Fury on Fire (Devil's Rock #3)(69)

“We’re not dating,” he snapped, too quickly.

“Ohh.” She rocked back on her heels. “You’re in love with her.”

“What? How do you get that? I told you we aren’t dating.”

“Riiiight. That’s why you’re sitting here looking at the dancers like you’re suffering through a plate of liver and onions.” She motioned to the men around them. “Do you see any of these other guys looking like they’re in that kind of anguish? No. That would just be you.”

He grunted a response.

She moved past him, patting him on the shoulder. “Dreams come here to die. Trust me. Forget about this place. Go home to your girl, North.”

He sat alone for several more minutes, trying to convince himself that Piper was wrong, that if he stayed here long enough he would be able to forget about Faith—that he could lose himself in someone else and not want her anymore.

The purple-haired dancer stopped before his table. She twirled a bright lock of hair between her fingers and looked him over coyly. “Hey, there. I’m Bambi. Want to get out of here?”

He stood up from the table and dropped a few bills on the table for Piper. “Yeah. I do.” Without another glance, he turned and left the club. Alone.



North pulled onto his street and stopped hard, his foot digging into the brake pedal as his gaze locked onto the For Sale sign in Faith’s yard. She didn’t . . .

She couldn’t . . .

She was.

Sonuvabitch. He thumped his steering wheel. She was actually selling her house. She was moving. Because of him. Of that he had no doubt.

He sat there for a moment and simply stared, telling himself this was good; it would make things easier if he didn’t have to see her every day. But his stomach only continued to knot and twist until he thought he might be sick all over the front seat of his truck.

No. No. No.

It was the only word to fill his head but it was enough.

No. Fucking. Way. It was supposed to be just physical. It wasn’t supposed to be this. And yet it was this. Just like Piper accused. She had been right.

It hit him hard like a Mack Truck to the face. Everything he ever wanted he had either lost or was stolen from him. But not this. He wasn’t going to lose again. Not her.

Once she was gone, once she had moved, he knew it would finally and forever be over. He’d never see her again except someday far in the future when he bumped into her at a store or the county fair and she’d be with another man. Maybe this other man would be her husband. She’d be pregnant or have a baby on her hip and North would be forgotten like sophomore-year geometry. Her face would burn at the sight of him, the unwanted memory of a horribly embarrassing indiscretion.

Hell no.

He had done everything to wreck this and push her away, but no more.

He would finally attempt to save something. Again. He wouldn’t stand by and watch as this was destroyed. He would attempt to save them. Hopefully it wasn’t too late and there could be a them.

He hopped out of his truck and marched up to her door. He rapped sharply several times until the door opened.

She faced him, her expression stony. “North?”

“You’re moving?”

She glanced over his shoulder. “That’s what the sign means.”

“You can’t.”

She frowned. “I don’t understand why you care. You were very—”

“You shouldn’t have to move.”

“I’d be more comfortable living somewhere else.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, tugging the ends hard. “I don’t want you to go.” He let go and splayed both his hands wide in front of himself.

“North, you don’t need to feel guilty. This is for the best. We should never have gotten involved—”

“That’s just it! I want to be involved! I want us together. Seeing that sale sign . . . thinking you could be somewhere else, somewhere away from me . . . I just can’t handle that.”

“You can’t handle it? How good that you realize that now.” Angry splotches of color broke out over her face. “Well, too bad, North Callaghan.” She stabbed him in the chest with a finger. He winced. “I can’t handle staying here.”

“Faith—”

“No, North. Hopefully, the house will sell quickly and we don’t have to do this much longer. Until then, let’s just stay out of each other’s way.”

Before he could answer, she smoothly closed the door in his face, leaving him standing there, staring at where she once was, looking at the small circle of her peephole, pretty convinced she wasn’t looking back at him.





TWENTY-SIX




He spent the next week stealing the For Sale signs that kept popping up in Faith’s yard. That didn’t stop prospective buyers from showing up. He led a few of them astray, either telling them they had the wrong house or the owner had changed their mind and taken the house off the market. He did other things, too, all hoping to get her attention . . . and forgiveness.

He left flowers for her. It was the kind of thing nice girls like her deserved. He knew that. He figured he’d try. He sent texts. Serious ones. Naughty ones. Teasing ones. He tried everything to lure her out of her self-imposed exile from him. All attempts she ignored. He also resorted to parking in her driveway. That had always provoked her before. But nothing. She never rose to the bait.