Page 88 of Bull Rush

“I wanted to protect you. I didn’t want you to have to be involved in all of this. I was just doing what I had to do.”

It hits me like a ton of bricks then. We didn’t meet by accident. He didn’t really think it was love at first sight. I was a mark. This whole time I’ve been nothing but a mark to him—a way for him to get something else he wanted.

“You used me. I was just a pawn to you. You moved in here. You charmed me and told me you loved me. You asked me to marry you!” I yell because I can’t control my temper anymore. If I was still wearing my ring, I’d throw it at him. I have no idea who Curtis really is or how he might retaliate if I do something he doesn’t like. I might not be anything but a speed bump in his way at this point. The thought has me calculating where all the knives are in the kitchen and how quickly I can get to them if I need one.

“I admit that when we met, it was part of a plan. I was hoping to get you to like me. I did and said things I thought would help that along. I admit that. It was wrong. I was wrong. But something changed over time. I fell in love with you—for real. You’re beautiful and smart and everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“Don’t even start with that bullshit. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care what you want.”

“I mean it. I wish you could see into my heart. I wish you could see the truth. How much I love you and want to marry you.”

“Don’t talk to me about truth. You’re a liar, Curtis. Fromthe very beginning, you lied, and anything that comes out of a lie that big…” I shake my head, holding back tears that I was just a fool. “None of it is real. Not the moments we had together. Not the love. And most definitely not the engagement.”

“I’m risking everything telling you this. I could be killed for just admitting any of this to you. If that’s not love, what is?” He grabs my arm and squeezes when I try to wrench it away.

“Hubris? Greed? I don’t know what you call it. But you’re not in love with me. You wouldn’t have treated me like this, lied to me over and over again if you did.”

“I fucking love you. Don’t tell me I don’t.” His tone is more ominous now, and I can tell we’re wading into a side of his personality I haven’t met yet.

This isn’t the sweet guy I thought I knew. The one who helped me haul hay around the ranch, sat on the porch talking to me for hours while we drank lemonade, and volunteered at the local food bank with me on the holidays—he’s gone. He never existed in the first place. Everything I ever knew about him is flashing by like a movie I dreamed up and, somehow, only managed to ever see the projection rather than the real man behind it all.

“Curtis, you need to let go of me.” I try to say it calmly, but the way his fingers dig in hurts like hell.

“It’s not safe for you here. You’re leaving with me before she changes her mind. If I have to make you, I will. You’ll see that I’m doing this for you.” Curtis drags me forward by the arm, even as I try to fight him. He’s not that much bigger than me, only a few inches and a couple of dozen pounds, but the shock of it has me off-kilter, and I stumble forward to my knees when I try to resist him.

“Get up! We don’t have time for this!” Curtis yells, jerkingmy arm. The motion tears at my shoulder, sending searing pain through the joint, and I yelp from the pain.

I hear the slam of a screen door and then the sound of something smashing to the ground as I try to tear myself free from Curtis’s grip. I look up, and it’s Ramsey, the box of bakery goods and coffees from Marlowe’s that he was holding are scattered across the floor. The coffee streams across the floorboards and soaks the old blue rag rug that belonged to his mother.

“Let go of my wife, or I will smear your fucking brains on the wall,” Ramsey threatens. He barely raises his voice, and he’s across the room in a few quick strides. Curtis releases me like I’m on fire and tries to step backward, tripping over the baseboard and stumbling backward as he tries to regain his balance.

“Are you fucking stupid, or do you have a death wish?” Ramsey roars, and I realize if I don’t intervene, this is going to get ugly fast. I rub my arm, trying to soothe some of the pain in my wrist, and slowly rotate my shoulder as I stand up. I need to shake this off and try to get Ramsey to see that I’m okay.

“Your wife.” Curtis’s laugh sounds maniacal. “She’s not your wife. She’s my fiancée, and she’s leaving here with me.”

“I’m not leaving with you, Curtis. I told you. Whatever we had, it’s over,” I repeat myself, praying it’ll get into his head before Ramsey has a chance to do worse to him. I reach for my husband, brushing my fingers over his forearm to try to soothe him. “Ramsey, it’s fine. Look at me, please. I’m fine.”

He glances down at me, but he’s not satisfied, the red marks on my arm still too bright for his liking.

“No. He doesn’t fucking touch you.” Ramsey’s eyes shift from the marks on my wrist to the man who caused them. He’s on Curtis a moment later, with two handfuls of his shirt as he drives him back into the wall. He slams him so hard, Curtis has the wind knocked out of him, and he gasps for air. Ramsey seizes on the chance to grab his throat and squeezes.

“Fuck you,” Curtis chokes out, trying to punch and kick but failing with each desperate try.

“Oh, I’m gonna fuck you up for sure.” Ramsey’s threatening smile flashes over his face as he studies the way Curtis’s goes red.

I’m not above wanting revenge, wanting to see Curtis suffer for all the hurt and betrayal. I’m so furious that I’m imagining doing it myself, and I know my husband can mete it out on my behalf with twice the violence I could muster. But I love Ramsey far too much to want to see him back in prison, and nothing is worth losing him again. Not when I finally have him back.

“Ramsey, please,” I plead softly, hoping I can lower the temperature of the room.

“Nah, sugar. This one’s been a long time coming. He needs to know exactly where he stands. We need to put him in his place.” Ramsey’s face twists as he looks over Curtis. “You lying piece of shit. You thought you could just sneak into her life and take what you wanted. That you wouldn’t pay for that? You picked the wrong one for those games.”

“You’re just mad…” Curtis sputters and tries for another breath, practically squeaking out the next words. “That she loved me more. That I fucked her better.”

I’m starting to question whether Curtis’s self-preservation instinct is missing.

“Loved you more…Fucked her…” Ramsey repeats his words, and they dissolve into diabolic laughter as he shakes his head, but then his grin fades, and his eyes narrow. “Let’s see about that.”

FORTY-THREE

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