As everyone in the salon joked and laughed around her, Brea held in a sob.
Pierce didn’t want her anymore. Sure, he’d come up with an excuse, but the truth was he’d pushed her away. He’d lied. He had never loved her.
That reality pelted her brain in a litany through the long day of stilted smiles and prying clients.
It took all her will not to break down, but she refused to weep over a man who’d abruptly decided she wasn’t enough for him.
Still, she couldn’t stop turning their brief conversation over in her head.
If he no longer wanted or loved her, why had he rushed home to see her? And kissed her as if his life depended on it?
The man had always confused her.
As she swept the last of the hair from the floor and stored the broom, the chime on the empty salon’s front door rang. She turned, hoping to see a friendly face.
Cutter appeared around the privacy partition dividing the front desk from the clients. “Hey, Bre-bee.”
“You’re back!” She ran to him.
He opened his arms and hugged her tight. “You okay?”
She clung gratefully. He’d always been her lifeline. “Tell me what happened to you. Your client got kidnapped? And you got a concussion?” She skimmed her fingertips across his face. “That’s a nasty scrape on your cheek, but whatever gave you that bruise at your temple must have hurt like the dickens. And what about that long scratch on your chin?”
Cutter pulled back with a scowl. “I’ll heal. But it wasn’t my finest case. Thankfully, Jolie Quinn, my client, kept her head up. Her corporate security specialist, Heath, managed to save her. They both got out alive.”
“Oh, thank goodness everyone is all right.”
“I’m not going to lie. Wednesday was rough. I should have done better.”
She laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know you. I’m sure you did everything you could.”
“Except pee with my back against the wall,” he groused. “But how are you? Feeling any better?”
Brea glanced into the break room to make sure everyone had, in fact, left. Finding it empty, she returned to Cutter’s side with a frown. “Not so good. Lots of nausea and exhaustion.”
“Your text said your doctor appointment is Monday morning at eleven?”
She nodded. “Can you make it?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Thanks. And thanks for coming to see me. I could use a friend.” Tears filled her eyes.
So much for her vow not to cry. But at the thought of never seeing Pierce again, hot drops scalded her cheeks.
“Hey, Bre-Bee, shh… I know you’re worried. But don’t borrow trouble until you’ve seen the obstetrician and—”
“P-Pierce broke up with me this morning.”
“What?” His mouth pinched. His nostrils flared. His fists clenched. “Are you kidding me? You told him you were pregnant, and that motherfucker—”
“I didn’t get to tell him. I don’t know what happened…” She sniffled. “Before he left on a mission last Thursday, he told me he loved me. He asked me to move in with him. But when he showed up at my house this morning, he…”
She couldn’t finish that sentence without falling apart.
“Dumped you. What reason did he give?”
“He didn’t. He just said that something had come up and he couldn’t see me anymore. But he seemed impatient. Or nervous. I’m not sure. And he talked to me like…he was already half out the door.”
“Oh, Bre-bee.” He caressed her back and held her as the tears she didn’t want to shed fell freely. “I’m sorry.”
“You warned me.” She dragged in a deep breath and tried to stop blubbering. “B-but I’m so confused… When he told me he didn’t want me to move in anymore, I told him it was impossible anyway and tried to leave. Then he grabbed me and kissed me like he didn’t want to let me go.”
“Don’t look for logic where Walker is concerned. You gave yourself to him in good faith because you fell for him. He’s just an asshole who played you. I hate that. And I hate him.” He gritted his teeth. “But now, it’s over. You have to move on. I’ll kick his ass for you.”
“You can’t. That won’t solve anything. I just don’t know what I’m going to do if the doctor confirms I’m pregnant.”
“Well, Pierce wasn’t going to be much help as a father anyway, so don’t bother giving two shits about him.”
She couldn’t put this on his shoulders. “Cutter…”
“Fine.” He clenched his jaw, which told her he wanted to say something more but didn’t to keep the peace. “I won’t bad-mouth him anymore. But I’m right. He’s gone, and you’re better off. Don’t worry. You know I’ve always taken care of you.” He squeezed her shoulders. “I always will.”
One-Mile ambled around his house, shaking his goddamn head. Everywhere he looked, he saw Brea. Clutching her cookies in his foyer. Bending over his pool table. Undressing in his dining room. Spreading her naked body across his bed.
And now she was gone—he feared for good.
Goddamn it, he felt like he’d taken a dull knife, jabbed it into his chest, and fucking gutted himself.
You always suspected you were all wrong for her. Good job proving it.
“Fuck off,” he snarled at the voice in his head.
He glanced at the wall clock. A little after six. After driving all night, he should have been starving and exhausted. He should have consumed half his refrigerator and crashed until dusk. But no. He’d choked down an egg and a few crackers, taken a scalding shower, then tossed and turned in his pristinely made bed for a few hours.
Sleep hadn’t come, not with his head turning and his guts rolling.
He opted for whiskey instead.
Bottle in hand, he screwed off the cap, planted himself in front of his massive-ass TV, and flipped through the college football games. But he didn’t give a shit who won or lost.
Hell, he wasn’t sure he’d ever really give a shit about anything again except losing Brea.
On that cheerful note, he chugged a good quarter of the bottle in one long swallow. If he was going to get completely trashed, why wait?
But as he lifted the bottle to his lips again, someone began pounding on his door.
His money was on Cutter.
By now Brea had probably told her daddy-approved boyfriend that he’d been an absolute asswipe to her. Cutter would come in, full of vitriol and swinging fists.
One-Mile welcomed it, and Cutter wouldn’t hold back. With physical pain to focus on, maybe One-Mile could forget how much his breaking heart fucking hurt.
With a sigh, he lunged to his feet and headed toward the insistent knocking. “I know you came to beat the shit out of me. Don’t say anything. Just do it, okay?” He wrenched the door open and reared back. “You’re not Bryant.”
Instead, all three of his bosses stood on his porch, looking somewhere between disgusted and pissed.
Clearly, this wasn’t a social call.
Fuck.
“None of us is Bryant,” Hunter drawled. “But I’ll be more than happy to take you up on your invitation because you obviously need an ass kicking. Are you out of your fucking mind?”