Take a Chance on Me(78)

Anger, the white-hot kind she’d shied away from for years, filled her. But this time, instead of repressing, she unleashed the fury. “You coward!”

“I am not being a coward,” he said, his voice rising for the first time.

“What the hell do you call it?”

“Setting the record straight.”

She stared at him, unable to process the turn of events. She met his stormy gaze. “Liar.”


“I’m coming clean with the truth, Maddie.” His tone was a rough scrape over her nerves.

“That’s bullshit!” she yelled, taking two steps to stand in front of him. Even though he towered over her, she jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “You’re so scared to take a risk, so sure you’re going to get screwed over, that you’d rather set up the failure yourself than roll the dice.”

He grabbed her wrist and wrenched it away. “You don’t know the first thing about it.”

“Then why did you pick right now to give me those keys?”

“Because, goddamn it.” His golden eyes flashed. “I don’t want you to stay because you’ve got no f*cking choice.”

All of her anger deflated. She said softly, “Mitch.”

He dropped her hand and stepped away, moving around her to walk to the back door. He peered over his shoulder, his golden eyes distant and resigned. “I’ve got things to take care of. I’ll be back later.”

With that, he walked out.

He was shutting her out, both literally and figuratively.

She stood in the empty kitchen, staring at the closed door. His desertion signaled everything wrong with her life and his. But she wasn’t going back. Never again was she going to curl into a ball and roll over.

Screw that.

If Mitch Riley wouldn’t fight for himself, she’d damn well do it for him.





Chapter Twenty-Two



Mitch sat in the back booth of his crappy bar and took another swallow of beer. His fifth. The alcohol had done nothing to quell the anger burning a hole in his stomach.

“Just hear her out.” Across from him, a calm Sam spoke, using the casual tone that grated on Mitch’s every last nerve.

“What is she up to?” Mitch narrowed his eyes. God, this day had gone to shit. After his fight with Maddie, he’d come here and spent the day in his dark, miserable office scouring the Internet and obscure legal references for ideas on how to handle the aftermath of his father’s scandal.

It had been depressing business that had only increased his bad mood. Maddie’s escapades around town were the icing on the cake.

“Don’t worry about it.” Sam scrubbed a hand over his blond-stubbled jaw.

“Fuck you, Sam.” Mitch had had about enough of his vague, cryptic shit. He slammed the bottle on the table much harder than he should have, and foam spilled over the top. “I’m not in the mood.”

Sam shrugged and returned to the paperwork in front of him. “All right, then.”

Several minutes passed and Mitch waited for the ragged edges of his frustration to melt away, but it didn’t happen. If anything, without Sam to snap at, his aggravation increased.

Hell, after this morning, he’d half expected her to hightail it out of town, but as usual, she hadn’t done what he expected. Instead, she’d made her way from one end of the town to the other—stopping at the garage, visiting Charlie at the police station, and, strangest of all, taking his mother to buy flowers.

She was getting into trouble. He could feel it.

Sam rifled through papers, the sound distracting Mitch from his thoughts. Mitch glowered at the invoices and blurted, “I hate this place. Every time I step in here, I want to hit something.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“I think we should consider a partnership,” Mitch said. Sam did half the shit anyway.

Sam cocked his head to the side and studied Mitch in that annoying way he had. “Things will be clearer after everything goes down.”

Logic dictated that he shouldn’t believe in premonitions, but he’d given up on that when he was twelve and Sam warned him not to play baseball one summer’s day. Mitch hadn’t listened and had ended up with broken arm, ruining the rest of his summer. “What’s going on?”

“I thought you weren’t in the mood,” Sam answered with a smirk.

Mitch practically growled.

Sam held up his hands in surrender. “All right, this is what I’ll tell you: it’s supposed to be this way.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You need to let it play out,” Sam said, getting a faraway look on his face. “Stop trying to control everything.”

Control? Fuck. His hand tightened on his glass, threatening to shatter it to pieces. He had control over nothing. “What good are you if you won’t tell me anything concrete?”

Sam shrugged. “Sometimes things need to play out a certain way, and this is one of those times.”

Mitch couldn’t help rolling his eyes, but Sam kept talking, ignoring the sarcasm.

“You’re getting in the way, stopping the natural progression. If you knew the game, you’d only make it worse.”

“What the f*ck is that supposed to mean?” His aggravation grew by leaps and bounds. How was this helpful?