Chapter 21
Bradford
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I can’t even look at Jenna as she buttons her jeans, her blonde hair long lost from the clip that held it. I haven’t done something stupid like this in God knows how long.
And what the hell came over me? Did she start this? Or was it me?
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where is Turner? Why did I leave him again?
As the world snaps back into focus, I feel it—the ice-cold drop in my blood, the tight, mechanical panic stutter of my own heart.
I lost control.
Jenna stands in front of me, hair as wild as her eyes. She’s watching me, and I’m staring at her, like I didn’t just get lost in the warmth of her body. She takes a step toward me, and I shake my head.
“Don’t.”
She freezes at the sharpness in my tone.
The night is so quiet now I can hear my own blood in my ears, and then the distant tick of a cooling car engine somewhere.
I force my pants up, almost rip the zipper in my rush to get it shut, then button with hands that don’t even feel like they’re mine anymore.
I can’t look at her now. I can’t. I look over her head, at the dim parking lot lights, at the cars, at the way Ian is still splayed like a dead animal a few yards off. His shoe is half-off, and there’s a trickle of blood curling from his nose to the ground.
FUCK.
I spit on the ground, trying to get the taste of her out of my mouth, but all it does is remind me of the way she kissed, and that has me halfway hard again.
Jenna says nothing. She just stands there, arms around her own body, shaking in the cold. This is not how sex is supposed to go.
But it’s been so goddamned long since I’ve done it.
And I don’t know what came over me.
“Are you okay?” Jenna’s voice squeaks, and it makes sense she would be reaching for something from me after what happened, but I can’t find a response. Every trigger in my brain is sounding.
And I don’t even know what for.
“You should go home,” I grit out.
She flinches but doesn’t protest. Instead, she nods, and then walks to her car with stiff, careful steps. Not even giving the guy on the ground a second look.
And I should apologize for all this. I
should stop her and give her a kiss goodnight.
But I stay stark still, my senses still overwhelmed with the stench of sex. It’s not until her engine starts and the taillights flicker on, painting the gravel behind her red, that I can even think somewhat think again.
I try to count backwards from ten, try to ground myself, but all I can do is clench my fists and hope I don’t throw up on my own boots.
Why the fuck did I do that? What is wrong with me?
Before I can even attempt to work through those questions, I hear a low, ugly sound, and realize the dude on the ground might need medical attention.
Shit. I rub my eyes, as if it’ll help, and then slip back around to the front of the truck, able to see more than just the bottom half of the guy’s body.
He’s moved a little, enough to roll onto his back instead of side. His glasses are askew on his face, and his hands are palm down, like he might push himself up into a sitting position at any time.
I walk over, boots crunching on the rocks, and squat down. He blinks up at me slowly, confusion flickering, then recognition.
He tries to talk. “What the fuck—”
I cut him off. “Get up.”
He tries, but his arms aren’t working right. I grab him by the jacket and haul him to sitting, rougher than I have to be.
“You good?” I say, voice dead flat.
He coughs, spits more blood. “She’s a crazy bitch. She fucking… She hit me…”
I tilt my head, amused by the lack of memory. “She didn’t hit you. You slipped and fell.” With a little help from me.
He looks at me, fear swimming under all that rage and pride. He tries to stand on his own, almost falls, and I let him flounder. He stumbles, and then catches himself on the hood of my truck.
I chuckle.
“What the hell, man,” he says, but it’s weak now as he rubs his head. “Did I really fall? I must’ve hit my head really hard… Damn, she’s a bitch. I’ve been so nice to her, and she’s so ungrateful.”
Something curdles in my chest, and I’m on him again, my fist curled in his sweater. “You ever touch Dr. Williams again, you’ll need a feeding tube for the rest of your life. I promise.”
He tries for a sneer, but I release him with a hard shove. He grunts as his back slams against my grill guard. “What the fuck, man?”
“I won’t repeat myself.”
He wipes his mouth. “You’re a psycho.”
I stare him down, not giving a shit what he thinks I am. The wind knifes through the parking lot, cutting between us. The fucker is shivering so bad now I almost feel sorry for him.
“She was interested,” he mutters, more to himself than to me as he tries to stand up straight again.
“No, she wasn’t.”
“She’s got secrets, that one,” Ian keeps talking, and I don’t know why the fuck I’m even listening to him. “She’s all emotionally unavailable and playing hard to get.”
She wasn’t so hard for me to get.
I turn away then, done with this conversation. I keep an eye on him from my peripheral, and he leans there, panting and watching me. For a second I think he might swing at me from behind, but he just whines more about his head hurting.
Fucking pussy.
“Bradford!” Turner’s voice cuts through the night, his expression bewildered, Gunner trotting beside him. “What the fuck, man? You said you’d be right back. I almost fucking decked some…” His voice trails off as he spots Ian, who is now limping away from my truck. “Uh…”
“Have a nice night,” I call out to Ian, who gives me a weird wave, and then sulks off like the nasty fucking snake he probably is. I then turn to Turner. “It’s a long story.”
“Yeah…” His eyes jump back to Ian and then my split knuckles. “He looks rough… Did you…”
Knock him unconscious and fuck my daughter’s professor? Yes.
“Time to go,” I say instead. I climb into my truck without another word, and then slam the door. I just sit, hands locked on the wheel, knuckles white as Turner helps Gunner in the truck and then slides into the passenger seat.
I watch Ian drag himself to his own car, fumble the key, and finally get inside. He sits there too, head slumped against the wheel, like he’s already given up.
Good. He’s lucky I didn’t fucking kill him.
I wipe bloody knuckles on my jeans, rough enough to sting but not enough to forget how fucking phenomenal it felt to be deep inside of Jenna.
“You want me to drive?” Turner’s voice is distant, and I blink a few times, and then reach for the ignition. The engine roars to life, and I let out a sigh.
“I’ll drop you off at the bunkhouse. Keep an eye on Cade.” My voice comes out in its usual tone, but it feels alien, like my brain is in a fog.
Because it is. Why did that Ian guy piss me off so bad? I didn’t have to sucker punch him for fuck’s sake. There were so many better ways to handle that.
I replay every second of the last hour, every bad decision, every moment I could have walked away. Especially before fucking Jenna. That might’ve been the worst decision of the two. The last thing I needed to do was fuck the woman.
“I did pretty well tonight,” Turner starts talking, unbothered and relaxed. It’s a good thing he’s not all worked up over this, because then I really would be fucked.
“That’s good. Making progress.” I fish the bottle of Advil from the glove box, dry swallow four, and chase it with the dregs of last morning’s coffee. It tastes like fucking shit. I pull out of the parking lot and ignore as Ian’s vehicle stays in the same place.
He could’ve called the cops on me. Lucky me.
The drive home is slow, every mile a reminder of the chaos I’ve now kicked off for myself. I mean, I already have two headcases. Now, I’m royally coming for the only element that has any stability and peace. And speaking of…
What the fuck is Molly going to think?
I chew the inside of my cheek as I mull that over. I guess it’s just one more fucking secret to keep.