22. Ford
FORDCHAPTER 22
T here wasn’t enough time to savor the “I told you so” moment in my head before I realized it was Andrew Homewrecker Apellido who was moving in on my wife.
Nor was there enough time to fully enjoy the look of total shock and awe on that slimy asshole’s face when he realized what was happening.
As he stood there in the hallway gawping at me, my fist went flying.
Straight for Andrew’s face, and practically of its own accord.
It wasn’t even planned.
I punched the guy purely on instinct, and damn did it feel good.
“Ford!” Emzee cried out.
Andrew staggered back, stunned.
“You son of a?—”
He lunged forward to throw his own punch.
It hit me square in the jaw.
Which was unexpected, truth be told.
But fun.
Because a good fight was exactly what I needed right now.
“Andrew!” Emzee scolded.
“Both of you, stop!”
Our blood was up, adrenaline pumping.
Neither of us paid her any mind.
Andrew swung again but I twisted out of the way just in time, then delivered my own shot to the gut, which had him gasping.
When he threw an elbow, it knocked me backward into the hotel room.
He charged in after me like a raging bull, wrapping his arms around my waist and trying to knock me down.
Instead, I used his momentum to shove him into the desk—a desk I’d spent the last few hours fantasizing about fucking my wife on top of—and then leaned over him to see if he was still conscious.
That was when his fist came up and connected with my brow bone.
I barely registered what was happening.
Everything was a blur of pain and triumph as we rolled around on the floor trading blows.
My frustration and rage, my disappointment, the pressure to succeed and the ever-looming fear of failing—my marriage, my job, my parents, my ex-girlfriend—all my warring emotions and the things in my life that I couldn’t control were boiling over inside me.
Fueling me.
It didn’t matter that Andrew Apellido himself had little to do with my problems.
In the background, I could still faintly hear Emzee yelling at us to stop, and I wasn’t entirely sure whose blood was on my shirt, but it wasn’t until Andrew held his hands up and stopped fighting that I finally stopped, too.
Both of us were panting and disheveled, furniture was upturned, a smear of blood marred the cream and gold pattern of the carpet.
My anger was fading, but Andrew had gotten some pretty good shots in.
My face throbbed, and every muscle in my body ached.
“ Gentlemen ,” a sharp female voice said.
Our heads swiveled toward the doorway, where the very unamused hotel manager and a few burly security guards were looming.
“I’ve come to escort you out of my hotel,” she said, sounding for all the world like a harried elementary school principal.
“Your transportation to Urgent Care awaits.”
Andrew held up a hand.
“Ma’am, I really don’t think it’s necessary?—”
“Unless you’d prefer I have the police take you there,” the manager finished.
That was when I started to come back to my senses.
Behind the manager, I could see into the hallway, where Emzee stood glaring down at me with her arms folded over her chest.
Even angry as hell, my wife was beautiful.
And even knowing I was in deep shit with her, I couldn’t help smiling a little.
“To tell you the truth, jail time might be preferable to whatever my wife has in store for me,” I joked as I dragged myself up off the carpet.
Nobody laughed, and all I saw was a scowl on Emzee’s face as she stepped aside to make way for me and Andrew and the phalanx of guards separating us.
It wasn’t until all three of us were loaded into the van headed for the Urgent Care—Andrew in the passenger seat, Emzee in the second row, and me in the far back—that I fully realized exactly what I’d done.
Beyond the physical fight and all the pain that came with it, I felt a mixture of shame for losing control and regret for upsetting Emzee, who so far had refused to look at me or even acknowledge my presence during the ride.
Up in the passenger seat, I could make out Andrew holding his wadded-up necktie to his bleeding lip.
Looking at him made me realize that I was still angry, too.
How dare that douchebag attempt to move in on my girl.
I curled my hands into fists and winced as I grasped the fact that I’d fucked up royally as well.
In fact, the more I examined it, the more obvious it became that I was mostly angry at myself.
At the fact that my brilliant plan to win Emzee hadn’t been convincing enough for the rest of the world to see it.
I’d told myself that I was going to do whatever it took to make her mine, and this was what had happened.
Obviously, my ploy had been fucking useless if someone like Andrew had felt like he could make a move.
Because he never would have tried to shoot his shot if he didn’t think the basket was open.
And if I had thought Emzee was mad at me before over the whole Claudia thing, well, that was absolutely nothing compared to how furious she was right now.
We arrived at Urgent Care and she didn’t even spare me a backward glance before helping Andrew out of the van and walking him inside.
When I followed, she spoke to the nurse on call, making sure he knew that both of us needed medical attention, but she avoided my gaze the entire time.
Once we were both checked in, she went with Andrew to his exam room and left me to wait for the doctor by myself.
I couldn’t help wondering if I had really, truly fucked this up for good.
I’d seen the way she had been caring for Andrew.
Maybe this guy was the one she really wanted.
Maybe if I hadn’t convinced her to get involved in this whole fake marriage scheme, she would actually be out dating and meeting someone like Andrew.
After all, what had I done for Emzee?
All I’d done was lead her further and further along a path she asked not to be on in the first place.
Meanwhile, Andrew had already expressed interest in her work and career, offering her a job in a field that she loved.
He’d been there for her when she needed to leave Chicago, and he’d even walked her up to her hotel room.
That was something I wasn’t always allowed to do.
The doctor came in, clearing her throat as she flipped through my intake forms.
“Got into a bit of an altercation, did we?” she said.
“You should see the other guy,” I joked weakly.
“Oh, I did,” she said, chuckling as she clicked a small flashlight.
“Can you look toward the light, please? Just want to be sure you’re not concussed.”
After a brief exam, a nurse came in to administer a round of stinging antiseptic and gauze.
I was also told that I’d need to get a few stitches above my eye.
As the doctor began to stitch me up, I realized that I had been a giant, unfair shit when it came to Emzee.
Our fake marriage had always had an expiration date attached to it.
That was the deal.
But I hadn’t thought much about what would happen to Emzee after it was all over.
I had safety nets and fallback plans.
I even had a fucking fallback wife—Claudia—if I wanted one.
What did Emzee have?
She’d accused me before of cockblocking her future, which I hadn’t agreed with at the time.
Now I could see that in a way, she was right.
Despite the fact that things had shifted over the course of our relationship (fake or not), that both of us had changed, I was still acting like it was a given that Emzee saw me as her superior.
Her hero.
That whatever I needed, whatever I wanted, I could get from her with minimal effort on my part.
I expected her to be happy just to get crumbs of my attention and affection, the way she had been in high school.
I’d even spent half a day flirting with Claudia right in front of her, like a total jackass, not realizing until later what it must have felt like for Emzee to have to see me and my ex together.
I’d been so focused on my own shit that I hadn’t stopped to consider the consequences of what I was doing to Emzee and how it was going to affect her—not just now, but even after our marriage was over.
During the last seven years, I couldn’t remember a time where I hadn’t somehow held her back.
Over and over I had proven that I wasn’t listening, that I was only focused on myself and my needs.
Well.
I was done with all of that now.
It was time to stop standing in her way.