Fighting Fate (Fighting #7)(116)
I fight the urge to shove my finger down my throat. “I like my mouth, it’s honest.”
His lips brush across my cheekbone. “Get your shit together then bring your dirty mouth back to me. I’ll see if there’s any job openings in town, maybe the coffee shop’s hiring.” There’s a hint of humor in his voice.
“You’re an *.” However I ended up naked with him is a mystery, I mean, if lots and lots of tequila can be considered a mystery. After that it just seemed like an easy way to scratch an itch.
“You love me.”
I stare at him for a few seconds, realizing that I don’t love him. I mean, I care about him as much as person who cares about nothing can, but that’s the extent. We established the ground rules from the beginning—no attachments, our careers come first, don’t get in each other’s way.
“I’ll be in touch.” I avoid his eyes and step on the gas, forcing him to step back from the truck. I don’t even look in the rearview mirror as I pull away.
I hit the road grateful for the one thing my Dad gave me besides my blue eyes that earned me my middle name, my truck. It’s small, only two seats, but it has four-wheel-drive and even though it’s the color of baby shit—the dealership calls it champagne—it’s been the most reliable thing in my life.
The highway stretches out before me, and talk radio blares static through my speakers. I punch off the obnoxious noise and force myself to sit in my own silence.
Stupid, stupid, Shyann.
Five years of college for what? All I ever wanted was to be on television. I know I was destined for it. My mom knew. Now there’s not a broadcast company in this country that will touch me. And I’m broke.
I know better than to let my personal feelings interfere with my work. As much as I regret what I did to end my short career, I can’t say I’d do anything differently. There’s no way I could exploit that young girls suffering.
The girl’s mother had a heart defect and the severe beating put too much stress on her heart and killed her. Not a painless death, I’m sure, but at least it was quick.
Unlike momma’s.
No, she had to suffer for over two years, her body giving up at an agonizing pace, leaving her mind for last so she’d be completely aware of how she was dying. The memories slice through my minds eye, my dad holding her limp body, roaring his anger at God.
It was sitting in that cold church, watching every person in our town filter past me with words they hoped would ease my pain that I decided I’d get out of Payson the second I graduated and never go back. I was angry, starving for a fight. Desperate to have my Dad back rather than the empty man with the dead eyes who she left us with. He hated that I was leaving, never understood my need to run, to do all the things I promised my Momma I’d do. We fought. Hard. Unforgivable words were exchanged, and we haven’t managed to patch our relationship since.
Now I’m crawling back to beg for mercy, the prodigal child, broke, jobless, and with debt hanging off me like dead weight. If there’s anything I know, Nash Jennings will never let me live this down.
The tiny town of Payson, Arizona isn’t all that different from Flagstaff, but it’s about a fourth of the size. My Dad was raised there as a boy giving the Jennings name deep roots that have nourished the small town.
He might be a proud man, but I’m just as proud. I’ll need time to save money, figure out my options, and the second I do I’m out of there. Yeah, this is my best option.
I’m meant for big things. This is simply a speed bump.