Chapter 3 Nia
“Exactly. You go around like there’s no sense of purpose in your life or something,” adds Dara, then waves a hand around us. “Look at this crowd, babe. It’s filled with potential fucks. Find a hottie and ride him until he can’t stand anymore.”
“Juice him and then lose him, as I like to say,” Emma chimes in with a wiggle of her brows, and I genuinely wish I was a violent human being, because I would love to strangle the fuck out of her for saying that.
I scowl at Emma, because, well, violence is illegal and all that, then finish my glass of whiskey sour a little too aggressively.
I’m about to comment on her lack of eloquence when it comes to having a decent conversation, but stop when I feel a presence – a familiar yet irking one – on my back, making my spine stiffen.
“Here looking for a one-night dick, Nia?” His deep voice slithers over me; his heated breaths all but burn my skin. “Looking for a cock that can finally knock you up?”
Laine, Dara, and Emma tense. I stop myself from doing the same, and turn in my seat before glaring at the man in front of me.
“Brandon,” I spit his name with as much distaste as I can. “What I’m here for is none of your goddamn business.”
His green eyes gleam as he steps closer to me. “You’re my wife, you little–”
“Ex,” I cut him off. “I’m your ex-wife, Brandon. Did you, or did you not, sign the divorce papers 3 years ago?”
He grits his teeth. “You know I didn’t want to,” he hisses close to my face. “You know I wanted you, but you wouldn’t give me a fucking baby, and I couldn’t–”
“Cut the crap, Bran,” I tell him. “You know it isn’t my fault that despite trying everything we possibly could, nothing ended up working for us.
You know it wasn’t in my hands, and yet you humiliated me in front of the whole town during that party; called me names that no husband should his wife.
If you wanted me, you wouldn’t have acted so savagely towards me.
” I swallow the sudden tightness in my throat.
“You never really wanted me, did you? You just liked the idea of owning me.” I gently push at his chest and get to my feet, then glance at the girls.
“I think I’m going to call it a night. I’ll see you guys later.
” I throw a $10 bill on the counter and start making my way to the door.
“Don’t be a bitch, Nia. Are you seriously going to walk away from me right now?” Brandon calls out as he follows after me. He isn’t drunk; I couldn’t smell any alcohol on him. He’s just naturally this disgusting, which only makes me further question my past choices.
I don’t answer him, and only stop once I’ve reached the bar’s wooden door. I yank it open and look up, and every part of me goes numb when I see him standing a few feet from me.
“You’re a whore,” Brandon sneers from behind. “You’re a useless and weak woman who thought she could…”
I let his words fade, because standing before me – with a hand in front of him as if he was about to push open the door and enter the bar – is the painfully incomplete poem of my past. The boy – no, the man – in front of me is a vivid contradiction to the person I knew 11 years ago.
He’s a sculpture now perfected; a mold now solidified.
I would gasp, but his overpowering presence simply won’t let me. I would try to breathe, but his brown eyes are currently holding me captive. I would will myself to move, but his parted lips have paralyzed me in place.
And, when he blinks and runs his wild gaze over me, I’m not sure if my heart is beating at all.
“Nia…” he whispers my name, and I swear to God my entire being crashes against the wave of his voice.
With Brandon now a forgotten piece of nothing, I finally let go of a breath and brave meeting Cass Madden’s searching, all-too-familiar eyes.