Fucking Ian!
"Let me down. Let me down!" Terror colored her whispered command, and he immediately released her, and she scrambled to hide herself as soon as her feet hit the floor. She turned off the water, the bathroom door opening wide as the intruder pushed in. Dash tossed a towel from the rack to Skylar as her eyes flew open. She grabbed it, wrapping it around herself and clutching the spot where the ends met, and turned into the corner. She buried her face like a child in timeout, her nose pressed into the tile while he turned his back to shield her.
"Hey, man. Are you in the sho—"
Dash flew out of the shower before Ian could finish the question and the heavily fogged door closed behind him. A rush of air cut through the steamy mist just as Ian walked in.
Ian peered over his friend's shoulder. "What the fuck's going on, man?" Ian's voice dropped as he caught a glimpse of Sky and noted Dash's semi-erect cock. A lecherous smile inched its way across his lips.
"Get out, Ian." Dash bellowed the demand, the acoustics causing the sound to bounce off every wall.
Ian's brow raised. Undeterred by his friend's visible rage, he refused to move. Instead, a mischievous gleam entered his eyes. "Say, sweetness, what do you say I get naked, and you, me, and Dash can have a go?"
In an instant, the violence in Dash's eyes was potent with rage. Now torn between leaving Skylar naked and alone or beating the shit out of Ian, he decided to take care of Ian first. His hands balled into fists, his fingertips tight, digging into his palms. One mere instant would decide which direction this scene was going to go. "I said, get the fuck out, Ian! Now!"
Instead of running, he walked. "Your loss, buddy. There's something to be said for double penetration." He carelessly tossed the comment over his shoulder as Dash followed him out into the living room. Ian plopped into a chair, sprawling back like he owned the place. Dash reached for him, grabbing him by the shirt, pulling him up until they were nearly nose to nose.
"Why are you here?" The words were seethed anger, oozing bitterly through clenched teeth.
Ian gingerly placed one hand around Dash's wrist, pulling at his friend's grip. "Easy now." He slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a joint. Sliding the rolled paper beneath his nose, he sniffed as the ragged edges caught on the scruff above his lip. He waggled his brows. "I thought that, maybe, you'd be up for a little partying?" He canted his head in the direction of the bathroom. "I don't mind sharing if you don't." Ian laughed. The low, gravelly, sinister sound escaped just before Dash's knuckles collided with his face. Ian's neck snapped back as blood erupted from his nose.
"Get the fuck out of my house."
Ian gave Dash a shove, sending him backward and breaking his hold. He swiped his face with the back of his hand, his eyes widening as he smeared the blood. "What the fuck is wrong with you? She's just a girl!"
"Don't talk about her. You don't know her. She's not some skank whore." Dash closed the distance between them and grabbed Ian by the throat. "Now get the fuck out and don't come back."
The smaller man pried Dash's one hand from his throat with both of his own. He struggled for air until Dash released him, flinging hard enough that Ian's back hit the door.
Ian sputtered a cough. "You're fucking crazy! She's just a chick, and I'm your friend." He coughed again. "You're an asshole, you know that? I'm your fucking singer. You could've damaged my throat, you fucker!"
"Get. The. Fuck. Out!" Dash's monotone was white noise, permeating the room, its hum filling every space with a benign hum. This wasn't the first time Ian had pulled this shit, but it would be the last.
Ian shrugged and stiffened his spine, narrowing his eyes at Dash as he inched his hand around the doorknob. "You could've killed me, motherfucker." He shook his head in disbelief, quietly muttering to himself under his breath. "And all over some pussy."
"NOW, MOTHERFUCKER!" Dash bellowed the words, the rage coming from deep down in his gut.
"You are fucking crazy, man." Ian opened the door, looking over his shoulder.
"And you don't know when to quit." He shoved Ian over the threshold.
Oblivious to the fact he was still naked, he followed Ian outside as he stumbled to regain his footing. He was so lost in his anger, crimson filtered his eyes, the fury within them unmistakable. "Stay away from me and stay away from Abigail! She's off-limits."
He went back into the house and slammed the door. Hinges rattled, and a picture behind the door tilted. At the same time, Ian continued to run his mouth loud enough to be heard through the barrier.
"You’re nuts. And who the fuck is Abigail?"
Chapter 19
Dash headed to where he’d left Skylar. A tremor shook his hands. Heavy footsteps slapped against the floor as anger still weighed heavily upon him. He snatched a towel and wrapped it around his waist as he pushed the door open.
"Are you okay?"
She eyed him warily, her nod hesitant and exaggerated. There was something about the way she was acting that trembled his gut. A look of suspicion and doubt clouded her eyes, taking them from sky blue to smoke. It was as if some unseen presence had entered the space in his absence. Something other than Ian.
She took a half step back, definitely widening the distance between them. She threw her arms across her middle. She hugged herself tightly, her shoulders curling over as if she'd been sucker-punched. Had Ian's smartass attitude affected her that much?
"He's gone, Sky. I took care of it."
"I heard." Her tone was clipped.
Desperately wanting to go back in time, Dash approached slowly and rubbed his hands up and down her arms. She stiffened, entirely unreceptive to his touch. Undeterred, he continued. There was no way Dash could have anticipated what had happened. Asshole Ian was always all over the place, and Dash wasn't his babysitter.
Dash wrapped her in his arms. Where fifteen minutes ago she was soft and open, now her entire posture was closed tightly. "I wish you’d try to relax." His tone was hushed as he gently tucked her head beneath his chin. Holding her close, he could only hope his words and actions were enough to erase the chaos Ian had caused. He wouldn't come back, of that Dash was sure. Ian wasn't stupid. He wouldn't risk getting punched again. Dash outweighed him by at least fifty pounds. Chances were he’d be sporting at least one black eye from the punch.
Minutes ticked by. Dash continued his soft caresses, but her body was strung tighter than his guitar. He cuffed the top of her arms, his fingers wrapping around her biceps, and studied her face. "What's wrong?"
Sky averted her eyes beneath a mask of apprehension. One hand came up to pinch the fold of the towel that was holding it together, and she wiped away what he thought was a tear.
"Skylar, tell me what's wrong. I want to help."
Her eyes met his with a defiant glare. "Who's Abigail?"
"What?" The inquiry caught him off guard.
She pulled away from him as an angry flush inched from her neck to her cheeks. "Who's Abigail?"
The question hung before him. He had no idea what she was talking about. "Okay. I'll bite. Who's Abigail?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake! Abigail. You told Ian to stay away from her." Accusation steeled her tone.
Bewildered, he answered. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Abigail. You know? Ab-i-gail?" Her volume increased as she looked at him with querulous eyes. "My name is Skylar. I'd like to know who Abigail is. You told Ian to stay away from her. Who is she? Old girlfriend? Another girlfriend? Who?"
Dash quickly ran through his memory but, for the life of him, he couldn't recall saying that name. "I don't know anyone named Abigail."
Her struggle for composure was visible as her body trembled with pent-up rage. She bent down to retrieve her clothes and then pushed him aside. Incredulity shook her head. "I don't believe you."
Dash followed close behind her. "I don't know what else to say. It's the truth. I don't know any Abigail." The words clawed from his throat as he stared at her through exasp
erated eyes.
Skylar held her jeans as she froze, her feet rooted in place. A brow arched as she narrowed her eyes. "You must think I'm a fool. You don't think I can put two and two together?"
He threw up his hands. "I'm not questioning your fucking math skills, just your reason!"
Disbelief and anger widened her eyes, then, just as quickly she dismissed him. She muttered to herself as she stepped into her pants. Wrath fell off her in waves as she yanked them up and fastened them. She turned away from him as she hooked her bra and pulled her shirt over her head. Back and forth she stomped as she retrieved her things and dressed. Realizing she’d left her socks and boots in the bathroom, she ignored him as she brushed by.
Dash stalked after her, watching as she tried to slam down the lid of the toilet seat. He almost laughed at her impatient aggravation as it drifted down. Biting the inside of his cheek as she plopped her ass down on the lid, he leaned against the doorframe. "This is ridiculous."
She shoved her feet into her socks and shoes, refusing to look at him. "Why did I know you’d say that?" When she was finished, she muttered under her breath. "Men are assholes."
"And women are unreasonable." Dash didn’t miss the comment. His attempt to diminish the tense situation was to use a lighthearted tone . It backfired.
Skylar spun around, rage shaking her body. Fury fueled her blood. The cute blush he loved was now bright red, trailing down to her neck. The expression teetering on her face told him she was at a murderous tipping point. Suddenly Dash felt the delicate balance between life and death in her eyes. Instinct had him back up a step.
"No!" she bellowed. "You don't get to say that to me. It isn't unreasonable to react when the man you're about to have sex with spits out another woman's name! You don't get to act like I'm being unreasonable when you say someone else's name when you've just been inside of me. You don't know anyone named Abigail? Maybe you don't, but I'll just bet there's a whole list of names in your head—or maybe they don't even have names. What the hell do I know? It doesn't matter. I'm sure, to you and Ian, they were all faceless twats and only good for one thing—but, get this straight, I'm not one of them. And I never will be."
She grabbed her jacket, the sound of snapping leather heavy in the air. Skylar pushed past him, knocking into his shoulder as she stormed out. "Now get out of my way."
Chapter 20
Skylar didn't utter another word to him as she left. There was no purpose. She was done.
How could Dash so carelessly destroy their relationship? She was confident the things she’d said had damaged it further, but she would never take them back—just like he could never take back the name Abigail.
Even though she’d, pretty much, accused him of seeing her as just another fuck, at the moment, she couldn’t have cared less. She walked and walked until she reached a place where she could grab an Uber. At least Dash couldn't follow her naked. She hadn't paid attention to anything except the urge to run once she'd left his house. Then she opened the app and requested a car, receiving a response that it was only two minutes away. She just wanted to go home.
She tied the sleeves of her jacket around her waist and leaned against the building where she’d stopped. The brick at her back was as rigid as her resolve. The distance between them had given her a chance to simmer down, though she was still visibly shaken. She nearly gagged on the memory of her fight with Dash. Confrontation was not something that came naturally to her. Some people had tender hearts, and she was definitely one of them.
Looking back, it amazed her how far anger had pushed her out of her comfort zone. Something had snapped inside of her. Somewhere between Ian's assumption she could be shared, and Dash's slip-up referring to her as Abigail, she’d reached a breaking point. At least with the other assholes she'd dated, she’d known where she stood. Those guys were convenient and, even those kinds of relationship dictated a certain amount of care, but they weren't love. Love? Shit! Was that what she felt for Dash? If so, that was a problem.
She closed her eyes. She was guilty of measuring him against former men she had dated but she couldn’t help it and, at the moment, wouldn’t apologize for it. Though she could never take back her acidic words, she wasn't sure she wanted to. Words cut, or at least they could do irreparable damage. The things they’d said to each other today stripped whatever it was she and Dash had built. Damn him! The two of them had been doing just fine. Their relationship was on its way to being something both passionate and tender. Certainly, it had never been cruel—but today? Well, today they'd ruined it. What a joke.
All at once, it felt like a wound had opened. Her heart squeezed in her chest, the pain a dull ache. She longed for what used to be. After so much time wasted chasing relationships with no purpose, Skylar felt the cut of betrayal. Jagged and deep, it was as real as a bloody gash.
A black sedan approached, and Skylar checked the app for the license number of the Uber. It was her ride. He pulled up to the curb, and she got in, anxious to go home. The whole trip there she just stared out the window. Cars, houses, and landscapes whizzed by. As they passed a pretty blue house with black shutters, a rush of air escaped with an exasperated huff. During their many conversations, they’d talked about the things they liked. The places they thought of settling down. The kind of houses they wanted. All the things that made them, well, them.
A tear escaped. Sky made no attempt to wipe it away. As it trailed further down her face, hopelessness shadowed her. The distance between their hopes and dreams had grown in measure today, and her heart and head felt the disconnect. She was sick to her stomach. Love was a fairytale. The man who’d brought her so much joy now brought sadness. She might as well face the fact that it—love—was never going to happen for her. To hell with Dash. No one would ever make her feel the way he had, she was sure of that. What she was equally convinced of was that she didn't need him. Her happiness had to be an inside job.
Sky cracked her eyelids open. Though they were swollen and scratchy, she looked at the clock. Once home, she’d collapsed onto her bed. After allowing herself a good cry, she'd fallen asleep. Several hours had passed, and now time bled back into conscious thought, and she had a headache.
She rolled out of bed. The hardwood floor chilled her bare feet, causing a shudder to rock her body. She crossed one arm over the other, rubbing the exposed parts to ward off a chill that had settled on her. Muscles and bones protested, joining her head to torment her.
She went into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror. The reflection looking back at her was a woman vastly different from the one there this morning. That girl had been perky and glowing. This one was pitiful. Her face was pale, the color was absent from her lips, and her eyes were black, smudged with the residue of mascara. She swallowed the emotion that threatened her once again.
"You need to suck it up, buttercup." She should have given herself an order and toughened up. Instead, she crooned the words. Her already bruised heart needed a little tenderness, even if she had to be the one to give it.
She turned on the cold water and cupped it with both hands. Her anger now abated, all she felt was drained. Splashing her face several times, she washed away the salty residue of her tears. Picking up her brush, she slowly ran it through her hair and then twisted it up into a messy bun.
"Don't look so sad, girl. You did what you had to do." As she patted her face with a soft, fluffy towel, a twinge of pride pierced her heart. She’d said her piece without reservation, something that was very unlike her. No matter the cost, today she’d stood her ground. Spoken her mind. It was a given she’d be second-guessing herself. She’d plague herself with questions about whether she’d handled the disagreement well, though she knew in her heart she had. She would heal from the heartbreak. It would only take time.
"Always believe something good is about to happen, because today could be the day." She traced her finger down the edge of her mirrored reflection, remembering something she'd learned in a conference given by a
writer she admired. She had to believe in herself. Pick herself up and dust herself off. No more doubts.
She attempted a smile, and her eyes reclaimed a tiny glimmer. "You'll be okay," she whispered on a tremble. "Promise."
She went down the stairs and into the kitchen. The first thing she had to do was take something for her aching body and head. A sliver of light pierced the seam of the curtains. After she swallowed a couple of Advil and downed a glass of water, she went to the window and peeked outside. The day had passed. The streetlamp cast an eerie glow through a foggy mist. Fells Point was usually abuzz with bar-hoppers, but tonight the streets seemed spooky and empty. The only thing that disturbed the scene was her grumbling stomach and a loud purr. She looked down at Hemmingway. "Sorry, buddy. I'll get your dinner."
As she went over to the refrigerator and opened the door, her stomach again growled. Spying some leftover soup in the back, she grabbed the half-filled container. The door drifted closed as Sky removed the lid and sniffed. Satisfied she wasn't going to poison herself with spoiled food, she stuck the container in the microwave and dished out some cat food for Hemi. He hurried to the bowl as she set it on the floor. She pulled out a chair from beneath the table, sat down, and lightly ran her foot down Hemi's back. A sigh escaped as she rubbed the back of her neck to make the ache go away. She only wished she could do the same to her heart.
Chapter 21
Sky plopped down on the sofa and turned on the television. Soup in one hand and the remote in the other, she flipped through the channels. Nothing held any appeal, each show droning on with topics that were of little interest. If she could get something in her stomach without throwing it up, she might be able to go back to sleep without a headache. The pain reliever did little, but, then again, she’d cried enough to be dehydrated. Food and rest would help her body, if not her outlook. Two rounds of Jeopardy and a semi-full belly later, a wave of exhaustion rolled over her.
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