by S. M. West
Sadness is woven through her, in the way she carries herself and in her expressions. It’s dark, and so big that it takes up its own space in the room. Yet she isn’t here. And her absence is crushing.
Before I can continue to poke and prod, peeling back her layers, the vibe in the kitchen shifts again. From nothing to something, something foreign and unsettling. A booming male voice carries from the hall.
“Honey, I’m home.”
I don’t know the guy, her husband I’m guessing, so I can’t be sure, but his tone isn’t sweet, light or teasing in the way most might say those same words.
Pippa tenses and her eyes flash open, wide like a startled doe caught in the crosshairs of a hunter’s riflescope. She yanks her hand from mine. Suddenly it feels like this was what Mason Riggs was talking about.
I swivel on the stool to face the doorway at the same time Brock Sullivan makes his appearance.
“What have we here?” He sneers for a millisecond before plastering on a huge, fake smile while striding to Pippa’s side to hook an arm around her waist possessively.
“Brock.” Her pink lips form his name in disbelief rather than a greeting.
“Hi.” I stand casually. “I’m Drew.”
He looks at my extended hand like I’m offering him a steaming pile of shit, but eventually takes it, squeezing hard. I’m unflinching, breathing calmly and steadily despite the crushing sensation in the bones of my hand. Asshole. Insecure much?
“And who are you?” He arches a brow, finally releasing my hand.
“You probably don’t remember me,” I say at the same time Pippa says, “Drew’s a childhood friend. He was at our wedding.”
A childhood friend? Not this again. We’re way more than friends.
As if stoned or slow on the uptake, his gaze stutters from Pippa to me and back again like one of those three-hundred-and sixty-degree sprinklers. Tick, tick, tick across the lawn. Is he on something?
I watch him closely and realize that isn’t it. He’s questioning. Scrutinizing us as if trying to figure out if we’re telling the truth. Why would he think we’re lying? Or more importantly, why would he think his wife is lying?
“What are you doing here?” He nuzzles his nose into Pippa’s neck.
I want to clock him and more so as I watch her force a feeble smile, and then a flimsy kiss to his cheek. Something is seriously off and if I had any doubt about being welcome, Brock clears it up when he shifts her so he can look directly at me over her shoulder. His dark gaze grabs mine and everything from his tone, to looks, to body language rages for me to leave.
“I came to visit Pip. To catch up.”
“But he’s leaving now and won’t be in LA long.” She gladly withdraws from his embrace and begins to scoop up our untouched plates.
“Yeah, it’s time to get going.” I nod, smile and walk toward the doorway. “We should do dinner or something tomorrow night.”
She immediately pales and he folds his beefy arms across his chest. “Sorry, bud, no can do. Football season. No time for dates.”
He throws the last word like a blade slicing swiftly through the thick tension in the room. Splitting apart the carefully constructed façade. He has no time for me. Wants me gone and pronto. Never to be seen again.
Pippa laughs nervously, her neck reddens, and she shakes her head.
“What he means is, things are super intense and hectic during the season and dinner just won’t work.”
“All right. Then dinner for you and me tomorrow night.” I direct the invite at her.
“I can’t—”
“Lunch?”
“No, she’s got plans with me,” Brock says and judging from Pippa’s countenance, he’s lying.
“Sorry, Drew, tomorrow isn’t going to work. Unless you want to do coffee or something?” she suggests nervously.
What the fuck is going on?
He watches my every move, wearing a rude and unwelcome expression.
“Sure, sounds great,” I reply at the same time Brock says, trying to be funny, “No ‘or something’.”
We all laugh, stilted and thorny.
“Sounds like a plan. Give me your phone.” With my hand outstretched, Brock tenses and Pippa stills. “So we can text and make plans.”
She laughs nervously and hands me her phone. Brock surveys my every move as I punch in my number and then text myself so I have her number too. I hand her phone back to her and then saunter toward the front of the house, pausing at the mouth of the hallway.
“Awesome breakout in last week’s game.”
Brock grunts before grabbing at the bread she’s removing from the counter and shoving it in his mouth. What does she see in this guy?
“I’ll walk you out.” She catches up to me, entering the hall. “I’m sorry, he’s tired,” she mutters under her breath and breezes past me. “There’s a burger joint close to the highway.”
I smile and my insides warm. She cares that I haven’t eaten, and she remembers how much I love a good burger. I pause at the now-open front door, trying for eye contact, but she refuses, staring over my right shoulder into the dark night.
“Yeah, I saw it. Thanks.” Stepping outside, I spin quickly and punt my foot to stop the door from slamming in my face.
“Hey, Drew, when you going home?” Brock steps in behind her, his glare slicing from my face to my foot holding the door open.
“Not sure yet. I want to spend some time with Pip.” I’m deliberate with her nickname. I didn’t miss the way he frowned, not liking when I said it earlier.
“Isn’t that sweet, honey? Going for a stroll down memory lane with an old boyfriend.” A tight, unpleasant smile settles on his hard face.
Boyfriend? Maybe he isn’t as stupid as he looks. Apart from being introduced, we didn’t talk at their wedding, but she must have told him about me.
I’m the guy that should have had her. The one who should be married to her and building a life with her. I’m also the guy who fucked that all up. Dammit.
Luckily, I pull my head out of my ass, leaving the past behind with enough wherewithal to catch what takes place next. Pippa’s and Brock’s gazes lock on one another—only for a beat—but what passes between them is more than silence.
There’s a charged undercurrent that’s been hovering over our entire encounter, and only now am I fully understanding its severity. The near-missed electrocution. Yet I can’t fully decipher its meaning. The foreboding and fear—not mine, but hers—feels oddly familiar.
“Good night, Drew.” She barely looks at me.
“Yeah, night, Drew.” He pushes at the door with such force that I’m compelled to step away or risk losing my leg.
With the thump of metal hitting the doorframe, the shiny black door fills my vision, just like the black ominous something unfurling within me. Something is definitely wrong with her marriage and more and more, it looks like Mason is legit.
The dark swirls and spreads in the pit of my stomach. The way she acted… especially after Brock arrived. I’ve seen that behavior before, in other women.
Skittish.
Quiet.
Avoiding eye contact.
Almost as if… I shudder, pushing my ludicrous thoughts away. My mind won’t allow me to go there. To even entertain the possibility.
But what if?
What if my hunch is right?
Fuck, I want to break down this door and take her away from that asshole. I should call the cops. But I can’t. I’ve got no proof. It would get really ugly, really fast if I barge in right now, with or without the police, making accusations. If I’m wrong, Pippa might never forgive me, and Brock? I don’t give a shit about Brock.
But if I’m right? I can’t leave her. But I should. I have to. For now.
I’ll come back in the morning when they are gone for the day and talk to the housekeeper. Then I’ll figure out a way to get Pippa alone. Go for that coffee. I’ll get to the bottom of this. I won’t take no for an answer and I won
’t leave her.
7
Pippa
The car tires squeal on my exit from the football facility, anxious to leave as Brock’s menacing glare taunts me from the rearview mirror. I came to see Riggs, thinking I could slip in and out without Brock being the wiser. Unfortunately, things didn’t go my way.
Riggs did all he could to reduce the risk of anyone seeing me, but there was no way we could have anticipated Brock’s knee would act up. I walked right in on them, Riggs and another member of the team, assessing Brock’s recurring injury.
Riggs and I never got a chance to talk. The trip was wasted, and now my husband is furious. He escorted me off the property like I was some delinquent and that thought brings me back to a time early in our relationship.
A time when we were getting to know each other and he would wait for me, outside the office, at the end of each day. We’d do this very walk, laughing and flirting, lightly brushing arms, on the way to my car.
Brock had been kind and attentive, and despite all the things about him I didn’t pick up on, his interest in me was genuine. He listened to me, indulged me and would even show up with gifts. Books, music, food or something related to one of the many things I’d told him I liked. And whenever I asked him why, he’d always say “Because I like you.”
Obviously, a lot has changed. As we neared the exit of the building, Brock tightened his grip on me and leaned in close, so close I could smell his cinnamon gum. The very scent I had once been fond of, like so many things about him, and now couldn’t stomach.
“No more visits, got it?”
“Got it. This was the last time. I promised to give Riggs my notes,” I said flatly, thankful for having the forethought to bring a bogus folder with me.
“We’ve talked about this. You. Don’t. Come. Here. No. Matter. What.”
I stared at the short black hairs on his jawline because it was too hard to look him in the eye. Not because I was scared but because I no longer liked the man I married and somehow, I couldn’t help but blame myself for my situation. If Brock Sullivan hadn’t been the first guy to make me feel anything after Drew, I wouldn’t have given him a second glance.
Drew Hayes.
I’m raw and restless since seeing him last night. Strangely, Brock didn’t get angry or act out after Drew’s unexpected visit. He questioned if I knew Drew was coming and then he showered and went out. I never saw him until early this morning.
But Drew’s arrival rocked my world. It’s as if opening the door to him also opened a door or a window to possibilities or shit, I don’t know what. Things are in motion with Riggs and with Brock leaving tomorrow. But why does it feel like Drew showing up changes things? He never did tell me why he’s here.
Brock ushered me out the back way without so much as a goodbye, watching me cross the parking lot to my car.
On the way home, my thoughts drift back to Drew. I haven’t been able to keep my mind off him since last night. I hope he’s on his way back to Toronto right now although that’s wishful thinking.
I can’t see him again. He can’t fix this, and I don’t plan on bringing my family into my mess of a marriage. Same way I don’t plan on getting cozy with Drew.
At one time, he was my world. I’m not going to lie to myself and say that I don’t love him. I always will. But I can’t indulge in whatever this is.
I park in front of my house and as I step out, Drew exits his rental car across the street. His eyes rake over me and a strange fluttering erupts in my stomach as his lips tip up appreciatively. He strides toward me so self-assured, so confident, and I swallow hard, unable to muster the words needed to tell him to go.
Ripped, well-worn jeans and a white t-shirt do little to hide his lean muscles, trim waist and broad shoulders. Just looking at him still excites me. Sandy hair hangs in waves over his forehead, damp and somewhat darker than last night thanks to his recent shower.
“What are you doing here?”
“Coffee. You didn’t think you could get rid of me so easily, did you?” He stops with a foot between us and his clean, citrusy scent nearly knocks me over.
“You’ve walked away before without so much as a backward glance.”
My voice is flat, unmoving, but I’m instantly sick at my sharp comeback. He winces, his brows pinching together, and his gaze flicks to mine, clearly uncomfortable.
Why’d I say that?
Because I want an argument. I want to shout and scream. But not at him. At me. At Brock. I didn’t have to bring up the past. It was a low blow.
“I deserved that.” His tone is low and somewhat sheepish as he nudges me back until I’m against my car. “I want to have that coffee. Can we go somewhere and talk?”
“No.” I try to step around him, but his arms come to rest on either side of my body, caging me in between the car and his body.
He isn’t threatening. In fact, it’s the opposite. I feel safe, cherished, and somewhat aroused. Damn, Drew Hayes.
“Are you happy?” His knuckles caress my jaw and up along my hairline.
Heat crawls up my chest and I lick my lips, suddenly parched. Yeah, he needs to leave. I’ll always love him. And my traitorous body will also always want him. But I’m no longer in love with him.
Never again.
“Yes,” I croak unconvincingly, and he smiles wanly.
“Let’s try that again.” His body inches closer to mine until we’re flush against each other. “Your happiness is all I’ve ever wanted for you. So tell me, are you happy?”
The question is pointed and heavy. It’s a simple question and my answer should be simple, even if not truthful. His face dips and his fingers tip my chin up.
“Does your husband love you like you’re all he needs to live?”
My heart stutters and knees weaken. He has to know his words disturb the very being of my soul, a place where Drew’s declarations of his undying love—those very words—are buried. There’s no way he can’t know how close he’s hitting to the mark.
I sink further into the hard, unyielding metal of the car, something to hold me up and not allow myself to lean on him.
“Drew.”
I gently push at his solid chest and he grabs my wrist to prevent my escape. Unsettled and raw, my control slips and I wince, my wrist throbbing at his mild touch as a small sob slips from my lips.
“Pip, sorry, did I hurt you?” He stumbles over his words.
“It’s nothing.” I clutch my arm to my chest.
“Why aren’t you at work?” His brow furrows and he’s confusing me with his sudden change of direction.
“What?”
“Work? Why are you at home?”
Lying seems like the best option. Drew will pick at me if I tell the truth, but he’ll catch me in my lie.
“I don’t work.”
His blue eyes widen, still fixed on my cradled wrist, and his body rocks slightly back on his heels. I take the opportunity to slip past him toward the front door. He’s too quick, and this time he grabs hold of my upper arm and before I realize what he’s doing, my sleeve is up, revealing my swollen wrist.
We both stare at the angry red marks dotting my puffy flesh. One of a few mementos still lingering from the night Matt punched Brock.
“What happened?” Tension and dread darken his voice.
“Nothing.” I pull away and he releases a frustrated sigh.
“Is it broken?”
“It’s just a sprain.”
“Bullshit,” he spits out.
8
Drew
Fuck. I didn’t want to be right.
Her response—not the actual words but the way in which she says them—sends a chill up my spine and straight to my heart.
I lean in close, my hands on her shoulders so she can’t run. “Did he do that to you?”
A flash of truth or fear slices through her turbulent gaze before she blinks. Her jaw clenches and her lips thin.
“I’m taking you to a doctor to get that che
cked out.” Then away from motherfucking Brock.
“No,” she says harshly. “I’m fine. This is nothing.”
Her admission might as well have been a backhand to my face. She’s so detached about her husband hitting her.
“Drew, please go home,” she cries in a soft, pained voice. “And I don’t mean back to your hotel.”
“Where the hell is that motherfucker?” I growl, and her eyes widen. “Is he in the house? I’ll fucking kill him—”
“He isn’t here, and you’re not going to do anything.”
“Come with me.” I squeeze her shoulders, tugging her toward the car.
“Please leave.” Tears are now flooding her eyes.
“Pippa.” Her name is strangled. How can she ask that of me? “I can’t leave you here.”
Everything and nothing makes sense.
I came here loaded with regrets, but hopeful at the chance to see her and if she needed someone, to be that person.
I drag my fingers through my hair. If not for our breakup, she wouldn’t be here. She’s with this asshole because of me.
“I can’t leave,” I rasp, each word like jagged glass. I won’t do it again.
“Seriously?” She’s on the verge of vicious, so unlike the sweet and loving Pippa I’ve known all my life. “You didn’t have a problem leaving me before.” Her barb hits its mark. Square in my chest.
Spinning, she runs toward the house and I battle the urge to chase her, rubbing at the center of my chest. This isn’t the first time he’s done this. I feel it in my bones, in the way Pippa Raine is my one and only true love and I will love her until the day I die.
I won’t leave her. She can’t possibly know how much I want her. How much I love her. How I never stopped wanting her. Never stopped loving her. I won’t walk away again. No matter what.
Hanging my head in shame, I turn toward my car. I’ll give her space. But not too much and not for too long. Getting in the car, I shut the door a little too hard and slam the heel of my hand on the steering wheel.
Everything has changed. Or maybe it’s just become crystal clear. I’m no longer here solely to help. I’m here to get her back. Full stop.
