“Sounds good.”
“Great.” He rapped his knuckles on the bar. “After you deliver that, can you grab some clean bar rags from the storeroom? We’re running low.”
“Sure, no problem.”
I headed off, pitcher in hand, humming my latest song I’d thought up when Boone and I had been walking in the woods. The melody was coming together–at least in my head–even with the loud music inside the bar. After dropping it off, I veered toward the back. In the storage room, I flipped on the light and found the bin with the clean bar rags.
The door slammed shut, and I spun around, startled. A gasp replaced my humming.
There stood Marty. Military buzz cut. Close shave. Tanned skin. Ice blue eyes. Blond hair. Short, stocky physique.
My heart pounded, and my skin tingled from the surge of adrenaline at seeing him after all these months.
“Hello, Summer.” His voice was as I remembered. Deep. Even. Taunting. “Miss your husband?”
My initial reaction was panic. He’d conditioned me to placate him when he was in this mood. By the end, I feared him. But then I remembered where I was. Who I was now. I didn’t care about keeping him calm. I didn’t care what he thought about me. I wasn’t going to let him push me around anymore.
“What are you doing here?” I poured as much anger into my question as I could muster.
His eyes narrowed. My heart pounded, recognizing danger. “I can’t stop in and see my wife?”
I didn’t like the way he kept reminding me that we were still married. “No. We’re not together anymore.”
He slowly shook his head. “You’ve had your little fun. It’s time to come back.”
This man was absolutely delusional. “Not happening. We’re getting divorced.”
“Only if I sign the papers, which I’m not.”
I ground my teeth. “I will still get the divorce, even if you contest it. You need to leave. I don’t want to be with you. I don’t even like you.”
He shrugged. “You’ve always been so dramatic, Summer. Flighty. Look at you, working in a bar. You can barely take care of yourself.”
“I’m doing just fine,” I said, way more angry than scared now. How dare he show up here! I’d gotten past getting bullied and pushed around. Past contorting myself for an asshole in order to keep the peace. Past him.
“Living in a small town in Montana? Working as a barmaid where men are leering at you? I saw the way that guy winked. At my wife.”
“I don’t know which guy you’re talking about–”
“Exactly. You’ve been flirting with men all night.”
“Not. Your. Business, Marty. We’re not together. I can flirt with whomever I want.”
“So you’re whoring yourself out?” His jaw clenched. I recognized that look. He was getting pissed. That meant danger.
I could have Cody throw him out if I could get past him “You need to leave, Marty. We’re done. I’ve got a new life now. I’m singing, and I have a–”
“Yeah, you're singing. I saw the video online. What the fuck were you wearing? Have you seen the comments guys have left? They’re all for your tits. Not your song. Thousands and thousands want to fuck my wife.”
“I’m not your wife!” I snapped.
He took a step closer. We were in the storeroom. Door closed. But I wasn’t alone. Back in Los Angeles, he’d isolated me from my friends to make me fully dependent on him. Here, I had an entire community that would kick his ass if he touched me, starting with Boone.
“You are. Legally.”
“Not for long.”
“We’re not getting divorced. You’re mine. You want to whore yourself out by making money with your music, that’s fine, but that money’s mine.”
