Chapter 27
Luke
My hand grips hers as I walk around the restaurant toward my truck in the back. The minute we are away from the prying eyes, she slips her hand out of mine. My whole body is filled with fury, and I want nothing more than to walk back over to that piece of shit and put my fist in his mouth. “You okay?” My voice is soft as I open the truck door for her. She never looks at me, nor does her head come up, and all she does is nod as she steps into the truck. I wait for a second to see if she is going to look at me, but all she does is grab the seat belt. I close the door and walk around but stop at the back for a minute, looking up at the sky before getting into the truck. I want to get her as far away from the restaurant as I can. I look over at her a couple of times on the way to her house. The only reason I go to her house is that it’s closer than mine, and right now, I want to sit down with her and make sure she is okay. After I pull up in the driveway, I turn off the truck, and she is out of it in a split second. She jogs up the front steps, never once looking behind her as she unlocks the door.
I step in and watch her put her purse on the table at the front door before walking in. She makes her way straight to the kitchen, opening the cupboard on top of the fridge and then taking down the bottle of scotch. “Are you okay?” I ask as she walks to the island and just looks up at me. I can tell she’s pissed. This is the same look she gave me when I stupidly opened her door that other time and came face-to-face with Edward. “Wait for a second.” I hold up my hand suddenly, not sure what the fuck is going on. “Are you pissed at me?”
“I don’t know what I am.” She unscrews the top of the scotch bottle and brings it straight to her mouth, taking a gulp. She puts the bottle down and then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I’m sorry.” I stare at her, never taking my eyes off her. “Why the fuck are you pissed at me?” I point at my chest. The nerves are now making my body shake even more. “What the fuck did I do?”
She looks down at the scotch and then looks over at me. “You told everyone my business!” she shouts. “You literally just told them everything. In the middle of fucking Main Street, you just told everyone everything, without even batting a fucking eye.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I say, confused again. “He was standing there spewing shit from his mouth, and all you did was stand there.”
“Because I didn’t need any more shit being said about me.” She throws her hands up. “Everyone was looking at us!” she shrieks. “Everyone was looking at us, whispering and pointing.” She shakes her head and looks down at the counter.
“Yeah, I know.” I put my hands on my hips. “Looking at us and listening to the shit he was saying. The lies that were coming out of his mouth.” I shake my head. “He’s so lucky that there were people there, and I couldn’t throw him into a wall or throat punch him or anything that would have stopped him from talking.” My hands form fists by my sides.
“Who cares?” she yells. “Who fucking cares what he says about me?” She closes her eyes, and when she opens them, I can see the tears in them, and it guts me. My stomach feels like someone is stabbing it over and over again as the burning starts to build, moving throughout my body.
“I fucking care!” I roar. “He’s not going to talk about my woman like that.” I shake my head. “I tried to remain calm, but then he called you a cheater, and there was no way in fuck that I was just going to let him have that. No fucking way.” I stare at her, and she doesn’t say anything to me. Her mouth opens and then closes and then opens again.
“Your woman?” she repeats that part, and I suddenly think that maybe I should have worded it better.
“Um, yeah,” I say like duh obviously. “I don’t know what people call each other when they are with each other every single day and share a life together. We are both thirty. Is calling you my girlfriend not too young? So yeah, my woman sounds about right.”
“What about the girl in New York?” She stares at me, and my heart stops in my chest.
“What?” I whisper, and I think that perhaps I need to take a step back and just let things calm down. Maybe I should have made her work through things before I just jumped right into it.
“The girl in New York,” she says again, and this time, the burning in my stomach spreads to my chest, then my throat. “What about her?”
I take a second to think about what she is asking me exactly. “What about her?” The only words that can come out of my mouth at this point.
“Well, where does she stand?” This whole line of questioning is so out of the blue. My head is spinning around and around as I try to wrap my head around everything that happened tonight.
“She doesn’t stand anywhere.” I just shake my head. “Stop with this runaround and little questions here and there. Why don’t you ask what you need to ask?” She looks down at the bottle of scotch, and instead of giving her a chance to ask the questions, I just come right out. “She was nothing.” I don’t take my eyes off her. “She was less than nothing.” I feel pressure on my chest, wondering how long she’s had this festering inside her.
“Will you see her again?” she asks, still not looking at me, and I can’t even fathom how long she’s had this idea in her head.
I walk over and stand next to her, putting one hand on the counter and the other on her hip. “Clarabella.” I say her name, and she looks up at me, and I can see the tears in her eyes and the way that she is blinking to fight them back. “I don’t even know what her name was.” I tell the truth. “We met at the restaurant when she came in with friends. She flirted with me, and I stupidly went home with her. I spent maybe two hours with her before I walked out and said I would never do that again.”
“You don’t need to justify yourself to me,” she says, and I snap. The space I was giving her was gone when I took another step into her. Turning her to face me, I tighten my hand on her hip to make sure she doesn’t move farther away from me.
“I don’t need to justify myself to you,” I say softly, turning her and making her look at me. “I want to justify myself to you.” One of my hands comes up as I brush her hair away from her forehead. “Look at me, Clarabella,” I urge, and she lifts her eyes to look at me. “I don’t know what you put in your head or how long you’ve been thinking about this, but I need you to know that there is no one but you. Not now and not before.” My thumb rubs her cheek. “I fucked up six months ago letting you go.” My voice comes out softly. “And I’m not even going to be sorry that Edward fucked up the way he did. I can’t because if he hadn’t, then I wouldn’t be standing here right now in front of you.” I can’t help but bend and kiss her lips. “Tonight, when he came at you and called you a cheater, there was no way I was ever going to let people think that. Because that isn’t you. You aren’t that person.”
“I know I’m not,” she says, and I can’t help but lean down and touch her lips with mine. “I know who I am and what went down. I know in my heart that the truth will come out.” She takes a deep breath. “I just didn’t want it to come out in a shouting match in the middle of Main Street. The chatter about me being a runaway bride is starting to die down.” She closes her eyes. “And now with that, it’ll just be more shit people will talk about.”
“I’m sorry,” I say softly, looking into her eyes. “I’m sorry for not thinking of that, but I just couldn’t let him pull a scene and be the wounded party when he’s not.” I swallow down the lump that has formed in my throat. “You would be married to him right now.” I can’t even fathom that thought. “But I can’t be sorry for standing up for you. I won’t apologize for that because I would do it over and over again.” I hold her chin with my thumb and my forefinger. “So you are just going to have to get used to it.”
“I mean…” She smiles now, and I can’t tell you how happy and relieved I am to see it. “I am your woman, apparently, so there are things I need to get used to.” She laughs, and I lift her and place her on the island, moving the bottle of scotch over to the side.
“You are my woman.” I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it. I’ve never had the need to care or have anyone attached to me.
“What does that entail exactly?” She jokes with me. “So that I know what to do as someone’s woman.”
“Well, for one,” I start, moving her hair behind her shoulder. “I think it gives me the right to kiss you whenever I want.”
“You do that already.” She leans back on her right hand.
“But this allows me to do it in public,” I say, the tightness in my stomach coming now. “And not just in private.”
“You kissed me today in public,” she says softly.
“But you tensed up when I did it.” I try not to make it sound like it hurts me. “It’s fine. It’s just I’d like to do it more.”
“I’m sorry.” She sits up straight, our chests touching. “I didn’t even notice. So noted.” She kisses my lips. “What else does being your woman do?”
“Well, I get to bring you flowers because I want to,” I say, just winging it at this point, and she knows it when she rolls her lips and falls when she chuckles. “I don’t know. I just want to be able to call you my woman.”
“Luke, I’ve been your woman from the time you put me in your truck on my would-be wedding day.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Is that so?”
“No idea.” She laughs. “Maybe it was a couple of days after. Maybe it was the time you showed up here with a bottle of scotch and food.” She leans in and places a kiss on my throat. “Maybe it was when I showed up at your house.” She moves the kiss up to my cheek. “Maybe it was the time that you held my feet in your lap as you told me about your day.” She kisses the side of my lips. “Maybe it was the day that you took me out at one o’clock in the morning because I wanted a milkshake.” She puts her hands on my shoulders. “Regardless of when, I’ve been your woman for a while.”