Chapter1
Ida Jane
No one had ever left me so disgusted—both with myself and them—as my ex, Dillon.
“Why are you acting like this? Just say you’ll take care of the kid, and—”
“I said no. Now,leave me alone, Dillon.” My accent thickened as it always did under stress, so I sounded way twangier than I wanted to. As a petite woman, I needed all the edge I could get, especially with an ex-boyfriend who acted like he’d never heard the word “no”before.
“Aw, c’mon, Ida, this would really help me out,” Dillon wheedled as he skirted back in front of me. When he texted me just as I was sitting down to dinner at the swanky Montrose restaurant, I agreed to meet him outside. Some pathetic part of me expected Dillon, my first love, to tell me he’d made a mistake—that he wanted me back. That he’d prepared a tremendous show of love for me tonight, on my birthday.
Instead, I received the proverbial slap to the face. This was the second time in the years I’d known him. The first was when he broke up with me mere weeks before I graduated with my master’s degree; the second was tonight with this doozy of a revelation.
“Stella’s too wild to be a mom, and I don’t know what the fuck to do with a baby. You have all those siblings. You must know how to parent a kid.”
I fisted my hands, red hazing my vision. “Just to be clear, you did not, in fact, show up at my birthday party to wish me salutations,” I gritted out. I was missing dinner with my bestie, Millie, for this. She was leaving for a new position in less than a week, and that made every moment with her more precious…especially more than Dillon’s stupid request.
“Erm…happy birthday.”
“It was,” I muttered, turning away.
He grabbed my arm, just below the elbow, long fingers digging into my skin, and spun me around to face him. He attempted a placating expression that the anger in his eyes belied. Anxiety skittered along my back as Dillon held me.
He let go and rubbed his palms down my arms. “Look, you know I care about you. I mean, you’re nice, and pretty, and you’re good with kids. Just help me out for a while, and then, ya know, when I figure the baby thing out, you can—”
“What?” I asked, my tone dangerously close to a snarl.
Dillon gaped at me. In the four years we dated, I never raised my voice. I never once was anything less than the doting girlfriend, partly awed and partly thankful the big man on campus wanted me, Little Ida Jane Barlow, from Clarendon, Texas. Sure, our lives had changed when he graduated and started working while I stayed in school to get a master’s degree.
I believed him when he said he had to work late—plus, I’d been busy studying. I hadn’t been prepared to find evidence of him cheating. And I really hadn’t been prepared for him to dump me via text while asking me to move the spare few possessions—like a toothbrush—out of his apartment so he could move his new girlfriend in.
Dillon was a total asshat. And I…
“I’m not a pushover,” I whispered. At least I wouldn’t be ever again. I learned my lesson with Dillon, and it had hurt too much to forget.
Dillon took that moment of preoccupation to slide his arm around my waist. “I’ll take you out for your birthday tomorrow. We’ll go somewhere nice.” He lifted my hair, no doubt planning to kiss my neck. The softness of his lips always made me shiver and my knees melt, and I always gave in when he smoothed his lips up and down my sensitive skin.
But Dillon didn’t realize I was twenty-five now—older and, hopefully, a bit wiser. I’d finished my master’s degree, found a job I loved, and moved in with my BFF where, during those first weeks, I’d eaten enough ice cream to fill a railroad shipping car, cried the entire Rio Grande, and found myself a backbone. Only the last one was worth mentioning.
“You donotget to kiss me. You donotget to touch me. Not now, not never again.”
I pulled out of his embrace with a hard yank away from him. That caused Dillon to trip over his feet and land in a puddle. It was Houston—there were almost always puddles, and this one looked especially grimy.
Good. Maybefinallyhis exterior would match his interior. I didn’twantto see him again—had been happy that I hadn’t seen him in over a year.
I laughed as he raised his dripping, filthy hands, shaking them. “Lose my number, Dillon. I mean it. Don’t ever—ever—contact me again.”
“You bitch,” he howled, rising from the water.
For the first time, fear swirled through me. I faltered even as I put more space between us. He barreled toward me, rage causing his lips to peel back from his teeth. I set my feet as my daddy had shown me and lifted my fists into a defensive posture that I perfected at Millie’s gym.
Dillon reached forward, intent to grab me, subdue me. No! He wouldn’t. I wasnota pushover. And I knew how to take care of myself.
I stepped out of his line of attack and brought my left fist in an uppercut, just like my younger brother, Amos, showed me years ago. When Dillon stumbled, I plowed my right fist into his gut. Millie’s words swam through my head, “Always follow through with an opponent to make sure they’ll stay down.”
Good advice because Dillon didn’t go down. Clearly, I needed to punch harder. Also, my adrenaline and righteous anger were veering toward fear. I’d never been in a physical altercation before, and it wasn’t like the movies.
Dillon wanted to hurt me. He had at least eighty pounds on me, and I wasn’t fast, especially in the three-inch heels I’d deemed necessary for my birthday outfit of a short and tight dress.
