He finally pulls me to his chest. My fingers grip him, a raft in a swirling, angry ocean. We stand there for a long moment, holding each other, leaning on the door that pulsates with Trevor’s rage.
Justin’s fingers tangle in my hair as his other hand holds me tighter. “What the hell is going on?”
Shaking my head, I bury my face in his chest. “I think he’s on drugs,” I mumble into the softness of his T-shirt.
“Drugs?”
“Talking fast. Huge pupils. Thinks he rules the world.”
“Sounds like coke.” He gently lifts my head and wipes at my tearstained face. “I should have kicked his coked-up ass to hell.” His lips thin. “I still want to.”
I’m about to tell him again to forget Trevor, but we both pause at the sudden silence.
Listening, Justin cocks his head to the side.
My fingers loosen their grip on his shirt.
His green gaze comes back to me as a different rap sounds at the door along with the muffled word: “Police.”
Justin’s brows lower.
I step back. “He couldn’t knock with so much control, but check the peephole.”
After pressing his face to the door, Justin opens the door to the waiting officer.
The next half hour passes in a long, slow blur. One of my neighbors called the police. Not sure if it was the screaming, fighting, or door banging, but someone had enough. Finding Trevor still beating at the door, the police hauled him down to their car. After an officer takes my statement and pictures of my face, while Justin rotates between hovering and cleaning up the mess of my living room, we’re finally alone.
He sits on the arm of the couch and hands me a glass of water and two Tylenol he must have found on the top shelf of the bathroom vanity. Suddenly feeling guilty and strangely shy, I can only glance at him as I lower the wet washcloth from my lip and reach for the water and pills. “Thanks.” I swallow the pills, then set the glass on the coffee table. “I’m beyond grateful you were here, but why did you come?”
“You weren’t answering your phone and”—he drags a hand through his hair—“I needed to talk with you. Luckily, the door was open.”
Not wanting to think of what would have happened if he hadn’t shown up, I say, “With Trevor’s call and text bombardment, my phone’s been on silent, but I was going to call you.”
He stiffens beside me. “Why?”
Realizing he’s imaging the worst, I shift toward him. “Because—well…” His expression constricts as I fumble for the right words. This was much easier expressing with paint.
A quick rap-rap-rap sounds from across the room.
My gaze snaps to the door. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Let me,” Justin says, standing. After looking through the peephole, he turns toward me. “I think it’s that girl…from the gallery night. Is she Trevor’s girlfriend?”
“Jazz?” I ask incredulously.
Frowning, he nods. “Do you want me to answer it?”
Jazz knocks harder.
I rub my temples. “Might as well before the neighbors call the cops again.”
Standing in the doorway and dressed in a cropped leather jacket and the shortest skirt in the world, Jazz glares from me to Justin twice. “Where’s Trevor?” she asks me.
Still rubbing a temple, I say, “Probably in a holding tank downtown.”
“What?” she wails, and rushes into my apartment. “Why?”
I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. “Oh, maybe because he was disturbing the peace, yelling obscenities, and hitting me.” I wave a hand across my injured face, showing her the damage.
Jazz abruptly stops in the middle of the living room, finally noticing my bloody lip and marked face. “What did you do?” She arrogantly flips her long platinum hair over her shoulder. “He’s never been violent with me.”
Still standing at the door, Justin closes it while I try to contain my dislike for the woman scowling at me. I’ve disliked her for so long, it’s hard to keep the emotion off my face. “Guess you don’t say no.”
Her lip curls in disgust. “Bullshit. He came over here to talk to you about the shop and Ben.”
“And about getting back together.”
Now Jazz looks like she wants to hit me.
Guess it’s my night.
“Whoa,” Justin says, moving in front of her and pointing at a chair. “Sit down and talk or leave.”
Jazz gives him a hard glare but moves to the chair by the window. She crosses her legs and one red cowboy boot bounces. “You know he’s been staying with me this whole time, right?”
Justin sits back down on the arm of the couch, almost a foot from me. Too far away.
Suddenly, I’m tired. Tired of Trevor. Tired of arguing. Tired of hating this girl across from me. “Yes, I gathered he was staying with you.” My arms loosen around my knees. “You know what, Jazz?”
At my blunt tone, Jazz pauses bouncing her cowboy boot.
“I think Trevor is in love with you.” She visibly deflates and falls back into the chair. “I’m just what he thinks he needs. Now and then. In fact, he’s probably always been in love with you, but he loves himself more because you’ve never been good enough for him. Not when we were in high school. Not when he went to California. And not now when he’s obviously desperate enough to try and force me to take him back.”
She opens her mouth, closes it, and wraps her arms around her waist. “He’s broke.”
I sigh. “I figured as much.”
“He lost the shop in California.”
“After tonight, I was guessing that too.”
“He, he is—”
“Snorting all his money up his nose?” Justin says sarcastically.
Her nostrils flare from evident anger. “Things are tough for him right now.”
“Quit making excuses for him,” I say. “He’s been walking all over you since you two were twelve. He walks all over everyone.”
Her heated eyes flash at me. “You don’t know what he’s been through. What his childhood was like. Going from foster home to foster home sucks. Trust me, I know.”
Justin leans forward. “So that gives him a right to treat you like shit?”
“Like you’ve got room to talk,” Jazz spits at Justin.
“You’re right.” Justin leans back against the wall and folds his arms. “But that all ended when I fell in love.”
A burst of warm emotions hits me as Jazz stares slack-jawed at Justin. She snaps her mouth shut and turns to me. “What are you going to do?”
Still fuzzy from Justin’s declaration, it takes me a few seconds to understand her question. “I’ll be filing a restraining order and pressing charges.”
“You wouldn’t.” Her hands clasp her knees. Red nails dig into her skin. “Why would you do that to your son’s father?”
“Ben is my reason,” I say. “As much as I’d like Trevor to rot in hell, he’s my son’s father. He needs to get off the drugs and get himself together. Or he won’t be seeing Ben. At this point, if it weren’t for Ben I wouldn’t care if Trevor snorted coke until it killed him. But because of Ben, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure Trevor has no choice except to get clean.”
“When did you turn into the judge and jury?” she sneers.
“When I became a mother.”
“You can’t take Ben from him!” she says, flying out of the chair.
Justin stands too. “Okay, we’re done here.” He goes to the door and opens it. “Allie’s been attacked enough for one evening.”
Jazz glances from me to Justin’s stern face. “Fine, but you’d better rethink the whole Ben thing, Al.” She pauses at the door. “Or Trevor’s going to be really, really pissed.”