Chapter 25 Natasha
NATASHA
“Keep your options open if that’s what you need to do, Natasha.” Pain bled through the receiver, gutting me as Lachlan spoke. “I’m a grown man. I know what I desire. With every part of me, lassie, I want ye. I’ll wait for you.”
His voice echoed in my soul long after the call ended.
With tears blurring my vision and my heart flickering like a camera shutter in burst mode, I fumbled to hang up.
Instead of silence to process my actions, Selena y Los Dinos’s “Como La Flor” spilled from the bathroom speakers and echoed off the burnt orange walls of the ladies’ room. A cruel token for my grief.
I leaned over the sink, scooped cold water into my palms, and splashed my face. I had yet to listen to Lachlan’s calls or read his texts. Tash, you know Lach didn’t cheat. But that wasn’t the issue, was it?
Stupid paparazzi propaganda was. Always would be.
And I’d finally told him what happened. Finally allowed him to see the girl behind the lens. Me—all of me.
And then the world tilted. Every whisper of doubt, every scared part of me screamed that I was dirty, unworthy, unlovable. So, I did what survivors do best.
I retreated.
Not because he hurt me. But because I remembered what it felt like when the Russian hurt me.
I patted my makeup-free face with a paper towel, which had the exfoliating consistency of cardboard. Drawing in a shaky breath, I started for the door when my phone rang again. I answered without censoring the call.
Dumb. At Lorenzo’s smooth voice, I internally cringed and hid in the bathroom stall. “Hey, Enzo.” Tash, why you answering Military GQ?
This man didn’t own a just-friends bone in his body. Why didn’t I block his number?
“I hear music.”
Of course he did. Which meant Lachlan had heard it too, and he probably thought I wanted a hot girl summer. “Look, I’m out with friends … they want to—”
“Have you act out of character after a breakup?” He chuckled, then murmured, “Buoni amici.”
Good … friends? Yep, that was what he’d said.
“Enzo, I’m not the type to allow emotions to …
” encourage me to do anything dumber than what I just did.
Bottom lip wobbling, I pulled it between my teeth.
Tight. The pain made me stronger. “I don’t have a heart in my chest right now.
I gave it away already. I’m not that type.
You’ll keep trying, I can tell. So, maybe … you shouldn’t call me anymore.”
Silence pressed in. “You’ve misjudged me, Natasha.” The way he spoke my name caused tingles to cascade down my body. Tingles I didn’t ask for. “I just want to be your friend.”
“Mm-hmm …”
“I miss your laugh when we went to see that movie. Let’s watch another? Even a man-bashing movie.” His laughter coaxed me to comply. I didn’t.
I shook my head. Uh-uh. Not after what happened before.
Kissing him? It had been amazing, but I blamed the rom-com and all that charming Italian face energy.
I’d been wrapped up in the moment. Needed to see if I felt a spark.
Nope. Didn’t feel it. I sighed. “You want to please me, Enzo? You might be waiting forever.”
“Fine. I respect your wishes. Time is on my side.” The challenge in his sensual Italian accent became tangible. I almost envisioned the intensity in his features and prayed for strength while I hung up.
Answering Lorenzo? Big mistake. I swiped tissue to push through the graffiti-tagged stall door, then exited the bathroom. I stopped at the sight of women, knees tucked together, some doing the potty dance.
Arms folded, I glared at my Shadow. Rectangular head, the whitest blond hair, thin lips, and a tactical jacket that hugged raw muscle.
My eyes stared holes into his smashed nasal bone.
Honestly, it looked that way before I slugged him after Christmas when I’d asked him to stop following me.
He just looked so afraid of my father, and I wanted him to be afraid of me.
I doubted it hurt, though. “Borya, you didn’t. ”
He lowered his head. “I flashed my weapon, that’s all.”
The real question was why no one called the cops.
California didn’t permit open carry. Oh.
That fake police badge on his belt, next to his shoulder holster.
Shaking my head, I aimed for the exit. I didn’t belong here.
Hadn’t signed up for this. A nightclub. The noise, the strobe lights, the couples pressed together.
As I brushed past pulsing bodies, Borya followed.
Now, I knew my Shadow’s name. In the last week, he’d become a security blanket.
Yesterday, he’d stiff-armed paparazzi a tad harder than necessary, so I swung for a couple of vodka shots for us at my family’s lounge, The Red Door.
Not that I had to pay. Really, Tash. Now your bodyguard is your drinking buddy?
I fought off the rising ache in my chest and tugged my phone from my crossbody purse to text Jordyn that I couldn’t make it tonight. Then a familiar face strolled inside.
Simona.
Her expression soured as she took in the writhing bodies. Her top lip curled. Yep. The touches had the same effect on me minutes ago when I’d rushed into the ladies’ room to call Lachlan.
“This is not Taco Tuesday,” she gritted, hands in the pockets of her sleek black pantsuit.
“I know … I’ll—”
“First,”—she rounded on Borya—“you did not see me.”
Again, his head lowered.
“Hey,” I growled. “He’s my bodyguard, not yours. And he won’t say anything to your dad about seeing you tonight.”
Borya nodded.
“You’re here!” Jordyn sauntered over in a dress short enough to make a nun faint, balancing three shots.
Simona snatched one before I could blink and knocked it back. Well, of course, she’d drink.
I tilted my head. “Jordyn, what happened to Taco Tuesdays—i.e., a restaurant, a hole in the wall? Hell, even an abuelita selling tamales from a cooler at Wal-Mart?”
“They’ve got tacos, I think.” Jordyn pointed to the far corner, then shoved a shot in my hands. I held it toward Borya. He shook his head. We could be drinking buddies at home or at The Red Door. Elsewhere, he needed to stay sharp.
“Bottoms up, Natasha,” Jordyn said. “Stop being a party pooper. This is for you.”
With a sigh, I followed her to a table near the edge of the dusty club, the bass thumping against my ribcage.
“Who’s buying these drinks?” Justice asked, her voice sultry, smooth—like Jill Scott. And honestly, she resembled my momma’s favorite singer too.
Willow raised her palms as Jordyn settled next to her. “Don’t look at me, I birthed a sports team.”
Quietly, I slunk into the other side of the pleather booth by Justice. Simona sat at the end.
“I got it,” Jordyn called over the music, flicking her chin toward a Mexican in a cowboy hat. “Or at least, that man does. If the servers bring ‘em to the table, and not him, we’re good. We also should walk out together.”
Jesus, be a fence!
“Should’ve gone to The Red Door,” Simona muttered at my side. “I’ll get next round.”
With what money? I bit my tongue from saying she refused to spend Uncle Simeon’s cash. My lip quivered as I watched a man twirl his woman around the floor.
As if sensing the ache behind my silence, Willow flicked a tortilla chip at me. “You haven’t forgiven Lach yet?”
Okay. Straight to the point.
“Forgiven him?” Jordyn snorted. “It’s time for her to test the waters.”
Justice patted my shoulder. “Don’t listen to her. She got her happily ever after already. If not for Jamie, she’d be …”
“Bitter.” Jordyn winked. “I’d be Mary J Blige and Rose Royce rolled into one, singing I’m Going Down, with a bottle of tequila in each hand. So don’t listen to me.”
“Mm-hmm.” Justice agreed under her breath.
She took my hand and squeezed. “Listen, honey. I used to be a bartender. Heard every heartbreak in the book. Willow here,”—she lifted her drink to her other sister-in-law across the table—“was our unofficial therapist, too, until Baby Jake started psychology.”
“Thought I was the therapist,” Chevelle cut in, approaching the table with a chilled bottle of wine. She slid into the other side, next to Jordyn and Willow.
“Oh, honey. No,” Justice said, but instead of a rift, the MacKenzie women laughed.
Simona lifted a brow, her voice steady. “Let it out, Natasha.”
I blinked. You first.
With Borya watching from a table across from us—which was not empty when we came—I told the girls why I broke up with Lachlan.
While the story sank in, I rubbed my palms over the front of my jeans. “Dumb, huh?”
“Girl?” Jordyn blinked. “You told a man half the female population lusts over that you wanna see other people?”
“Testing the water, JorJor?” Willow asked, “So, she’s supposed to go skinny-dipping into drama?
Cut it out! Besides, that’s not what she said.
Those pictures looked bad, sure. Trust me, I’ve been there.
I left Camdyn—while pregnant and all I had was a high school diploma to my name—to reclaim my peace of mind.
But Cam was a horror movie in human form.
Hello, he had a knife tattoo on his neck in high school!
Lach’s an angel by comparison. Forgive him before I snatch your phone and text him for you. ”
I blinked, wondering when my life turned into a group project.
Chevelle and Justice exchanged a glance, as if their collective wisdom came from loving the two eldest MacKenzie brothers for decades. “You got this, Justice?” Chevelle asked, passing the wine bottle like a baton.
“Oh, yes, honey.” Justice grinned and poured each of us a drink with the poise of a practiced wine stewardess. When she reached me, the deep red wine streamed into the glass, coating the inside like velvet.
Because of Momma, I knew good wine. And Chevelle brought excellence.
Justice handed me the glass and held my gaze. “Sistah, listen. Let me tell you something. I’ve seen love come in hot and burn out faster. You didn’t break up with Lachlan because he hurt you. You did it because you care so much. It terrifies you.”
The air in my throat ran dry. This woman had the audacity to tap into my thoughts and speak to me with the love of a blood sistah.
“You thought if you ended it first, you could control the pain. That man didn’t walk away. You pushed him out. Out of fear. Out of survival.”
Tears formed in my eyes, and her pretty, round face blurred.
“I get it, Natasha. But love’s not something you win by protecting yourself. It’s something you fight for when it matters.”
Justice tilted her glass toward mine and asked a question that followed me everywhere I went for the rest of the night.