Tracked by Trouble (Bad Boys Need Love, Too #3) (25 page)

Jace did the same.

The two men walked out to the parking lot. “Well, catch you later, man. I’ll see you tomorrow. When are you planning to head south?”

“Chuck’s checking on airfare. I’ll know tomorrow.”

Jace lifted his chin, gave Zed a quick one-armed hug and left.

Zed looked right and left, up the street and down, wondering what happened to Beck. He tapped her number into his phone and held it up to his ear.

“What?” a slurred voice said.

“Beck?”

“Could be.”

“Where are you? I thought you were going to stop by the bar?”

“Nuh uh. Something came over me. I think it was Jack.”

Pricks of alarm raced up and down his arms and back. “Jack? Who’s Jack?”

“His last name’s Daniels. Get it? Jack Daniels?” She laughed.

“Are you drunk?”

“Very.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“No reason.”

“Want some company?”

“Not really.”

Zed squinted and tried to figure out where her head was at. Admittedly, he didn’t know her
that
well, but this behavior didn’t seem like her. “What’s going on, Beck?”

“Not a thing, Zed.”

“Are you home?”

“Yep. I’m at
my
home.”

“Uh, okay. Do you need some space? Is that what’s going on?”

“Yes, that’s it. I need space. Lots and lots of space.”

“Are you…what is this? Are you breaking up with me?” Zed felt a knife slide into his heart and twist back and forth.

“That depends.”

“On?” Zed’s heart pounded in his chest.

“On whether you were ever going to tell me about San Francisco.”

“What?”
Is she talking about what I did there with Lawson?
“Beck honey, what are you talking about? What about San Francisco?”

“I promised your brother I’d tell you he didn’t tell me a thing.”

“What? When did you talk to my brother?” Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His pulse hammered in his temples.

“This…this morning. He’s now a patient…” She struggled getting the word out. “He goes to the clinic.”

“He does?”
Shit, shit, shit.
“What did he say? Wait. Tell me in person. I’m coming over.”

“He wants to be my friend. He calls me Beck.” She spit the word into the phone. “Beck,” she slurred again. “I’m his little Beck.”

“Don’t do anything stupid, Beck. I’m coming over. Right now. Fifteen minutes away.”

“Why would I do something stupid?”

“You wouldn’t, that’s right, honey.”

“He calls me honey, too. Beck. Honey.”

Shit.
If the drive normally took fifteen or twenty, he vowed to make it in eight.

Zed’s truck screeched into her driveway several minutes after he hung up.

“Wow,” Beck thought, her mind a frizzled mess. She’d cracked the bottle of whiskey the minute she got home, downing her first shot before changing into her beloved red skull sweatshirt and faded jeans. Her meeting with Lawson had seriously messed with her trust muscle and mind, causing her to slip right into old habits of avoidance. “He’s
fast
.”

She wasn’t sure what disturbed her more—Lawson, or the doubt bombs he’d launched. All day, she’d gone through outrage at the prick Lawson, anger and mistrust toward Zed, care and concern toward him, back to outrage.
Lawson the sexual predator. Lawson the polite marine. Lawson the psycho killer. And Zed? Who is Zed, really? Who in the hell have I fallen in love with?
Finally, at day’s end, she vowed to quash all the conflicting voices in her head in the easiest way she knew how.

The doorbell rang and she stumbled toward it, falling against the wall along her way. She opened it with some effort. “You’re no help,” she said to her dog. “Get some opposable thumbs.”

He woofed and wagged his tail at her.

Pointing at Sidekick, she said to Zed, the minute his face became visible, “I picked him up. He doesn’t live with you. He lives with me.”

“I see that. He’s your dog. I never claimed him. Step aside, please, so I can come in.” His face appeared blank, devoid of emotion. “Open up, Beck.”

With exertion, she pushed open the screen as if it were made of lead, and stood out of the way as Zed barreled into the house. She pictured her burly cowboy image and saw him with guns blazing. She pointed her hands like guns and pretended to shoot them overhead, making cartoon shooty noises.

“What the fuck, Beck?”

“You tell me, cowboy. You’ve been a naughty boy, lying to the Beckster, your boo boo. She’s used to it, but not…not with…with you.” She scrunched up her face.
Hard. It’s hard to make sense. Come on, you can do better.
“Boys will do anything to get into her pants.”

Zed’s mouth fell open and he stared at her, judgment or anger or disappointment—maybe all three—etched over his face.

“What the fuck did you and Lawson used to do? He said you pretend to be his victim. It’s all a ruse. He said that. The ruse part. And the pretend part.” She waved her hand in the air, trying to clear the drink-soaked fur from her brain. “He said you used to tag team bitches. Take turns. I don’t do tag teams, b-b-buddy,” she slurred. She slowly blinked her red-rimmed eyes. “I knew you were too good to be t-t-true.” She fell back against the door. “Shit. I think I drank too much.”

“Here, let’s get you into the living room.”

“I have no sofa,” she said, but she didn’t stop him from draping her arm around his shoulders and guiding her into the small room. He gently lowered her into her one living room chair. He strode into the kitchen and came back with a kitchen chair. Sitting across from her, not touching her, he asked, “What prompted this reaction? I’ve never seen you this hammered.”

“I…I didn’t mean to. I only wanted time to…to…” She struggled to speak before shaking her head side to side in an exaggerated manner, unable to think of anything useful to say. “Tell me about San Francisco.”

“How much did you have to drink?”

She held her thumb and forefinger in front of her face. “This much.” Her fingers spread wider. “Or maybe this much. I don’t remember.”

“In a little over an hour? Shit, Beck. That’s a lot of booze. Where’s the bottle?”

She pointed to the kitchen, let her head fall back on the chair, and closed her eyes. “I don’t feel so good.”

Zed got up, disappeared into the kitchen and came out holding the bottle of Jack Daniels. “Was it full when you started?”

“Mm hmm,” she said, eyes closed.

“Shit, Beck,” he said again. “You have to give your body time to metabolize alcohol. You were a bartender, for Christ’s sake. Were you trying to kill yourself?”

“Nope. T-t-trying not to feel.”

“Mission accomplished. Let’s see if we can get you sobered up, what do you say? Exercise works best. Let’s take the dog for a walk.”

Sidekick scrambled to his feet, tail wagging.

“Nuh uh,” Beck said.

“Uh huh,” Zed said. He pulled her to her feet. “Then we’ll get some coffee into your system. Do you have any? I’ll start a pot.”

She waved her hand breezily. “In there,” she said, indicating the kitchen.

“Stay,” Zed said.

She fell back into the chair, her limbs as heavy as weighted bags of clay.

“Okay, stay there, then.” Zed disappeared, rustling around in the kitchen while she hung her head along the back of the chair.

The room began to spin. “Wow,” she mumbled. “Too much.” She heard his footfalls heading in her direction.

“Let’s go, Beck honey,” Zed said.

“You go,” she said waving him away, eyes shut tightly.

“Up and at ‘em,” he said.

“No.”

“Come on, Beck. Let’s get you sobered up. Then if you want to break up with me, go right ahead.”

Her eyes popped open. “What did you say?”

“I said, let’s get you sobered up. Then if you want to break up with me, be my guest. I don’t want your stupidity on my conscience if you do, though. I owe you that much.”

She placed her hands on the arms of the chair and heaved herself to standing. “You owe me a
lot
more than that, buddy boy.” She jabbed his chest with her finger. “A
lot
more.”
Shit. Did I just spit on him?

“Stop it, Beck. You’re drunk. That hurts.” He clamped his fingers around hers and removed it from his chest. “Let’s go.” He handed her a water bottle, led her from the living room, Sidekick trotting happily by his side.

“Get over here, Sidekick. Get on
my
side.” She tried to snap her fingers but ended up feeling like a loaded, slovenly Flamenco dancer. “Sidekick, come,” she said. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Zed roll his eyes, a disgusted look if ever she saw one accompanying the eye roll. “What?” she asked, itching for a fight. She could deal with fights and arguing. Zed’s reasonableness made her jumpy.

“Nothing. Just walk,” he said. “And drink the water. We need to get you rehydrated.” He grabbed her hand and marched her along the sidewalk.

Sidekick seemed to think this a terrific idea, walking with her and Zed. She fumed at him, still trotting nicely next to Zed. She stomped next to Zed, in full bitchy brat mode while Zed simmered in silence. After thirty minutes her head began to clear somewhat.  “Okay, tell me about San Francisco.”

“Nope.”

“What do you mean, nope?”

“Just that, sweetheart. Nope.”

“That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is you listening to my brother and coming to a conclusion about me without giving me a chance to explain. You decided to simply cut and run. You decided ‘enough is enough, I’m outta here.’ Nice, Beck, really nice. You said I’m too good to be true. I’m starting to think the same thing. Maybe you’re too good to be true. Maybe I wanted to be in love so I fooled myself into thinking I loved you.” His face seemed grim, stern, walking like a man walking to his own execution.

“So you don’t really love me?” She seemed aghast.

“Not sure. Whatever I’m feeling right now, it sucks. I don’t like to feel this way.”

He took a few more steps in silence. “How’s brother dear?”

“He seems as psychotic as you said.” A jolt of alcohol hit her system, like an incoming tide. “Whoa,” she said, grabbing Zed’s arm.

He guided her, stoic, pissed, unspeaking.

“But what about San Francisco? And did you really share girls?”

“I’m not going to discuss it while you’re inebriated.”

“So that’s a yes.”

“I’m not going to discuss it while you’re inebriated,” he repeated.

“Fucker,” she muttered under her breath.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me.”

Instead of taking the bait, he made that disgusted head shake again and kept her stepping.

Sidekick’s tongue lolled out of his mouth. He kept up with his happy tail wagging jaunt next to Zed.

“Why aren’t you arguing with me? What’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t feel like arguing with a drunk tonight. You’re an ugly drunk. A mean drunk. Not particularly pleasant.”

“Well, you’re a…a…you’re…” She couldn’t remember what he was like when drunk. Probably funny. Or kind. She blinked and frowned. She’d never been with a man like Zed. She could always goad a man into a fight with her. “Well, aren’t you special?”

“Nope, not at all. Merely making choices.” He guided her up the walkway toward her house. Once inside, he poured some fresh water in Sidekick’s water bowl, retrieved a mug, and poured her some coffee. “Sit. Drink this,” he said.

She sat numbly at the kitchen table, taking the coffee in her hand.

“So, Ms. Tosetti. Here’s the way this is going to play out. If you don’t do any more shots tonight, you should be sober by midnight.”

“How do
you
know?” she asked, sullenly.

“Lots and lots of experience. You, of all people, should know this, too. I suggest you sleep it off but I’m not going to make you.”

A nap did, in fact, sound good right now. “What are
you
going to do? Watch me sleep?”

“Nope.”

Ugh. He keeps saying that nope word.

“I’m going to watch you drink the coffee, make sure you have some aspirin or ibuprofen in your system, walk you to your room and hope you fall asleep. Then I’m going to head home. To
my
home, that is, not yours.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, ouch.
Big
ouch. But it’s what I’m going to do. I’ve always got shit to do around the house. Building projects and such. I’ve gotten behind spending so much time with you.”

What’s he doing to me?
She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes began to fill with tears. “Will you ever come back?”

“That depends on you, Beck. What I’ll never do…” The intensity of his words flared into instant combustion, like he’d put a match to gas soaked emotion. “What I’ll
never
do, never in a million years, not if my life depended on it, is
beg
you to stay. I refuse. You either want me or you don’t.” He ground the words out of a jaw clenched so tightly she thought it might shatter.

She wanted to reach across and massage it, soothing him into submission.

“Got it?” His blue eyes blazed.

She averted her watery eyes.

“Do you understand me, Beck?” Each word emerged slowly and distinctly. “I will not beg,
ever
.”

His words lanced straight through her heart. “Uh huh,” she said, nodding, causing the tears to escape. “Got it.”

“Good. Now finish your coffee so I can put you to bed.”

Silently, she slurped the last dose of caffeine. As she staggered down the hall, a fresh wave of intoxication rolling through her, she clung to Zed, for more ways than mere drunkenness. “We’re not done,” she said.

“Uh huh.”

“We’re not.”

“If you say so.”

“You owe me some answers.”

“Uh huh.”

“I mean it.”

Zed ignored her, pulling down the sheets. He tugged her shirt over her head and she thought she heard him draw in a quick breath of air.

If the alcohol wasn’t bidding a war against the caffeine, she’d have thrust out her chest, enticing him to suck her nipples.

He pulled down her pants and, again, took in a rapid breath before laying his warm forehead on her belly, as he crouched before her.

She placed her hands on his head, stroking his hair. The room began to spin and seesaw, making it impossible to stand upright. Her legs gave way and she collapsed onto the bed.

Zed swung her legs under the covers and pulled them up under her chin. He smoothed them with apparent longing, looking at her with such a sad expression; it made her want to cry all over again. Without another word, he kissed her forehead, spun on his heel and exited the room, leaving her to spin around and around, her head filled with fuzzy regrets and self-recrimination.