Crank Read online

  A car door slammed. Micah shuffled from the closed office to my left toward the bay door. I wiped some grease from my hand and readjusted my grip to keep working.

  “Constable, what brings you by?” Micah’s voice was quiet as usual.

  I popped my head up and glanced back. Constable Jeffrey tugged up his gun belt under his pot belly and eyed the multiple cars littering the lot. His gaze finally landed on me. “I’ve actually come to see Travers.”

  Micah nodded and sauntered away with an unreadable look in his eye.

  I set down the piece in my hand and motioned for a moment while I washed my hands. Jeffrey was probably here about his Mustang, which he’d just picked up after we rebuilt the engine a couple weeks ago.

  I sauntered over, wiping my hand on a rag. “What’s up, Constable? Something wrong with the ‘Stang?”

  He shook his head, a weird, sad vibe coming from him.

  I ignored the warning bells clanging in my skull and forced a smile as I leaned a hip against the Olds. “The wife’s car then? I know she was just in, but—”

  “No, son,” he interrupted. “I’m sorry, but I’m here on official business.”

  “Official business?”

  The Constable pulled a thick, business-sized envelope from his jacket and offered it over.

  I took it blindly, still confused. “What’s this?”

  The older man glanced away, regret clear in his expression. When his eyes met mine again, it was obvious he didn’t want to do this. “Blake, I’m so sorry, but those are legal papers from Chaseman and Moretti. You’ve been served.”

  Oh. Hell. No.

  My clouded mind had to be playing a cruel trick on me. This couldn’t be what I thought . . . Dee wouldn’t dare.

  She wouldn’t just give up on us. On me.

  Would she?

  I spun away without saying a word to Constable Jeffrey and rushed to my office, slamming the door with a resounding thud. I glanced at the envelope as I sunk into my squeaky chair. Chaseman and Moretti, Criminal and Family Law? That could only mean one thing.

  I fumbled the papers out of the envelope and skimmed them, my blurred eyes not really seeing. Divorce papers. From her best fucking friend’s law firm. Fuck me.

  I threw them on my desk, disgusted. Sure, I’d made some mistakes. I hadn’t been home as much as I should’ve, or said the things I probably should’ve, whatever. But she was mine, damn it! How could she have forgotten that? Why didn’t she see I was doing it all for her?

  I stared at the tattoo of her name on my arm. I’d learned to love her beyond reason, beyond all I thought possible. How could she just walk away?

  And after we’d lost three babies together?

  Jezus.

  I dropped my head into my palms. What had we become? What had I become? We’d made vows to each other, but I hadn’t given her much to hold onto I guess. I rubbed a hand down my face as I realized I had no damn clue how to do that. And it was the most painful realization I’d ever had . . . what I’d been running from all these months.

  I couldn’t fix us.

  After my mom died, my home had become nothing but a prison of terror and pain and degradation. I had no fucking idea how this love thing worked, but I’d been given this perfect ray of sunshine when Delilah Jackson stormed into my life, full of beauty and innocence, and chose to love me.

  How, how, how could I love her back like she deserved?

  Maybe it was for the best that she was done with me. It was probably never going to last. Her daddy had called it on our wedding day:

  “Boy, you’re only marrying my daughter because she’s eighteen and I can’t tell her what to do anymore. But mark my words . . . there will come a day when she’ll figure out you’re nothing but southside trash with nothing to your name, and nothing to offer her. Just you wait and see.”

  Damn it, I hated that the bastard was right.

  “Blake!” Micah pounded on the office door. “You all right, man?”

  I surveyed my body. Yeah, I’d live. Who needed a heart anyway? “Yeah.”

  “Open up.” This from Trace.

  Shit. I stood and unlocked the door to face my two friends and their concerned faces.

  Trace looked me up and down as if searching for a wound. “You really okay?”

  I said nothing.

  He narrowed his eyes. “That’s what I thought. Come on.”

  “Where’re we going?”

  “To get you the fuck outta here, that’s where.”

  I hesitated a moment, considered wallowing over those divorce papers a bit longer, then decided screw it. A change of scenery for a while wouldn’t hurt. Besides, it was five o’clock somewhere.

  Delilah

  I had no idea why I’d let Rachel talk me into going out for drinks at the Funky Monkey. I wasn’t exactly in the partying mood. Maybe she was tired of my pitiful wallowing. I hadn’t heard from Blake in the week and a half since my blow up at the garage, and it broke my heart a little more every single night that I went to bed without a word from him.

  I’d heard through the grapevine that Blake had been served with our divorce papers today, and I couldn’t help wondering how he took it or if he’d contact me. If he cared. If he was seeking comfort between Candace’s legs.

  I needed to get a grip. It was over.

  I firmed my spine and sucked on the remnants of my Sex on the Beach, focusing on the sweet pineapple and rum.

  “Atta girl,” Rachel encouraged.

  “Another one?” the pretty new bartender with a pixie haircut asked. I wished I could rock that kind of cute hair. I glanced at her nametag. Tori.

  “Yes,” Rachel said before I could answer. “And I’ll have one, too.”

  “Coming right up.” She grabbed a glass of ice and started mixing our drinks.

  “You new here? I don’t think I’ve met you before,” Rachel commented, leaning her elbows on the bar and snagging the oranges slice garnish from my empty glass.

  Tori nodded. “Yes. I just started a couple weeks ago.”

  “New to town?” Rachel persisted.

  The bartender glanced up as she poured one drink then began mixing another. “Kinda.”

  Rachel nodded and her gaze roamed around the perimeter of the dance floor then back. “How do you like working at the Funky Monkey?”

  “It’s a job. Pays the bills while I’m in school.” She added a cherry and orange slice to the glass.

  “Really? What are you in school for?”

  “Rachel,” I admonished. “Don’t be so nosy.”

  Tori smiled. “It’s no big deal.” She refocused on Rach. “I’ve got a Bachelors in Child Psychology and I’m finishing up my Masters in Child Counseling.”

  “No shit?” Rachel’s mouth fell open.

  Tori laughed. “No shit.”

  “That’s awesome,” I added, appreciating the cute girl even more for wanting to help kids.

  She nodded her thanks as she finished up the second drink. “Celebrating tonight?”

  “Yes.” Rachel said, smiling sweetly at me, as if to encourage us both to think of it as a celebration. What was done was done, she’d said, even if she didn’t agree. “My friend here just filed for divorce.”

  “Oh.” Tori’s gray eyes lit with sympathy as she plopped down our drinks. “Well, here you go, ladies. Enjoy.”

  “Thanks.” Rachel paid and took a big sip. I toyed with the maraschino cherry garnish with my straw.

  Rachel and Tori continued to make idle chit-chat in between her drink orders, but I didn’t really listen. My mind was on Blake. God, I was pathetic.

  But, thankfully, that third Sex on the Beach finally kicked in, and a nice warm, fuzzy buzz started blurring the edges of my pain. I grinned sappily at Rachel. “Thanks for bringing me. I needed to get outta the house.”

  Rachel patted my hand. “I know, doll.”

  Behind us, the DJ put on his bedroom voice and announced he was going to slow things down a bit. Then he we
nt old school with “The Flame” by Cheap Trick. A little before my time, but it was one of my favorites. And Blake hated it. I think it reminded him of an ex or something.

  Suddenly, a big hand slid along the bar next to me and I glanced up, surprised, into smiling green eyes. “Would you care to dance?”

  I blinked at the man. Was he talking to me? I slid a glance to Rachel, who gave me a pointed ‘go ahead’ look. Well . . . he seemed harmless enough. He certainly smelled nice, I realized, as his cologne drifted my way. Nothing like the greasy Blake I was used to. But something just felt wrong. Like I was being unfaithful.

  Nonsense.

  I was getting a divorce. Plus, I liked this song and Blake would never dance to it with me. Determination ripped through me and I stood. “Sure.”

  He led me to the dance floor and I only wobbled a little on my heels. Damn Sex on the Beach.

  He pulled me into his arms. Not too close, not too loose. Snug. “My name’s Seth.”

  I smiled. “Delilah.”

  His hand slid to the small of my back, warm and gentle. My fingers naturally rested near his nape. It felt so good to be held again as we swayed to the music. Even by a stranger.

  “What a lovely name.” His warm breath whispered across my temple as we continued to move together.

  “Thank you,” I stammered. It’d been a long time since I flirted, but I was pretty sure that’s where this was going. I felt a blush rising up my neck. Or maybe it was the liquor. But it was definitely getting warm. Especially with the way Seth was looking at me now. When was the last time a man looked at me like that?

  His hand dipped lower, to the waistband of my low-rise jeans, drawing me just a hair closer. Giving me another decadent sniff of him. My head began to swim. I closed my eyes and inhaled.

  “So, Delilah, whatdya say we—?”

  A giant hand clamped down on my shoulder, yanking me from Seth’s arms. “Whatdya say, not, buddy?”

  I clumsily stumbled before righting myself and snapping my eyes open. My gaze flew between Seth’s surprised expression and Blake’s thunderous face as he held us apart, one hand on each of us.

  My mouth sagged open in shock, all remnants of alcohol fleeing my bloodstream. Really?

  Really?

  Seth yanked out of Blake’s grasp, his brows furrowed in annoyance. “What the hell, man? Who are you?”

  I couldn’t speak as Cheap Trick continued singing. I idly wondered if Blake even registered that he was now ruining the song for me, too.

  Blake looked askance at me to see if I was going to answer the question. When I didn’t speak up fast enough, he smirked. “I’m Blake Travers.” He kept me pinned with his deep, dark eyes. The ones that had sucked me in all those years ago. Probably always would. “Her husband.”

  Blake

  I was staking my claim.

  Delilah could just get the fuck over it.

  I zipped a quick, fierce glare to wannabe Guido there . . . he could get the fuck over it, too. I cocked a brow. You got anything to say? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

  Loverboy offered Dee a little shrug then turned and walked away.

  I let my hands drop and faced her, ready to explain, grovel, beg, plead, talk . . . anything but sign those damn divorce papers.

  She just tilted her head and studied me a moment, fury lighting her aqua eyes. “You are an asshole, you know that?”

  She didn’t wait for me to reply before pivoting on her man-eater heels and stomping away, giving me a painful view of the sweet ass that I’d been missing for weeks.

  Shit.

  That hadn’t gone over so well.

  Time for Plan B.

  Or Plan C. Whatever worked.

  I peeled after her, not taking my eyes off the sway of her long, dark hair. She made her way to a small table, where Rachel was sitting, eyeing me with a mix of sympathy and frustration. I nodded in her direction and kept after Dee as she yanked up her purse and headed to the parking lot.

  “Delilah, wait!” I shoved out the front door behind her, getting a lungful of the crisp Texas night.

  She ignored me and strode to her ‘Vette with her spine ramrod straight.

  I broke into a full run and made it over before she opened the door. I put my hand over hers on the handle. “Wait.”

  I could feel the anger vibrating off of her. She didn’t move, didn’t meet my gaze.

  “Princess. Please.”

  “I’m not your princess.” She spat the words like they were rotten.

  I butted my way between her and the car’s cold metal. “Yes, you are. And you always will be. Come on—”

  Pissed off blue eyes snapped up to my face. “So what does that make Candace Carmichael? Your queen?” She shoved past me and grabbed the handle again. “Go away, Blake.”

  I wilted inside, hating that I’d done this to her. To us.

  I plucked the keys from her hand and dangled them out of reach, feeling desperate. “You can’t drive, you’ve been drinking.”

  She rolled her eyes and lunged for her keys, slipping past the Elvis keychain we’d bought on a trip to Memphis. One of our rare vacations. When she saw I wasn’t relenting, she sagged back. “Fine. I’ll have Rachel drive me. Now give me my keys and go away!”

  I studied her face, painted with a thousand painful emotions. The face I loved down to the deepest parts of my soul. I internally sagged, too. “Do you really hate me, Dee?”

  She plucked at her sweater, kept her gaze averted. Anything but meet my eyes. “No,” she finally admitted.

  “Then why?”

  Now she did look me dead in the eye. “You know why, Blake.”

  Tears burned the back of my throat, stung my eyes. “I’m so sorry, baby. Please don’t—”

  Though my hand had fallen limp, she didn’t reach for her keys. “No. I’ve heard all that before. Every promise to take a vacation, to be home before midnight, every time you promised to come with me to counseling, but something more important always came up. To be there for me when we lost . . .” Her breath caught and tears filled her eyes. “That’s all there ever was . . . promises. It’s not enough anymore. I can’t be married to a ghost. I’m sorry.” Pivoting on her heels, she made for the front of the bar.

  I grabbed her arm before she got two steps away, stopping her. “I love you, Princess. Please don’t give up on us yet. Please . . .” I wanted to beg her to take the papers back. To say she didn’t mean it.

  She was rapidly blinking back tears as she faced me. “I love you, too, Blake, but that’s the problem. You have too much power to cut me up into a million pieces and I have to let go to save myself.”

  I loosened my grip but didn’t let her go, even though I wanted to yank her into my very skin. I got it. Painfully. “Let me at least drive you home, baby.”

  She stood frozen, her eyes indecisive.

  “Come on. I’m still your husband. I won’t hurt you.”

  She bit her lip then made her way to the passenger door. “You already have.”

  The drive away from the Funky Monkey was strained, to say the least.

  I glanced at her as we passed Mario’s, sweet memories bombarding me. Of her, my mother. The lights were off except for the one over the front door. The sign was a bit aged, but the same as I’d always remembered.

  I flipped on the radio to kill the uncomfortable silence. The song we’d danced to after our wedding drifted out and I glanced at her. No response. I turned the dial, but couldn’t shut off the vision of her that day. Glowing in a simple white dress, flowers in her hair, contentment practically oozing from her as she smiled at me in the sweet summer sunshine. She’d been so sure we had this thing. What happened?

  Overcome, I reached for her hand but she yanked it back, keeping her eyes glued to the passenger window.

  “Baby,” I cajoled. We were nearly home and the desperation was creeping up on me. I needed to get through to her. But how?

  On a sigh, she faced me.

  I took the chance
. “Please don’t be mad. It wasn’t what you’re thinking. I swear it.” My jaw was tense as I faced the road, waiting for her to say something. Anything.

  “Really?”

  I glanced at her. Even illuminated in the dull light from the dash, I could see she didn’t believe me. “Yeah.”

  “So, it was totally innocent that I found you sleeping with Candace Carmichael in your office, her tongue in your mouth? Her fucking hand down your pants?” Her voice got angrier, more brittle with each word.

  I jerked at her language. My princess didn’t usually cuss at me like that. She was really hurt. I shook my head, squeezed the wheel. “Yes. I know how it looked, but it was innocent. I’ll admit I’d knocked back a few at the bar before going back to the garage to have a few more. I guess I passed out on the couch. I woke up with her doing . . . that. I don’t remember how she got there. But I do know I did not sleep with her. I’d never—”

  “How do you know nothing happened if you can’t remember?”

  I heard the hope dancing on her words. I treaded carefully. “Because. I don’t want another woman, baby. I’ll never want another woman.”

  Her gaze was glued to me but I couldn’t read her expression.

  “Dee . . . Princess . . . I know we’ve hit a rough patch, and I know I’ve made some pretty big fuckin’ mistakes, but I love you. I’d never, ever cheat on you.”

  I wanted to claw at the relentless quiet as she didn’t respond. Just her gentle breathing in and out until I pulled into the driveway. I studied our home of the past five years. I bought it with the first major profits from the garage to get her out of our small crappy apartment. It was just after she lost the first baby and I wanted to make her happy. God, I had failed miserably at that.

  Slowly, she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door.

  “Delilah.”

  She paused but didn’t meet my gaze.

  “I told you I’d probably screw this up. You knew what kind of man you were getting when you picked me.”