Easton didn’t hesitate. He dove for his clothing, pulling on his pants, stepping into one shoe, before he again, glanced at me, the gun, and then did a half limping-running gait toward the door, dropping his shirt, scooping it up, and then practically throwing himself out of the room as if he expected a bullet to slam into the back of his skull at any moment.
He thudded down the stairs and seconds later the front door slammed.
I’d been in quiet situations before. Hell, I’d spent several hours in my brother’s company, helping with some project or another, the brother who couldn’t speak a word. But I’d never, in all my days, experienced a quiet quite like that one.
“Say something,” she finally squeaked.
“I don’t think I’m the one who should be expected to speak right now.”
Her shoulders dropped. “I’m so sorry, Trav.”
“Why?” I asked dully, the gun that I’d almost used to kill my girlfriend’s lover now held slack at my side.
Phoebe came to her knees, the sheet dropping away as she moved toward me. “Please forgive me,” she pleaded.
I looked away. I didn’t want to see her nudity. It felt obscene after what I’d just witnessed.
She sank down, pulling the sheet over her breasts again as though she’d read my mind. “It’s just . . . I love you. I really do.” Her shoulders lowered. “I just . . . we went to the bar to get a few drinks after the tournament, and I met him there and he was so into me. The way he stared . . . it made me wonder if you really love me at all.” She looked miserable, and despite myself, a twinge of sympathy twisted my stomach. I pushed it down violently.
My gaze caught on a flyer on the floor from the bar they must have been at. It was an ad for dollar drinks.
“You met him at a bar a few hours ago?” Somehow that made it worse. Why did it make it worse? Could it get worse? My girlfriend had gone home with a stranger after a few hours of discounted day drinking.
I thought back to what I’d heard her screaming as the guy pounded into her—the woman I’d considered having children with less than thirty minutes before for Christ’s sake: You’re the best! The best! And damn if I’d willingly be second best to anyone again, especially some young Romeo likely just passing through town, spending a few bucks—literally—and spewing a couple sweet, drunken words to a girl he’d met in a bar.
“I didn’t realize you were that cheap,” I said. Her expression crumbled and she put her hands over her face. I turned, leaving her sex-scented room, walking numbly down the stairs and out the front door. The bouquet of flowers was still on the ground and I raised my leg and stamped on them hard, grinding the blossoms into the dirt.
It appeared Bree wouldn’t need to rename her dog after all.
CHAPTER THREE
Travis
My jaw felt sore from keeping it permanently clenched for the past three days. Every time I relaxed it, the vision of the young naked dude pounding into my girlfriend filled my mind and I practically bit my own tongue.
A car drove by in the opposite direction, nearly sideswiping me when it veered into my lane. “Holy shit!” I yelled, barely avoiding it, my tires skidding in the roadside gravel. I pulled a quick U-turn, flicking on my lights and siren, and sped to catch up to the drunk tourist driving the battered-looking Honda Accord with an out-of-state license plate.
The tan car came to a slow, idling stop on the shoulder of the road that led from downtown Pelion to the turnoff to Calliope. The heat of the day had mostly burned off, and as I approached the vehicle, a soft breeze lifted my hair and set it down gently. It was a strange feeling . . . almost . . . comforting. I relaxed my jaw, a glare off her vehicle casting my gaze downward, over the bumper stickers. One featured a group of cartoon farm animals and ridiculously stated, Friends Not Food, and the other proclaimed, You’re Never too Old to Play in the Dirt, whatever that meant. The back windows were completely steamed up and the driver’s window was already down. Either the occupant didn’t have AC, or was hoping the breeze in his or her face would help sober them up. It was one