He looked away, a muscle thrumming in his jaw.
I stepped forward. “Oh, is that too hard to hear? Because you did that to him?”
“Roxanne.” Nurse Venter grasped my arm with her cool fingers. “I think it will be best for you to leave.”
Yanking my arm free, I was seconds away from erupting in a stream of fiery insults and curse words, but my wild gaze met hers. She wasn’t just looking at me, she was pleading with me to let this go—to walk out of the facility, because there was nothing she could do.
There was nothing I could do.
I drew in several deep breaths that went nowhere. All I could do was nod in her direction before I picked up my tote bag. It was like walking through quicksand. Every cell in my body demanded that I not walk out of the building, but I did. Calling on every ounce of restraint I had in my body, I managed to walk my ass out of that building, under the overcast skies, and was halfway across the parking lot.
My eyes widened. Oh hell to the motherfucking no. Dumbfounded, I turned around slowly.
Henry was right behind me. “I know you’re upset—”
“You’re so fucking observant.”
He ignored that. “And you have every right to be upset.”
Staring up at him, I knew I was going to do something stupid if I didn’t remove myself from this situation just as much as I knew those dark, plump clouds were going to break.
“Leave me alone,” I said, tightening my hand on my tote as I pivoted around. I picked up my pace, skirting around a van.
Lightning lit up the dark clouds overhead and the thunder cracked, so loud it rattled my chest. As another cloud flashed like a disco ball, I focused on counting the seconds between the streak of light and thunder.
Then I saw my car.
Better yet, I saw what was sitting next to my car. It was an old Mustang—a cherry red muscle car straight out of the 70s. The vanity plate was familiar, too. It read BBRB, and I knew what that stood for, too.
Bad Boys Are Better.
Motherfucker, it was Henry’s car—the same car he had in high school that he and his father had restored. The same car he and his friends used to roll around in to pick up girls, like something straight out of a cheesy movie.
Henry got out of prison after destroying my best friend’s life and his fucking, stupid car—his pride and joy—had been waiting for him.
“Please, just give me a few seconds. That’s all I’m asking.” Henry grabbed my arm.
I lost it.
Fury exploded inside me, like a lit match carelessly dropped on a puddle of gasoline. My brain clicked off and common sense did a swan dive off a building. I just wasn’t thinking, only feeling rage, so much so that it was like being outside of my body. I reached down into the tote bag, pulled the first substantial thing my fingers touched and I cocked my arm back like a pro pitcher in the MLB.
The heavy, hardcover edition of New Moon flew through the air like a rock—much like the rock that had destroyed lives—and connected with the windshield of Henry’s Mustang.
Much like all our lives had shattered that night at the lake.
I had a mean case of déjà vu.
Sitting inside my car, I stared through the rain-drenched windshield—totally intact windshield—as Dennis finished up with Henry. Well, it wasn’t the just-got-married Dennis who often came into the bar. Right now he was Officer Dennis Hanner.
Out of the hundred deputies that worked this county, it had to be someone who knew me. Of course. Because that was how life worked.
I didn’t know if Henry would’ve called the police on me for breaking his windshield, because he hadn’t gotten the chance to do so. Since I had impeccable timing, an elderly couple visiting someone had just gotten out of the car the very second New Moon broke the sound barrier and the windshield. Not only had they called the cops¸ but they’d also parked themselves in front of my car, like I would run off, until Officer Hanner showed up.
Apparently, I’d hit the windshield at the right place. Or maybe it was the wrong spot. Since most glass was reinforced, I must have hit the one and only weak area. Or maybe I was really a mutant and could turn books into weapons of windshield destruction.
Then it rained, all the while Dennis—nope, Officer Hanner—had glared at me like he wanted to pick me up by the ankles and shake some sense into me. I was soaked; so was he, even though he’d donned one of those plastic anti-rain things.
Both Henry and Officer Hanner turned to look at me.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I rested my forehead against the steering wheel. I was such . . . such an idiot—an impulsive, irresponsible idiot. What had I been thinking? I couldn’t even believe I’d done that. Granted, I had a hell of a temper. Got that from my mama, too, but I’d never committed an act of vandalism. Shame rode me hard, making my skin clammy and icky.
How was what I’d done any different than what Henry had done? I mean, I didn’t hurt someone, but I lost my shit and I reacted in a way that was violent and stupid.
Uncomfortable with that comparison, I felt a shudder shake my shoulders.
The passenger car door opened suddenly, causing me to jerk back against the seat. Wild eyed, I watched Dennis slip into the seat next to me. My gaze bounced to the front of the car. Henry was gone. So was the Mustang. Reluctantly, I looked back at Dennis.
He tugged off the hood of the plastic, yellow poncho. “What were you thinking, Roxy?”