22
“Okay, Ms. Hutton, I will call you and let you know when the court date will be set,” Mr. Bentley tells me, glancing over everything he just wrote down. He’s a good-looking man, but more important, he knows his way around the law.
“Thanks so much for fitting me in,” I tell him. “I know how busy you are.”
“No problem. I don’t want these guys to get away with this, and Tim Derek has been on a power trip for the last few years, if you ask me. It’s about time someone decided to stand up to him,” he says, placing some money on the table for our coffees before I’m able to.
“Don’t be silly, I can pa—”
He doesn’t even let me get the word out. “Do I look like a man who lets a woman pay, Ms. Hutton?”
I sigh, unimpressed. “No, I guess not.”
He grins, amused. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”
As soon as we leave the café, I hear the rumble of motorcycles. Assuming it’s random people, I quickly glance their way but soon realize it’s Knuckles, Ace, and Rogue, all of them stopped at the traffic light. Yeah, I’d recognize both his form and his bike anywhere. And I’m walking down the street with Jaxon Bentley.
Shit.
Actually, you know what? Maybe this is a good thing. Let him see me with a good-looking, successful man in an expensive suit. I hope the jealousy burns his sharp tongue.
We stop at my car and Jaxon shakes my hand. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Great, thanks again,” I tell him, waving ’bye and getting into my car. I don’t look in their direction again, but I hear their bikes speed off, so I know they’ve left. When I pull up at my house though, there he is, waiting for me. Did he ride straight here after he saw me? What the hell?
“What are you doing here?” I ask as soon as I’m out of the car. “Pretty sure I told you not to come here again, but that’s right, you don’t listen, do you?”
“Who did you have lunch with?” he barks, storming toward me. “We have one fight and you’re already out with some other guy? What the fuck, Celina?”
“One fight, is that what we had? I believe for a fight to take place, two people need to have their say. You said what you had to, then you left. That’s what I call a breakup. Is it still called that when you’ve only just met? Let’s call it a lack of judgment. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a busy day ahead of me. Good day,” I say, rushing to my front door.
I have bigger problems right now than Jack motherfucking Chester. I need to find a job so I can pay my mortgage and do other things, like eat. I have some savings, but it won’t last long. Money just seems to fly, and everything adds up.
The tightness in my chest that he left simply fuels me.
“Don’t walk away from me, Celina,” he calls out, and I can hear the agitation in his tone. Does he really think I’d be with another man so soon? I never picked up on the fact that he might have some trust issues, but maybe I should have. There has to be a reason we fit so well together, and maybe it’s because we saw some of ourselves in each other.
“You already did that, Knuckles,” I reply, going inside and locking the door behind me.
And when he knocks, I don’t open the door.
He only came here today because he saw me with Jaxon. If he wanted to make up, he would have tried harder, and been charming and regretful, instead of accusatory and mean, and he would have said what he needed to.
But he didn’t.
So you know what? Fuck him.
Sure, I could have not closed the door on him, but he could have fought a little harder too.
I apply for four jobs, then take my dogs for a long walk to try to clear my head.
I feel like there’s something missing now, and I hate that I gave him so much so soon, that I allowed myself to feel something for a man I just met. Instalove is real, the connection is all too real, but none of that dictates if the relationship is going to last.
In the dating world nowadays, the person who gets attached the most loses.
And I fucking lost everything.
After doing freelance work for a few weeks, I get another offer, this one writing an article on a new cruise ship. I take it up in an instant. Not only do I get to go away on a short vacation, I get paid to do it, and it could even open more job opportunities for me. Maybe I could become a travel blogger and get paid to travel or something like that. Excitement fills me at the prospect. Maybe this is exactly what I need to clear my head. There’s a small part of me that doesn’t want to go anywhere with how things are right now, but I’m not going to turn down this opportunity, especially with my current employment situation. Or unemployment as it is.
Erin tells me she will stay at my house while I’m gone and look after my dogs. I’m so thankful for her, because otherwise I would have had to put them into kennels, and I wouldn’t have been able to really enjoy myself.
I pack my suitcase in a day, eager to leave, taking my laptop with me so I can apply for more jobs or freelance work if anything else comes up. I know that I’m either going to have to freelance full time or work at a smaller newspaper, and I’m okay with both options. Whatever new job I get, I can do it with my pride intact, but if I went back to my old job, I wouldn’t have that. As always, my pride wins. I’m a qualified woman, and although I’m guessing I won’t be getting a good reference from Tim, my work and my position speak for themselves.
We need to talk.
I delete Knuckles’s message, because no, we don’t need to talk. The time for talking is over. I know that Erin would have told him my side of the story by now, so he knows the truth, and I hope he feels bad for not letting me explain. If it’s the guilt he feels because he put the club under the spotlight, well I kind of understand that. If he hadn’t gotten involved with me none of this would have happened. I get that. Even though it wasn’t my doing, I’m still the reason this happened.
Erin had asked me who the man was that I was with, so I know the gossip had reached the clubhouse, and when I told her it was my lawyer she lost it laughing and told me that it was brilliant because Knuckles was losing his shit, and he kind of deserves that after being a dick to me.
I say ’bye to my dogs and leave, knowing Erin will be here later using the spare key.
Time for a change of scenery.
“What’s the point of being on a cruise if you’re going to sit alone the entire time?” Tayte, a handsome African American man, asks as he drops into the seat next to me. He introduced himself to me last night, and he’s a good-looking, successful, and well-dressed man, but my mind is elsewhere. I thought escape was the answer, but as I stare at the beautiful crystal-clear ocean, I miss my dogs, my friends, and of course I miss Knuckles. I can’t help but think how much fun he would have made this cruise, saying all kinds of inappropriate shit, laughing at everything, and probably trying to fuck me every chance he could get.
“I’m here for work, not for play,” I tell him, forcing a smile. “So that’s what I’ve been doing. Working.”
He looks down at my laptop. “And how’s the writing going anyway? The food is good, I feel like that definitely deserves a mention.”
I nod, agreeing with him. “Don’t worry, the food made the first paragraph.”
“Good,” he replies quickly, resting his arm behind me. “But you know what they say about all work and no play. Why don’t you let me buy you a drink?”
“Oh . . . ummm . . .” I’m trying to think of an excuse, but then something awful happens. I start to feel a little nauseous, and I try to get Tayte to move out of the booth so I can leave, his body cutting off my escape, but he doesn’t get the picture.
“Please move,” I tell him, pushing at his arm.
He finally does and I run to the bathroom, just making it in time, throwing up into the toilet. Why does life always throw shit at me when I’m down? I really don’t need to be getting sick right now, especially while I’m on this cruise where I’m around people 24-7 with no escape. I rush back to my room and climb into bed. I’ve had my phone off since I got here, but I decide to turn it on and face reality.
When it’s on though, no messages come through. Just a picture Erin sent me of her with the dogs, Kobe biting her pant leg, and a missed call from my mom. If I was being honest, I thought Knuckles would keep trying to contact me, but I guess he’s given up too. I shouldn’t be surprised. I did tell him I didn’t want to see him again.
I once read somewhere that the right man will fight for you.
But I guess he’s done fighting.
Suddenly feeling sick again, I run to the bathroom.
Tears drop down my cheeks, like they always do whenever I throw up. I hate it.
How much longer am I stuck on this ship again?