Heroic Measures (Blackbridge Security 6)

The drive to his apartment is spent with a million words running through my mind, all the names I’m going to call him, all the accusations I’m going to leave at his feet.

But when I knock on his door, he doesn’t answer, and I don’t think it’s like the other times I’ve shown up and can feel him nearby. He’s not ignoring me. He’s just not home. That leaves one other place I know to look for him and as I ride the elevator down and climb back into my car, I try to talk myself out of going to his office. Personal drama at work is horrible. Answering questions and getting stared at while someone goes a little crazy has never been a situation I wanted to be in, much less one I wanted to instigate.

But I can’t not confront him. I can’t let him get away with walking out of my apartment last night without saying a word. He took a part of me last night. If I’m being completely honest with myself, he’s been chipping away pieces of me for months.

The thing that slaps me in the face as I park in the garage beneath his office building is that I don’t want them back. I just want him to take what I’ve given him and treasure those tiny, fucked-up pieces. I want them to be valued. I want them to be stored for safekeeping until I’m able to give him a bigger piece, until he owns every part of me.

But he snuck out, stole those pieces, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he tossed them into the dumpster before even climbing into his truck. Why would he value them or hold them dear? I haven’t really valued myself and it’s a little hypocritical to expect that of him.

My anger is damn near bubbling over when I step off the elevator into the office. Thankfully, Pam isn’t at the front desk. She was so nice to me the last time I was here, and I don’t want to disrespect her.

The breakroom is full when I walk in, my eyes searching over every face there until they land on my target.

“Parker!” Brooks says with a wide smile on his face before I can open my mouth and spit venom at Jude. He rushes to greet me, but the look on my face makes him take pause.

He holds his hands up by his ears and backs away as if I’m armed with more than just a sharp tongue and raging attitude.

I knew the first time I met him he was the type of man I would normally go after. He’s handsome and charming. He’s got that arrogance to him that says he’d be an amazing time in bed. I also know I wouldn’t be here right now if it had been me and him. He wouldn’t have been able to sink inside of me so deep that I get confused every time I blink my eyes.

He’s nothing like the man standing from the couch with confusion putting wrinkles between his brows. Jude swallows as he looks at me, and I don’t know if it’s guilt or what in his face, but this isn’t the time to worry about it. I came here to say a few things, and even the group of men sitting around staring at me like they bought tickets to this show months ago and are glad the day has finally arrived won’t make me back down. I won’t tuck my tail between my legs and leave. Hell, I won’t even give Jude the satisfaction of asking if there is somewhere we can chat privately.

I’m flayed open, and if I even take a moment to breathe, to focus my thoughts, I may change my mind.

Jude’s cheeks turn pink as he approaches. “Are you here to speak with Deacon?”

I scoff.

Are you kidding me?

Those are the first words that come to his mind? I take a step back, actually paying attention to what’s happening right in front of my face, and it makes my eyes burn with unshed tears.

Are you ashamed of me?

I want you to acknowledge me in front of our friends instead of acting as if I don’t exist.

Those were the words he said last night, and I ignored them. He was vulnerable, and in the moment, all I could think about was myself. I’m the asshole here, not him.

I’ve been the one creating distance, making him feel unvalued. His actions are just the consequences of my own.

I see it in his eyes, the pain, the need, the demand for validation, and it makes every ounce of rage in my body fade away.

“Parker?”

“I missed you this morning,” I tell him, making sure my voice isn’t a whisper. I’m not screaming it or putting on a show, but I need him to know I heard him last night.