Meet Me Halfway(65)

“There you are. You’ve been making me wait out here a long time.” The sour tang of his breath crashed into my senses, blanketing me in a bile-like aroma.

I gripped the door, flinging it shut as hard as I could, but he threw himself forward, slamming his shoulder into the wood and sending it back toward me. The crack of it hitting my face vibrated down my body and back up, leaving a ringing in my ears.

My head jerked back, and I tried to retreat but only succeeded in tripping over my feet in my urgency. A firm, clammy grip wrapped around my arm, halting my flailing and keeping me upright.

“Now, see, look what you did. You hurt yourself, honey. That’s what you get for being rude.”

His speech was slurred, and he tried to pull me closer, but his drunken spatial awareness was garbage. All it took was a frantic yank on my end, and I pulled away, knocking him off center.

“That was a bitchy thing to do.”

Ignoring the throbbing of my head, I crossed my arms to hide their shaking. “You need to leave. You have no right to come inside my home.” My words came out strong, but I was a quaking mess inside.

He rubbed a hand over his lips, looking me up and down with watery, bloodshot eyes. “This game of pretend is growing…obnoxious. This little playhouse is not your home.”

He looked at me hungrily, like he had every intention of stealing me away and locking me back up in his house. He hadn’t even glanced at Jamie, and if that wasn’t a clear indication of the kind of man he was, I didn’t know what was.

I slid a hand down the pocket of my sweats, discreetly searching for a phone that wasn’t there. Oh God, why had I not grabbed it on my way out? How many times did I have to make stupid decisions in my life before I learned my lesson? I’d admittedly made a lot, but answering the door at midnight without a phone on hand was pretty high on the stupidity ranking.

I stepped back, twisting so my back faced the kitchen barstools. I wanted to simultaneously keep my eye on Aaron to my left and Jamie on my right.

Jamie hadn’t moved from his spot between the couch and the hallway, and I knew if I looked at him, my heart would be ripped from my chest and thrown into a nest of vipers. I kept my eyes on Aaron, knowing even inebriated as he was, he was stronger than me by a lot.

“Jamie, why don’t you go to my room and sit with Rugpants, okay?” She’d been barking like crazy from the second Aaron’s voice broke through the air, and it was only increasing my level of anxiety.

“No.”

I dared to take my eyes off my ex just long enough to pin my son with the firmest gaze I’d ever given him, “Get in my room and shut the door. I am not asking.”

I immediately looked back to the threat now leaning against the far side of the bar, and a small amount of tension released from my soul when I heard the sound of Jamie’s retreating steps. I stood a small chance if I didn’t also have to protect him. I could do it.

I could fight back this time.

“I’ll forgive you, Madison. I promise. I’ll forgive all of the last few years. Just come home.”

“I’m not playing a game. I want you to leave.”

His brows lowered, “No. I want to fucking talk to you. Why are you always trying to start a fight?”

Breathe in. Breathe out. “I’m not. I’m asking you to leave.”

He stumbled closer, and, on instinct, I took a step back. I’d taken a self-defense class as soon as I’d healed from the last time I’d disappointed him, but I didn’t actually know much more than the basic stuff I’d done to Garrett. One class wasn’t going to get me out of this unscathed.

I was scared. So scared, I couldn’t even sense the safe place in my mind, but I still had claws. I wouldn’t make it easy for him.

I will fight back.

He continued to approach, cursing when he staggered into a barstool. I glanced back at the hall, considering making a run for my phone, but the thought of him cornering me in a room with Jamie and only one exit had me nearly gasping for air like a fish out of water.

“Please, Aaron, it’s late. I promise we can talk tomorrow.”

“You’re lying.” He was only a foot away now, pinning me between two of the stools while he continued mumbling incoherent words under his breath.

“I’m not.” I was. “Whatever it is you want to talk about, I promise we can talk tomorrow when you’re—when we’re both feeling better.”

“Liar,” he drew the word out, shaking a finger back and forth. “You think I’m drunk. You just want to kick me out like the bitch you are.”

He lunged, wrapping his fingers around my neck, and pushed against my windpipe until my back bowed over the bar. He squeezed just enough for pressure to build, and I did the first thing I could think of. I spit in his face.

He yelled, recoiling, and I took my chance. Flinging my hands up, I aimed for his eyes, but before I could make contact, he dropped forward, smashing his body into mine. One of the barstools crashed to the floor, and my back screamed as the edge of the bar etched itself into my spine. I tried, but I couldn’t hold back the cry that slipped free.

Using his free hand to steady himself with a barstool, Aaron leaned down, his hot, acidic breath landing on my cheek and stirring up memories best left untouched. Panic clawed its way up my throat when the hand gripping me migrated to clamp around my jaw.