Diary of a Bad Boy

by Quinn, Meghan

  I take a sip from my cup and hiss out the burn before saying, “Nah, that was a guy named John who was sexually assaulting Sutton in a hallway.”

  “The fuck?” Rath blinks a few times. “Start from the beginning.”

  I spend the next few minutes recollecting everything from seeing Sutton after two long-as-hell nights alone, to the douche trying to move in, to spotting Foster, to finding out about his relationship, to Whitney’s slip only to follow it all up to the fight in the hallway.

  “Holy shit,” Rath breathes out heavily. “So Foster dragged you out of the restaurant. He couldn’t have been happy.”

  “Yeah, you could say that.” I stare straight ahead as the words he spouted at me reverberate in my head. “It’s as if he took all the things I hate about myself and confirmed them.” I shake my head. “You should have seen the look in his eyes. I know I’m his agent, and we have a business relationship, but I’ve always looked up to the man, and I’ve never felt so sick for disappointing someone. That’s what he was, disappointed. He thought I was fighting to fight and then said . . .” I let out a long sigh. “Shit.”

  What the fuck is happening?

  Tears start to form in the back of my eyes and I swear to Christ if they fall, I’m going to go ballistic.

  Deep breaths, just like the therapist said.

  “Dude, are you okay?” Rath asks, seeming worried. He should be, I’m about to have a goddamn moment.

  “No, I’m not.” I lean my head back and try to ease the tightness in my throat. “I’m such a fuck-up, Rath. When it comes to business, I’m unstoppable, but anything to do with my personal life I can’t get right.” I drag my hand over my face. “I love her, man. I love her so goddamn much.”

  “What did Foster say to you?”

  “Just told me the truth I already knew. That I’m not good enough for Sutton.”

  “He said that?”

  “Something like that. But to sum it up, yeah, I’m not deserving of his daughter.”

  “Shit . . . he’s not right, you know.”

  I scoff at that. Okay, maybe Rath has been drinking, and I didn’t know about it until just now. “He’s dead accurate.”

  “He isn’t.” Rath says, shaking his head. “You are more than enough for her. From what I’ve observed, you balance each other out. Fuck, within minutes of meeting me, she boldly asked if I liked nipple play. That was funny as fuck, man. Green was blindsided. Given time, he’d see that you worship the ground she walks on, and show her the same loyalty and attention that you do to us, and to your clients.”

  I shake my head and then down a large gulp of whiskey, feeling the amber liquid settle into my stomach. “There’s a reason my family wants nothing to do with me, Rath. I’m not the type of guy who gets to ride off into the sunset on a horse with the love of his life, a happily ever after right around the corner. I’m not Bram. I don’t have the capacity to truly give a woman what she deserves, because I don’t know how to do that.”

  “Just because you don’t know how doesn’t mean you throw in the towel. You learn, you adapt. You didn’t know shit about being an agent, but you found your way to the top. This is the same thing. You have to teach yourself, and it will come to you. You have the capacity to use your heart. You do it with me and Bram.”

  “You’re different.”

  “We’re not. It’s still a relationship, one you’ve held on to for over twelve years. To me, that’s something to be proud of and it proves to me that you are more than capable of being in a relationship with Sutton.” It reminds me of what Sutton thought. Of what I temporarily believed. The word relationship doesn’t just lend itself to romance, Roark. You’ve been in relationships with people for many years . . . It’s as though you’ve hidden behind a façade of indifference and assholery . . .

  “What the fuck ever, Rath,” I answer. I’m so tired of this shit. Sutton’s gone from my life now. I place my empty glass on the table and lift off the seat. I stumble down the hall, pressing my hand against the muted grey wall.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To bed.”

  “We’re not done here, Roark.”

  “We are,” I call over my shoulder. “There’s nothing you can say that will change the aching realization that Sutton and I are not meant to be.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dear . . .

  Where do I even begin?

  I’m broken, in so many ways from my bloody nose to my shattered heart.

  My lungs don’t seem to be working like they used to, as if a heavy weight is now resting on them, making it impossible to catch a full breath of air.

  And instead of drifting off into an alcohol-induced coma, I’m wide awake, staring at the ceiling of Rath’s penthouse, replaying the night over and over in my head: The look on Sutton’s face. Foster’s cruel, yet accurate words. They keep crashing into me like a tidal wave on repeat, drowning me, suffocating me in sorrow and loss.

  Loss for something I never knew I wanted, but feel desperate to have again.

  She keeps trying to contact me though. I turned on my phone to see five more messages from her. She wants to see me, talk to me.

  I’m tempted. Fuck do I want her.

  But I know deep down, even though breathing would be so much easier with her by my side, I’m going to have to live with shallow breaths for the rest of my life.

  Roark

  * * *

  SUTTON

  “Dad, stop.” I pull my arm away and try to go out the door to find Roark. Why I allowed my dad to usher me back into the restaurant is beyond me.

  “Sutton Grace, do not go out that door, because you owe me an explanation. A very long one.” His voice booms into my ear, silent to the people around us, but clear to me with his close proximity.

  “I need to check on him.”

  “The more we keep our distance, the better. They have a private room for us in the back. Find your seat at the table while I handle something.”

  He’s stern and his eyes read “don’t fuck with me.”

  So even though I want nothing more than to run after Roark and see if he’s okay, I know my dad won’t tolerate me leaving this restaurant without an explanation.

  But the decision isn’t easy as I chew on my bottom lip and look toward the door.

  “Sutton Grace, do not cross me.”

  Growing frustrated with my dad’s attempt to turn me back into a little girl, I lean closer and say, “I’m a grown woman, Dad, so start treating me like one.”

  “I will when you start acting like one,” he snips back and then motions to the back of the restaurant noiselessly, as all eyes are trained on us.

  Knowing my dad’s image is very important, I succumb to his demands and head to the room where Whitney is sitting nervously, her hands twisting in her lap, her eyes watery.

  When I shut the heavy curtain, I take a seat at the table and rest my head in my hands. Whitney is immediately at my side, hand on my back.

  “Sutton, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I let that slip.”

  “It had to come out at some point.” I sigh and turn toward her. “I should have told him a while ago.” I bring my phone from my purse and start to type out a text message when Dad comes breezing through the curtain. He doesn’t take a seat right away but instead paces the little space, his giant stride eating up the beautifully polished hardwood floors.

  Finally, he stops and stares down at me, hands on his hips. “Care to explain what was going on? I just had to promise that man VIP tickets to the first Steel’s game this season so he didn’t press charges against Roark.”

  Why is he paying off someone who assaulted me?

  “Dad, he was—”

  “What the hell were you thinking, Sutton? First of all, the man is eight years older than you.”

  “Dad—”

  He holds up his hand. “Second, he’s my agent. He handles a very important part of my business, so why would you get involved with someone who’s
such a vital attribute to my livelihood?”

  I bite back a remark, tears starting to brim in my eyes.

  “And third, even though I respect his business techniques, his personal life is less than anything I would ever approve of for my daughter, and you should have known that. And tonight, sadly, proves he won’t change. The man can’t go a week without getting in a fight. I’ve known him for a long time and I’ve seen many black eyes on his face, so what in your right mind thinks it’s a good idea to go out with him? He’s a rebel, Sutton, someone who will forever be selfish when it comes to his temper.” He grips the back of his neck with both hands and pulls on it, his arms bulging with tension. “Christ, what the hell were you thinking?”

  What was I thinking? I was thinking and still think that there’s a beautifully broken man who I fell in love with and there was nothing I could do to stop it. And nothing would make me change my opinion of the man I love.

  Growing up on the ranch while my dad was in New York, playing out his football seasons year after year, I was partially raised by my grandparents, but was always told to mind my father even though he couldn’t be near me. And I took that to heart, because during the off-season, he was present. He might have been an unconventional father with his work schedule, but there never was a time I crossed him because even over the phone, he would give me a tongue-lashing to remember.

  But in this moment, with my dad acting so hopelessly wrong, I strap on my big girl boots and stand up to him, ready to—for the first time—put him in his place.

  Sucking back the tears, trying my best to leave the soppy emotion out of this, I say, “What have you always told me about reacting, Dad?” He makes eye contact with me, but doesn’t say anything, so I continue. “You’ve told me time and time again that before I react, I need to get all the facts. Well, it’s time you got the facts.”

  Feeling calmer, I sit taller in my seat and gesture to the chair next to me. “Take a seat, Dad.” I wait for a few seconds as he decides what to do. In the end, he’s an honourable man and pulls out the chair. His large body swallows the wooden seat as he rests his arm on the table. His stature alone is intimidating, but his eyes say it all—they always have—he’s not happy. I plan on changing that.

  “Roark and I started dating a little over a month ago.” His jaw ticks. “It wasn’t something we were planning on. Honestly, I despised him when I first met him, but over time, something happened between us, a shift in our relationship, an appreciation for one another, the same kind of shift I’m sure you had with Whitney.”

  He glances over at Whitney who places her hand on my arm, encouraging me to keep going.

  “I wasn’t expecting to fall for him, but I did, and I’m glad I did because he truly makes me happy, Dad. He loves me, I know he does, and he cares for me, encourages me, protects me—”

  “Protects you? He got in a fight . . . twice around you.”

  “Dad, the man you paid off tonight was assaulting me, had his hands on me—”

  “What?” my dad booms, standing from his chair.

  “Roark was protecting me,” I add and stop Dad from causing another scene. “Don’t worry about him for now. You need to listen to me about Roark. He’s a good man. Unlike that slimeball—”

  “What. Did. He. Do. To. You?”

  I take a deep breath. I’m barely holding it together from what’s happened to Roark, from the feel of John’s hands on me . . . “It started at the bar. He kept insisting I didn’t want Roark near me, which was the furthest thing from the truth. You walked into the restaurant and I asked Roark to keep his distance. John took it as I wanted nothing to do with Roark and swooped in. Roark took insults from the man, swallowed his pride as he watched me make small talk, but never took action. He was calm and reserved, when I know he wanted to claim me as his, but he couldn’t.” I hang my head in shame. “He couldn’t because I told him not to. I wasn’t ready to tell you because I didn’t want the reaction you had when you found out. I wanted to preserve our relationship for as long as I could.”

  “You could have told me, Sutton. I would have understood.”

  I shake my head. “Clearly you couldn’t, Dad.”

  “He was beating the shit out of another man; what was I supposed to think?”

  “Before that, you walked away.”

  He drags his hand over his face in frustration. “Because . . . I was caught off guard.”

  “I was blindsided about you and Whitney, but I acted like an adult and was happy for your happiness. And when you left us after finding out, that’s when John pulled me into that hallway and tried to take advantage of me. Roark found me and told John to step away from me. When he didn’t, yes, he pulled him off me.”

  “He had his hands on you—”

  “Yes.” I’m trembling. I don’t want to think about this. “Roark loves me, Dad, so imagine how he felt seeing that. Ask the restaurant for footage if you don’t believe me. I bet it’s all there. He was protecting me, Dad, and you treated him like he was a monster.”

  “Fuck,” he mutters, pressing his hand to his palm and slowly moving it back and forth. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I tried to, but you wouldn’t let me. And I couldn’t leave letting you believe anything other than the truth. He’s a good man, Dad. He might be rough around the edges and has made some bad decisions in the past, but he’s a good man, one you should be proud to have in my life . . . in your life.”

  Leaning back, he blows out a long breath of air and stares at the ceiling. “Shit. The things I said to him, Sutton. God, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t he talk to me about the two of you? Before tonight, I had seen a change in him.”

  “He wanted to talk to you. Right from the start. And I asked him to wait. I was in the wrong, Dad, not Roark.” I was so wrong.

  My dad locks eyes with me and cocks his head to the side in question. “But you love him?”

  I nod, not even having to give it thought. “I love him, Dad.”

  “And he treats you with respect.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re happy?”

  I smile softly. “The happiest I’ve ever been. He teases me, he pushes my buttons, he makes me angry, but all in a way that shows me how compatible we are. And he never asks me for anything other than my presence. He just wants to be with me, hold my hand, hold me. That’s all.” I pause and catch my breath. “He makes me feel special, Dad.” Loved. Adored. Cherished.

  Slowly he nods and places his hands on his knees. “We need to go find him.”

  A tear slips past my eyes as I reach over and give him a large hug. As he lowers his head to my ear he whispers, “I’m so sorry, Sutton. If you’re happy, I’m happy. And you’re right about Roark. I’m sorry I let my ignorance blind me.”

  “It’s okay, Dad.” I lean back and pat him on the cheek. “You can’t always be perfect.”

  Whitney scoffs at that comment and folds her arms over her chest, a playful smile on her lips. “He’s anything but perfect, Sutton, you can trust me on that.”

  “Watch it.” He points his finger at Whitney. “I don’t need you knocking me down a peg in front of my daughter.”

  “Oh, you did that all on your own.” She chuckles, causing me to laugh as well. Looks like my dad met his match, and I couldn’t have picked a better person for him to be with. I’m shocked I didn’t see it before. Talk about being professional. I never would have guessed.

  “Come on.” My dad rises from his chair. “Let’s go find, Roark.”

  * * *

  I roll over, the sheets tangling between my legs. The sun shines down through a slit in the curtains, and the smell of coffee permeates the room as I try to gain my bearings. My eyes flutter open, heavy from lack of sleep, adjusting to the early morning sun.

  And that’s when I realize where I am.

  I spring forward, looking to the empty side of the bed. The pillow is untouched. I quickly swing my gaze to the bathroom and don’t see any sign of li
fe either. Gathering the robe Roark bought me at the end of the bed, the one I keep at his place, I throw it over my shoulders and sprint-walk to the living room, scanning for Roark.

  Nothing.

  The kitchen is similarly empty, the only “life” being the slow-dripped coffee brewing due to a pre-set timer.

  Did he not come home last night? My blurry eyes read the time on the oven. Six in the morning. He never stays out that late. Where could he be?

  My eyes drift to the guest room and wonder if maybe he came home, saw me in his bed, and chose to sleep in the guest room instead. Heart pounding, I walk over to the closed door, squeeze my eyes shut in hope, and open the door. A perfectly made bed and not a soul in sight.

  He didn’t come home.

  At all.

  Maybe he responded to one of my texts. I walk back to the bedroom, robe flapping at my sides, and wake up my phone, but when the screen comes to life, I see nothing. After we left the restaurant, we spent a good few hours looking for Roark, calling and texting him, but we came up short. Dad called it a night and told me to get in touch with him the minute Roark came home.

  I spent the rest of the night crying on the phone to Maddie. She listened quietly, interjecting her gasps of surprise every once in a while, and when I told her I loved him and I was scared he wouldn’t take me back, she reassured me, telling me there was no way he would be able to stay away. He didn’t the first time.

  And I’d like to believe that, but now, alone in his apartment with silence as my company . . . it makes me wonder. Could I really have lost him?

  I open a text to send to Maddie when I hear the distinct bell of the elevator dinging someone’s arrival. Dropping my phone, I take off down the hall just in time to see Roark make his way into the living room, head turned down, hands in his pockets. When he looks up to see me, there isn’t a flinch in his reaction. Not a smile. Not a hint of surprise, almost as if last night sucked every emotion out of him.

  “Roark,” I breathe, feeling relieved and worried simultaneously. “Where were you last night?”