Thrown Down (Made in Jersey #2)(5)

Raising Marcy alone had been the only option she’d ever allowed herself to consider. She’d built a safeguard against a single iota of dangerous hope for something else filtering in. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered. “Thank you for caring, but I’ve been doing this alone. I…take pride in doing it alone. Please, go. You’re free to go.”

His breath puffed out on a half laugh, half scoff. “I’m trying to be patient here. God knows I am. But I just found out I have a daughter—a…Marcy. I find out you’ve been busting your ass to raise her. Alone. Alone. And while we’re on the subject, you’re not getting along just fine if you’ve been working in this shit heap, River. Okay?” He gripped the Pontiac on either side of her head and shook the entire car. “All these years, I thought you were finally in college where you belonged. Instead you’ve been serving beer to the local drunks.”

“You left. You left and vanished so you don’t get an opinion. You don’t get to judge what I’ve done to get by.” The words blasted out of her, along with her hands, which pummeled Vaughn in the torso—again and again, harder when he didn’t so much as budge or show a reaction. “I hate you. How dare you show up like this, like some hero? Forcing me out of my job and caring. Caring. You’re the villain, don’t you realize that? You left, and you should have stayed gone.” Her voice broke. “I hate you so much.”

“There we go. There it is. Okay,” Vaughn breathed, gathering River’s body close, despite her attempts to push him off. Those cannon-size arms banded like steel around her and wouldn’t let go, crushing her against his woodsy-smelling chest. “Okay, doll. I know you’re right. I…I wasn’t a good man to you. I’m still not a good man. But I’m here, and I’m not leaving until we figure out how to handle this between us.”

River inhaled a lungful of Vaughn’s scent, catching him off guard, which finally allowed her to jerk free of his hold. “I don’t need a hero. I’m my own hero now…and I’m trying to be one for Marcy.” She groped for the driver’s side door handle behind her. “If you ever felt anything for me, Vaughn, you’ll turn around and leave Hook.”

His gaze cut to the side. “Can’t do that, Riv.”

Frustration welled within her. “Well, you can’t be part of our lives when you never wanted me—” Her cheeks flamed. “Us. Never wanted us to begin with.”

River got into the car and blew out of the parking lot, trepidation prickling her skin when she glimpsed Vaughn in the rearview mirror—a very determined Vaughn.

And she knew the fight was only beginning.





Chapter Three


River drummed her fingers on the keyboard, waiting for the ancient church computer to catch up with modern technology, also known as the internet. Since she didn’t have a computer at home—although she’d been saving for one so Marcy could benefit—Adeline, the choir director, allowed her to use the church’s old Dell desktop once a week to Skype with Jasmine.

Her best friend had moved to Los Angeles months ago to be with River’s brother Sarge, who had blown back into town with his guitar and turned everyone’s day-to-day routine on its head. In an amazing twist, Jasmine was now a vocalist with Old News, Sarge’s rock band, and they were preparing for a world tour.

While she couldn’t be happier that two of her favorite people were in love and getting ready to marry, River couldn’t help but wish—just a little bit—that everything was back the way it had been before last Christmas. Then it had been two best friends against the world, working side by side in the factory every day, Jasmine going on bad dates, River attempting to ignore the lingering specter of Vaughn. She missed having someone read between her lines, knowing her mind without a single word.

Selfish. Stop being selfish. River checked the digital clock in the lower right-hand corner of the screen, willing the computer to work faster so she wouldn’t be late for her shift at the factory, where she printed license plates, along with other outsourced products mostly seen on infomercials. It would only be five thirty in the morning in Los Angeles, but Jasmine insisted River call anyway, being that she had no other time options, working two jobs and caring for Marcy.

And now Vaughn was back. River’s drumming fingers paused in their vigorous rhythm, and her eyelids slid lower. She’d screwed up last night, erupting up like a volcano of feelings, and she needed to be more careful. Whether she liked it or not, her ex-boyfriend and father of her child had a knack for reading every thought in her head. Telling Vaughn she hated him was counterproductive, immature…and not necessarily true, either. He would see right through her encouragement to leave Hook—to be free of responsibility—and know she wasn’t over the past.

Get back on course. That was the revised plan. She’d gone through the sleepless nights, the teething, the potty training with Marcy all on her own. She’d done a good job and would continue to do a good job. She would never regret the decisions she’d made that night at the motel—they’d brought her a beautiful little girl that loved her unconditionally—but no way would someone else’s life be affected by her actions.

Biting down on the guilt, River sat forward, relieved when Skype began to dial the number she’d entered five minutes ago. Jasmine answered on the first ring, draped in a white bathrobe, a cup of coffee poised at her lips. “Hey, Riv.”