I flushed hotly.
“Get your mind out of the gutter.” He laughed. “I was thinking about the time I taught you how to pick a lock.”
Since he was focusing on the bookshelf, I grinned freely. “Yeah, you did do that. When I was twelve. A total useful skill for a child.”
He laughed. “You never know when you’d need that. Besides, putting these shelves together is the least I could do for you.”
Bending over, I picked up the board marked A. “How so?”
Brock was still for a moment and then he looked up at me from where he knelt on the floor. “After I was injured, I was a fucking—”
“Mess?” I supplied helpfully.
His grin was small as he nodded. “I thought my career had ended. My head was in a really bad place.”
It had been in a really bad, dark place.
“But you were there for me the whole time. When no one else could stand to be around me, you were there,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I lost count of how many times you showed up in the middle of the day or even at night and helped get me to bed when I was passed out on the floor. Cleaned up after me when I had too much to drink.” Disgust filled his voice. “Or when you’d bring me food and make sure I actually ate it. You stayed even when I was piss drunk and was getting on my own damn nerves. So, yeah, putting together some bookcases is the least I could do.”
I lowered my gaze as I sucked my lower lip between my teeth. Was that why he was here? Why he . . . he wanted me? To atone for the past? That seemed silly, though. “Brock . . .”
“You know, there’s something I need to say—something we need to talk about. Okay?” He waited until I met his gaze. “That night you were hurt, the night you almost died, I wasn’t there for you. It happened to you because of me.”
“Stop.” My heart twisted something painful in my chest as I scooted closer to him, still holding the board. “You didn’t—”
“I didn’t try to rob you? I didn’t pull that trigger?”
Chapter 23
Hearing those words spoken, words I barely allowed myself to think about, caused me to flinch as those memories came roaring back. It was like a plug pulled from a water-filled sink. There was no stopping the deluge.
I didn’t remember walking across the packed parking lot.
All I knew was that I was standing in front of my car with my hands slapped over my eyes. Oh God, he totally bailed on me. Brock had me drive all the way up here to spend time with him, with just him and me, and he was inside of Mona’s with everyone else—with those girls. That totally just happened. Brock had seriously bailed on me.
My shoulders shook as a sob rose in my throat. Brock didn’t even see anything wrong with ditching me. I saw that in his face. Not for a single moment did he think there was anything wrong, and I was so, so stupid.
So fucking stupid in my dumb dress and dumb makeup. No wonder he’d looked at me like he had when he first saw me. It hadn’t been because he finally saw me as something other than his Jillybean. It was because I looked ridiculous. Compared to the girls in there—to Kristen—who were wearing skintight denim skirts or jeans, I looked like I was playing dress up.
Tears streamed down my face as I lowered my hands and slipped my purse off my shoulder. Katie had been right. Brock would get laid tonight. He wasn’t going home alone while I was—
“Excuse me?”
Sucking back tears, I turned around. A man stood there—close, too close. I took a step back, bumping into the side of my car. There wasn’t enough light in the parking lot for him to see my tear-stained face, thank God. But I also couldn’t see much of this man. What I could see wasn’t good. His cheekbones appeared gaunt. His eyes were shadowy, and when I breathed in deeply, I smelled the pungent scent of sweat and greasy food. His hands were shoved into the pockets of what appeared to be dark work pants.
Unease blossomed in the pit of my belly. “Can I help you?”
“Yeah.” He turned his head slightly to the side and barked out a dry cough. “Do you have a dollar?”
I don’t know why I answered the way I did. I had a dollar, but my head was shaking no. “I’m sorry. I don’t,” I said, turning back to my car.
The man moved fast.
One hand shot out and his fingers caught in my hair. I let out a startled shriek as my head was jerked back. I acted out of instinct, and I started to swing my bag at him, but I froze—stopped moving, stopped breathing. For a split second, I didn’t believe what I was seeing. I couldn’t even process it, but it was real and it was right there.
He held a gun an inch from my face.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, mouth drying.
“Don’t move,” the man ordered. “Just give me your purse and you aren’t going to get hurt.”
I immediately lifted my purse, fully prepared to give him every cent I had on me, right along with the credit cards. Pain flashed across my scalp as he shoved my head forward. Thrown off-balance, I stumbled to the side and. too panicked to catch myself, I fell to the ground.
My knees scraped off the rough pavement, tearing open a scream. A harsh grunt of air exploded out of my lungs as the panic erupted like a bomb inside me.
“God dammit!” the man spat. “I told you not to move.”
“I-I didn’t mean to.” I reached for my purse and in my hurry, the contents fell out, scattering across the ground. I reached for my wallet. “Here! Take it. You can take it.”
Clenching the gun in one hand, he ripped the wallet out of my hand. I stayed where I was, not daring to move. Bile rose swiftly into my throat. I was going to be sick. I was going—