Jet (Marked Men, #2)(63)

After emailing a bunch of pictures I had of the instruments and the recording equipment on my phone to the adjuster, who couldn’t get away from the murderous vibes I was throwing off fast enough, I slowly paced back and forth in the stark and empty space while rubbing my temples. All I could see was the barren landscape, and all I could feel was the place inside that was hot and smoldering in a dangerous way.

Before I knew what happened, something at the core of me broke loose. It was like when I had witnessed my mom with the black eye, only this time it was my future that was broken and battered. It was the one thing I had ever loved that had unconditionally loved me back, and it had fallen at the hands of some unknown abuser as well. I let out a scream that bounced off the walls, and picked up the only furniture left in the place and hurled it through the glass that surrounded the recording area. A million shards cascaded all over the floor and tinkled against my ears. I pulled all the remaining pictures off the walls, tore the posters down, and reopened all the wounds on each and every knuckle until blood dripped off the tip of each finger. I kicked the Coors Light can across the floor, spilling stale beer in every direction and I tore all the cords and plugs out of the wall and threw them into a pile on the floor. I made a mess. By the time I was done I was panting and sweating, and the fury that was scorching inside me had subsided to a manageable level. I wanted to hit something, to tear someone apart, so I put my hands on my knees and bent over to catch my breath before the heat burned my vision black.

I don’t know how long I was like that, but when a low whistle echoed through the now-barren space, it startled me enough that I jerked and whirled around ready to fight. Rowdy had his hands in the pockets of his jeans and those ocean-colored eyes were sympathetic as they roamed the devastation, made worse by my current state of freak-out.

“What are you doing here?”

I didn’t mean to sound surly and ungrateful, but it was the crap day to end all crap days and I didn’t have one ounce of play nice anywhere in me at the moment.

“Ayden called me. She gave me the rundown. She thought you might need a friend, or someone to box with. I’m here to fill either roll.”

I swore at him and finally just collapsed on the floor. Some of the broken glass from the booth poked into the denim covering my legs but I couldn’t muster up the energy to care.

“She also tell you that she bailed on me? Left me hanging because it is what it is and she doesn’t want it to be anything anymore?”

He was looking around, taking everything in, and I could tell by the set of his mouth that he knew how bad it was, how hard it was going to be to pull everything together before the tour.

“No, but she sounded like shit, so I figured something must have happened.”

I snorted and closed my eyes for a second.

“I told her I was going on tour, told her I could love her, and I stopped her from having seriously awesome, bare-back sex in the front seat of the Challenger. Then she effectively dumped me, right after I got the call that all my worldly possessions had been stolen. Today can suck it.”

“She give you a reason why?”

“She didn’t have to. It’s not like we were dating or in a relationship or anything solid like that.”

“That doesn’t sound like Ayden.”

My heart squeezed so hard in my chest I actually had to rub the area with the palm of my hand to relieve the pressure.

“Well, I’m the one sitting here feeling like I got kicked in the nuts and then run over by a truck, and I’m pretty sure it was a whiskey-eyed brunette who did it. So, yeah, that sounds just like Ayden.”

He shook his head and not a single blond hair moved out of that fifties style he liked to slick it up into.

“I just think it’s probably more complicated than that. She sounded as torn up as you look, and any idiot that gets within a few feet of you two can feel that there is something powerful there. Hell, I saw that the very first time you laid eyes on her at the Goal Line and I was trashed.”

“Sex.” I blew out a breath. “We have awesome chemistry and really hot sex, that’s all it is, all she ever wanted it to be.”

“I just don’t think that’s the entire story.”

“Well, that’s the one she’s telling, and now I’ve got all this to figure out, and court, and my f*cked-up family. I don’t have time to try to do revisions or rewrites.”

He toed the crumpled can that had faced my wrath earlier.

“Do you think your dad had something to do with this?”

“Who else could it be? He’s too arrogant to ever ask about what I’m doing, so I doubt he knew about the security setup.”

“Maybe if you have him on tape you can use that to get him to drop the assault charges.”

“If I have him on camera, I’m putting his dumbass in jail for as long as I can. I’m not scared of community service or anger management classes, but if I can get him locked up for at least as long as I’m on the road, then I’ll know he won’t be able to put his hands on Mom while I’m gone.”

“Good point.” He put his hands on his hips and took one final look around the destruction.

“Do you want to stay here and sulk some more, or do you want to go find some dark bar to sit in and get wasted?”

What I really wanted to do was go get my guitar and find someplace quiet and alone where I could write the saddest songs ever, about a girl who simply didn’t want what I had to give her. That sounded more dangerous than drowning myself in Jameson, so I took the beefy hand he offered and let him pull me to my feet.