Kross nudged me. “I’ll be in the bar if you need me,” he whispered in my ear.
Kade poked his head in. “Kel, make it quick. Then get to the bottom of the problem.”
“What problem?” Lizzie asked. “Other than you missed the appointment with Mr. Davenport. Why?”
Three, two, one. I raised my head slowly and found her pretty face wrinkled around the nose and eyes. In fact, her eyes were slits. Yeah, she was angry.
“Please sit down.” I patted the spot Kross had been in. It was better if she was sitting.
She hesitated before she joined me. Then she grabbed my right hand. “Why are your knuckles swollen and bleeding? It looks like you might’ve broken your hand.”
A small amount of pain was starting to set in. Between punching the window and then the wall, I would guess she was probably spot on, considering I could barely move my hand. “I’m sorry about not being at Davenport’s. I…” If I told her, I would lose her. But I also couldn’t lie to her. No matter the consequences, she deserved the truth, whether I came off as an idiot or not. Plus, I wasn’t about to let her think I was running from her because she told me she loved me. Sure, when Chloe said those words I’d bolted, although not as fast as I had today. There was no doubt in my mind my feelings for Lizzie were strong, otherwise I would’ve run last night. Even sitting there with her touching me, my stomach had that butterfly feeling. I blew out a long breath. “Chloe’s pregnant.”
Her beautiful, rosy cheeks blanched. Her mouth opened and closed. Grabbing her earring, she popped to attention.
The butterflies morphed into raging piranhas. Schmuck, dick, ass, asshat, asswipe, fuckup. They all described me. I wasn’t the adult, or the protector, or the cautious one like Kross or Kade or even Kody. I was the one who threw caution to the wind, stomped on it, and then shoved it in the trash. Live for the moment had always been my motto. Hell, it still was, but I had to figure out how to temper my infallibility complex so I wouldn’t ruin more lives.
Planting both hands on the floor, I grunted when I put pressure on my right hand. Yep, something wasn’t right with it.
Tears filled her pretty blue-gray eyes. “That’s why she was at your place early this morning, huh?”
When I was on two feet, I lightly massaged my right hand. “I’m sorry.” It tore my insides to shreds to see her crying. I reached out to touch her.
She reared back with her hands raised. Regret and sadness washed over her. “I’m sorry too.”
Kade stuck his head in. “Chloe called on the club phone. She wants you to call her.”
Lizzie pivoted on her heel and brushed past Kade.
My heart plummeted to the floor. “Lizzie? Lizard.” I chased after her, something that was becoming a habit. “Please.”
She kept walking until she got to the backdoor. Then she looked over her shoulder, tears streaming down her face.
When I was a foot from her, she opened the door and ran.
Fuck me. I punched the wall. More bones cracked as pain shot up my arm like wildfire. I let out a wail. I wanted to hold her and tell her my heart was hers. I couldn’t. I couldn’t even tell her if I was the father, let alone say the three words that were glued to the tip of my tongue. No, before I went after her, I had to get my shit together. Then and only then could I deal with my feelings for Lizzie. I just hoped like a motherfucker I didn’t lose her forever.
22
Lizzie
I dashed away a final tear as I glanced up at the Firefly sign. I was done crying. I had to do something to find Terrance. I couldn’t wait for Zach or the law to help me, and I couldn’t stand to be in Boston any longer. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten involved with Kelton. I knew better than to think I could love someone. Kelton wasn’t dead, but it hurt to know that I wasn’t the one who would be carrying Kelton’s baby.
I steeled my shoulders as I entered the restaurant and bar. A whiff of stale beer made me wince as I glanced around the dive. The floor was sticky. A pool table, scratched-up wooden tables, and several booths were scattered about. A handful of people sat at the bar while three booths were occupied by men drinking pints of beer.
“May I help you?” the bearded bartender asked as he flipped a towel onto his shoulder.
I skirted in between two barstools. “I’m here to see Tommy.”
“Who’s asking?” The bartender pressed his stubby fingers on top of the bar.
“Tell him Dillon Hart.”
He eyed my chest. “Princess, I can say with surety that you’re not Dillon.”
“Is Tommy here or not?” I climbed up onto a barstool.
The bartender smirked, showing crooked teeth. Then he went over to a phone on the wall at the other end of the bar. Two large men three seats over hugged their beers as if they were protecting something of value.