Hard Limit (St. Louis Mavericks 2)

I got dressed, grabbed my keys, phone, and the container of soup, and headed up to my studio. At least up there I could lose myself in art. I put the soup in the microwave and poured a glass of wine as I waited for it to warm. It had been sweet of Annie to bring it over and I’d have to remember to thank her if I ever got past this latest disaster.

Maybe it was time to go back to Europe. They were a lot more relaxed about nudity and porn, and maybe this would blow over faster there. I had a couple of acquaintances there that could help me start over, and if it worked out, I could move Mom there too.

I’d just turned on some music and pulled the soup from the microwave when my phone buzzed and I saw Hugh’s name on the screen. He’d texted me and I stared at the phone for a second before forcing myself to open the app to see what he had to say. Marian had told me to save everything, in case we could use it in court, but my stomach always threatened to revolt when he contacted me.

Hugh: How does it feel to know I’ve taken everything from you, you fucking cow? Your virginity, your best friend, your company, that Neanderthal you were dating, and now your dignity. How does it feel to know you were nothing before I found you and you’ll be nothing now that I’ve dumped your sorry ass? And we’re not done with you yet—I have more videos. Maybe I’ll even sell them. What do you think about that? Sweet dreams, baby doll.

The rage that filled me was so hot it felt like a tangible object that would burst from my skin in an explosion of anger. I threw my phone against the wall so hard it shattered into a dozen pieces and a scream came from my lungs that didn’t sound like any noise I’d ever made. I threw the bowl of soup next and watched the sticky liquid splatter across a set of drawings.

I ripped the paper from one of the easels one sheet at a time, ripping and shredding them into tiny, unrecognizable pieces. Pens and pencils and paintbrushes went flying in every direction as I turned my studio upside down. I sliced through an abstract painting I’d been working on and threw it into a pile in the corner.

“I hate you, you fucking prick!”

I knocked over chairs and easels, my rage directed not just at Hugh, but also myself. How could I have been so stupid? He’d told me he would make me a star, and I’d believed every word. If I just hadn’t listened when he’d said we needed to get married. I sobbed for the teenage girl who had signed over so much more than she’d realized on that fateful day, and then I opened the closest bottle of paint I could reach and threw it on the drawing I’d done of Lars. Bright purple liquid trailed down the paper, obscuring his face and dripping onto the floor. It was fitting—I’d destroyed my relationship with him, too.

I pounded my fist against the wall, tears pouring down my face as my back muscles began to tighten in protest.

There was nothing left inside me. I was as blank as the brand-new canvasses lined up along one wall of my studio. But this wouldn’t be the end of me. I wouldn’t let it. I needed some time to feel the hurt and start healing, but eventually, I would rise. Hugh and Vanessa thought they’d stripped me of my dignity, but I was stronger than they thought.

I frowned, getting up and walking over to turn down the music. Someone was knocking on the door.

Repeatedly.

Urgently.

And whoever it was, they were calling my name.

If the neighbors had heard me losing my mind, they might have called the police, and even in the middle of my pseudo nervous breakdown, I knew that was the last thing I needed.

Breathing heavily, I padded toward the door woodenly, my back still signaling I’d pushed it too hard.

I threw open the door, expecting to see a neighbor or Barney. Instead, Lars was standing there.

And before he could say a word, I fell to my knees, my sobs returning with full force.

Chapter Thirty

Lars

* * *

I dropped to my knees beside Sheridan, wrapping her up in my arms. Her body went limp as she sobbed into my chest.

Other people murmured comforting words when someone they loved was hurting, but that just wasn’t who I was. One way or another, Sheridan was going to be okay, but I didn’t want to minimize her pain by saying so.

“Why are you here?” she asked, pulling back and wiping the tears from her cheeks. “And how did you get in?”