Page 103 of Bull Rush

“I have to take care of something…” I rifle through my purse, extracting the switchblade I keep there in case of emergencies and pull it out.

“Um!” Marlowe lets out a little yelp of worry. “What are you doing?”

I slam the blade of the knife into one of Ramsey’s tires.

“Making sure he can’t get away. Obviously.” I walk to the back side of the truck and stab another one.

“Hey!” There’s a loud shout from the other side of the barn, and I hear footsteps across the gravel as I go for the third tire. I look up, and it’s my six-foot-four brother’s frame hovering overme and keeping me from the next tire. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Hazel?”

“Cade! Get out of my way. I’m busy!”

“Doing what? Making us pay for another set of tires?” His brow sinks into a frown.

“Haze. Please… inside! You have a mission to carry out inside, remember?” Marlowe sneaks her arm around mine and starts to tug me in that direction. Cade goes for the knife in my hand, and I jerk it back. His eyes go wide.

“Hey!” I hold the blade up in the air. “Don’t start with me. My house. My rules. If I want to stab truck tires, you just mind your own business.”

“How many has she had?” Cade looks past me to Marlowe.

“Three, but Dakota was watering them down. She’s more emotional than drunk right now,” Marlowe answers like I’m not even here.

“She watered them all down? That hussy!” I complain, not that anyone cares how I’ve been wronged in this.

“What’s wrong?” Cade looks at me for a moment but then back to Marlowe, and I frown at the way the two of them are communicating past me.

“There was a little mishap with some paperwork, and Ramsey might be leaving,” Marlowe answers.

“Oh fuck…” Cade groans.

“I’m fixing it!” I argue. “Hence taking away his getaway vehicle.”

Cade takes my other arm, and between the two of them, I’m corralled away from the car, stripped of my weapon of choice, and hustled in the door.

“Go fix it.” Marlowe motions for me to hurry off, and I glare at her but thank her anyway for getting me home. “Of course. Now go get your man.”

“I was gonna go in and get some food,” Cade mumbles.

“I wouldn’t recommend it. I think the two of them are about to tear the house apart one way or another,” Marlowe muses as I pull off my shoes.

“I can still hear you,” I mutter through the screen door, but they ignore me.

“Would you mind running me up to the Snack Stop for a slice of pizza? My friend’s got my car tonight on a date, and since Haze has decided to take out the one car that I have keys to…”

“Sure. I’ve got some leftover sandwiches at the bakery, though, if you want?” Marlowe’s voice grows softer as they walk away.

I shake my head. Marlowe’s always talking someone into more food. Might as well be the bottomless pit that is my younger brother.

I get to the bottom of the stairs and stare up at the top floor. I can do this. Somehow, in fourteen steps, I was going to figure out the right words to get the love of my life to stay, even though I’d stupidly forced us into a divorce. I trudge up them, taking my time, and when I reach our door, I stare at it for a moment before I turn the knob.

I can do this. I’d beg if I have to. But when I open it… he’s gone. There’s no sign of him, and all of his things have been cleared off the dresser. I hurry into the bathroom and whirl around, checking the counter and then the shower. His razor and his body wash… all of it is gone. He’s left. During the short while I was gone at Dakota’s bar to try to figure out how to fix this, he already ran.

He was probably doing the same thing Curtis always did—driving up early to stay in the city so he didn’t have the long commute to the airport in the morning. One of his brother’s probably took him—and I’d fucked up the truck, so there was no chasing after him. Unless I could get Bo to take me. Except… Bowould probably take his side. Tell me to let the poor man go and live his life. Find a woman that doesn’t take him for granted.

I collapse in a heap on the rug in front of the tub, and the tears start to pour out. My lungs are racked with sobs as I try to pull in more air, and I can barely catch my breath. I can’t do this again. The last time, it felt like I was dying, but somewhere… some part of me thought there might still be hope. That maybe somehow, someday—maybe not until we were old and gray and twice divorced with grown kids of our own, we’d find each other again. That somehow, I’d get more time with him.

Then I had him—with plenty of time left, and I squandered it.

“Haze?” I hear the quick padding of feet across the carpet, and suddenly, he’s there. Standing in the doorway to our bathroom, shirtless in a set of Chaos sweats that leave nothing to the imagination. Like I conjured him to torture myself, except the disgruntled tone he has when he speaks wouldn’t be my first choice. “Fuck. I thought you’d gotten hurt or something. Are you okay?”

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