Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
JAMESON
“You are so fucking whipped,” Tim says, and it has me turning toward him, taking my eyes off Lauren as she walks to the bathroom.
“We’re not complaining,” Dale says. “It’s good to see her with someone who clearly worships her.”
“Josh didn’t?” I ask.
“Did he actually love anyone but himself?” Dale asks Tim.
“Nah,” Tim says, “I don’t think so. He was too obsessed with himself to pay much attention to Lauren, or even his kids. Every time they came to visit—”
“It was like Lauren did everything,” Dale interrupts.
“That’s just not how we were raised,” Tim says. “But I guess Mr. Entitled Rich Kid from Park City thought that he married her so she could cater to his every need.”
I think about the family I was raised in, where my dad was a functioning alcoholic doubling as a workaholic.
It must have been bad, because my mom, who I hardly remember, left before my fourth birthday.
Then my dad remarried, and he and my stepmom had Audrey and Jules.
My stepmom did everything for the family.
At the time, I didn’t know any different.
I just figured that, because she was a stay-at-home mom, it was normal.
And it pisses me off to no end that Josh, who I had convinced myself was better for Lauren than I was, didn’t fucking treat her like a queen.
“So if he wanted her to cater to his every need,” I say, “did that change once they had kids?” Obviously, the kids took up a lot of her time and energy, and I’m wondering how Josh handled that.
I think I already know the answer based on a few clues Lauren has dropped about how she was pretty much parenting on her own even before Josh died, but I want to hear their perspective.
Dale snorts in response. “You mean, like was he jealous of the attention she gave the girls?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s what I’m asking.”
“Probably,” Tim says. “He wasn’t exactly a hands-on dad. He talked a lot about things he would do with the girls when they were older, like teaching them to ski or taking them camping, but as far as the last two years . . . nah.”
I glance over at the hallway in the back to see if Lauren has come out of the bathroom yet, but she hasn’t.
“Now we’re just trying to figure out if you’re going to treat her better.”
I take a sip of my scotch and tell them the truth. “I already do.”
“We’re also trying to figure out if she’s as into you as you clearly are to her.”
“She’s getting there,” I say. “She’s been through a lot, though, so I’m not going to rush her.” I wouldn’t normally share these thoughts, especially with the guys, but I respect their concern and protectiveness, so I want them to know my intentions.
“Good,” they say together.
I glance over at the hallway again, and Lauren’s walking out. She looks up, her eyes scanning the room, and I assume she’s looking for me. But she freezes, then her eyes dart left and right. She looks panicked. And that’s when I see the back of Justin’s shaved head moving toward her.
“Hold this for me?” I say as I hand Dale my drink with an “I’ll be right back” thrown over my shoulder.
I move around the edge of the dance floor, and when I get to the other side, Justin has Lauren backed up against a wide pillar.
He says something to her, and she winces and recoils before he steps closer, wedging his knee between her legs and effectively pinning her to the pillar.
I swear I see red creeping in at the edges of my vision.
“That’s because I have been avoiding you.” Lauren isn’t trying to be quiet. “For the last twelve years, actually. Let’s keep that streak going.”
“C’mon, babe, don’t be like that. You and me . . . together. It could be just like old times.”
I pause because she’s holding her own and I want to see how she handles this.
“Which old times, Justin?” Her normally sweet voice is acid. “You mean back when you were cheating on me with my best friend? I mean, thank you, but I am much happier without you in my life.”
“You trying to make me jealous, Laur? Because I don’t think you’ll like what happens when I get jealous.”
I take a step closer.
“I’m not trying to make you anything, Justin.
Unless it’s making you go away.” She uses both hands and pushes hard against his chest, which knocks him back just enough that she starts to step away, but he’s faster, reaching out and grabbing her upper arm so hard that she lets out a little squeal of pain.
I don’t even think. I just grab Justin’s tuxedo shirt right at his neck, my fingers crushing the bow tie.
His top button goes flying from the force with which I twist that fabric in my hand.
Justin sputters in surprise—without any coherent words leaving his mouth—while my fist presses up against the base of his neck.
It takes every ounce of self-control that I possess to keep from slamming my other fist into his face.
I never shied away from fighting on the ice, but I’ve always worked hard not to lose control off the ice.
“Take. Your. Fucking. Hand. Off. Her.” I spit the words at him. “While you’re at it, remove her number from your phone and her name from your memory. And do not ever speak to her like that again.”
I push Justin away with a flick of my wrist before I wrap my arm around Lauren. She pushes me away, and I’m so shocked that I almost don’t know what to do.
“I’ve got this,” she tells me, and her voice is so strong and sure that it makes me smile. She sure as shit does.
She turns to face Justin, who’s still standing there sputtering. “You ever touch me again and I will not only remove your balls from your body, I’ll tell everyone that your huge ego is hiding a tiny dick. Get the fuck away from me and don’t ever come back.”
“You’ll regret this,” he says, then scurries away like the rat he is.
His threat has my spine prickling with anger and the need to protect her. She might think this is over, but it isn’t.
I pull her close, and she doesn’t resist me this time. I press my lips to the top of her head. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” The word is shaky.
“Did he hurt you? Because I will—”
“I’m fine,” she insists.
“We’re leaving.”
“I should say goodbye to my family first.”
“If they find out what happened, they’re going to go kick his ass,” I warn, “and probably ruin the wedding.”
“What do you propose instead?”
I just want her out of here, away from Justin. “Let’s just sneak out, and then after the wedding is over, we can tell your family why we left. Hell, I’ll go with your brothers to kick Justin’s ass. But it shouldn’t be here. It’s not fair to your cousin and his wife.”
“I feel like I should at least say goodbye to my parents . . .” she says, but if we go find her parents, there’ll be questions and hugs goodbye. I sense she knows it’d be better to just leave than to make a production of it.
“How about if you text them instead, and we’ll take them out to breakfast tomorrow before we head back to Boston?”
“All right,” she says as I lead her around the dance floor and toward the entryway where the coatroom is.
I keep my head down when we pass her brothers.
I’m sure they were watching that interaction, and it’s better if they think I lost control because I was jealous. “And what exactly should I tell them?”
“Tell them you have a headache. Or cramps. Or tell them I don’t feel good.
I don’t care, just make an excuse that they’ll believe for tonight.
” I’m not trying to be short with her, but I’m practically vibrating with fury from seeing Justin’s hand on her.
In my mind, it substantiates everything she said she thought happened when she broke up with him.
She types out a quick message while I get our coats, and then I’m leading her out the door and across the parking lot to my car.
“Why are we just sitting here?” she asks. I’m behind the wheel of my car, gripping it tightly with both hands.
I take a deep breath through my nose, and the sound fills the air over the quiet humming of the engine. “Because I’m trying to calm the fuck down.”
I don’t know how to explain it, except that when I saw Justin lay a hand on her, I wanted to rip his fucking throat out, bash his teeth in, and stomp on his fucking face—all at once. It wasn’t jealousy; it was the thought that he might hurt her.
“Hey.” She runs her hand along my arm over my suit coat. “I’m okay.”
That’s all that matters, yet it still doesn’t soothe me.
I take a few more deep breaths, and then Lauren reaches over, slides her hand along the side of my neck, and pulls me toward her, murmuring, “Come here.”
Her lips are gentle when they meet mine, but there’s nothing gentle about the way I kiss her back.
I suck her lower lip between mine, nipping at it before I invade her mouth.
She gives it right back to me—tongues clash, the pressure builds, and when her seat belt restrains her, she unbuckles it and pushes up onto her knees and leans over the center console of my car.
My hands are greedy, pushing her coat off her shoulders so I can feel the bare skin of her arms, gripping her hip possessively, pulling her closer. I can’t get close enough to her, can’t touch her the way I need to when she’s still halfway in the passenger seat.
“Get over here,” I growl, hitting the button to slide my seat back and make room for her on my lap. She starts climbing over daintily, extending one leg over me like we’ve got all the time in the world.
I lift her hips, bringing her over the console and setting her down with one knee on either side of my lap. But her foot catches on the gear shift, and the bottom of her heel scratches across the temperature controls on the way to my seat.
“Jameson!” she chides. I love making her say my name—doesn’t matter if it’s from surprise, exasperation, or emotion. “I was trying to prevent my heels from scratching any part of your car—”
“Fuck the car,” I say, grasping her ass, “I need you right where you are.”