I was going to Mona’s.
I was going to see my friends.
That was a flutter of excitement.
A knock on my door drew me out of my thoughts. “Come in.”
The door cracked open and Brock popped his head in. “Is it safe, or is Rhage going to make a run for it?”
I glanced to the open closet door. “He’s hiding in the closet. Just shut the door in case he decides to make another run for it.”
Brock slipped in, quickly closing the door. As I got a good look at him, the flutter in my belly increased until it felt like a swarm of hummingbirds.
The beard was gone.
His jaw was bare and the hard, chiseled line was on full display. So was the faint scar on his lip. I wanted to touch it—kiss it. He wore a black Henley and a pair of jeans, and somehow he looked like he belonged in his own personal jet. He wore those clothes. They didn’t wear him, and he looked amazing.
“Really loving that top,” he said, and I blinked, drawing my gaze back to his. He’d been checking me out as I’d been doing the same thing. He walked over to me. His finger skimmed along the collar of my sweater, over the swells of my breasts. “I really love this shirt.”
“Perv,” I murmured as I reached up and placed a hand on his cheek. “You shaved.”
“Yeah, figured it was time. You like?”
“Like it either way.” Biting down on my lip, I dragged my hand along his jaw. The skin was impossibly smooth.
Brock dipped his head and my hand slid back to the nape of his neck. The kiss was sweet and felt different since the beard was gone. “You sure about tonight?”
A faint smile tugged at my lips as I lowered my cheek to his shoulder and inhaled deeply.
“I mean, we can stay in.” A hand slipped over my lower back and down the curve of my rear. “Wait until your parents go to bed, then I can creep into your bedroom like we’re both teens. Keep you to myself.”
I laughed. “I’m sure. I want to go.” I looked up, searching his face as a seed of doubt blossomed. Maybe he didn’t want to go . . . to go with me. “Do you want to go with—”
“Babe.” The grip on my ass tightened. “If you’re about to ask if I want to go with you, I might turn you over my knee.”
I raised my brow. “I really would like to see you try that.”
“I bet you would really like it.”
Maybe, but that wasn’t the point. I inhaled deeply. “If you want to go and so do I, then what are we waiting for?”
His grin was slow. “Then let’s go.”
* * *
My stomach churned as I climbed out of the car, the cute Coach wristlet dangling from my wrist. The parking lot was full. Not entirely surprising since it was the night before Thanksgiving and many would have the next day off, which meant many would spend Thanksgiving hung over.
But I wasn’t thinking about drinking and spending the next day with a massive headache. Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward and without wanting to, without even trying, I found myself staring toward the side parking lot, where the Dumpsters were and where the staff usually parked. It wasn’t that well-lit back there.
It was where I parked the last time I’d been here.
Cold wind whipped through the parking lot, lifting strands of my hair and tossing them around my face.
Ice settled in my veins and my stomach wiggled with a nest of snakes. I wanted to look away. I wanted to walk straight into the bar, unaffected by being here, but I couldn’t.
“Jillian?”
I jerked to my left, not realizing Brock had joined me in front of his car. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Yellow light from the overhead lamp fell upon his face. Concern filled his steady gaze as he took my hand in his. “What are you thinking?”
My mouth dried. The door to Mona’s opened and laughter spilled out into the parking lot.
“I’m thinking about that night.” Brock squeezed my hand as he brought it to his chest. “I think it makes sense. It’s okay if you are.”
I wet my lower lip and then nodded slowly. “I never . . . I never drove past here again. I didn’t come anywhere near here. I just . . .”
Brock circled his other arm around the nape of my neck, drawing me close. For several moments we stood there in silence and he said, “You know, I haven’t gone by the place I grew up since I was . . . hell, in my early twenties?”
Surprise flickered through me. “You haven’t?”
He shook his head. “Not once since then.”
All I could do was stare. Brock rarely talked about his past. He’d always been that way. “I thought you’d gone back.”
“Just that once. Saw my father.” He let out a heavy breath. “He was still drinking and he still wanted to do nothing but talk with his fists.”
“You never told me you saw your father.”
He raised a shoulder in a slight shrug. “There was nothing to tell. The man barely cared that I was even there, standing in front of him and alive. All he saw was that I was wearing nice clothes and driving a nice car. He saw me and saw his next bottle of whiskey.”
Sadness filled me. “And your mom?”
Another slow shake of his head. “She wasn’t there, but that wasn’t anything new. She was never there.”
His parents really were the worst. His dad was a drunk who had never been able to hold down a job. He’d stay out, come home, and even though Brock rarely admitted it, I knew his father used him as a punching bag.
Just like Brock’s father had used his mom.