Four #2
As if it wasn’t bad enough that I’d admitted to this strong, sexy man that I had issues, now I had to admit the worst part yet.
“Not quite,” I sighed. “Gordon had a penchant for hitting me when I pushed him to leave his girlfriend and work on our family. He’d tell me we’d work things out, but then he’d leave and head toward her.
I’d had enough. It was Easter, and I demanded he stay and spend it with his daughter and me.
” The scene replayed in my mind like a bad movie I couldn’t shut off.
The way he stood there telling me it wasn’t possible, that he had promised her and her two boys he would take them to visit a friend.
Since she lived forty-five minutes south of the valley and he had to drive to pick her up, there was no way he would have time for us.
“When he told me he couldn’t do it, it was the last straw.
I told him not to let the door hit him in the ass as he left and I would have all the locks changed by the time he returned. He wasn’t happy.”
Dane’s face turned red, and he looked away, but not before his handsome blue eyes darkened into a deeper shade. I could see the anger building there, controlled but not beneath the surface. His jaw clenched for a moment before he asked, “He hit you, didn’t he?”
I nodded. “He did, but this time I slugged him back. He hadn’t expected it, so it caught him off guard.
I ran in the house and dialed 911. By the time he caught up to me in the kitchen, I had already given the dispatcher our house number.
” I closed my eyes, swallowed down the lump in my throat, and continued.
“By the time the cops arrived, he’d calmed down, but I wasn’t letting it go this time.
I filled them in on what happened. They pulled us aside into different rooms, and then I saw them escort Gordon in handcuffs to the police car.
What I hadn’t expected was to be next. In Glendale, defending yourself against your attacker is classified as domestic violence, and both of us were going to jail. ”
“That’s totally fucked up.” Dane’s voice dropped low, rough around the edges. “What were you supposed to do, just sit there and let him beat you until you were seriously hurt or even dead?”
“Pretty much,” I answered, because there really wasn’t anything else to say.
Our conversation took a turn for the next hour.
The mood grew somber, and the excitement of our flirting slipped away like the last bit of warmth from my drink.
The easy back-and-forth was still there, but it had softened into something quieter.
Though I could still see and feel his attraction to me, it was masked by a caution that made me realize he felt like he needed to tread carefully with me.
That hurt more than I wanted to admit. It broke my heart a little, because I wasn’t a broken soul.
I had passion, rage, and lust running through me.
I was bruised, maybe, but I wasn’t shattered.
I knew my marriage was over and a divorce would soon follow, but I wasn’t divorced yet.
The ugly reality of our situation sat between us.
Dane pushed back from the table, clasped his hands together, and rested them behind his head.
The movement stretched his shirt across the broad, firm width of his chest and put every muscle in his arms on display.
I tried not to stare. I failed. My mind went to a place where it had no business going, imagining those arms around me, lifting me off my feet, holding me close enough to make me forget every terrible thing waiting for me outside that bar.
Heat climbed into my face as the image took shape before I could stop it, and I knew it was time to go.
If I stayed much longer, I might cross a line I wouldn’t be able to take back.
I reached for my glass, took one last drink, and cleared my throat.
“I think ’t’s time for me to go,” I said, glancing down at my watch even though I already knew it was late.
“I need to pick my daughter up from the sitter.”
Dane’s eyes searched my face, looking for something I wasn’t sure I was ready for him to find.
For a few seconds, neither of us moved. The noise of the bar dulled behind us, and all I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears and the quiet scrape of his chair as he stood.
The darkness in his eyes lightened, and a small smile crossed his face.
Whatever he’d been looking for, he must have found it.
Maybe it was the realization this was all it could ever be for us: two friends sharing a drink, escaping the dark and dirty corners of our lives for a little while.
He walked me through the parking lot, the desert night warm around us and the gravel crunching beneath our shoes.
When we reached my car, he stopped beside the driver’s door.
“Let’s exchange numbers,” he said. “If you ever need anything, Katrina, you call me. There’s something between us, and I want you to know you’re not alone. I’m here if you need me.”
I exchanged numbers with Dane, but I was pretty sure this was it for us.
Something told me the chances of hearing from him or seeing him again were slim.
We were just two people who had found friendship during a difficult time in our lives, but we weren’t meant to be anything beyond tonight.
I leaned into him anyway, wrapped my arms around his waist, and gave him a hug.
For one brief second, I let myself feel the solid warmth of him against me and pretended it didn’t matter.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “Take care of yourself.” Then I pulled away before I could change my mind, climbed into my car, and drove away.