And he sure as hell wasn't going to go back to the restaurant and wait for Alyssa.
Randy nearly collided into Alec and Ian, their hands full with drinks. He mumbled an apology and moved to step around them, but not fast enough.
"Where are you off to?"
"Not sure. But I don't feel like staying here."
Alec tightened his grip on the drinks and watched Randy through dark eyes. "Why is that?"
"Why? In case you haven't noticed, I'm the only one without a date. Kind of defeats the whole 'couples night out', doesn't it?"
"I didn't say a date was mandatory. I just thought it might be nice for Kayli to meet some of the other guys." Ian glanced over at the seating area and frowned. "Although I have no idea what the hell JP is up to. What is he even doing with her?"
Randy looked over his shoulder then shrugged. Even he couldn't answer that question. Ian's frown deepened and he shook his head.
"You don't need to go. But I need to get over there. I'm trying to impress Kayli, not scare the hell out of her."
Randy considered telling Ian that he should get rid of his scowl if that was the case, but he was already moving away from them, his long stride determined as he moved across the room. Randy shook his head, wondering what Ian's date would think of tonight. Hopefully his friend would have better luck than he did.
"So, are you going or staying?" The words were casual, but the tone in Alec's voice was more serious. Randy looked at him, then shrugged again.
"Going. This was a bad idea to begin with."
"Really? Because I thought you had been looking forward to it."
"Had. Past tense. It's a little different when you don't have a date."
"So what happened?"
"What happened?" Randy laughed, the sound hard and biting. "What happened is that I realized I've been seeing a woman for three months and still haven't gone out on a date with her. And then, the one night we get a chance to go, she decides the restaurant is more important."
"You're talking about the chef, right? Your sister's friend?"
Randy nodded, his jaw clenched too hard to speak.
"It's a new business, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"From what I hear, it's pretty tough opening a new business. Takes a lot of time."
"Yeah. Your point?"
Alec shrugged and took a sip from one of the drinks in his hand. "Isn't this the same place you pretty much sunk all that money into?"
"It was a loan. To my sister. Or an investment. Whatever you want to call it. What about it?"
"Oh yeah, that's right. To improve your image." A brief smile crossed Alec's face, which made Randy clench his jaw even tighter. "I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that you have expectations of at least making some money back from that whole thing. That would be tough to do if the restaurant wasn't a success."
"Yeah, I get that. I still don't know what your point is."
"My point is that—as the investor—you should be happy the business is doing well. It takes time and dedication to make that happen."
"Yeah Alec, okay. Sure, I get it. Anything else?"
"No, I guess not." Alec glanced over at the table, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth when AJ waved to him. He looked back at Randy, his gaze suddenly thoughtful. "How long have you been dating her?"
"Dating Alyssa? Well, since tonight would have been the first time we've gone out anywhere except her place or mine, exactly never."
"Do you want to know how many times AJ and I went out when she moved in with me?"
"What?"
"For that bet, when she moved in. Do you know how many times we went out? I'll tell you: once. Do you want to know where I took her?"
Randy glanced at his watch, wondering what point the goalie was trying to make. More importantly, how long it was going to take him to make that point. He sighed and looked back at Alec. "No. Where did you take her?"
"A strip club. Do you remember that night?"
A hazy memory swirled in the back of Randy's mind for a few seconds before becoming clearer. He felt a reluctant smile break free. "Oh yeah. I remember that night. That's when that stripper came up and kissed her. Damn, that was—"
"That's my wife you're talking about."
Randy wiped the smile from his face and cleared his throat. "Sorry."
"AJ and I were pretty much living together, but we hadn't really dated except for one pathetic outing to a strip club. Of all places."
"Yeah, but you guys weren't together then."
"Weren't we?" Alec shifted and took another sip of the drink. Randy figured both drinks had to be pretty watered-down by now, considering the ice had practically melted away in both of them. "We may not have been going out on dates, but trust me, we were together."
"Okay, fine. You were together. What's your point, Kolchak?"
"Just because you haven't been out on dates doesn't mean you're not together. Don't go getting all pissy because the woman takes her responsibilities seriously—especially when that responsibility involves a nice chunk of your own money."
Alec nodded then walked away without saying another word. Randy watched him, frowning, wondering if Alec had maybe had too much to drink. He had no idea what the hell Alec had been trying to say. Yeah, he understood the responsibility part. He wasn't an idiot, he got that much.
But the rest of it? About dating and being together? He had no clue what point Alec was trying to make. And no matter what he said, there was a difference. Because even Randy knew that being in a relationship took effort—and all of Alyssa's effort was saved for the restaurant.
Which meant there wasn't any left for him. That sounded selfish and egotistical, but he didn't care.
Randy turned away from the smiling couples and threaded his way across the dance floor, which was filled with even more couples. He didn't know what point Alec was trying to make, and didn't care to know. All he knew was that right now, he needed to get out of here.
Chapter Seventeen
Randy's hand tightened on the beer bottle, but that didn't stop the bitter liquid from sloshing over the top when someone pushed into him from behind. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, counting to five. The dive bar was crowded, he should expect to be bumped from behind.
That didn't mean he had to go off.
One more deep breath and he opened his eyes, doing his best to ignore the crowd around him.
He should have never come here after leaving his teammates. No, he didn't want to stay with them, not in his mood, not feeling like the proverbial fifth wheel. But he hadn't wanted to go home either.
Regret filled him and he chased it down with a long gulp of the beer. It was room-temperature, almost too bitter to drink. He had finished the first one, thinking the beer would taste better after that. He was starting number five, and still holding on to that theory.
And still holding on to the regret.
He was finally able to admit that he had overreacted earlier, when Alyssa had told him she couldn't get away. Yes, he had been disappointed. That didn't excuse him from acting like an ass. And that was exactly how he had acted: like a spoiled ass. Now he was trying to figure out what to do about it, because he was more than just an ass—he was also stubborn.
The thought of going back to the restaurant had crossed his mind more than once in the last hour. But it was too late, and part of him was pretty sure that Alyssa wouldn't want to see him anyway. And he really wasn't in the mood, anyway. Part of him was still pissed—pissed at the situation, pissed at himself. It probably wouldn't take much right now for his temper to explode, even if he had come to the realization that it was his fault.
So here he sat, in some dive bar in east Baltimore, standing out in his expensive tailored suit in a crowd of unwashed bodies.
His mood was steadily worsening with each sip of warm beer and he had no idea what he'd do if one more asshole knocked into him. Which meant it was time to leave. Past time, actually. But there was no w
ay he was going to drive himself home.
With a heavy sigh and a feeling of doom, he pulled his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and stared at the screen. Who should he call? Not JP. If Randy knew his friend at all, JP would be too busy right about now to even bother answering. He ran down a mental list, discarding each option after a second's consideration until he came to one name.
Shit.
With another sigh, he tapped a name in his contacts list and held the phone to his ear. It rang three times before a groggy voice answered with a sleepy "Hello?"
"Hey Val. I need you to come pick me up."
"What? Randy? Do you know what time it is?"
"Yeah. I need you to come pick me up."
"Really? After the stunt you pulled tonight?" Irritation was clear in her voice. A few seconds went by, filled with muttering and the muffled sounds of movement. "Where are you?"
Randy frowned and looked around, trying to figure out exactly where he was. He had never been to this place before, had chosen it on a whim. He finally motioned for the bartender and asked him the address, ignoring Val's sputtered outrage when she realized he didn't even know where he was.
"I should make you walk home. You know that, right? It would serve you right." There was another heavy sigh, followed by the muffled sound of keys jangling in the background. "Give me about fifteen minutes. And you better be out front, because I'm not going in to get you."
His sister disconnected the call before he had a chance to say thanks. Randy stared down at the screen, then shrugged and dropped the phone back into his pocket. What the hell. Fifteen minutes was long enough to have another drink, especially since he wasn't going to be driving.
He motioned to the bartender once more, and asked for a shot this time. Straight up whiskey. It had to be better than the beer, since it was coming straight from a bottle. Not much chance of it being too warm, too cold, or watered down that way.
Randy lifted the shot glass to his mouth, intending to toss it back with one quick flick of his wrist. Somebody pushed into him, hard, and the entire shot ended up splashing down the front of his shirt. Randy clenched his jaw and turned on the stool to face the culprit.
"Do you mind?"
The guy narrowed his eyes at Randy, his glassy gaze raking over him with contempt. Randy rolled his own eyes and turned away, figuring it wasn't worth saying anything else. The guy was obviously drunk, way past the point of even realizing what he had done. He leaned across the bar and grabbed a few of the cheap napkins stacked in a haphazard pile, wiping at the whiskey that drenched his shirt. Somebody pushed against him again, harder this time.
"Maybe you should just leave, Mr. Fancypants." The man snarled the words through curled lips, his face so close that Randy could smell the fumes of alcohol on his fetid breath. He rolled his eyes again and turned away, knowing better than to let his temper flare. It wasn't worth it.
The man knocked into him again, deliberately baiting him. Randy balled his hands into fists but kept them carefully tucked into his lap, tight against his legs. How long before Val showed up? Ten minutes? Less? If Randy was smart, he'd just go wait outside right now.
He unclenched one fist and reached for his wallet, careful to keep it out of sight as he pulled several bills out and tossed them on the bar before sliding off the stool. The man knocked into him again, hard enough that Randy was pushed against the edge of the bar. He didn't say anything, just fixed the man with a dark, warning look. A few of the others in the bar were watching carefully, slowly moving out of the way. One or two guys, probably friends of the drunk, were tugging at the man's arms, no doubt trying to pull him away. But the man wasn't listening, his glassy eyes trying to focus on Randy.
"That's right, Mr. Fancypants, just leave."
Randy took a deep breath and tried to loosen his clenched jaw. "Move."
"Or what?"
"Or nothing. I'm trying to leave, now move." Randy stepped forward, his shoulder brushing against the man and moving him back a step. A grungy hand gripped his arm and Randy looked down, noticing the thick fingers and ragged nails caked with dirt and grease. He looked back up and met the man's eyes then clenched his jaw and pulled his arm from the dirty grip.
Coming here had definitely been a mistake, because his mood was doing a quick nose-dive south and his temper was starting to boil. But this wasn't the place or the time, he told himself. All he had to do was keep his cool until he got outside. Val should be here any minute.
Randy made it two steps before a heavy weight slammed into him from behind. He clenched his jaw again and turned, not surprised to see that the guy was right there, less than a foot away.
And the drunk was apparently just as eager for a fight as Randy was. Silence settled over the bar, broken only by the scratchy music coming from an aged jukebox. Most of the patrons had stepped back a safe distance, smart enough to recognize the feral look in Randy's eyes.
Everyone except the drunk guy.
No. No, no, no. Randy repeated the single word in his mind. He wasn't going to do this. Not here, not now. It wasn't worth it. He shook his head and turned away with every intention of just walking out. The guy was drunk, had no idea what he was doing. Randy would just let it go. He had to let it go.
Then Val walked through the door, her long dark hair loose around her shoulders, temper flashing in her dark eyes. And shit, what the hell was she wearing? A loose t-shirt that still showed too much, and some kind of shorts in a pale gray material that barely came to the top of her thighs. Were those her fucking pajamas? He was going to kill her.
"Dammit Randy, I said to meet me out front!"
"Look like Mr. Fancypants has a sweet piece of ass waiting for him."
Randy froze at the slurred words coming from behind him. His fists clenched once more, and he paused only long enough to see Val's mouth open in shock, to see red creep up her neck and blossom on her face.
And suddenly he had had enough. He turned, one arm coming up as he swung, immediately connecting with the drunk guy's jaw.
And all hell broke loose.
Chapter Eighteen
Silence filled the office, bouncing off the glass-and-chrome décor until it became loud, oppressive. Randy swallowed and pressed his hands tighter into his legs, forcing himself not to move, not to squirm. The sense of déjà vu was almost as overwhelming as the silence. So overwhelming, in fact, that Randy wanted to do more than squirm.
He wanted to run out of the office and just disappear.
The silence was finally broken by the rustle of a newspaper being carefully folded, the sound so sharp and sudden that Randy actually jumped. J. Taylor Montgomery placed the paper on the corner of his desk and settled back into his oversized leather chair with a deep sigh. He turned his cool blue eyes on Randy, the gaze full of grandfatherly disappointment.
"I've been reassured that we can get the charges reduced, if not completely dropped. You're probably looking at probation before judgment, at the most. There's a small possibility we can get even that reduced to time served. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a hefty fine. Not to mention the possibility of a civil suit. If your attorney can get that settled out of court, I suggest you jump at the chance, son." Montgomery shook his head then fixed Randy with a steady gaze. "At least your sister was let go before things went too far."
Anger rushed through him, harsh and biting, red-hot. Randy swallowed and did his best to push it away, knowing that nothing would be solved by giving into the fiery emotion.
Giving into it had already cost him, more than he ever thought it would.
Val had been arrested, the cop threatening to charge her with prostitution. Randy didn't think he'd ever get the picture of her pale face, stricken with horror and humiliation at what was happening, out of his mind. The image gave him nightmares each time he closed his eyes.
The fight had been fast, over before it had really started. A few punches, heated words, strong hands pulling them apart. But the bartender had called the
police, and a few cars had already shown up just as the brief altercation was ending.
Val had been caught in the middle, whisked away by some cop who thought she was a hooker before statements were even taken. Randy had talked, and talked fast, begging the cops to listen to him as cuffs were snapped around his wrists and he was hauled outside, forced to kneel on the dirt-crusted, stained curb.
At least Val had been taken to a car.
He wasn't sure if that was better or not, not when he could see her sitting in the backseat, her arms pulled awkwardly behind her, tears streaming down her face. And she had been frisked, the cop's hands almost brutal in their search.
Randy thanked God that Val had been let go, that she hadn't been forced to endure the humiliation of being completely stripped for a cavity search at Central Booking. The memory of his own search caused bile to rise in his stomach and creep up his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed, taking a cautious breath as he ruthlessly pushed the memory away.
He looked up at his agent and saw his expression of expectation. Randy realized he was waiting for an answer, and he had no idea what to say. He merely nodded then looked away, knowing there was nothing he could say.
Silence filled the room once more, not quite as oppressive. It was quickly broken by the sound of rustling paper and the faint squeak of a chair. Randy heard his agent's sigh but didn't bother looking up.
"The Banners' GM called me yesterday. They want to know what they can do to make you go away."
The bottom of Randy's stomach opened, filling him with an icy fear that paralyzed his limbs. He looked up, afraid to meet his agent's eyes, and wanted to scream.
"No." The single word was scratchy and hoarse, the sound barely audible in the expansive office.
Montgomery steepled his fingers under his chin and fixed Randy with a steely gaze that only paralyzed him even more. Time slowed, bringing a clarity of sound and realization that did little to ease the chilling fear gripping him. His heart beat in the echoing stillness, a loud thump-thump-thump threatening to spill from his chest. His breathing slowed, almost stopped, his chest aching with the need to draw air. Gray seeped into the corners of his vision, nearly masking the dots of black exploding in front of him.
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