Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
Lake
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I jerk, lifting my head from my steering wheel, glancing out the window.
Mack’s standing there in his sheriff’s uniform, flashlight out, expression furrowed in concern.
I hit the button to roll down the window.
He looks at me for a long moment.
Then turns on his heel. “Get your ass inside my house.”
I scowl, open my mouth to snap out—
“I can make that an order—and one with handcuffs—if you don’t get your head out of your ass.”
“Fucking hell,” I growl, jabbing at the button to turn off my car, snatching up my phone, and getting out of the SUV. “I haven’t been drinking.”
Or not since I shoved the bottle away and got the fuck out of my house so I wasn’t tempted to go down the hall and find Nova.
To apologize.
Or to get rip-roaring drunk and do something worse—like tell her what I’m feeling deep inside—
Mack slams my car door, and I snap out of it.
This shit needs to end now.
Before it gets worse.
Before I become more attached and she becomes—
Someone I can’t look at or talk to or stand to be in the same room with.
“I can smell the vodka on your breath, idiot. But I’m not worried about you being drunk—I know it takes more than what I can smell on you.” He hitches his head to the right—to his house.
Which, apparently, I parked in front of.
I’m an asshole…and a fucking idiot.
“It’s below freezing,” he mutters. “So, get your ass inside.” He starts up his driveway, clomps onto his porch, then opens and holds the door wide for me.
I tromp in behind him, stomach sinking, immediately looking for an escape route when I see Jer is sitting at the table, along with John, a detective for the sheriff’s department, and Ronnie, the owner of the bar in town the guys and I like to frequent called…Ronnie’s.
Does the moniker lack creativity?
Maybe.
But we all know who it belongs to, don’t we?
The men turn and stare at me, Ronnie and John curious, Jer suspicious and more than a little pissed.
“You fucked up,” he says without preamble as he shuffles the deck of cards in front of him.
I think about lying.
But since a similar sentiment has been running through my mind over that last hour, ever since I watched Nova walk down the hall, looking like I socked her in the stomach, I can’t even summon a denial.
“I fucked up,” I admit.
He sighs, shakes his head, and starts dealing the cards. “Get the man a beer,” he orders Mack before nodding at me to take one of the chairs. “Sit the fuck down and tell us about it.”
I sit, but I don’t spill my guts.
These guys…
They won’t get it.
A punch to my arm. “Don’t look like that,” Jer says tersely. “We’re the happily married ones. You’re the single idiot who keeps picking women who either want to cut off your dick and gild it, spend all of your money, or who make so much drama in your life that you’re fucking miserable.”
“Don’t tell me your wife isn’t dramatic,” I mutter. “I remember the fuss she threw up about curtains.”
“I’ll take curtains with ugly ass flowers on them over knives being launched in my direction any day of the week.”
Since he has a point, I don’t argue, just look down at my cards and start organizing them. “It’s easier to just not have a woman at all.”
They freeze—no cards shuffling, no beers being consumed.
Then they start laughing.
“Oh God,” Mack mutters, taking a swig from his bottle. “He’s still in the Idiot Stage.”
I inhale, narrow my eyes.
Jer shoves a stack of chips in my direction. “If you really wanted to be alone, you wouldn’t be sitting there looking like that.”
“I’m not looking like anything.”
They all laugh again.
Then Mack tosses a chip in the center, and that moves around the table, everyone anteing up.
“Fucking liar,” Jer says, “and not even a good one.”
I throw my own chip in, ignoring him…because, again, he’s right.
Which is fucking annoying.
I discard then draw another card.
“What’d she do?” Ronnie asks, cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
I eye the door, wonder at my chances of escaping this fucking conversation.
“I’m old but have an explosive start,” Mack says quietly. “You won’t make it outside.”
Reading my mind. And not bullshitting me—one look, and I know he won’t hesitate to take me down.
Which is even more annoying.
“So?” John presses, just as much of a nosy fuck as the rest of them.
I throw in a few more chips, draw another card. “My mom called”—they still, all knowing me well enough to understand that my mother is a pain in the fucking ass—“Nova was there for the conversation…which didn’t go well.”
“What did Nova do?” Jer asked.
I glare down at my cards. “She tried to comfort me.”
Silence again—albeit this time it’s tinged with confusion.
Then Jer tosses down his cards, folding. “Tell me you’re not that much of an idiot.”
I inhale, fold myself. “I barely know her, man, and she’s trying to interject herself into my life.”
Which is bullshit I don’t believe, even as it’s coming off my tongue.
She’s had one foot out the door the entire time she’s been staying at my house.
“By comforting you after a tough conversation,” he says dryly.
I take a swig of my beer in answer.
Mack curses.
Jer turns to me.
And…I snap. This day has been fucking ridiculous—Knox and his remorseless bullshit, the hard-ass workout in the gym, Coach and the practice from hell, my mom cock-blocking me and pulling her usual drama, the…
Look in Nova’s eyes.
Christ, I can’t fucking think about that.
I set my bottle on the table with a plunk, foam bubbling up and spilling down the sides. “Look,” I growl. “I’m happy to walk the fuck out that door and leave you interfering assholes to your game. You”—I glare at Mack—“brought me inside. You”—at Jer—“dealt me in. You two—”
Ronnie lifts his hands. “I’m just here for the poker, man.”
“Same,” John mutters, throwing another chip in the pot.
I sigh.
“You’re a fucking moron,” Jer says, shaking his head.
Done with this shit, I start to stand up.
Mack shoves me back down. “We’ll be done with this conversation after I say this.” His fingers tighten on my shoulder, voice going gruff with grief, and I still because—
Fuck.
Because Mack lost his wife last year.
“Mack—” I begin.
He talks over me. “I would give anything to fight with her over curtains. I would give anything to have her there trying to comfort me after a shit day or a phone call with an annoying ass relative, to have to clean her hair out of the goddamned drain.” His chin drops to his chest. “I would give any-fucking-thing to hold her, talk with her, hug her. Give anything to just have one more moment with her.”
My throat goes tight. “Mack,” I rasp.
He releases me, obviously seeing that his words struck home.
And they have. Deeply.
Because…Steve’s tiny teeth in my ankle.
Nova’s honey rosemary mules.
The soft way she looks at me.
The beauty of her photographs.
The butterfly charm and the pain in her eyes when she told me about her childhood.
Her wanting to leave, so scared to stay…and yet taking a chance that morning in my kitchen.
And meanwhile…
“I fucked up,” I whisper.
Jer starts dealing the next hand. “Of course you did, you idiot.”
“That’s not what’s important,” Mack says, words still pained.
“What is?” I ask, pushing the question through my tight throat.
He glares at me. “How you’re going to fix it so she doesn’t leave your dumb ass.”
Then he’s true to his word—none of them talk about women or Nova or me being an idiot as we continue the game.
But I don’t think I would have heard them if they had.
Because I am a fucking idiot.
And I have no clue how to fix it.