Tug (37 page)
B
y late Sunday night, I still haven’t heard from Maria, and I’m growing more anxious with each tick of the clock. Liv and Harrison should be back from camping, which means Maria would be here by now, if she was coming. Maybe she needed more time. I decide to call Liv just to see how Maria’s doing.
“Hey, little brother. How’s things?”
“Not so good as I’m sure you’re aware. How is she?”
“How’s who?”
“Maria. Is she still upset? Is she still there?”
“Maria isn’t here and why would she be upset?”
Reality is slowly sinking in, but I’m desperately hoping I’m wrong. Although it’s a long shot, I ask, “Did she leave already?”
“Tug, Maria hasn’t been here. She came by the campground early Saturday morning and picked up Javier. Said she forget he had a birthday party or something. Is everything okay?”
“She’s gone,” I say, ending the call.
I dial Maria’s number, greeted by a recording that notifies me the number is no longer in service.
She left me.
Where would she go? She has to know I won’t give up. I’ll find her. Unless she went to the one place I can’t get to her because it’s a heavily guarded fortress, ruled by a man with more power than God.
I dial Alejandro Torrente’s number.
“Mr. Hunter,” he answers, his voice low and controlled.
I know the answer, but I ask anyway, “Is she there?”
“Yes.”
“May I speak with her?”
“No.”
Without ending the call, I chuck my phone across the room and drop to the floor on my knees. That’s fucking irony. I helped Maria mend a broken relationship with a man who will ensure I never see her again.
I’d cry, but I’m too pissed. How the fuck did I let this happen?
For weeks, I assumed Maria would understand, like somehow she’d be okay with me putting her and Javier’s needs second to Tori’s. It’s the broken promise that finally made her realize I never deserved her. This is precisely why I never make promises. I’m incapable of keeping them.
She made a promise, also. She promised we would talk if I gave her a couple of days and I did that, and she broke her promise as easily as I broke mine. Because promises don’t mean anything in life without the commitment to follow through, which neither of us had, but justified equally.
The room narrows as I stare at the wall and then it hits me.
The hustle
.
Maria never intended to think about the future of our relationship. She was finished and had probably been considering leaving since I called her Tori while we made love. I knew she brushed it off too easily, when in actuality, her understanding had been my final chance—a test of her trust in me, and I failed miserably.
Her leaving had already been decided. She was never coming back so we could talk. She merely had to convince me it’s what she was planning to do, so I’d let her walk out the door. And, like a fucking idiot, I fell for it. This time, my desperation did make it easy for her to hustle me.
Losing her is my penance, like I knew it would be from the moment I met her. I’m destined to live with the pain of an empty heart because no one can ever fill the space that she belongs in.
No one.
Not even Tori.
I swear I hear my mother snicker from the pits of hell. “Women want a man who will fight for them, Aidan.”
The one piece of advice the bitch got right, and I didn’t take it.
I never fought for Maria, and now she’s gone.
I’ve lost the one woman who finally returned my love, all to be close to the one woman who never loved me all.
I
t’s been five days since I discovered Maria was never coming back. The sun rises, but there’s no light. My days are as dark as my nights. It took Maria leaving to make me realize that when I lost Tori, I didn’t suffer from a broken heart, but merely a bruised ego, an adolescent anger with my brother for getting something I wanted. I was never in love with Tori. I know this, because even as sad as I felt, I could function without her.
Without Maria, I can’t sleep.
I can’t eat.
I can’t breathe.
All I have is my agony to remind me my heart still beats.
The board hauled me into a meeting the morning after Maria left to discuss my dating a “working girl”. The old stiffs considered letting me go, until I informed them that if I leave, my algorithm comes with me. My job is secure, and if I actually cared, I would be happy.
I finally pieced together that Larissa had been the one to reveal Maria’s identity and sent the press to my loft. I’d been too preoccupied with life to look into it before, or too in love to care. Her boss is one of Gibson’s largest clients and a personal friend. I’ve made him a very rich man, and despite his currently fucking Larissa, she is seeking new employment. Our industry is global, but the community is small, and she’ll be looking for work in vain. No one will hire her. I made sure of it.
I haven’t been to the house to see Tori or my brother. I’ve spoken with Brady on the phone. Tori wasn’t simply suffering from postpartum after losing Mona. Evidently she suffers from some form of bi-polar disorder that manifested itself during pregnancy. I’m relieved she’s being treated, and Brady’s home with her at least until after the baby’s born. Although it’s too late, I know now letting Tori go, means truly letting go—no more rescuing or trying to fix her. I love her, but I can’t be her crutch any longer.
The small café in La Jolla is crowed, and I seek a quiet table outside to wait for Sid. Three days ago, I sent him to Monterrey, his objective to keep watch and wait until Maria was away from her father’s home, and alone, before delivering her a letter I’d written. A letter containing my last ditch effort to convince her I love her and want to spend my life with her. That I’m not in love with Tori. A letter in which I beg her to meet me three days from now at
Café Infinito
, a quaint coffee shop we visited on one of our trips to Monterrey.
Sid phoned this morning to tell me he delivered the letter, and he had information that he wished to discuss in person. His unwillingness to speak to me over the phone is troublesome, and as I sit waiting impatiently for him to arrive, a small part of me knows Maria will never again be mine.
His shadow reaches me, before he sits. The flat expression on his face gives nothing away.
“Did she read the letter? What did she say?”
He sighs and leans forward, sweat glistening off his receding hairline. “She said to tell you that she’s sorry, but sometimes you never see the hustle coming until it’s too late.”
I absorb each word, letting them replay in my mind over and over again.
What the fuck does that mean?
Sid watches me cautiously.
“Did she agree to meet me?”
“She didn’t say, and I don’t know if she read the letter, because I only had a few minutes before her lunch companion returned from the bathroom.” The way his eyes frown, I know this companion was a male.
He pulls his phone from his pocket and taps on the screen before extending it in my direction. I take it from his hand afraid to look down. When I do, the color drains from my face.
It’s impossible, but as I stare at the picture, I’m positive the man sitting next to Maria is Eduardo Montez.
W
riting is a journey of learning and growth. I’ve made mistakes, but I learned from those mistakes with a lot of encouragement from those who stood by and nudged me to write the story better, and not to settle for fine. I owe them all many thanks.
For starters; my incredible family who puts up with me, especially at crunch time. Tom (my husband), for his love and support. He’s my rock. My kids have sacrificed a lot of mommy time, and eaten a lot of junk food. I promise to make it up to them.
Without my mother, I might still be writing my first book. I love her dearly.
Big time thanks to: My friend Vicki, for her willingness to read my books from the first draft to the end, and for always giving me her honest feedback, even when I disagree with her. She’s been with me since book one, and I hope for many more. Deenie, one of my oldest friends and biggest supporter’s, I’m so thankful to have her in my life. Sarah, a first time beta reader, and now a permanent one. She rocks. Christine and Nichole, from Perfectly Publishable for putting up with me, and their brilliance, from the beautiful cover and formatting Christine designed to the attention Nichole put into proofing, they’re both pretty amazing.
Mad, crazy love to Nic, for believing in and supporting me always. I honestly don’t know what I would do without her.
A thousand thank you's to the bloggers who have stayed in touch, read ARC’s, and took the time to review my books. You all rock my socks off. I’m in complete awe of how hard you work. There aren’t enough words to thank you.
Finally, this book is dedicated to my readers because they keep Tug alive in my head, with messages and comments, expressing their love for him. This love allows his story to continue, and I can’t tell you what that means to me. There are some ladies in particular that I have to thank by name: Desiree, Kristie, Jenn, Emily, Bethany, Heather, Amanda, Itzel, Maegan, Erika, Abbi, Melisa, Joelle, Frances, Lori, Jo, Heidi, Sarah, Kristin, Christa, Cuddle Up, Nancy, Tiffany, Tara, Margaret, IVtt, and Brenda, thank you for loving Tug. If I’ve forgotten you, I apologize, there are so many of you awesome Tug fans that I can’t keep up, but you’re all amazing.
K
J Bell currently lives in California with her husband and three children. As a mother of three, when she’s not writing, she’s usually carting one of her children to their various activities. She enjoys reading and music, and is equally addicted to both.
Writing is a passion she simply can’t live without and looks forward to publishing many books in the near future.
She loves hearing from her readers and can be found on various social media sites using the following links:
The Irreparable Series
Irreparably Broken
Irreversible Damage
Tug
Tug #2 (title TBA)
Cut Too Deep
