“AJ…” Sweat prickles my armpits, and my heart drums against my chest.
“Did you fuck him, Lovie?”
I open my dry mouth and choke on an unintelligible word.
“Answer me. Did youfuckhim?”
I gulp.
“You better answer me. Did…did you fuck?—”
“No, I made love to him.”
“What the fuck did you just say to me?”
“I said, ‘I made love to him.’ I…I made love to him in his truck and…and in his bed. He even had his head between mylegs while I laid on his kitchen counter once. I don’tfuckRich because I only know how to make love to him.”
Before I can blink, he hurls his glass of tequila at me.
I duck.
It shatters against the wall next to my head, and droplets of the leftover alcohol splatter against my back.
“You fuckin bitch.” He leaps out of the recliner and barrels toward me like he’s on the football field.
I throw my arms in front of my middle to protect that precious spot that Rich made better with his soft touches and reassuring words, but AJ’s M.O. has changed since we’ve been apart.
He backs me into a corner between the couch and the wall and grabs a handful of my hair, yanking me to him with so much force that my purse falls onto the floor in a heap. My phone, the money I grabbed from Rich’s wallet, and his gun that I took from his middle console scatter across the floor, and my brain protects itself by reverting to the old Lovie who knows how many blows AJ can throw before he gets winded.
The first one lands on the back of my head and stuns me.
The second one lands on my cheek and makes my teeth clank together in a painful clap.
“Is this what you wanted to do, huh?” He gasps, grabbing my throat. “You wanted to hurt me by fuckin some neighborhood trash?”
The third blow lands against my nose, and that familiar warmth spreads across it while wetness trickles over my lips.
“Huh?” he heaves out, digging his fingers into my neck. “I’ve been fucked up over you leaving me—depressed and angry! And I just knew you were too! But nahhh, you were just fuckin somebody else!”
I fight to breathe, but he steals every tiny breath I take.
“Now you can figure out how to explain your face to all these nice people around here when we check out to go home.” He mushes me in the face then pulls me up by my throat to stare into his hazel eyes. “You wanna come in here and act all innocent. You want me to beg and cry for you like a bitch when you’re letting another man have what’s mine. Look at how you disrespect me. You went off, changed your phone number, and hid out like I was some horrible man, but this is what you wanted all along, huh? You wanted to go off and fuck another man to spite me while I’m lying to my parents and telling them you came back home because you were homesick. You manipulative ass bitch.”
His words don’t sting like they used to. Instead, they bounce against me and roll off like raindrops cascading down a window. I don’t even feel the damage he did to my face. All I feel is the air blowing Rich’s scent on me while we sit in his truck, and all I see is that white egret flying off while we stand together at the end of Joliet. I hear the drawl in his voice and the faint horror beneath his words when he asked me that loud question in the only way he knew how: “So you be hittin that nigga back or what?”
AJ digs his fingers into my throat, squeezing my answer to Rich back down inside of me.
I can’t breathe, but I still hear Rich asking me that question over and over again. So I bite down, conjuring up as much moisture in my mouth as I can. A deep rasp comes from my chest, and AJ’s eyebrows pinch together as a wad of spit flies out of my mouth and lands in his eye.
He takes one hand off my throat, swiping his eye in disgust.
I gasp and suck in as much air as I can while my answer to Rich shoots out.
“Yeah. I do hit back,” I heave under my breath, ramming my balled fist into AJ’s hard face.
The brief impact makes him pause long enough for me to shove my knee between his legs.
“Fuck!” He pushes me to the floor, doubling over and grabbing himself. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
