Bad Cruz

“I said I’m tired of chasing you. At least now I know what it takes for you to pick up the phone and call.”

I was going to text you, I wanted to cry.

The shame of failing this relationship somehow pained me more than any other failure in my life. I pressed the phone to the bruised side of my face, where my sister’d struck me, and tried to swallow the ball of tears in my throat.

But then Officer Corrigan took the phone and ushered me back to my cell.

It only took me one second to realize Cruz and I were not together anymore. All I needed was to watch him through my cell as he strode over to the booking officer of the police station.

The officer swung her eyes up from her computer screen and took him in. Tall, lean, and perfect. Clad in black slacks, a navy cashmere sweater, and a white dress shirt underneath.

He oozed confidence and elegance.

He was also currently bailing out his puck buddy for allegedly trying to murder his ex-girlfriend.

I stood up and walked over to the bars, watching him, mesmerized.

Feeling my gaze on him, he shot me a look, ignored my little pathetic wave, and turned his attention back to the booking officer.

Now that I had time to digest everything that was happening, I was also impressed with his willingness—not to mention ability—to front five-thousand dollars for bail money on someone he wasn’t seeing anymore.

Tragically, I tried smoothing my hair into place and slapping my cheeks for some color when two officers I didn’t know approached my cell to release me.

Cruz waited for me at the front desk, hands shoved inside the pockets of his slacks.

“Thank you,” I said, refusing eye contact with him.

He smiled tersely. “That’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me.”

I frowned at him. “Surely, that can’t be true.”

He’d bought me an entire wardrobe, took my son under his wing, stood up for me at the rehearsal dinner, and much more. But now that I thought about it, I really didn’t thank him for anything he’d done for me throughout our short but stormy relationship.

My stupid pride really was out of control.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“Another first for you,” he pointed out, opening the door to the police station for me. “Aren’t you just a box full of surprises today, Tennessee Turner.”

“Darn it. I suck.” I heaved out a sigh as I dragged my feet out the door.

“That you do, and you could use some guidance in that territory, too.”

Did he just criticize my oral skills?

“Did you drink a truth potion or something?”

I dragged my feet to his car, feeling miserable. He was cold and pragmatic, and suddenly, I realized I shouldn’t have taken for granted all the times he’d been sweet and caring to me.

“I’m in the process of giving up on some things,” he explained, opening the passenger door for me.

“Such as?”

“The fucks I give about what people think about me. Watch and learn.” He slammed the door after me.

I watched as he rounded his car, buckled his seatbelt, and started the car. He didn’t look at me. He didn’t ask how I was.

Instead, he explained in a deadly quiet, calm voice, “Now we’re going to drive out of town, where we are going to have a cup of coffee and discuss our relationship.”