Chapter 24 The Complaint
THE COMPLAINT
CARTER
Irush Becky out of the room the moment that the motion passes.
I keep close to her, the heat of her body warming mine, while we file out of the packed auditorium.
My hand finds hers without a thought, but when I realize what I’ve done, I grip her a little tighter before loosening my hold, giving her the decision.
Rather than releasing me, she holds on tighter, and I feel like I’m flying.
She passes out shy smiles, small waves, and brief nods to all the people who came here to recognize her part in all of their lives.
I wonder if she realizes how easy it was to convince people to come here today.
Once we are out of the room and into the empty hallways, the tension eases from her body.
Her features smooth out and her breathing becomes deeper.
I can read her like an engine. I know when she’s running smoothly and when she’s limping along.
I’ll never fucking tell her that, but it’s true.
I’ve never been a book guy, but I’ve always been an engine guy.
And Becky’s engine? Of course I learned that beautiful thing.
Right now, it’s running smooth, but what I wouldn’t give to make it purr.
By the time we get to the cars, she walks as if a massive weight has fallen from her shoulders and I’m distracted, imagining all of the things I want to do to her but can’t.
I shake it off once Paige and Billy’s cars come into view.
Shit. Eager to continue this positive energy before she can make a getaway, I pull her aside to make her an offer I don’t think she’ll refuse.
“Do you want to see the truck being raffled off tomorrow?” I try to appear casual, but even I can hear the edge to my voice.
I shuffle my feet while she looks me over.
She looks at me with her brows drawn together, a small frown marring her face. “I don’t know, Carter. Will anyone else be there?”
“Yup.” Billy calls from nearby, trailing us with his kids.
My joy is impossible to tamp down. “Billy and the kids are my ride.”
She studies me carefully, likely weighing if it’s a good idea or not, and finally responds with a brief nod.
“Fine.” That simple word hits me with another wave of satisfaction.
My smile grows impossibly wider. So wide, my dimples, normally concealed in my beard, are likely fully on display.
Becky’s eyes catch on them before she bites her lip and runs off to tell the girls.
Walking to our group, she turns to wave back to Vicky, Paige, and her new coworker, Sonya, a tiny firecracker of a woman, then to Trevor as he gets into one of his dad’s old cars.
Trevor nods in her direction before ducking into the driver’s seat.
Paige, my secret ally, doesn’t even pretend to be surprised Becky’s not riding home with her.
She just flashes a small knowing smile and waves back.
When Becky turns to me again, I attempt to play it cool. “You get to sit bitch.” I say it cheerfully and lead her to the SUV—Billy, Joey, and Eliza just ahead of us.
“Liz and Uncle Carter called window seats and I called shotgun earlier.” Joey chirps from behind us, pride in sitting shotgun with a bunch of adults in the car evident in his voice. Then he adds, more subdued, “But, Ms. Duchamp, you can have shotgun.”
“You called it fair and square, kid.” Becky says with a wink at Billy.
Okay, but why at Billy?
I grumble as I climb into my seat, but my agitation is quickly forgotten once she climbs in after me, surrounding me in her scent and settling her thick thighs up against mine. Perfection.
Eliza and Joey chatter with Becky the whole way to their house, where Joey is given strict instructions to heat up leftovers for them both for dinner.
“Okay, Dad. I know.” He turns to leave, but Billy stops him.
“Hey, hug me, kid.” Joey catches himself before he can roll his eyes and gives his dad a quick side-hug before exiting the vehicle with his sister.
The ride to the shop is quieter—the hum of the air conditioner, the only sound now that the chatty children are out.
I don’t know how to break the silence for once in my life, and Billy likely doesn’t even notice.
Becky’s eyes watch as the scenery passes us by on our way to the shop.
Once we’re parked, she surprises us both, and is quick to jump out and run into the building.
My guess is that she’s excited to get a good look at the truck being raffled tomorrow, and I follow close behind, pride swelling in my chest. Her jovial mood is contagious, and I get to take some ownership in it.
A few steps into the garage and it’s clear that something is wrong.
The light to the office is on. I’m too far back to do anything when she changes directions out of her damned curiosity.
I know there’s only one person that would be there with Billy and me gone.
I file in behind Becky, Billy close behind me.
We all freeze there in the silence of the empty garage.
Billy, Becky, and I all stand and take in the sight of a normally well dressed and put together Paul looking ragged and trashed.
He’s leaning back in the seat behind the desk, his feet perched on the paperwork stacked on the desk and a half empty bottle of vodka dangling in his hand.
Shit.
“Well, if it isn’t the little do-gooder and his whore here to cause some more trouble for me.
” He drawls before taking a quick swig. He sucks in some air between his teeth after his throat bobs with the swallow.
“I got served earlier today, big brother. Apparently, someone is bent out of shape because I called a useless waste of space, well, useless.” He spills his vitriol into the space between us.
I step in front of my—in front of Becky. “Shut the fuck up, Paul. If anyone is useless here, it’s you.” I can’t stand the idea of this piece of shit causing Becky any harm. She’s been through enough.
His gaze, a moment ago blurry and unfocused, zeroes in on me. “Okay, Mr. Perfect. Taylor obviously got her nails dug into you too, otherwise none of this would have happened.” I feel Becky flinch behind me, and I am so fucking done.
“Look, you sad sack of shit. You tried to fuck with Becky’s life, and you failed.
And what’s really sad, I tried to step in to save you from Taylor being your strike out.
” I’m leaning over the desk now, staring down this spineless dribble of dogwater.
The corner of his mouth twitches with twisted amusement, and when his eyes catch on something behind me, his look grows predatory.
I turn to look at Becky, but before I can, he laughs.
“Because of Rachel, right Carter?” I nod because duh.
“Because I crossed some lines with some random woman years ago, you’ve turned into the little white knight with all the random women who’ve come over the years, but you couldn’t protect your own woman could you?
Not from me, and not from yourself.” It’s my turn to flinch at that, but I feel a small familiar hand reach out to grip mine.
Paul sees it and shakes his head at me. “Jesus, Carter, you’re so fucking stupid.
There was never a Rachel. Or if there was, Billy didn’t actually give a shit. ”
Billy takes a step forward at that. “Paul, don’t.”
He continues dripping his venom, staring at me. “It was always Becky, buddy. You stupid little idiot. I know it was that bitch, not some random client or customer, because Good ol’ Boy Billy gave me that warning about my strikes right after—” His voice trails off before he finishes the thought.
“Right after what, Paul?” A film of red has dropped over my eyes while I stare at this pathetic man.
Becky’s hand in mine is the only thing grounding me, but I don’t need grounding right now.
I squeeze her hand and guide her to Billy, who’s still standing there, letting me handle things.
With Becky no longer holding me back, I take a step closer to Paul.
A sheen of sweat covers the line of his forehead, and his blotchy red and white face is filled with panic, or regret.
At my step, he scoots back in his seat. I take another step, and he stands up, his eyes darting around the room, looking for the exit that’s behind me.
My voice is low, my blood boiling in my veins because I already know.
I know with some kind of horrifying premonition what I’m about to learn.
“What the fuck did you do to my woman, you disgusting piece of rotting shit?” My words drop out in a sharp, deep staccato.
I’ve never felt this type of rage before, but it’s making both of my hands shake and my vision tunnel to include only him in my sights.
Paul is against a wall, now, and I am very, very close to him.
"I didn’t even do anything, she—" Paul starts and then looks daggers over my shoulder—in her direction.
“Don’t even look at her, you stupid son of a bitch. Look at me.” I grab Paul’s slimy face, forcing him to meet my eyes, and let go immediately—the feel of him dirty. "What. Did. You. Do." I poke Paul with each word, hard in the chest.
"It wasn't a big deal, that bitch–"
He doesn't even have time to finish his sentence. I snap at his words, throwing a wild punch directly into his face. Paul bounces off the wall behind him with the force of the hit. Pain blooms in my hand, but I’m too wound up to really notice beyond a shallow acknowledgement.
"If she complained, it was a big deal!" I’m shouting now, crowding into Paul.
My uninjured hand shoots out and tangles in his shirt, balling it and lifting him up against the wall.
"What the fuck did you do!" I shake him like a ragdoll, but he says nothing, eyes wide with fear in my hold. Useless.