Page 104 of Bad Luck Club

And maybe theyshouldbe, because he was so cold right now that his touch would spread frost rather than heat. He was looking at her as if she were absolutely nothing to him. Vomit on a shoe.

Dottie gave her a firm shake of her head, her lips pressed together, but it did nothing to soothe the hurt. Then they walked away, taking part of Blue’s heart with her.

But there was plenty left, she found, to turn toward Remy. To grab the glass sitting on the table in front of him, and to throw the caramel-colored contents in his face. While he wouldn’t hesitate to have Lee arrested, he wasn’t the kind of man who would want to make headlines over his ex-wife’s arrest—especially not if the person she’d “assaulted” was him. A few gasps rose up, Blue feeling eyes on her in a way that would normally make her squirm, but the rage was too hot, the heartbreak too all-consuming for her to care. The muscleman took a step toward them, but Remy waved him away.

Remy watched her with a flat expression, maybe a curl of amusement to his lip. It was clear he thought he’d won.

“Don’t you ever,ever, insert yourself into my life again. I don’t want you to talk to me, to my sister, to my father, to anyone connected to me in any way ever again.”

“You liked this one, huh?” he asked, something flickering in his eyes before it guttered out. “I’ve never seen you like this before. Can’t imagine why you’d get hung up on him. Not a bad salesman, but a pretty horrible judge of character.” There was that smirk again, made only slightly less offensive by the bourbon still dripping from his face. He had refused to raise a hand to swipe it away.

“It’s none of your goddamn business who I like or what I do,” she said, her voice low but feral, almost a growl. She’d never heard herself sound like this, and through the thicket of terrible, dark emotions, she felt the glimmer of something good. “Nothing to do with me hasanythingto do with you.”

“You will always be my business, Enid.” He lifted his brows. “Although I will admit you are a bit more…spirited than I remember you.”

“And you will never be anything but a mistake in my rearview mirror. If you ever try anything like this again, ever…if you ever dial my number, even by mistake, so help me God, I will get a lawyer and present them with evidence of every single time you have contacted me against my will, showered me with presents I don’t want, and attempted to manipulate my friends and family—because, yes, I have documented it all—and Iwillget a restraining order. Then I will call every single gossip website in Philadelphia to tell them my story. You may get every person who joins your company to sign an NDA, but you never askedmeto sign one.”

“You wouldn’t,” he scoffed, finally breaking and rubbing his jaw free of the dripping alcohol. “You hate being the center of negative attention. That hasn’t changed. That never will.”

“I might hate it, Remy,” she said, “but I don’t hate it anywhere near as much as I hateyou.” Then she stomped on his foot as hard as she could, grinding in the heel, and turned to leave as he groaned behind her.

It wasn’t until she was five blocks away, walking fast, that she let herself fall apart.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Dottie dragged him out of the bar to the curb, flagging down a cab with one hand while keeping the other firmly wrapped around his arm as though she worried he’d try to go back in and beat the shit out of Jeremy Rousseau.

Blue’s ex-husband.

He felt like he was going to vomit.

Why hadn’t she warned him? She’d just let him waltz into the interview blind. Had she assumed it wouldn’t be an issue, that he didn’t stand a chance at getting the job? Was that why she’d so readily agreed to consider moving to New York? Had the sweet smile she’d given him earlier, when she’d wished him luck, been as false as Victoria’s sweet nothings? Then he’d sent her that text saying it was nearly in the bag, and she’d realized he might actually get hired. So she’d showed up to stop him.

And then she’d stepped in between him and Remy toprotectthe bastard.

A sharp pain stabbed his heart, and he used his free hand to press the heel of his palm against his sternum, rubbing to ease the ache. To his surprise and embarrassment, a tiny sob erupted from his throat, a raw and broken sound.

Dottie turned to him in alarm as the cab pulled up to the curb. She opened the back door and gently tugged him inside, but he was barely aware of what she was doing. He had thought his entire world had fallen apart in December. He had thought he’d experienced the ultimate betrayal, but this…Blue…

Another sound broke free, even as he tried to choke it back.

Dottie got in next to him, her face etched with worry. She leaned forward, quietly giving an address to the driver, then sat back and took his hand in hers, linking their fingers.

Tears flooded his eyes as a memory of his mother holding his hand like this came rushing back. She’d lain in a hospital bed, her weary body emaciated from the chemo and the cancer, a bright scarf wrapped around her head. He hadn’t seen her in weeks, telling himself and her that he was too busy, but then Georgie had told him that she thought this might bethe end.

The end. As though his mother’s life were a book or a movie, and he was about to turn the last page or see the credits roll.

So he went to see her, on his own. Took the train to the city and then the subway to the hospital. He barely recognized her, but she smiled up at him, reaching out a hand and beckoning him forward.

Her appearance terrified him. She looked like she would break. She wasn’t the soft woman who had held him when he was small, kissing away boo-boos and soothing away lingering nightmares. Now his nightmare had come true—he was losing her, in a way he couldn’t fight—and he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to deal with it.

But he stepped forward and let her take his hand, even if it wasn’t the soft hand he remembered, the one that had wiped his tears and patted his back. Hands that had baked cookies and corrected homework. These were not his mother’s hands. And yet they were.

She patted the bed next to her, and he found himself climbing in beside her, this despite the fact that he was a teenager, and should be far too old to want to hug his mother. She released a contented sigh as she wrapped her fingers around his, and he started to sob, resting his cheek on her shoulder as panic ripped through him.

“It’s okay to cry, Lee,” she whispered. “Despite what your father says.”

He’d sobbed and sobbed as she comforted him, because while her hands were different and her shoulder less padded, she was still his mother.

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