Bad Cruz(74)

That I was more than ready to pick up the pieces he’d left behind, and I didn’t think he deserved half a chance with her, even if, unfortunately, she had to put up with his existence for her son’s sake.

But I knew she would never forgive me if I told her ex-boyfriend the truth.

I took a sip of my water. “Not sure how it’s any of your business.”

“I’m her ex.”

“You were kids, and you fucked off before you pulled out of her. You want to know something about Tennessee’s life, ask her, not me.” I slammed my glass against the table.

“Don’t think I don’t remember how you used to pine for her.” He looked angry, contemplative, and constipated. Guess he tried to appear tough.

A lopsided smirk met my lips. “You’re drunk.”

“That might be so, but I’m also right, aren’t I? Am I going to have competition here? The least you can do for me is be frank.”

“Actually, Rob, I owe you jack shit where Tennessee Turner is concerned. If my memory doesn’t fail me, and it rarely does, I was the one who was supposed to ask her out all those years ago. I won the game.”

Was I actually bringing up the rock-paper-scissor encounter from before my balls had fully dropped as though it meant anything?

Wyatt, Kyle, and Tim were taking shots from the inside of waitresses’ cleavage and howling to the ceiling while Rob and I were engaged in a stare down that would have been tense had he been able to focus properly in his drunken stupor.

“You’re seriously still stuck on this?” His mouth dropped. “She wanted me.”

“You fucking left her.”

“You don’t know the whole story.”

Rob’s head reared back, and he stared at me with so much hatred, I wondered if I’d ever known him at all. I was putting a dent in his carefully designed plan to make Nessy wife number three.

He wasn’t prepared for resistance from any of us.

Thought he’d walk right in and play daddy to Bear and husband to Tennessee.

His on-hold family, that he’d kept on the back burner, in case all else failed.

And that Tennessee, the town nobody would be so happy, so grateful she’d welcome him back as though she had no pride or self worth. As though she didn’t deserve better than him—hell, than all of us.

“Enlighten me, then.”

Wyatt was now French-kissing a woman who was definitely not his future wife in my periphery. I’d have felt worse for Trinity, if she didn’t patronize her older sister as if she herself had her life all figured out.

Rob blew out air, standing up and sliding out of the booth.

He began to pace.

“I was too young. Way too young.”

“So was she.”

“Cruz, I asked her to abort it.”

I saw red. All. Fucking. Red. I couldn’t see anything but the blood I wanted to draw from that bastard at how he’d just reduced Bear—a fucking amazing kid he’d had nothing to do with shaping—to ‘it’.

“It has a name now. A personality, too. Likes. Dislikes. It was growing inside her. Keeping it was her right.”

“If I’d stayed, I would never have had a chance to be something. I wanted more for myself.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re giving me your side of the story after being so self-sacrificing and stoic for so long. I’m really starting to root for you on this hero’s journey of self-discovery,” I said sarcastically. “You planning on backpacking through Europe to find yourself next?”

“She decided for both of us. It wasn’t fair.” Rob yanked at his hair, shaking his head.

“Fair flew out the window the moment you turned your back on her, you bastard.”

Rob reached for his drink, emptying the glass in one swig and slamming it against the table, sneering.

He looked up, his eyes empty and cold.

“You’re still in love with her.”

And you’re still not.

If he loved her, he never would have acted the way he had. Or like this.

“Just remember, Cruz. Even if you fucked her, she is, and always will be, my leftovers. I was there first. I tasted her first. I—”

I didn’t let him finish the sentence.

I tackled him to the floor, throwing the first punch, which landed square on his nose. He got up and stumbled backward, steadying himself by grabbing the edge of another booth and someone’s wig with it.

The person slapped Rob’s hand away. Rob smiled at me, his teeth bloodied with the popped vessels I probably damaged with my fist.

Blake Shelton sang that God gave him someone, and I was about to hand the Almighty another son of His in the shape of Robert Gussman.

My ex-best friend hurled his entire weight at me, crouching down to try to get me in the stomach. But I was faster, not to mention sober, and sidestepped, making him land against our empty booth in a heap of limbs.

He groaned in pain, and I heard the music lower and people behind us running to break up the fight.

I grabbed the hem of his collar, lifting him up and tugging at him until his eyes found mine.

“Don’t.”

I punched his face.

“You.”

I punched his stomach.

“Dare.”

I kicked him in the balls.