Rough Rhythm: A Made in Jersey Novella (1001 Dark Nights)(29)

Until he’d shown her in his own way, among the trees, before tearing the ground out from beneath her.

Lita stared at the cards for long moments before rising to her feet and digging a pair of orange-handled scissors from the kitchen’s junk drawer. She sat back down on the floor and cut up the cards, snipping them in half, one by one. No more relying on other people for her needs. This was her life and she would take control. Starting now.

Ignoring the tears that blurred her vision, she dialed the bank to make an appointment to close her accounts and open new ones.





James stared back at his reflection in the rearview mirror of his Mustang, wondering when he’d had time to grow a full beard. Although, time had become an irrelevant detail, hadn’t it? He showed up to places when he got there. Plans and schedules and punctuality were all laughable parts of a past life. The very notion of planning anything when his thoughts were so f*cking occupied was impossible. He couldn’t think around the knowledge that Lita was somewhere hurting. And he was the cause. He’d been the cause for a very long time and making plans that didn’t include her felt like hurting her all over again, whether it made sense to his exhausted mind or not.

Since she’d walked away a little over a month ago, he’d worked. His father’s manager had shown back up to reclaim his position, but James hadn’t been ready to give up the distraction that was physical labor. So he’d taken on a co-managerial position that allowed him to take his frustration out on hard earth, day in and day out. Just as he’d done with Old News, James had found new avenues of success for the landscaping company, taking on eight new commercial contracts in the space of four weeks, allowing them to bring on new staff. Buy new equipment.

Distractions. All of them.

Distractions from the fact that he’d been wrong about Lita. He’d mistaken her inner strength for a weakness. She’d overcome huge obstacles in her life and he’d downplayed them, made them a pattern of which he’d become a part. Inexcusable. Her expression of horror and disappointment when she realized he’d underestimated her…it was the first thing he saw upon waking, if he managed to sleep at all. Most of the time, he didn’t. He lay awake, staring at the motel room ceiling, replaying their relationship since the very beginning.

At present, he’d made it to year two. The year Lita attempted to crack him with an extreme sports binge. Bungee jumping, cliff diving, racing lessons. He’d been a wreck for months, not sleeping for worry she’d sneak behind his back and attempt some stunt before he could verify it was secure. At the time, he’d been livid with Lita. Lecturing her nonstop. Using his authority to keep her out of harm’s way as much as possible. Now, James wished he could go back to those moments. Go back to having Lita parked on the tour bus bumper in front of him, belligerence in every line of her body…and tell her she was amazing.

That’s what she’d been trying to tell him, right? Show him? That she was resilient and unafraid. Daring and strong. While James had only seen someone hell-bent on harming themselves. How he could miss Lita’s message when he only ever looked at her baffled James. God, he’d been blind.

Well, he wasn’t now. And there was no way to come back from calling a woman like Lita weak. No way to repair four years’ worth of damage. He’d done the worst of it inside that very Mustang, could still feel the ghost of her sadness in the passenger seat, haunting him.

James shut off the ignition and stepped out of the car, into the hospital parking lot. His father was being released tomorrow and enough was enough. He’d respected the man’s wishes not to visit since arriving in town, but James’s resolve not to go after Lita was taking a rapid nosedive. He missed her like f*cking hell. Missed her wit. Her cocky smile. And now he knew what she felt like beneath him, knew the bliss of being inside her. So going to her and begging until his face turned blue had become seriously appealing, especially since his return to Los Angeles was imminent. In order to prevent himself from going straight to her doorstep, he needed to go look his father in the face. And see himself reflecting back. James needed a reminder that Lita had a better future than one with a man like him.

A man who needed too much control. A man who needed to dominate her in an extreme way to get off. A man with violence in his blood. Lita might believe she loved him, but as he’d proven with his misjudgment, he wasn’t worthy of love that forgiving. He wasn’t worthy of a woman so strong when he couldn’t even overcome his own weaknesses.

James strode through the sliding glass hospital doors and walked straight into the waiting elevator. Since he’d been handling the insurance paperwork for his mother, he knew exactly where to find Malcolm Brandon in recovery. When he walked into the dimly lit room, one would have thought his father had been expecting him for the lack of surprise on his face. Malcolm had aged a lot, although since James hadn’t seen him in so long, it wasn’t apparent how much the stroke had to do with Malcolm’s pallid skin, new wrinkles. But his father’s eyes were exactly the same as he remembered. Steady and calculating.

“I don’t want to see you.”

James leaned against the far wall and crossed his arms. “Yeah? That’s too damn bad.”

Malcolm snorted. “Still not afraid of me.” At once, his father looked weary, his head flopping back against the pillows. “You never were.”