“Stop it!” he yelled. “I just want to be with you!”
Her elbow shot up at the same time Brendan’s fist came at her face, bringing a sting of pain and a rush of moisture to her left eye.
Blinking through the pain, Jen drove the heel of her hand into his nose and heard the bone crunch.
“You bitch!”
Blood erupted from Brendan’s nostrils, and as he cursed in pain, Jen ducked out of his grip and raced toward the kitchen. The cordless phone was on the counter, as was the butcher block full of knives, but she didn’t make it in time.
She heard footsteps, felt Brendan’s hot breath on the nape of her neck, and then he fisted the back of her blouse and yanked her backward.
Sticky wetness stained her cheeks—blood, dripping down Brendan’s clean-shaven chin. Jen struggled, trying to wiggle out of his grip, using the fingers of one hand to try and gouge at his eyes. “Get off me,” she grunted.
He got an arm around her from behind and dug his elbow into her windpipe. “How long were you sleeping with that muscle head?” he demanded. “Were you cheating on me the entire time we were together?”
She flung out her arm in search of something to grab onto. As Brendan pushed her against the stove, cursing and spitting out angry accusations, Jen fought to escape his grasp. When her hand collided with the metal handle of the cast-iron pan on the counter, triumph and relief exploded like fireworks in her gut. She gripped the handle, then swung the pan at Brendan’s head. It collided into his skull with a thud, stunning him enough that his grip slackened.
With Brendan momentarily disoriented, Jen raised the pan high in the air and sent it crashing into the back of his skull.
A second later, his unconscious body crumpled to the linoleum floor.
Gasping for air, she staggered backward, still clutching the pan like it was a life preserver and she was drowning at sea.
Jesus. Oh sweet Jesus.
Had she killed him?
No. No, she could see his chest rising and falling. He was breathing, then.
“Jen! What the hell is taking so—oh my God.”
She lifted her head to see Annabelle come to a dead stop in the doorway.
“So much for sticking to me like glue,” Jen said in a wry voice.
Annabelle glanced from Jen’s face to Brendan’s body slumped on the floor, then spoke in a brisk tone. “Did you call the police?”
“Not yet. I was too busy fighting him off.”
“Well, you did a good fucking job.” Annabelle’s gaze landed on Brendan again. “Carson would be proud.”
Jen felt downright shell-shocked as she watched Annabelle grab the phone and call 911. When the cops showed up fifteen minutes later, she relayed the events that had transpired with a measure of calm she certainly did not feel. Her heart continued to pound. Her hands shook. Lingering adrenaline coursed through her veins, making it impossible to focus on her surroundings or the people around her.
Brendan regained consciousness while one of the uniformed officers handcuffed him, but he remained oddly subdued as he was being carted away. He’d been arrested for assault and violating the restraining order, and Jen supposed she’d have to see him in court at some point, but she couldn’t think that far ahead at the moment.
What if she hadn’t grabbed that pan in time? What if Brendan had—had done what? She had no clue what he’d planned on doing. All she knew was she could have been seriously hurt. Or worse.
“You okay?” Annabelle murmured after the cops left.
Jen gave a tired nod. “I’m fine.”
“We should put some ice on that eye.”
Eye? Oh, right. It took her a second to remember that Brendan had struck her, and once she did, she registered the pain throbbing in her left eye. She reached up to touch it, and discovered that her eye was nearly swollen shut. Probably explained why half her vision was blurry.
Jen sank onto the couch and took an unsteady breath, then reached for her purse, which Annabelle had placed on the coffee table. She needed to call Cash and tell him what happened. Over voicemail, of course, because she knew his phone wouldn’t be on, but Lord, she longed to hear his voice. And she desperately wished he were here right now, holding her in his strong arms.
But he wasn’t here. He was…well, she didn’t know where he was.
God, she wanted him to come home. She didn’t want to be alone. Didn’t want to think about what just happened with Brendan, or how differently the situation could’ve turned out if she hadn’t gained the upper hand.
Damn it, Cash. Come home.
Almost home.