Adam, Enough Said (This Can't be Happening) (5 page)

“Uhhh…somebody got me out of jail,” I told him without actually telling him, and I prayed he wouldn’t ask who.

“Who got you? Max?”

Fuck!

I cringed again.

“No, Adam,” I answered through a sigh.

I heard his audible gasp that echoed in my ear. “Please don’t tell me you’re with him.”

I closed my eyes and didn’t answer.

“Mia, sweetheart, please tell me you’re not with him,” he begged softly and I twisted my neck to look out the window like that would keep Adam from listening in on my conversation, but I could feel his eyes on me.

“I’m with him,” I whispered again, loud enough for Eric to hear.

“Damn it,” Eric growled before shouting, “Don’t listen to him, Mia! Tell him to bring you to my house. He’s a lying piece of shit and we both know it!” I’d had to pull the phone away from my ear again. He didn’t have to tell me any of that, but why he was so angry all of a sudden was a little uncalled for. However, I didn’t have a chance to tell him that because my phone was suddenly snatched out of my hand.

“She’s mine for the night, so don’t even think about looking for her. If I even catch a glimpse of your face, I’ll put you in the fuckin’ hospital. Goodbye, Eric,” Adam growled into the phone just before he pulled it from his face and pressed “end” on the screen.

I gasped.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” I shouted at him and he glared at me quickly
, before returning his angry eyes back to the road.

“Believe it,” he returned.

“Take me to Eric’s house, Adam,” I demanded, but all he did was shake his head. “You’re such an asshole,” I hissed, and when he shrugged like he already knew that, I turned away from him in a huff to stare out the window.

It wasn’t until we passed the exit to my apartment that I asked, “Where are you going?” He knew where I lived. It was only a few months back that he’d given me a ride home…another memory I didn’t want to have, but my place in Webster was only fifteen minutes from his house in Clear Lake.

I stiffened when I realized what was happening.

“Adam, take me home. Do not take me to your house,” I demanded.

“Mia, I’m not taking you home,” he decided, and I could feel the panic flowing through my veins. I knew he wouldn’t change his mind either, because that’s exactly how much of an asshole he was. He wanted to throw the past in my face. I felt sick.

“Freckles, if you’re gonna throw up, tell me so I can pull over.”

My eyes narrowed to slits. “Don’t call me freckles. And I’m not that drunk. I haven’t thrown up in a car since I was a kid.”

Although, fifteen minutes later, when we pulled up outside his house, my stomach had other plans. I stared in disgust at the big, white, two-story, Victorian-style house that, eons ago, also used to be mine. Haunted memories crashed into my head, and along with the alcohol in my system, I felt nauseated.

“I don’t want to be here. I can’t be here,” I breathed loud enough that I knew he heard.

I looked down at my lap and closed my eyes. I couldn’t bear to see that house again. I just couldn’t. There were too many memories in that house and most of them were bad. My heart dropped to my stomach, especially when Adam ignored me and I heard his door open.

A few seconds later, I heard my door open. I opened my eyes, but I kept my gaze on my lap and refused to look at him.

“I can’t be here…please.” I begged in a small whisper, and I could feel his eyes on the side of my face.

“Mia --” he said in a quiet, pain-filled voice, but I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. He just didn’t understand.

“No. I can’t be here, Adam.” My voice grew stronger.

“Mia, I get it, but if I have to live in this house every day, then I think you can handle being inside it for an hour
, so we can sit down and talk like adults. Get out of the truck before I drag you out.”

I looked at him then. Really looked at him. The most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

Not perfect, he had flaws, but that only made him more beautiful. He had a small dimple in the center of his chin that could be annoying to some, but it’d always been cute to me. He had a full head of hair - though it was practically shaved - but he had a widow's peak. And that would probably look stupid on any other man, but on Adam, it was sexy and totally added to his buff cop persona.

He was the man that little ole freckle-faced, frizzy haired, redheaded me, somehow managed to snag at eighteen years old.

He looked upset and I knew he still remembered, still felt pain. How could he not? But the pain was different for him. It had to be. The pain would never be the same for him as it was for me.

He’d never wanted the baby anyway.

“Of course you can live in this house every day, Adam. Because while I was in it, you weren’t. While I was pregnant, depressed, lonely and needing you, you were with another woman. While I was in the hospital miscarrying
my
baby
, you were with another fucking woman. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like for you to get back in the truck and take me home.”

He flinched like I slapped him
, and his eyes closed as though in physical pain. I felt bad for throwing the words in his face, but they were the truth and I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything, especially Adam’s feelings.

He’d never cared about mine.

As his eyes remained closed, I assumed he saw my point and would take me home like I’d asked, but when his eyes opened they were filled with the last thing I wanted to see.

Determination.

Chapter Three

Adam Bryant

Thirty-One years old

"
Our baby
," I corrected her, seething with concealed pain and anger. Mia narrowed her eyes on my face, but said nothing. She had to know I'd lose it if she tried to argue with me.

It was both of us that miscarried, not just her. She wasn’t
the only one who lost the baby; I’d just been too stupid to grieve about it the way I should have. And when it had finally hit me...when all of my mistakes had slapped me in the face at once and I’d set out to fix them, it’d been too late.

What I'd done had been a mistake.

One huge fuckin’ mistake that destroyed my life and it wasn’t even the mistake Mia thought I’d made. I’d made a lot of stupid mistakes in my life, especially when it came to Mia, but never…
never
would I have fucked up that bad.

From the day I met her, I never even considered another woman.

I’d told Mia what happened and I’d explained where I was and why, even if it meant I’d have lost my job, but she'd refused to believe me or even listen. I hadn’t blamed her. I couldn’t. I’d fucked up way before we miscarried, but I’d royally fucked up after.

And
I’d lost her.

S
he might still be lost to me, but this time, with her right in front of me, looking at her and remembering how much I'd loved her and needed her, I made a decision. I wasn’t going to let her go until she understood. And it was going to be hard to make her listen, but if she left me no choice, I’d hog tie her little ass on my living room floor, duct tape her mouth shut, and force her to hear what I had to say until she understood.

No
, not only understood, but more importantly, forgave me.

"This is exactly the kind of shit we gotta talk about, Mia, and we're talking
inside the house."

"No, this is exactly the reason I need to pretend you don't e
xist. I suggest you do the same," she snapped, but enough was enough.

I reached across her lap, unbuckled her seatbelt, unwound it,
grasped her hips, bent at the knees, put my elbow in her stomach and hefted her out of the truck against her protests and struggles.

"Adam, put me down!" She p
awed on my back like a feisty kitten.

I climbed the steps
to the porch, kept one arm around the back of her thighs, wrestled the keys from my pocket and unlocked the front door. I strode through the foyer and into the living room where I placed her on her feet, but I kept a hand on her waist so she wouldn't run.

Though,
I didn't have to. She was frozen.

She glanced
around the room, before looking up at me with tears in her eyes.

"Why?"
she asked in a strained whisper and I didn't respond, because honestly, I didn't know how to answer her. And really, what the hell was I gonna say?

That every time I'd tried to get rid of the furniture and the mem
ories, I broke down like a female and cried? That I'd cried like a fuckin’ female, remembering how Mia and my mom, the women who meant
everything
to me, picked out the furniture and the decorations together? That I'd shed tear after tear remembering how I couldn't have cared less when they'd both tried, excitedly, to show me what they'd bought?

That I'd cried remembering how I'd tried to get Mia to take the stuff with her when she left me
, because I knew she had nothing, but she refused? That looking at this furniture every day helped me realize what a fuck up I was?

In the past, I'd
have never admitted to anything so embarrassing, but now, I was man enough to realize the difference between embarrassing and
real
. How I'd felt and how hurt I'd been...had been real.

But I wasn't about to come out
and admit to anything just yet.

W
hen I still didn't answer after a few moments, Mia's voice grew louder and deepened when she asked again, "Why?"

"I just
…” I shook my head. “…I couldn't get rid of it," I answered truthfully without giving too much away, but I could see in her face that she wasn’t satisfied.

"You c
ouldn't get rid of it," she repeated low, her tone eerie. She looked lost as she glanced around the room once more, just before her sight landed, and stopped, on the mantel over the fireplace.

"You couldn't get rid of it," she repeated again in a
tortured whisper. She moved to back away and I let her waist go. She walked over to the mantel and headed straight for the framed picture of my mom.

I stiffened.

Her back was to me now, but she just stood there, gazing at the picture in wonder.

"I loved your mom. She w
as my mom too. I was broken after she passed," she admitted softly and picked up the picture in her hands to study it closer, caressing it with her fingers, but her words pissed me right the fuck off.

My
fists clenched.

"Yeah. You loved her
all right. You loved her so much that you didn’t even come to her funeral to pay your respects. The woman loved you like a daughter and you didn’t even bother to show up," I said, scorning her with my words before thinking, which was exactly why I wasn't fast enough to move.

Mia spun around, picture frame in hand and she let it fly out of her hand
, so fast I never saw it coming. It sailed an inch past my face and crashed into the wall behind me by the time I realized what she'd done.

"What the
--"

"Fuck you!"
she screamed as she cried uncontrollably. She turned around, lifted her arm, put her hand on the corner of the mantel and swiped it across, clearing it of everything that rested on top. Items crashed to the wood floor and glass shattered.

Her reaction honestly freaked me the fuck out.

"Shit!" I charged for her, but she ran around the living room and stopped behind the couch before I could catch her. The little terrorist was fast, I’d give her that. We'd practically switched positions in the room.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I roared.

"I
WAS
THERE! I WAS THERE AND I SAW YOU WITH HER!" she screamed through her sobs, and tears rained down her cheeks.

What
?

"
What the hell are you talking about, Mia? Saw me with who?"

She grabbed hold of
the couch with one hand, bent, and I saw movement. Next thing I knew, a shoe was flying out of her hand and headed straight for my head. I ducked out of the way, before it hit me and shouted, "Mia, stop!"

"With
her
! You took the same stripper
bitch
you were with the night I miscarried to your
mother's funeral
! I saw her with my own eyes! Eric saw her too, so there’s no way you can deny it!"

Eric
, that prick...number one on my motherfuckin' list
!

She moved to the other foot, removed
that shoe and threw it at me too, but this time I didn't move and it hit me square in the chest. Everything was slowly coming together. Bits and pieces of the puzzle from the past that never made sense before, were suddenly fitting perfectly into place.