Aced

“I CAN’T WAIT TO GET my hands on this little guy.” Haddie rubs her hands together as she leans forward and hugs me distractedly, already reaching out to grab Ace from me.

“Thanks for getting here so quickly. I didn’t know who else to call.” Who Rylee wouldn’t freak out over, I add silently, because she sure as fuck is going to go ballistic when she wakes up to find Haddie here.

“Anytime. Besides I should be thanking you,” she says, lacing kisses on Ace’s head. “Ry’s been so set on getting his routine down before having visitors that I thought I’d never get to see him.”

“About that . . .” I say, taking a deep breath, knowing I’m crossing some kind of marital boundary I shouldn’t be, but am past caring. “She’s struggling a bit. Baby blues.” I nod my head to reinforce my words, to try and relay the rest of what Rylee has forbid me to say. Haddie narrows her eyes at me.

“Oh, that’s normal. Everyone I know goes through it a bit. No worries, Donavan, I’ll cheer her up,” she says with a wink.

I know I need to move. Get to Kelly ASAP but fuck is it hard to leave Ry when she’s like this. This could go so wrong on so many fronts. Ry is going to kill me. She’s not going to be able to hide from Haddie what’s going on. And a tiny little piece of me feels relieved because I don’t know what to do anymore.

I’m lost. Like on-a-deserted-island lost and don’t have a clue how to help her.

This could push her over the edge or help reel her back. I hope to hell it’s the latter.

“Now go. Get. I know you’re in a rush. I’ve got it covered here,” Haddie says, interrupting my thoughts.

“She’s napping upstairs. I didn’t tell her I was going.”

“GO! I’ve got it under control. You’re starting to eat into my auntie and Ace time.” She starts to shut the front door, and I walk toward the car where Sammy is waiting in the passenger seat when she calls to me. “Hey, Colton?”

I turn, my hand resting with the car door handle, anticipation humming in my blood. “Yeah?”

“Kick Eddie extra hard in the nuts for me, will ya? He deserves it for fucking with my bestie.”

“Only if he’s still standing when I’m done with him.” I slide into the driver’s seat. Sammy’s chuckle fills the car, and my mind races.

“We’re good to go?” I ask, my eyes flickering back and forth from Kelly to Sammy to make sure we’re all on the same page.

“Yep. Dean’s got him inside. Everything else is in place.” Our eyes meet, his unspoken warning I don’t want to see is loud and fucking clear within them: cool my jets, my temper, and let the plan work.

And as much as I know he’s right, I turn my back to him and start up the walk without acknowledging I saw it.

No one’s going to tell me how to run my own show. I know the fallout for my actions. They’re clear as fucking day. But I also know Eddie’s fucked with my wife and my son, and if a man doesn’t stand up for his family, he shouldn’t be standing at all.

Going to jail isn’t an option. And not because I care about having a record or the media frenzy it would cause. I just can’t do that to Ry with how she is or to Ace with how little and helpless he is. But it sure as fuck doesn’t mean I’ll toe the line.

Bring it, fucker. I’m ready for you. Pumped and primed. Push my buttons. Pretty please.

Without knocking, I open the door to the rundown apartment. Kelly’s cohort, Dean, is standing just inside. Our eyes meet. A mutual understanding is passed between us—my thanks, his take your time—before he steps out without another sound.

I take three steps in. I don’t hear the door shut. I don’t notice that Sammy’s back is pressed against it, because my eyes are focused on the man sitting on the ripped couch in front of me: elbows on knees, head hanging down, leg anxiously jogging up and down.

Rage like I’ve felt very few times in my life roars through me. A fucking freight train of fury I need to keep on track before I let it derail.

I clear my throat. When Eddie realizes someone else is in the apartment, he whips his head up with eyes wide as saucers and mouth open. He looks like shit. Good.

“What the . . .?” he asks at first, looking startled, eyes blinking as he shoves up from the couch to stare at me again. And then he belts out a long, low condescending laugh that does nothing but confuse me and piss me off further.

“Something funny?” I ask, fists clenched, curiosity piqued why this is so amusing to him.

“I should have known,” he says with a shake of his head, his body visibly relaxing.

Give me a reason, you fucker. Just one.

“Were you expecting somebody else?” I know my threat is nothing compared to the others he will face. That unexpectedly works in my favor.

“Yes. No.” That taunting smirk is back front and center. “Your pretty little wife, perhaps.”

Bingo.

I’m across the room in two seconds. Arm cocked. Fist flying. The give of flesh against my knuckles. The thud of bone connecting against bone. The crunch that is nowhere near satisfying enough after what he’s done to my family.

The sound of glass shattering as his arm hits the lamp and knocks it over breaks through my silent rage, brings me back to the here and now. Reminds me that I want some answers before I finish what he started.

I don’t worry about the neighbors hearing us and calling the cops. In places like this no one pays attention. They all keep their head down and stay in their own trouble. I should know. I grew up in a place just like this. No one came to the rescue of the little boy screaming in pain on the other side of the wall.

The thought fuels my anger. Adds strength to my resolve to not be that person. To not stoop to the level of the man in front of me.

But God, how I want to stoop.

“Look at me,” I yell. My voice fills the room. He lifts his head up from where he’s landed askew on the couch, a red welt swelling on his cheek. “Don’t talk about my wife, again. This is between you and me, you fucking bastard.”

That chuckle of his is louder, and it takes every ounce of restraint I have to not unleash the fury I feel.

Because I want what I came here for. Answers first. Vindication second. And, oh how sweet that last one will be. He doesn’t have a clue what’s about to hit him.

“You want to settle a score? Go right ahead. You think you scare me, Donavan? Think again. You. Can’t. Touch. Me. You’re such a pussy you have to bring your goddamn henchman over there,” he says, pointing to Sammy standing silently at the door, “to do your dirty work for you.”

“I think your black eye will prove I can do my own dirty work just fine.” I look over my shoulder and lift my chin to Sammy to tell him to leave. It’s better this way. No witnesses. No he said, she said. Just my word against Eddie’s. Kelly’s so damn convinced that Eddie’ll sue if I touch him anyway.

Oops. Guess I already broke that rule. My bad.

“Is everyone in your life that tight on your string? One pull on it and they dance?” He raises his eyebrows as his eyes follow Sammy out the door. I glare at him. Bide my time. He’s so fucking arrogant I can see him itching to gloat about how he pulled this all off.

“You don’t know shit about my life, Eddie.”

“I know I won’t dance. So how does it feel to pull a string and get back a big giant fuck you, huh?”

“Is that what this was all about? Proving you’re better than me?” I ask, feigning indifference when I’m anything but.

Take the bait, Eddie. Feed your ego. Prove. Me. Wrong.

He rises from the couch and steps toward me with eerie calm. “I am better than you,” he says as he steps right into my wheelhouse. Tempting me like never before. “And I’m not stupid either. Lift your shirt up. I bet your pansy ass is wearing a wire. Trying to hook me on something I didn’t do.”

Is he fucking crazy? Like I’d let the police on this little get together we’re having. Shit, he’s going to wish I went with a wiretap.

“Prison was that good to you, huh?” I taunt as I lift my shirt up and turn around for him to see I’m not wired. “You into guys now?

“Fuck you,” he spits.

“No thanks,” I say, taking a step closer. “I want nothing more from you than answers. Everything else you’ve got coming to you is of your own making.”

He quirks his head, arrogant smirk spreading wide. “Thanks to your son, nothing else is coming to me. Sold that picture of him to the tabloids.” He sneers. “Made a mint and paid off old debts. Thanks to Ace, I’m free and clear.”

Fucking pompous bastard. Joke’s on him though. That’s the only reason I’m not throwing another fist into his face.

“Bravo,” I say as I clap my hands slow and deliberately. His eyes narrow, his jaw clenches. Good. I’m pissing him off. “You could have made more money with the video though.” The lie flows off my tongue, but I have to force the words out. “Bet you didn’t think of that now, did you?”

There’s the hook, fucker. Take a big bite so I can set it.

“Prison has a way of putting things on hold.” He glares at me. “But it also allowed me a lot of time to plan, to figure out how to get the fucker back who put me there.”

“Get me back? For what? Because I didn’t let you waltz out of my office with the blueprints, sell them to someone else as your own, collect the royalties, and get away with it? Are you out of your fucking mind? Did you think I was going to let you take what was mine and use it?”

“Seems like I took what was yours and did it anyway.”

The quiet comment’s double meaning—the stolen blueprints and exposure of Rylee on the video—calls to me like a goddamn moth to a flame. This time I can’t resist.

He sees my punch coming and gets a quick one into my rib cage before my knuckles meet his jaw. His head snaps back. His body slams into the wall behind him. The sound of him grunting overrides my quick sting of pain from where he landed his.

My body vibrates with anger. Pure unfettered rage as I stare at the waste of space and talk myself out of finishing this right now. And of course because he’s a cocky fucker, when he lifts his head back up, that curl to his lips tests my restraint.

Jesus Christ. This is so much fucking harder than I thought it would be. To keep my shit together when all I want to do is show him the rage I feel. Throw punch after punch. Relieve the stress and pain he has caused us.

But that won’t solve anything.

“You’re a useless piece of shit. Deserve everything you get.”

“What I get? Like I said, Donavan. You can’t touch me. I did nothing illegal. The video wasn’t yours. I didn’t steal it. It was in a safety deposit box while I served my time. Shit, it gained in value.”

“Did that eat at you, Eddie?” I ask, stepping back into his personal space. “Taunt you every fucking day while you sat in a six-by-ten cell? You felt entitled to fuck with my family because you’re a useless piece of shit who can’t control his own gambling habits, so to save his own ass, has to rob Peter to pay Paul? It’s so much easier to place the blame somewhere else than realize you did this to yourself.” I poke my finger in his chest as I laugh under my breath. Taunt him. “Talk about being a pussy.”

Dangle the carrot.

“A pussy?” he asks, voice louder as he stands taller. Little-man complex front and center as he puffs his chest out. “You cost me everything!” His voice thunders into the empty apartment, spittle flying from his mouth, as he slowly becomes unhinged. “My wife. My kids. Everything!”

“Cheaters never prosper,” I say in a singsong voice. He starts to come after me, nostrils flared, fists clenched, but stops when I just raise my eyebrows at him. My empathy is nil. “You. Can’t. Touch. Me,” I whisper back to him in the same voice he used with me.

“Fuck you!” he screams, rage winding with each and every word. “You’re the one who caused all of this. Not me. You want to point a finger? Point it at yourself, you arrogant son of a bitch.”

“I caused this? You’re out of your goddamn mind!” Come at me. Please. Give me a fucking reason to go against my promise to myself. Motherfucker. My fists are clenched, my blood is on fire, and it is taking every ounce of restraint I have to not knock his teeth out. But I don’t. He’s baiting me. Doing a damn fine job of it. But a black eye is one thing. Knocking his teeth out is another.

But damn is it tempting.

His jaw clenches. Hands fist. His body physically bristles at my criticism. His ego so large he’s dying to correct me. “You’re such an arrogant asshole. I knew you wouldn’t part with your money. Even planted some seeds with the tabloids to put pressure on you. But fuck, you’re the goddamn golden boy so you figured you’d take the hit in stride. Get an ego boost from the attention it sure as fuck was going to get you. But not once did you think about that precious wife of yours, did you?” His words serve their purpose. Dig at me. Carve into the guilt. “Threw her to the goddamn wolves rather than pay me the money. You proved me right. You’re all about you and could give a fuck less about Rylee or her reputation—”

“Don’t you fucking say her name again,” I yell. I connect with him, forearm against his throat as I pin him against the wall behind him. And he doesn’t resist. Knows damn well he’s pushing my buttons and he’s having way too much fun doing it because he thinks I can’t touch him. His lack of reaction a non-verbal, fuck you.

“Why? Does it bug you, Donavan, that I called it right? That when I knew you weren’t going to pay, I chose to fuck your wife over anyway. Prove to her what a piece of shit her husband is. That he chose money over her?” I press my arm harder into him, needing to shut him up yet wanting the torture of hearing more. “How did it feel when she pushed away from you? When she blamed you for losing her job? I hoped it ripped you apart inside. Fucked with your head because it’s nowhere close to how I felt when you took my wife from me.”

“Go to hell,” I grit out, unable to move because I know if I do, I’m not going to be able to stop myself. My fury has a mind of its own and all it’s waiting for is any little thing to set it off. “I’m not playing into your mind games. Because you’re leaving out that you’re the one who fucked up. You were so goddamn thirsty for revenge that you forgot about the loan sharks waiting to crawl up your ass. You let your temper get the best of you, uploaded the video without even negotiating, and were shit out of luck because your bargaining chip just went out the goddamn window. You lost your money and knew the bill collectors were coming.” I let the smirk play the corners of my mouth as my fists beg to finish the talking for us.

“I get the last laugh though, don’t I?” he taunts in his calm, even voice despite the pressure on his chest. “That little video made you the ‘it couple’ for the media. Caused a frenzy. Frenzy means more money. Upped the price of the photo of your son to a pretty penny. Killed two birds with one stone: paid off my debts and got a final ‘fuck you’ in with your kid.” He leans his head forward as far as he can so his face is inches from mine. He whispers but I can hear it clear as fucking day. “You’re not such a badass when every man in America is watching that wife of yours come and fantasizing it was them with her, now are you?”

Restraint snapped.

Promise to myself reneged.

The fucker deserves it.

This one’s for Rylee

My fist flies. The impact is bittersweet as his head snaps to the side, blood spurting from his nose, a groan falling out as he brings his hands to his face and slides down the wall. I’m only allowing myself one.

Fuck it’s going to be hard to walk away. So I don’t. I step closer, rein in the fury and take the high road when all I want to do is crawl in the gutter with him. I reach out and yank his hair so his head snaps up to look at me.

“Don’t ever come near my family again.” My threat is plain as day. I let go of his hair, shoving his head back. “What is it they say about revenge? Before you try to get it, make sure to dig two graves?” I grate out, voice shaking, body amped up on adrenaline. “Maybe you should have taken the advice.” He looks up, confusion flickering in his eyes as to what I mean. His mind only focused on the grave he dug for me, and not the one he should have dug for himself.

Well, if he doesn’t get it now, he sure as fuck is going to understand in about two minutes.

“Fuck you,” he says as I walk toward the door.

I stop and hang my head down as a chuckle falls from my mouth that clearly says the same thing back to him. I let the silence eat up the room. Allow him to think this is all there is going to be.

And then I drop the hammer.

“You may have paid your debts back. But I think you forgot about the interest you owe them. I guess I’ll let someone else do my dirty work for me after all.”

I open the door and walk out of the apartment, a part of me wishing I could see the expression on his face, the other part of me never wanting to see him again. Holding my hand up, I ask the guys standing a few feet away to give me a minute. A goddamn second to catch my breath and figure out how the fuck I feel about getting but not getting what I wanted.

Because yes, I got my answers. Got them tied up with a nice little bow that normally I’d question the ease in which he confessed them. But I know that fucker inside out. I worked with him for years, watched him across the table from me in mediation and on the stand during the trial, can read him like a fucking road map. Do I question the answers’ validity? Not enough to care because he was so itching to one-up me. Desperate to prove he stuck it to me in the end—got me back—that he was so amped up on the high of it, there was no way in hell he’d be able to spin the truth.

So yes, I’m good with his explanations. But fuck if I’m not struggling with giving him what he deserves by my own hand. Rylee. The reason. The answer. The goddamn everything. That’s why I have to be okay with this outcome. With someone else doing my dirty work to reach the same endgame.

And when I look up, they are there, ready and willing to do it for me. And for them. Three fuckers solid as tree stumps. Scary shit to owe money to these guys.

“You have five minutes to collect your interest before Kelly calls the cops. Make sure he’s alive when they get here. He seems to be in violation of a restraining order.”

Fucker has no idea what’s about to hit him. Fairly sure it’ll wipe the smarmy smirk off his face.

I think he’ll welcome going back to jail after they get done with him.

I meet Sammy’s eyes. I see the question there. You’ve wanted a piece of Eddie for so damn long, why are you walking away now?

But Sammy knows why. Probably can still hear the fury in my voice from the hospital all these days later. Her. Safety. Comes. First.

And if not, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need to justify shit to anyone. I have two perfectly good reasons at home. They’re what matters. My end all, be all.

The reason I’ll never stop trying to be the man deserving of them.

I just shake my head and slide into the waiting car. I’ve wasted enough time on Eddie fucking Kimball.

Eddie will not be bugging you again. He’s in custody.

My feet stop as I look at the text. I need a minute.

Fuck, I need more than a minute. I need to drown myself in a fifth and take a whole goddamn evening to swim in it. So I can brood. Be that cocky asshole I used to be and not give a fuck about anything or anyone.

But I can’t.

So I sit down on the step to the front door and sigh, close my eyes, hang my head, and give myself sixty seconds I can’t afford to take. Because once I walk in the door, I need to be the same man who just walked away from Eddie without throwing another punch. Responsible. Mature. Selfless.

Right now I want to be anything but.

Or is it that I’m a pussy and fear what I’m walking in on? A goddamn powder keg of unknown. Will my wife be here? Because I miss her so fucking much. Or just that shell of her that I’ve grown to despise?

Yeah, you’ve been pussified, Donavan. Needing a woman to complete you when you used to not need shit. My, how the player has fallen.

I chuckle. Not for relief but because I need something to take the edge off all this pent-up emotion. And because I know what else I need to do when I go inside, what I need to tell Ry is going to happen, and I just hope the news about Eddie helps take the sting out of it.

The door opens behind me. It closes. And I wait for it. Know it’s coming.

“You okay?” Haddie asks as she sits down beside me and holds out a beer and a bag of ice to me. I look over to her, wondering how she knew I needed both. “Call it a lucky guess.”

“Thanks.” I take them and hiss when I put the ice on my knuckles. We sit in silence for a few moments.

“Shane stopped by unexpectedly. He’s in with Ace right now,” she says, surprising me. But I shouldn’t be. Shane’s one of Ry’s boys. He knows something is wrong just like I do. “Ry’s out on the upstairs patio. I talked her into getting some fresh air.”

“She is?” Hope tinges my voice. She must be feeling better. I knew she’d come around.

“Colton?” By the way Haddie says my name, I know: Rylee isn’t better at all. In fact, it reinforces what I have to do even more.

“I’m calling the doctor in the morning.” I answer the unspoken question she left hanging out there, bring the beer to my lips, and take a long pull on it. And I hate myself for saying it because now I’ve put it out there, I have to admit there is something wrong with Rylee.

And I don’t want there to be something wrong with her.

“At first I was pissed at you, at her . . . You didn’t tell me and I’m her bestie. I should know this. But I get it. I understand how proud Ry is. How she thinks she can handle everything and if she admits she can’t then it makes it even worse. But, Colton, this is about her getting better. Not about her being weak.” She leans her head on my shoulder and sighs.

I shake my head. Emotions fucked. Head more so. “I thought that dealing with Eddie today would help. I could come back and tell her he won’t bother us anymore. Maybe knowing that worry was gone might be what she needed to help her break through . . .” I stop when I realize how fucking stupid that sounds.

“It might help some,” Haddie says softly, “but it’s not going to fix her. We’re back to Matchbox Twenty on repeat again but there’s no music this time. In fact, there’s no sound at all. She needs help, Colton.”

I scrub my hands over my face. “I know, Had. I know.”

“She tried to keep it together for a while but I know her well enough to know better,” she says as I stand up.

“Thank you . . . for everything.” Our hug is brief, my need to see Ry ruling my thoughts.

“Always,” Haddie says as I open the door and walk into my house.

I hear voices, my hopes rising to be dashed once again when I see Shane on the couch talking to Ace. And fuck, for some reason seeing Ace hits me hard, validates the reasons why I walked away from Eddie.

My end all, be all.

Shane looks up when he notices me. “Hey,” he says as he stands immediately, eyes locked on mine. I know a threat when I see one but for the fucking life of me can’t figure out why Shane’s the one giving it to me.

“What’s wrong, Shane?” I ask, mind spinning as he hands Ace off to Haddie without letting me see him first.

“Can we talk?”

And if he wasn’t so dead serious, I might laugh at the sudden growl to his voice and stiffening of his spine. “Sure,” I say as I fire a look at Haddie and get a shrug in response. “Why don’t we head into the office?”

I lead the way, let him walk in first, and then shut the door. We take seats on opposite sides of the desk, and this time when he looks at me I see so much more than the threat from a moment ago. I see a scared kid trying to be a brave man and I’m not sure of the footwork of how to go about this.

Well, I’m scared too. For different reasons. But scared nonetheless.

“What’d you want to talk about, Shane?”

He shifts in his seat, fidgets his hands, and before he even speaks, I can see we need to spend some more time together so I can help him look controlled when he’s not feeling it. That’s a must for a man and I’ve dropped the ball in teaching him that.

“You’re supposed to be the one who takes care of her,” he accuses with more certainty than his eyes reflect, suddenly nervous now that he’s actually standing his ground. “I mean, you can see something’s wrong with her, right?”

I bite back the flippant comment I’d normally give—how I sure as shit know how to take care of my fucking wife. The exhaustion and the shit with Eddie make it so goddamn tempting, but I’m able to find my restraint. To realize this is Shane in front of me trying to make sure Ry’s okay.

I lean back in the chair and roll my shoulders, put myself in his shoes. “She’s having a tough go of it, isn’t she?” I meet his gaze. I don’t shy away from it, because I want him to see I understand Rylee needs help.

“If you’re not going to get her a doctor, then I will,” he states, voice resolute but then throws me for a fucking loop when his eyes well up with tears before he quickly looks down.

“I’m calling one tomorrow. She asked me for time to try and get through it,” I explain with more patience than I feel. But it’s one of her boys, a part of her family. “But she’s not getting any better so I’m going to get her some help. She’s going to be okay, Shane.”

“Don’t say that,” he says between clenched teeth. He squeezes his eyes closed and his face transforms. “That’s what they said about my mom. And look what happened to her.” His voice breaks as he delivers the words.

Fuck. How could I have not seen this coming? How could I have not realized Shane would compare Rylee’s postpartum depression to his mother’s depression? The illness that caused her to take her own life in an overdose of pills. Or the fact he is the one who found her and is forever scarred by the memory.

“Look at me, Shane.” I pause, waiting for him to lift his head and meet my eyes. The courageous man who walked in here is gone. The broken boy who lost his world when his mom died has replaced him. I scramble to fix it. Him. Use words that won’t do shit but will sound like it. “She will get better.” And I’m not sure if the strong resolve in my voice is to convince him or me. “I am going to have a doctor see her tomorrow. It might take some time, but we’ll get our Rylee back, okay?”

He stares at me no doubt deciding if he believes me or not. He nods his head slowly as he begins to speak. “Rylee is the only mom I have. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she gets better.”

I nod my head, the words he doesn’t say are reflected in his eyes: I can’t lose another person.

I understand that more than you know, kid.

“That makes two of us.”