Page 22 of Crazy In Love
“It’snotlogical because I didn’t ask for help! Now he’s gonna act like I owe him a millionthank yousand my first-born son. Jesus.” I cast a fast glance around the shop to make sure no one needs me, then I grab my cell and stride around the desk. “Stay here and watch the place for me, okay?”
“You’re going to argue with him?”
“I’m going to take care of my own luggage. Stay here.”
He pulls out a book and flips it open to a page marked by a pen, and resting on his elbows, he goes to work solving a crime.
Good.
I turn on my heels and charge through the shop door, and since this town is smaller than a baby bird’s backside, and traffic is a yearly highlight—not a minute-by-minute inconvenience—I don’t even have to look beyond the closest parking slip to find my car.
“You don’t have to do that.” I stomp closer and wedge myself between the frame of my rental and his hand, so when he reaches for my case, I slap my palm to its shell exterior and harden my gaze. “I’ve got it.”
“Let it go.” He yanks on the handle, though he doesn’t useallof his strength. If he did, I suspect he could knock me clear into the street without even trying. “I’m doing it.”
“And I said I’ve got it.”
Irritated, he grabs my wrist and jerks me out of the way, sending me spinning without a word, which could be considered ballerina and cutesy, if not for the way my temper flares.
“Listen here, jackass!” I rush back in and hip-bump him aside. Or, well, I hip-bump him nowhere. But I try. “Don’t touch my things. Don’t look at me like I’m shit stuck to the bottom of your shoe. And stop acting like I’vedone something to deserve your shitty treatment. Existing doesn’t count, since I never even asked to be here.”
“Whatever you think I think of you, that’s on you.” He presses one hand to my chest, his fingers splayed wide and his long reach forcing me back. With the other, he tugs my smaller case free of the car and sets it on the ground. “In most circles, a man helping a woman with her luggage is cause for thanks. Nothing more, nothing less. Throwing a snit about it is honestly kinda weird.”
“Uh-huh.” I punch upwards and buckle his elbow. “In most circles, a woman visiting with her best friend, babysitting her kid, and helping her run her shop, is met with thanks and how-do-you-dos. Nothing more, nothing less. Hating my guts for something I literally haven’t done is honestly kinda weird.”
“You flatter yourself thinking I hate you.” Scowling, he rubs his elbow and watches while I get what I wanted—to pull my own suitcase out—so when the fifty-pound monstrosity drops to the ground and crushes my toe, his eyes glitter with arrogant amusement.
I heave fresh air, breathing through the pain that began at five o’clock this morning.Motherffffff!
“I don’t even know you,” he continues. “But it took all of five minutes to figure out that you can’t stand this town, you don’t want to be here, and you have no desire to be nice to any of the locals.”
“I’m a nice person!” Shouting. In the street.Super nice. “If people have a problem with me because I… sorry, let me check my notes:exist, then there’s not much I can do about that. This town isn’t intolerant ofme, Christian, it’s intolerant ofanyonewho isn’t a fifth-generation hillbilly with a small mind and a little bit of inbreeding.”
“Inbreeding?” He sets his hands on his hips. “But you’re the friendly one?”
“You’re being mean to me!”Good lord, just shut up already!“I’m here to see my friend. I’m on day two of forty-two, and if you tryreallyhard, you could probably go this whole time without seeing me at all. Soon enough, I’ll be on that plane, and you’ll get your little family back,all to yourself. Jesus.” I tear the handle up and drag the heavy suitcase from the road to the sidewalk. “Forty-two days, Christian. That’s all I get. Your inability to be a decent human being for six fucking weeks, when Alanaspecificallyasked me to be here, is ridiculous.”
She wants me to be nice to him. She wants to spare his feelings. But fuck him! Why doesn’t he getthe talkabout being nice to me?
Only one of us gets to be an active participant in Franky and the baby’s lives. The other will be on the other side of the country, right where Alana left us.
If I’m lucky, I might get text updates and photos whenever she thinks of me.
Somehow, Chris gets to be the uncle, the next-door neighbor, and co-owner in the gym with Tommy, but he’s convinced them all thatheneeds special treatment.
“She told me to be nice to you, you know that?” I meet his scorn-filled eyes and burn him with my ire. “She told me that you need gentle hands and sympathy because you’reoh-so-fragile. What you actually need is a lesson in boundaries. Stop pretending I’m your own personal villain when I’ve never done a damn thing to hurt you.”
Angry—at him, and at me, too, because I already broke my promise to Alana—I jerk my suitcase onto the sidewalk and stalk back to get the second, smaller case. My movements are jerky and uncoordinated, forcing the case off balance and stoking the flames of my temper.
“Maybe I deserve gentle hands, too,” I growl. “Maybe I’m sensitive, but not nearly as whiny about it as you are.” I get the second case onto the sidewalk and position them, one on each side of me, before drawing a deep breath and bringing my eyes up. “Myonlyconcern, from now until I’m on that plane heading east, is Alana, Franky, and the baby. My job, as Alana’s best friend, is to honor her wishes and make this time as stress-free as it can be. So I’m going to be around, and I’m going to do the things she asks of me. I will be in their lives, and even when I’m gone, I’llalwaysbe the one they needed when those Watkins boys were hateful and mean.”
“We didn’t know the truth of what happened!” He throws his hand up in frustration. “We thought she left for no reason. Or worse, that she took Tommy’s son and kept him away to be cruel. Or doubly worse,” he snarls. “That she cheated and had someone else’s baby and was too fucking scared to own up to it.”
“And all along, she was a victim of something incredibly horrible. And you and Tommy sure were comfortable hating her. Some folks might consider that a learning experience and a chance for personal growth. But nope, you’re out here embracing your hate like a good little small-town, small-minded douchebag.” I turn on my heel and tug my suitcases along, but then I stop again and toss a pithy sneer over my shoulder. “It’s telling, by the way, that you rate cheating as worse than the possibility of Tommy losing ten years with his own son. Neither is true, of course. But yourpriorities are clear. You value control over love. That’s not cute.” I bring my gaze back around and stride toward the shop door. I tear it open and make a hell of a ruckus, rolling the suitcases closer and stepping onto the threshold to bar the door from closing before I’m through.
Grumbling and scraping, dragging the stupid overweight cases through, I emerge on the other side and pretend not to see the dozen stares pointed back at me.
They don’t care about me, and they sure as shit don’t care to defend me to the asshole outside—why would they? They agree with him!
