Gunnar A Motorcycle Club Romance - Nina Levine Page 0,78
you’re defending her. She showed you the whore she is when she left you and married Joe Hearst.”
My fist is in his face before my brain catches up. He stumbles back before coming at me with his own fist. I block it before it connects with my face and hold it as I say, “I’m gonna walk the fuck out of here now before I do something I’ll regret.” I shove his hand away. “But if you ever fucking say something like that to me again, I won’t hold myself back again. And trust me, Dad, you might think you didn’t turn me into a real fucking man, but I sure as fuck fight like a motherfucker.There won’t be much left of you if I get my way.”
I stalk out of the house, regretting the fact I let him off the fucking hook. I did that for my mother. Next time, all fucking bets are off.
By the time I get home, I’m worked up over both of them. Mum’s news today has rattled me while Dad has angered me.
I reach for the bottle of rum in my kitchen and pour myself a drink. Throwing it down my throat, I drink it all in two gulps. I pour another, and another. I’m a quarter of the way through the bottle when I place my hands on the kitchen counter and drop my head. Squeezing my eyes closed, I suck in some deep breaths.
She’s not going to fucking die.
I won’t fucking let her.
Fuck.
I push off from the counter and stride out to my garage. Ripping my shirt off, I punch the punching bag I’ve got set up in here.
Again and again.
Over and over until I can’t fucking breathe.
It was light outside when I started; it’s now dark.
And I don’t feel any fucking better.
I can’t think straight. I can’t even begin to process one thought, let alone all of them.
I go back into the kitchen and pour another drink. It’s sliding down my throat when I know what I fucking need. And fuck if I’m making shit happen before stopping to think it fucking through.
27
Chelsea
Mason: I need you.
I stare at my phone, re-reading Mason’s message over and over.
He has never sent me a message like this, so I know it’s big, whatever’s causing him to tell me he needs me.
Me: Where are you?
Mason: At home.
Me: I’m on my way.
I take a moment to steady my thoughts.
He was so angry with me this morning that I wasn’t sure when I’d see or hear from him again. I’ve spent today wondering if last night would be our last time together. I know it should be just as much as I know I’m not ready for that. We’re in a cycle now, and I don’t know how we’re going to get ourselves out of it.
I grab my keys, purse, and phone, and head out to my car to drive to Mason’s place. I’m almost there when a call comes through from Joe. I want to ignore it, but I know he’ll keep calling until I answer.
“Hi,” I say. “What’s up?” He’s not the kind of husband who calls me each night he’s away to see how my day was. He only calls when he wants to tell me to do something.
“I need you to go into my study and locate some paperwork and email me a copy.”
Shit. “I’m not at home, Joe.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m out at dinner.”
“Who with?”
“Alexa.”
He’s silent for a beat. “How long until you’ll be home?”
“I don’t know. We’ve just sat down.”
“Chelsea, your job is to be by my side in everything I do. I need this paperwork.” He’s annoyed, that’s clear in his tone. But fuck him. My job isn’t to sit around and wait for orders.
“It’s going to have to wait. I’m not going home yet.” I’m not letting the man I actually love down. Not tonight when he needs me.
“Let me know when you’re home.” He ends the call without another word, and I think about how much I truly despise him and how I really need to figure out his damn computer password. I tried again today, still with no luck. I’m going to dedicate hours to the task tomorrow before he comes home in the afternoon.
I arrive at Mason’s house five minutes later, the familiarity of it rolling through me as I walk up the five stairs to his front veranda.
I count each step, taking them slowly, my heart beating faster with each one.