Chapter four:
present day
Jesse
Hands beat at me and Laney’s hysterical voice broke through my sleep and tore me from my drunken dream. Something hit me hard in the back of the head, and I rolled over to face her.
“You bastard! How could you? How fucking could you?”
I was lying on the practically new sofa in our living room, the cushions that Laney had so lovingly picked out barely six weeks ago either squashed to hell beneath my body or cast to the floor.
“What the fuck, bitch? Are you crazy?” I grumbled and blinked up at her, wondering what the hell her problem was.
She threw another shoe at me. “Don’t you dare fucking say that to me!” she screeched again. “And don’t call me ‘bitch!’”
“Fuck, woman, stop already!”
I looked up to see Laney standing in front of me, hands on her hips and eyes full of fire. But damn, she looked hot as fuck in her little gray AC/DC T-shirt and black panties. Her hair was wild around her beautiful face, and I must have still been drunk because I reached for her with a droopy smile, hoping to get a little action before I had to go down to the clubhouse. She slapped my hand away but I reached for her again.
“Come on, baby.”
She screeched and threw another shoe at me, the heel just missing my face by an inch.
“What is wrong with you?” she screamed, batting my hand away, and then she dropped the rest of her ammunition—an armful of shoes—and stormed away from me, her hair flying up behind her like a dark cloud.
I sat up and scratched at my beard, a little pissed off that she’d cock-blocked me so brutally. I pulled a shoe from next to me and flung it to the floor before reaching for an open bottle of beer on the coffee table and taking a swig. I looked down, seeing my clothes in a heap on the floor by the sofa that I was sitting on. I rolled my shoulders, my body tense and stiff after sleeping on the sofa, and I reached around to rub my neck when I felt the scratch marks on my back.
“Fuck,” I murmured, dragging a hand down my face as I remembered the previous night.
Losing my shit with Laney for no goddamned reason.
Nearly kicking someone to death.
Fucking some random piece of ass in the bar.
Yeah, it was all coming back to me now, and I didn’t like any of it.
“Fuck,” I muttered again, standing up. Though why I was so surprised by any of this was anyone’s guess. This was what I had wanted, right?
I turned in a circle, taking in the mess I’d made when I got home—half-eaten pizza and empty beer bottles, but no Casa. I’m guessing he found warm space in someone’s bed last night. Down the hallway I could hear Laney crashing around, drawers and doors slamming open and closed, and I reached down and grabbed my jeans off the floor and stepped into them and then headed to our room to try and calm her the fuck down before she ruined our new furniture.
I pushed open our bedroom door and found her suitcase open on the bed, several items already thrown inside it, and my heart slammed against my chest so hard that I thought I was going to pass out from the pain of it.
She was leaving me. Finally.
The pain in my chest tightened until I couldn’t see straight. This was what I had wanted—what I had been pushing for. I wanted her to leave me, get away from me before I ruined her like I ruined everything else. Yet, the thought of her leaving brought a fresh wave of pain. Almost physical in its strength.
Fuck, I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t lose her. I grabbed my head in my hands, my dirty hair falling in front of my face. I had wanted to do the right thing—I’d tried so hard to, but I couldn’t after all.
There was no way I was letting her leave me.
That was not fucking happening.
Laney came out of the bathroom at that moment and looked over at me, guilt flashing through her eyes before she quickly looked away from me and threw the items—her shampoo and makeup—into the case. She turned and headed back into the bathroom.
“You ain’t goin’ anywhere, Laney,” I called to her, but all she did was snort in disgust. “I’m fuckin’ serious, babe. You’re not leavin’ me.”
I heard her movements stop in the bathroom, and could almost imagine her standing there, waiting for my next words. Her hands balled into little fists by her side like the proud, strong-ass woman she was. Her eyes squeezed closed, trying to stem the flow of tears that she was fighting against.
