Come to Me Softly (Closer to You #2)(75)
Author: A.L. Jackson

Oh no.

Dickhead really thought he was going to come stir up problems in my house?

Fucker had another thing coming.

Aggression spiked. I itched, hostility begging to break free. My hands fisted, and I was doing my best to keep it all in check.

His brown hair had been cut short, cropped. It shaved away all the boyish innocence he normally wore like some mask, revealing all the ass**le he always had lurking inside. Arrogant prick.

Never trusted this guy.

Not once.

Sure as hell wasn’t trusting him now.

“You’ve got a lot of f**kin’ nerve coming into my house thinking you’re going to talk to my girl.”

He scoffed through caustic laughter. “What, you’re not going to let her talk to me now?”

His attention turned to her. “What the hell, Aly? Do you let this guy own you? Tell you what you can and can’t do? What kind of bullshit is that?”

Bullshit?

Nah. I was just protecting my girl.

“Back the f**k off,” I hissed.

Morbid interest rumbled through the yard, bodies drawing near to get a better look at what was going down.

I hated all this shit. I just wanted to give Aly a normal f**king life. Was that too much to ask for? But it was like it chased me, the destruction, the bad blood that simmered through my veins, calling out to the rest of the ass**les of this world.

That ass**le took another step forward. “Is that why you didn’t text me back on New Year’s? Because this ass**le won’t let you talk to me? Because he’s worried I’m right?”

He lifted his chin with the insult, the last part directed at me.

Violence skimmed my skin, and I sucked in a ragged breath.

Behind me, Aly stilled. Confusion emanated from her in waves. Flustered, she wound out of my hold, taking a step out beside me. Her eyes narrowed with the question. “What are you talking about?”

“I sent you like five texts on New Year’s Eve.” He glared over at me before turning his rabid attention back to my girl. “Trying to talk some sense into you . . . to tell you I’d be there to take care of you . . . no matter what. Figured since you wouldn’t text me back, I’d just come to you. I told you a long time ago I wasn’t giving up on us . . . and I’m not.”

Aly’s confused eyes blinked over him before she looked at me. I saw the second realization set in. Disappointment twisted up her face. Everything in her was trained on me, like Gabe didn’t exist, which was a f**king good thing because that guy was about three seconds from getting his ass beat if he didn’t get away from her.

But right then, he didn’t matter at all.

Not for a second.

The only thing that mattered was the hurt written all over Aly’s face.

“Baby,” I said, trying to temper my voice, to keep it from shaking. “Listen to me.”

She ignored me while she drew her phone from her back jeans pocket. Swiping her thumb across the plate, she clicked into her messages to find the last one Dickhead sent her.

And that was the f**king thing, he’d been texting her all along, f**king laying seeds of his own destruction, trying to claim what could never be his, steal from me the one thing that had ever truly belonged to me.

This girl was mine.

She’d always been.

Aly stared at the glowing screen. “Thanksgiving,” she said quietly. She eyed him like she really didn’t care to see him, but was much more interested in what he had to say about the situation.

I f**king squirmed.

“The last text I have from you was on Thanksgiving,” she reiterated.

“I texted you a bunch of times on New Year’s Eve . . . after I saw you. It was late.” He watched her as he confessed, gauging her reaction, waiting for her to take the bait.

Aly turned to face me and shoved her phone in my direction. “Did you delete messages from him?” she asked. Disbelief poured from her. Tangible hurt.

“Baby, I’m sorry. Listen to me . . . I did . . .” I roughed both hands over the top of my head. “I know I shouldn’t have, but it was in the middle of the night and you were sleeping and f**k . . .” I gripped the back of my neck. “I thought it had to be Christopher, so I looked. And I’m sorry for invading your privacy, but this dickhead was texting you and talking shit that I just didn’t want you to hear.”

“Because it’s the truth,” he tossed out.

“Fuck you,” I spat, my attention jerking toward the little twit who was about to get torn limb from limb. I pointed at him. “I already warned you to get out of my house. I meant it. The next time I turn around, you’d best be gone.”

I turned back to Aly. Fear rolled through me, all this regret burning up my insides. But shit, what else was I supposed to do? Let this guy wedge himself between us? “No good can come of him trying to get mixed up in us,” I pled, trying to get her to understand where I was coming from. “We’ve got enough shit to deal with.”

Lines pinched up that gorgeous face. “Do you think I care if you look at my phone, Jared? Do you think I want to keep secrets from you?” She stepped away from me. She lifted her hands, palms up and out to her sides like an offering. “I have nothing to hide from you. What I care about is that you think so little of me you feel the need to erase messages. That you don’t trust me enough to talk to him.”

“I do trust you, Aly.”

I trusted her with my life.

Desperate, I pushed toward her, trying to erase the space she put between us. “Who I don’t trust is him.”

Aly blinked at me. I watched her swallow and fight through some unwelcomed emotion. Her voice dropped, pained and wounded. “No, Jared, I think who you don’t trust is yourself.”

I could feel all the eyes on us. Prying into our business. Discomfort prickled at the back of my neck.

I hated all this shit, standing out there on display. But all of that disquiet paled in comparison to what it felt like having Aly look at me this way.

Sadness wove into her words. “This is that part of you who still thinks he’s not good enough for me, who thinks he doesn’t deserve how much I love him.”

“He’s not good enough for you.” Gabe’s voice cut into my mind, into the truth of what Aly spoke.

Rage brimmed and spiraled.

Everything flashed, and I was in his face. I rushed him, shoving him in the chest. “Get the f**k out of my house.”

My hands met his skin, that skin I’d been dying to take out for so long. Hatred burned, feeding the darkness.