and the kid. And you fuck that fucking cop right under my nose.

“Guess what, Linden? I don't want you. That cop doesn't want you. No one wants you. Because you are a crazy slut that traps guys with kids.”

Four years of anger and pain that I'd kept bottled up for the good of my son and his relationship with his father came bursting out.

A surge of superhero strength propelled me toward Tim. Unable to stop myself, I balled up my fists and pounded them against his chest, blow after blow.

“Fuck you, Tim!” I yelled, finally finding my voice. “You are a fucking waste of space. A waste of air. I don't need you. I don't want you. Don't act like you came back as a favor to me. All you've ever done is make my life a living hell. I didn't keep Holden to trap you or bring you back to me, I kept him because I love him. A feeling I never had for you and never could, if you were the last man on earth.”

Tim grabbed my wrists and slammed me against his body. I twisted and turned, trying to hit him anyway, but his hold was too tight. So I started kicking him. My slinky blue dress rode up my thighs every time I took a good crack. I jumped up, wheeling both feet in a bicycling motion to get one hard knee to his crotch.

Just one.

Strong arms grabbed me from behind and pulled me from Tim's grip. I didn't see who. Didn't care who.

All I felt was adrenaline.

All I cared about was inflicting as much pain as I possibly could.

So I kept kicking, ninja-style, until I knew I was safe.