Can't Let Go--A Bad Boy Romance

by Gena Showalter

  No! Won’t be like my mother. No man—not even her man—would stop her from living her dreams. If Jude wanted to come with her, great. If not, fine.

  Please, please want to come with me.

  Poo on a stick! She better not start crying again.

  “I will.” Caroline moved to Ryanne’s side and took over the jalapeño jelly. “I got carried away, I’m sorry. It’s been a while, if you know what I mean.”

  “Who’s the guy?” Ryanne asked.

  “Someone we went to high school with. Glen Baker. Remember him?”

  “I do. Did he find a job?”

  While Jude’s attention remained on his laptop, he suddenly radiated all kinds of satisfaction, clearly happy Glen had found someone else.

  “He did, though he won’t tell me where,” Caroline said. “He’s working on a trial basis and doesn’t want to jinx it.”

  Jude muttered, “Idiot.”

  “Ignore Mr. Laurent,” Ryanne said. “If he were a gentleman, he’d leave us in peace.”

  Caroline’s lips quirked up at the corners. “Honey, if you want a man to leave a room, you’ve got to start talking about tampons, menstrual cramps or yeast.”

  Jude looked more likely to smile than run.

  “Now,” Caroline said, “why don’t you take a break? You work too hard.”

  “Only so I can play hard later. I’ll be leaving for Rome soon,” she said with a little more volume than necessary.

  “Well, I work too hard, then.” Caroline pouted. “Everyone from Strawberry Valley is out there having fun with foam, and we’re stuck in here making sandwiches.”

  “Making sandwiches and money. And FYI, making money is more important than fun.” Once again, she increased the volume of her voice for Jude’s sake.

  He ignored her. Or pretended to.

  One of the waitresses peeked her head through the doors. “Got another order. And where’s the food for Vandercamp and his assistant? They’re getting restless.”

  “Here.” Caroline rushed two plates her way.

  Knowing Jude’s gaze continually sought her, just to make sure she was okay, Ryanne decided to torture him for his money-for-the-baby comment by cleaning the counter around him, brushing her breasts against him at every opportunity.

  His tension redoubled, and his breath hitched, the air between them suddenly crackling.

  The muscles in her belly contracted, warmth pooling between her legs. Beneath her bra, her nipples beaded and ached for a touch. His touch. Only ever his.

  Talk about a plan backfiring! She’d ended up torturing herself.

  This was going to be a long night.

  * * *

  JUDE TRAILED RYANNE as she visited with one customer after another. Though he remained in the shadows, he still managed to make everyone uncomfortable. Whenever he approached, people stopped laughing, spraying foam and drinking. Conversations died.

  Ryanne kept tossing him death-glares over her shoulder, but he refused to back down. He was on edge, his leg sore and his body primed. He needed her in his arms, but had to settle for keeping her close.

  Worse, he’d woken up plagued by a feeling that he was going to lose her, sooner rather than later, and with every hour that had passed, the ominous feeling had only magnified.

  Damn it, he knew the source of the feeling, and so did she. What else? Fear. The enemy he’d once treated as an old friend.

  Any time fear rears its ugly head, beat it to a bloody pulp by doing what it tells you not to do.

  Daniel’s words played through Jude’s mind on constant repeat. Fear told him to enfold Ryanne in plastic bubbles, lock her inside the Scratching Post and never let her leave. He’d even started to think up ways to stop her from traveling. What if the plane crashed? What if she were abducted, or raped?

  Argh! He wanted to bang his head against the wall. He had to do the opposite—no Bubble Wrap, no locking her in the bar, no commanding her to stay in Oklahoma.

  Shit. If she insisted on going to Rome, he would insist on going with her. He would have suggested it sooner, but he hadn’t wanted to face the memories of his travels without his girls, and really, he’d hoped to talk Ryanne out of going altogether.

  Whether he stayed or went, he needed to face his memories.

  “If you stick to me any closer, cowboy, you’re going to smother me. And the customers! They’ve stopped spending the money I was planning to leave on the dresser for you, so that you could spend it on me.”

  He heard the exasperation in her voice, knew he should back off. Then a chant of her name erupted—Ryanne, Ryanne, Ryanne. People wanted her to sing with the band.

  Backing off ceased to be an option. She would be the center of attention, and vulnerable, without shield or defense.

  “Stay off the stage,” he commanded. “Stay here. Where you’re safe.”

  “No way, no how. My admiration for you might be unconditional, but my temper is another story. I’m doing this. You made everyone uncomfortable, so now I’ve got to make them happy.” She smiled and nodded at the crowd.

  When she headed for the dais, he grabbed hold of her wrist, stopping her before she got very far. A single tug, and she was pressed against him.

  “Don’t do this,” he said, speaking straight into her ear in order to be heard over the chanting. He wrapped his arm around her waist to better keep her in place, his fingers curving over her perfect ass. “Up there you’ll be an easy target.” How could she overlook the danger?

  Leaning back, she studied his face, and whatever she saw merely darkened her mood. She framed his face with her precious hands and rose on her tiptoes to speak directly into his ear. “Down here, I won’t be living my life on my terms. I’ll be caving to fear—just like you.”

  His heart thundered against his ribs, cracking the bone, surely. The pain...the ache in his chest.

  Damn it! How was he supposed to get through to the most stubborn woman on earth? “Be smart about this. Stay safe.” What if one of Dushku’s men was hiding among the crowd, armed, ready to take her out for helping Savannah escape? “Please, shortcake.”

  The use of the endearment could be classified as a manipulation tactic right now, but he didn’t care.

  For once, she didn’t soften. “We’ve had this conversation before, Jude, and I’d rather not have it again in front of an audience.” Multicolored strobe lights spilled over her, vanished, only to spill over her again, highlighting a beauty too pure for mere mortal men. “Now let me go.”

  “Never!”

  While the fevered response softened her, it didn’t soothe her. With a gentleness that agonized him, she said, “Keep this up, and you’re going to regret it.”

  His chest bowed in challenge, his hand sliding down her ass to actually cup her cheek. “Threaten to leave me all you want, but I would rather watch you walk away than carry you to your grave.”

  “I wasn’t threatening to leave you, you foolish man, and I’m insulted you would think so. You should know me better than that.”

  He flushed, but still maintained his hold on her.

  “Fight this, cowboy. For me. For us.”

  In a moment of raw honesty, he croaked, “I don’t think I can.” Her life meant more to him than his own.

  “You’re giving up? Just like that?” What remained of her good humor vanished. “Well, you can go screw yourself, because I’m not going to!” Smiling again for the crowd—a smile that didn’t reach her eyes—she wrenched free, sidestepped him and marched onto the stage.

  All eyes focused on her, the chants finally dying down as cheers rang out. Jude had to plant his booted feet in the floor to stop himself from stalking after her and dragging her off that stage.

  When she moved to the mic, the band spread out behind her. Within seconds, a soft b
allad filled the air, and her whiskey-and-smoke voice followed. The battle with fear ended then and there, the giant slayed. At least for the moment. Jude stood frozen, utterly transfixed. He’d heard her sing before, but he’d forgotten how sensual she sounded. How sensual...and irresistible. Every word contained a note of heartbreak and longing, hope and regret, and he knew soul-deep he was the one who had caused the heartbreak and regret, not Dushku.

  Jude’s shoulders rolled in. He kept messing up with her. Would he ever get things right?

  Well, he was going to have to, because he couldn’t tolerate the alternative. Life without her.

  Maybe he’d start faking a sense of calm?

  Whoa. Fake it? What was wrong with him? He would actually consider lying to the mother of his child?

  No. Absolutely not. He refused to sink so low.

  Fear was an obstacle, remember? Obstacles could be overcome.

  Fight this, Ryanne had said.

  I don’t think I can, he’d replied, but he’d lied to himself. He could. He would. He would fight until he died, if necessary, but he would win. Surrender wasn’t an option, would never be an option.

  He needed to talk to her, but decided to hang back when she left the stage and give her a little breathing room at last. It was difficult to stay away, but he did it, patrolling the crowd, searching for anything or anyone out of the ordinary.

  Finally, it was time for the Scratching Post to close. He spotted Carrie and Russ among the dissipating crowd and closed the distance. “Hey. I didn’t expect to see you guys tonight.”

  Carrie hugged him, her familiar perfume enveloping him. For a moment, his mind flashed back to his wedding day. Take care of my little girl, Jude.

  I will. Always.

  Then I’ll always be in your debt.

  “I know you said we’d have breakfast in the morning, but I really hoped to speak with you tonight.” There was a tremor in her voice. “If you’re not too busy?”

  He suspected the talk would include advice to dump Ryanne. Never going to happen. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I made a mess of things with Ryanne, and I’ve got to fix it.” Somehow. She came first. From now on, she would always come first.

  Carrie surprised him, smiling a half sad, half apologetic smile and saying, “That’s fine, but I’m here, you’re here, so I’m going to say my piece, anyway. I don’t want you hung up on my wonderful but passed daughter for the rest of your life, and I’m sorry I acted the way I did. So tell your sweet Ryanne you’re sorry for whatever you did, because we both know you’re at fault. You’re a man, and sometimes you guys don’t have enough oxygen in your brains.”

  The support absolutely floored him, and he croaked, “I’ll tell her.” Though he doubted another apology would smooth things over. “I love you, you know.”

  “I love you, too. You’re a good boy with a good heart, and I’m looking forward to being a grandma again. Don’t keep us in the dark anymore, all right? We want to be a part of your life.”

  “You are...Mom.”

  She beamed at him, some of the grief she’d carried around like a second skin suddenly falling away.

  Russ stepped up to hug him, too. “You’ve got a baby on the way. Why aren’t you happier?”

  “I’ve been too worried to be happy,” he answered honestly.

  “About?”

  “Life and death.” Mostly death.

  “Son, there isn’t life without death. It happens to all of us at some point or another. I just hate to see yours happen while you’re still alive.”

  Jude had no reply for him, because he’d just been sucker punched. If you didn’t take time to enjoy your life, to make others happy rather than miserable, did you have a life worth living?

  As the couple headed for the door, he scanned the bar, at last finding Ryanne. Pangs of longing and regret left him grasping at his chest. She was vital, beautiful beyond imagining despite the dark circles under her eyes. Dark circles he and his fear had caused.

  Never again.

  She and her employees were cleaning the foam from the floors.

  “You guys can take off,” he told the employees. He would finish up himself—after he’d chatted with Ryanne.

  She stiffened but didn’t contradict him as her people filed out of the building. He checked all the locks and turned on the alarm. When he finished, he remained in the shadows, watching her work for a moment. Her motions were jerky, her annoyance on full display as she sanitized the saddle on the mechanical bull and anchored a brand-new cover on it.

  Determined, Jude stepped toward her. “I’m sorry. I had no right to treat you the way I did.”

  “I’ve heard a version of those words before.” She pressed her forehead against the saddle, her back to him. “I’m not breaking up with you, Jude, but I need space. A lot of space.”

  Going to lose her, despite everything.

  No! Damn it, no.

  Rage roared to life. Rage for what he’d lost and suffered. Rage for his foolish behavior. Rage for all the times he’d hurt the woman he treasured.

  A single spark can start a wildfire.

  Those sparks spread, grew, heated. One second Jude stood in place, perhaps the picture of calm, the next he erupted, punching the wall again and again, his fist pummeling at rapid fire.

  Wood crushed beneath the force. Splinters rained. A thick cloud of plaster formed around him. He didn’t care. Today he’d stalked Ryanne, a predator tormented by his past. Of course she wanted to take a break from him. He wanted to take a break from himself!

  He punched and snarled until the rage and grief, sorrow and worry drained at long last, leaving him empty. A vessel to be filled.

  Out with the old, in with the new.

  He was panting, his hands bleeding, and the pain...it was physical rather than mental, and thus manageable.

  He turned on his heel, only then realizing he’d just ruined a wall in her bar—her home. His stomach sank. Did she fear him now?

  “Ryanne—” When his gaze met hers, he had to do a double take. She watched him with eyes full of wonder and relief.

  “Feel better?” she asked.

  “I do.” With his mind stripped of emotion, only truth remained. He hadn’t feared for Ryanne’s life, not exactly. He’d feared what his life would be like without her in it.

  There isn’t life without death. It happens to all of us at some point or another. I just hate to see yours happen while you’re still alive.

  Russ was right. Jude had been a walking dead man, eating everyone’s joy.

  Fear will only ever hurt you. Hope will save you.

  Ryanne was right, as well. Jude couldn’t protect her from everything. Bad things happened in the world. As she’d said, anything could kill her—a virus, a car accident, someone other than Dushku. People made bad decisions and evil existed.

  If Jude always expected the worst, would it soon become a self-fulfilling prophecy?

  Absolutely. Look at where he’d taken their relationship already. By fearing her loss, he had succeeded only in driving her away.

  Today’s space was tomorrow’s goodbye.

  Did letting go of his fear mean he could no longer do everything in his power to protect her? No. Hell, no. He could. He should. He’d decided to let go of fear, not sever an entire lobe of his brain. But he should also trust her to make the best decisions for herself, which meant he had to stop peering into the darkness of what could be and start looking for the light in what was.

  What was—he had her, here and now. He had to spend his time enjoying her rather than continuing to torment them both.

  Your thoughts dictate your reality. Think about something, and pretty soon your feelings follow. Every day we make choices, and those choices define our future. Even the smallest decision can have a big imp
act. The butterfly effect. Thoughts and actions create ripples of energy. Energy creates motion. So start treating fear like the enemy, and one day your feelings and everything else will catch up.

  He had to give himself permission to experience the happiness she gave him, come what may.

  I’ll never give up...Ryanne.

  Even as his heart stuttered inside his chest, he rasped, “You don’t need space. I’m a changed man, and things will be different from now on, I swear it. I finally know how I’m going to fight fear.”

  Hope glimmered in those rich, dark eyes, even as the muscles in her shoulders bunched. She was being tugged in two separate directions, he would bet. “I’m happy for you, Jude. I really am. But you’d be doing it simply to keep me, and as we’ve seen, that doesn’t work well for either of us.”

  “I’m not doing it for you, well, not only for you, but for me, too. I refuse to live with fear a second longer. I’d rather live with you.”

  The hope brightened, but it was tempered with dread, as if she didn’t want to put too much stock in his claims. He took another step toward her; she remained in place. Unfazed, he kept going, until he’d pressed her against the mechanical bull.

  Little panting breaths left her.

  She licked her lips. “How are you going to fight it?”

  “Not going to. Fighting now. One day at a time. One thought at a time. I’m done treating you like glass. For all I care, you can carry your own jars of moonshine from now on.”

  She snorted, as he’d hoped.

  “If you want to travel, we’ll travel,” he continued. “Unless you’d rather travel alone?”

  A little gasp left her. “You’d be willing to go with me?”

  “Not just willing, but happily. And if you want to sing in the bar tomorrow night or the next, I’m not going to protest. If you want to run errands around town, I won’t try to stop you.”

  “Even though Dushku is still a threat?”

  “Even though. I’m not saying I’ll be perfect from now on, because I might shadow you if you leave, and by might I mean I will, but I’m going to be better.”

  Her eyes widened, different emotions playing in their depths. More hope. Less dread. Excitement. Arousal. Happiness of her own. Her body softened against his. Melted, really, and he had to contain the urge to bang on his chest. If this were his reward for fighting fear—her willing surrender—he’d gladly remain on the battlefield for the rest of his life.