Thrown Down (Made in Jersey #2)(11)

He would walk away from their child without looking back, too.

When shame began to filter into his expression, River turned away, walking on shaky legs toward the bumper. “I don’t need to be thanked. I don’t want it either. Being a mother to her has been all the reward I need.” She took a deep breath and met his hooded gaze. “But I’ll make you a deal.”

His throat muscles shifted. “Do I want to hear this?”

She ignored his question, focusing on the dull thump of her heartbeat. “I’ll let you meet Marcy. But only if you leave town afterward and don’t come back.”





Chapter Five


A significant part of Vaughn had hoped the Third Shift, Hook’s resident dive bar, would have bitten the dust by now. But no. The scene of countless fistfights—starring him—still hung on by a thread, neon signs flickering in the window. Yeah, he’d thrown so many punches in the place, he’d earned the distinct honor of Hook’s first banned customer. That title had been bestowed the year before he’d joined the army, when he’d spent countless nights propped on a creaky stool, attempting to deaden the guilt over keeping River as his girlfriend. Those evenings she’d been taking night classes at the closest junior college? secure in the rightness of her course.



“I’ll get my associates degree, just to make Mom and Dad happy. Just until they can see staying in Hook is the right thing. You and me.” She reached out and adjusted the heat in his truck, rubbing her hands together for warmth until Vaughn gathered them in his own, performing the task for her. “They met at our age,” River continued, blushing with pleasure over the gesture. “They’ve just forgotten what it’s like”—her gaze dipped—“to love someone more than anything in the world.”

Vaughn coughed to hide the way his breath whooshed out. “You know I love you, too, doll. That’s why I would be right here waitin’, not matter what you did, or where you went. To college, to study abroad…” He released her hands in favor of tipping up her chin, trying to impress upon her the sincerity of what he was saying. “I can’t let you regret being with me.”

Maybe if she went and did those things, she’d finally have no choice but to admit there was more out there for a girl like her. So much more. Everything.

Perceptive as they came, River’s shoulders tensed at something she’d read between the lines. Something accurate, if he could only find the willpower to do the right thing for once in his worthless life. “Promise me you won’t leave. Promise me you won’t ever leave me. Unless you quit loving me,” she added, voice barely audible. “I won’t stop you then.”

His stomach dove to the driver’s side foot well. “I promise, Riv.”



The painful flashback propelled Vaughn into the Third Shift, where he came to an abrupt halt. Out of necessity—Hook’s crown jewel of spilled beer and blood was packed to the gills. Arguments, shouting, and shitty music slapped him in the ears, sounds that would normally grate, but were a welcome muffling of his current thoughts of River. But the bar only saw this large turnout when someone died, retired, or got married, so there was a high likelihood he would be recognized. Meaning he would have to converse, explain where he’d been. And that was something he definitely couldn’t stomach after seeing such sadness in River’s eyes that afternoon. Best to blow this—

“Don’t even f*cking tell me that’s Vaughn De Matteo over there looking like a slapped ass.”

Vaughn’s hand paused halfway to the door handle, dread and amusement fighting a war under his sternum. He knew that brash, booming voice, and he knew it well. It came from quite possibly the only person in Hook—apart from River—that he would let call him a name without an emergency room visit.

Schooling his features, Vaughn turned from the exit and presented his middle finger. “Ask your mom about my slapped ass.”

Duke Crawford threw back his head and laughed, easily drowning out every other sound in the bar, and receiving more than a few eye rolls from the sparse female clientele. The veritable giant wound his way through the crowd toward Vaughn, a bottle of Budweiser looking so at home in his fist it could have been an additional appendage. Now a mechanic at the local factory, Duke had once served alongside Vaughn in the army, and was the only man on the planet Vaughn would consider calling a brother. He was one of the most generous men Vaughn had ever met, but also the type to say f*ck you for pointing it out.

Vaughn braced himself a second before Duke’s massive paw came down on his shoulder. “Well, shit, bro. You don’t call, you don’t write.” Another low, rumbling laugh brought back memories. The smell of gun oil and heated earth, the feel of the ground shaking. “How the hell are you?”

Noticing curious eyes flashing toward him, and whispering behind turned backs, Vaughn rubbed a hand over his hair. “Been better. Been worse.”

Duke tipped back his beer, regarding Vaughn down the length of the bottle. “You come here to get shit faced? I can help you with that.” He jerked his chin toward the crowd over his shoulder. “Everyone’s tying one on tonight—might as well join our ranks.”

“Any particular reason? Or is it a day ending in Y?”

“Still a ball-breaker, huh?” Duke pounded him on the back. “Good. You’ll need it if you’re sticking around.”