Finding Our Reality (The Reality Duet #2)

Chapter 9

ELLA

“You’ve had your nose buried in that computer for two days straight.”

I glance up, watching Holt drink straight from the milk jug. Turning back to my screen, I insult him. “It’s called having a job, Holt. I can’t help it if you’re an unemployed lazy bum.”

I’m trying hard not to laugh, but when he throws a cheese cracker in my direction and it bounces off my forehead, it’s a moot point. Giggling, I pluck the cracker from the countertop and pop it in my mouth.

“What have you been working on anyway? Carrie’s case?” he asks.

“No, these past two days, I had to catch up on work from some of my clients.” I sit back, scooting the barstool away from the counter so I can stretch my arms without knocking anything over. “Since lunch, I’ve been working my way through twelve months of text messages between two college-age kids—boyfriend and girlfriend. You wouldn’t believe how many text messages young people send. It blows my mind. There’s no way I sent a quarter of the messages that these kids do.”

He puts the milk back in the fridge and seals the box of crackers. “Why are you having to go through their text messages?”

“They are accused of credit card skimming. She’s saying he did it all on his own. He’s saying it was all her idea. I’m in charge of reading through the thousands of text messages to compile the ones that have any possibility of having something to do with the case. I then have to index everything, chronologically and by reference to certain aspects of the case.”

“So, you’re basically reading every single thing these people thought about for a whole year.”

“Pretty much.”

He cocks his head, flopping his wavy blond hair. “Find anything good?”

I chuckle. “I always find good stuff. And boring stuff. And shocking stuff. And disgusting stuff. You’d be surprised.”

He leans forward, stretching his arms across the island countertop. The muscles in his shoulders pop. “Tell me something scandalous.”

I lean forward, acting like I’m about to share a huge secret. I whisper, “It’s confidential, asshole.”

Laughing, he grabs his chest, acting like I shot him. “You’re so cruel!”

Moving my finger across the screen to bypass my screensaver, I pick up my ink pen and start taking notes again.

He clears his throat and then sucks air between his teeth. “You haven’t said much. How are things going with Crutch?”

I scowl. “Fine, I suppose. He had other work to do as well. The two-day hiatus was probably needed on both sides.”

“Are you still mad at us? For not telling you he lived here? For not telling you he was a cop?”

I look up, studying his innocent and handsome face. “Yes, I’m still mad at you. And a big part of me feels betrayed. Y’all should have told me. You know how I feel about him. I hate him.”

He nods and then states the obvious. “But you still love us.”

“Of course, I still love you. It doesn’t mean I can’t be angry with you, though.”

“What if your hate for him isn’t really hate? What if it’s just anger?”

His words catch me off guard. What do I say to that? Sometimes, my rage for Ry is so blinding I want to scream and break the world in two. Other times, I cry so hard, longing and wishing for his touch so much, that I would sell my soul to the devil just to feel his lips on mine again. But even those feelings eventually leave me barren and empty and irritated. How can I even think about wanting someone who doesn’t want me? He couldn’t wait to get away from me, couldn’t wait to leave.

He left me. With one single letter.

And that’s why I have to hate him.

I have no other choice.

His stunning good looks and sexy southern charm can’t sway me this time. I’m older. Smarter. Jaded.

Holt reaches over, pushing the lid of my laptop with his finger. “You should come with me to the bar tonight. I told Cullen I’d come over for a bit to watch some of the game.”

“What game? Who’s playing?”

Holt lifts an eyebrow. “Do you even care? The only team name you know is mine.”

Sometimes, he talks about the team as if he’s still on it.

“Well, that’s the only one I’m supposed to cheer for, right?”

He mumbles underneath his breath. “I guess it doesn’t really matter now, does it?” Walking around the island, he heads for Carrie’s bedroom. His bedroom. “I’m getting dressed. Come with me. It’ll do you some good to recharge your brain.”

“Tomorrow’s a workday. I can’t be staying out all hours of the night.”

“I’m not talking about all hours of the night, I’m talking about two hours during the early part of the night. It’s not like you’re tying one on and then having to fight a hangover the next day. You don’t drink.”

“I’ll have you know that I had a Long Island Iced Tea the last time I went to the bar.”

“Correction: You carried around a Long Island Iced Tea. Will said you didn’t drink it.”

“Will needs to mind his own business. He’s already on my shit list.”

“Ella, nearly every single person in the world is on your shit list. Now go put on some clothes before I drag you to the bar in your sleep shirt.”

***

Neither Cullen nor Holt say anything when I order a Long Island Iced Tea. They know better.

That’s how I find myself sitting at the bar, playing the sniff test with it again.

I spin on my barstool, checking the crowd. We sat down and ordered the second we came in, so I didn’t even check the place out yet. There’s a decent crowd tonight. I’m really glad Will’s business is doing well. He’s a good guy. More importantly, he treats Raylee and the kids like gold.

I pause for a second when I see familiar-looking auburn hair. Her back is to me, but I can clearly tell it’s Kristie. She’s standing in front of a table toward the back, talking to two guys. One guy looks to be in his early twenties. I can’t see who the other guy is because she’s leaning forward in front of him, blocking my view. Her dress is much, much shorter than she ever used to wear when we were kids. She’s shifting her legs back and forth, trying to draw attention to her pale, bare skin. There’s a winter chill in the air. Plus, Will likes to keep the bar cool. I’m surprised she’s not cold.

I guess she’s prowling for a one-night stand.

An overwhelming sadness tugs at my heart. I can’t believe Ry said he saw her high. Maybe I should go talk to her. Distract her. I can’t save her from every poor choice she’s obviously making, but I can at least save her from tonight’s poor choice.

I tap Holt on the ribcage. “I’ll be right back. I see Kristie. I’m gonna go say hi.”

Cullen leans across the bar, whisper-shouting as I walk away. “I don’t know if I would do that, Ella.”

I shoo him away. “I’ll be fine.”

Wiping the condensation from my glass, I adjust my grip on it as I come up behind Kristie. I call out to her before I get too close as I don’t want to scare her. “Kristie?”

She spins around, wobbling on her feet. It looks like she’s already had one drink too many. Good thing Will and Cullen always force her to take a ride share or cab home.

“Ella!” Rushing forward, she throws her arms around me, assaulting me with her fake cleavage and knocking the glass from my hand. It flies underneath the table, shattering into several pieces.

And then I see him .

He springs up from the table, quick as lightning, trying to avoid any glass shards that are scattering around his boots.

“Oh no! Let me get something to clean this up. I’m so sorry, Ella. I’m just so excited to see you.” Kristie scurries off to the bar.

I’m left standing there like a moron. Staring into his infuriatingly beautiful pale green eyes.

Just me and him.

Well, and this other guy, whoever he is.

Ry’s eyes don’t leave mine. “Hank, we can finish talking later.”

Hank tosses a look to me and back to Ry. Silently nodding, he walks away.

We stand there, not moving.

So, Kristie was hitting on Ry. Rubbing her legs together like her crotch was made of 16-grit sandpaper, and flopping her make-believe boobs all around in his face—because trust me, I’ve seen her in a bikini top and I know what God gave her. And maybe this isn’t the first time. In fact, I’d bet my bottom dollar this isn’t the first time. Apparently, both Ry and Kristie are sluts, so it stands to reason they would have hooked up before.

“Ella, are you okay?” Cullen bends, looking underneath the table. “Let me go get something to clean this up.”

“No, I’ll get it,” I offer. “I know where everything is in the back. You’ve got it by yourself tonight, keep an eye on the bar. I’ll get this.”

Ry steps around, slapping Cullen on the shoulder. “I’ll help her. It’s fine.”

Cullen doesn’t hide his skepticism in leaving us alone, in the same vicinity as one another. But, alas, someone calls his name from the bar. Reluctantly, he nods and heads back up front.

Grunting, I push past Ry and head into the back room, swinging the door behind me. “You’ll help me? I’m quite capable of cleaning up broken glass by myself, you know? I’m not helpless. I’ve done just fine by myself all these years. Even cleaned up a broken plate a time or two. Imagine that.”

He’s walking so close, he’s basically on my heels. “What are you doing here?”

“Me? I should be asking you the same question. It’s a work night. Are you always here? Are you an alcoholic?” Grabbing the broom and dustpan, I spin around. He’s so close, I actually have to take a step back or else we would be touching.

He snorts. “Did you even see me with a beer? I’m not drinking tonight.”

That answers that. “Oh, so you just came in for the other thing then? To pick someone up? You feeling horny tonight, Ry?”

He takes a step forward. Despite my best efforts to weave out of his way, I get trapped by a cabinet, and his chest grazes against mine. All the air is immediately sucked from my lungs, rendering me motionless and breathless. My nipples peak.

I curse my body. Curse it to holy hell.

He bends his face down, breathing against the shell of my ear. “Why? You offering?”

A scalding hot shiver runs down my spine and curls low in my groin. I close my eyes, forcing my pain to the surface. Forcing all my negativity to take the reins and bring me back to life. My trauma fills my lungs with fresh air, giving me power behind my words. “I will never offer myself to you again. Get away from me. Now.”

His jaw clenches and his eyes flare, but he does as he’s told.

Shifting to the side, he reaches behind me and grabs the mop. Wordlessly, he nods to the door. Shaking in emotion, I make my way back to the table.

I’m starting to sweep, when Ry reaches out and gently grabs the broom handle. I can barely hear his whisper above the noise of the bar. “I’m sorry, Lulu. I shouldn’t have said that. Please let me get this. I really couldn’t stand it if you cut yourself.”

I’m about to yank the broom from his hands and tell him to stuff his apology where the sun doesn’t shine, but I stop. The look on his face gives me pause. Suddenly, I’m not staring at the confident, accomplished man whom I’ve been working with the past several days. I’m staring at the boy from twelve years ago. The boy who thought he was nothing but poor white trash. The boy who didn’t want anyone to see the real him. The boy I loved.

I let go of the broom and stumble back. Needing to escape, I head to the bar, leaving him behind to clean up the mess, for once.