Page 62 of Losing a Piece of Me

The wedding goes smoothly. With my mother running the show, there isn’t a chance anyone will fuck up. Nobody wants to be on her bad side.

The reception starts up at the country club and I suck down two glasses of wine. Still, my phone is in my hand waiting for the call from Striker that never comes.

Jeff must feel bad for me, because he takes me by the hand and leads me to the dance floor. He pulls me against his chest and locks eyes with mine. “Still no word?”

I shake my head, unable to produce words.

He lets out a sigh and shakes his head. “When are you going to see that all this guy wants is to hurt you? You deserve more than him.”

“That’s not it, Jeff. I had to break some pretty tough news to him last night. And if Ken told him what I think he said, he’s hurting right now, more than anyone could imagine.”

“You still deserve more.”

My feet stop moving. Why does everyone say this to me? What is so wrong with Striker? He’s a good man, nobody knows him like I do.

I pull away and make my way toward the exit. I need another cigarette.

He chases after me into the parking lot.

“I’m sorry, Alex, but it’s true. You know it, your mother knows it, and I know it.”

I stop on the sidewalk and pull a cigarette from my clutch, lighting it before turning to face him.

“Okay, Jeff. Who do I deserve then?”

He slides his hands into his pockets and shrugs. “Me.”

I feel my shoulders slump. No, please, no.

He closes the space between us in one long stride and pulls me against him. His hands are on my cheeks, forcing me to look at him.

“Where’s he at, huh? He’s not here. He left you, hurting. He hasn’t called or even let you know that he’s okay. I’m here. I came here for you.”

His words almost shock me. We’re friends, that’s what friends do: they do things for one another. I can’t speak, I can’t move, I can’t process what he’s saying.

“Let her go,” a husky voice drawls from behind him.

Jeff takes a long breath and releases me. He turns around to face Striker. “Why don’t you just go back to wherever you’ve been all day?” He turns back to me and reaches for my hand.

“You fucking touch her again and you won’t have a hand.” Striker quickly walks up and takes the hand Jeff was reaching for.

He doesn’t look at me yet, he’s too busy staring Jeff down.

Jeff’s eyes flash from me to Striker. A cocky grin covers his face before he rubs his jaw, mulling it over. “Fine.” He holds his hands in the air. “This is what you want, Alex?” He backsteps. “You want this worthless asshole? Knock yourself out, but I won’t be around to watch it.” He turns and walks toward his car in the parking lot.

Striker and I stand, motionless, until Jeff’s headlights fade away into the night.

Striker doesn’t say a word. He just pulls me into the parking lot, weaving through the rows of fancy cars.

When we reach his truck, he opens the passenger side door and waits, still not looking at me.

I take a long breath, but climb into my seat. He closes the door behind me hard and walks around to the driver’s seat, then starts the truck and drives back to where we were last night. Our spot. Well, technically not only our spot, since every horny teenager has come here at one time or another.

It’s a romantic spot, overlooking the lake. We may even be in the exact same spot where we had our first kiss before letting Barney’s brand new police cruiser roll into the water. The memory brings a faint smile to my lips.

“How could you?” His voice is pained and raw, as if he’s done nothing but cry or scream for hours.

I tear my eyes away from the water and look at the pained expression covering his face. His brows are pulled together, causing wrinkles to form around his bloodshot eyes. He’s sitting up straight as a statue, his back and shoulders are tense and hard as stone.

---