Page 42 of Holding The Reins

“Never, ever talk about my father again.” I can feel tears stinging my eyes but I fiercely push them down. I need to remain strong here and I won’t give Andrew the satisfaction. “We’re done, Andrew. If I need a lawyer, I’ll get one but don’t call me or text me again. We can email correspondence to avoid arguments. We’ll sell the condo and go on our separate paths. If you don’t call a realtor in the next week, I will.”

I try to stand but he grabs my arm and I notice something in his eyes I’ve never seen before. Fear. He’s afraid. He treated me like dirt and used me for at least the last five years, but he is afraid for his own reputation so much that he’s willing to spend his life in a loveless marriage with me. Lucky for him, I’m smarter than he is.

“Let go of my arm.”

“Cecilia. Please…” he pleads. “Just give me another chance.”

“Andrew, that ship has long sailed,” I scoff and snatch my arm away, throwing a twenty-dollar bill on the table to tip the place. Hopefully, they won’t gossip too much about the scene we’re creating.

I turn on my heel and leave without another word but he rises and follows me.

I push through the doors into the misty July rain and wish I could’ve found a closer parking spot. I begin walking and checking for traffic as he trails behind me.

“You could’ve talked to me, you know, instead of just leaving. How was I supposed to know you were unhappy?”

I spin around to face him once I reach the other side of the street.

“So, I should’ve begged you to stop cheating on me? It’s my fault? Got it.” I tip my head back and actually laugh because he’s so pathetic I feel sorry for him.

“You’re so self-centered, Andrew. I never cheated on you. I was always faithful. You simply didn’t deserve me.”

I turn to leave but once again he grabs my arm, only this time he pulls me toward him, hard.

“Cecilia, you’re not leaving me in the middle of the fucking road. You’re coming home and we’re going to work this out. We owe this relationship that. I’ll never give up on you,” he yells.

I open my mouth to protest that he’s squeezing my arm too tight when air whooshes by me, and before I know what’s even happening, there’s an eerie cracking sound and Andrew is on his ass on the sidewalk.

“Touch her again and I’ll fucking bury you.”

Nash’s voice sends a shiver up my spine. I turn to see where he came from and recognize Shelby Christie, my former cheer coach standing under Dolcetto’s awning, her mouth hanging open with shock at what just happened.

I realize that they must have been on a date as I see Andrew try to stand and Nash grip his perfectly pressed shirt collar, like he’s about to hit him again.

“Nash!” I yell.

He turns to face me and the fury I see behind his eyes startles me.

“He cannot put his hands on you, CeCe.”

“Who the fuck are you? This is between me and my fiancée,” Andrew whines, holding a hanky to his profusely bleeding nose.

I smirk from behind Nash. Andrew with a broken nose in court next week is a funny thought to me.

“Who the fuck am I?” Nash’s voice is calm but so deep and scary I wouldn’t want to be Andrew. He clips Andrew on the chin again, hard, as he reels backward with Nash still firmly gripping his shirt, holding him up.

“Who the fuck am I?” he repeats, louder this time.

“I’m Nash fucking Carter and I’m about to spill every one of your teeth onto this sidewalk if you call CeCe your fiancée again.” He’s holding Andrew so tightly by the collar, he’s cutting off his air supply. “She isn’t anyone’s fiancée, and she was clearly done talking to you. So, Drew, take a look at my face. Memorize it. There will never be a day you see CeCe without me beside her again. Now, if you want to walk away in one piece tonight, you’re going to apologize.”

Goddamn. Yes, Mr. Carter.

This time, Andrew is smart enough to know now that Nash isn’t messing around.

“I’m sorry, CeCe. I shouldn’t have… grabbed you,” he bites out, panicked.

Nash looks at me, almost like he’s asking for my approval. I nod once and Nash lets go, dropping Andrew to his ass again. Andrew tries to stand but looks woozy.

“Good, dipshit. Now apologize for not knowing how to treat a woman. For not understanding what you had when you had it,” he barks out. Andrew looks up at him, probably wondering how Nash knows so much about our relationship.

---