Crashed, p.6
Crashed, page 6
“Stay down,” Travis advised. Since he didn’t necessarily trust the kid to listen, he shifted his stance so he could keep a closer eye on him.
Face red-hot with humiliation and anger, Brant slowly sat up, his knees bloody and red under his long, baggy shirts and his chin skinned, face dirty from his fall.
But he stayed on his ass.
To the struggling adult, Travis asked, “What’s your name?”
“Fuck you.”
“No wonder you’re so pissed off at the world. If my mama named me that, I’d be angry, too.” Behind him, the other two kids snickered. “Come on. Name? It’s awkward having a serious conversation with anybody when you don’t know their name.”
“It’s Lloyd,” the older kid from behind me said. “Lloyd Brimley.”
“Thanks, kid. Okay, Lloyd, I’m going to let you up in a minute here. You’re going to take your kid and walk on back to your place, then have a talk with him about picking fights with kids half his size. You should probably tell him that it’s a dick move, trying to push around a little girl who probably isn’t any older than five or six. Personally, if it was me, I’d talk to him about being a bigoted brat, too, but he probably learned it from you so I’m not going to hold my breath there.”
Lloyd started to struggle again, only to stop and swear in a pained voice as Travis added more pressure to his hold. “You keep that up, my friend, and you’ll dislocate your shoulder. I can tell you from personal experience that it hurts like a son of a bitch.”
“Let me go, you stupid fuck, and don’t tell me what to do with my own kid.”
Travis blew out a breath. “Guess we’re not going to be able to solve this politely. Alright, Lloyd. I’m going to let you up but if you come at me again, you’re going to piss me off.”
The sound of a car’s engine approaching came to him but he kept his attention on Lloyd. “You understand, pal?”
“I’m not your pal, fucker. But, yeah. I understand.”
Travis let go. He promptly moved back, taking care to nudge the two kids who’d been behind him farther away, clear from danger in case Lloyd decided he hadn’t understood after all. He made sure they were clear from Brant, too, although the kid was limping toward his father already.
Lloyd shoved upright, his face a furious shade caught between red and purple. A vein throbbed in his temple as he glared at Travis before looking around, gaze finally landing on Brant. The kid swiped the blood from his chin and sheepishly looked away.
“Did you touch my kid?” Lloyd snarled.
“No. He tripped over his own feet and you after he tried to rush me. That was a dumbass move to begin with, so I discouraged it by moving out of his way. And it’s all been recorded—just like the incident here.” The car he’d heard went quiet. Judging by how close it was, he suspected Aaron and Brooklyn’s mother had arrived.
Travis huffed out a breath just as Aaron groaned. “Fuck, we’re so busted.”
Lloyd still glared at Travis. “I ought to sue your ass. I’m calling the fucking cops and having you arrested for assaulting a minor.”
“I am gonna call the fucking cops because you are a d-hole!” Brooklyn announced, planting herself at Travis’s side.
A d-hole?
“Ah ... Brooklyn, I’ll take care of this,” he said, stroking a hand down soft, silky hair that was a soft ash blonde with streaks of paler gold. He could feel her looking up at him but he didn’t take his eyes off Lloyd.
“Stay out of this,” Lloyd snapped, glaring at the girl. “And if you don’t want Brant bugging you, stay away from him, kid. And stop cussing so much.”
“You can’t tell me what to do!” She rushed forward, quicker than Travis could react—in his defense, he just wasn’t expecting her to be a miniature Valkyrie. In what world did little girls decide to take on grown-ass men who acted like schoolyard bullies?
In this one, apparently. She kicked Lloyd in the ankle.
And that was when Travis saw that she had topped off her pretty princess dress with a pair of princess shoes that had a pointy toe. Not quite high-heel adult pointy-toe, but still, pointy enough that if a kid managed to kick a bony prominence, like an ankle, in just the right place, it would hurt.
He almost choked on his laughter as Lloyd’s face went red, a blistering stream of cursing erupting from him as Brooklyn darted away, no doubt planning to hide behind Travis.
Lloyd shot out a hand and Travis slammed the bladed edge of his palm down along Lloyd’s wrist, hard.
Lloyd let out a pained grunt and yanked his hand back.
“You don’t want to touch that girl. You don’t want to bother either of these kids. Neither does that boy of yours,” he advised softly. “Go on home. Make your call to the cops. Have fun with it. But ... keep in mind, that boy came swinging at me. All I did was defend myself. The laws allow an adult to defend themselves against a minor when the minor attacks—I only deflected his attempted assault and I never laid a hand on him otherwise. All the scrapes came from him tripping over you when he tried to rush me. This entire fiasco, including your boy’s attempt to swing at a child, was caught on the video set-up at my house. All of it will turned over to any authorities.”
Lloyd’s mouth tightened.
“Ms. Bella is here!”
The name Bella struck a knife into his heart. An old, beloved nickname for a beloved person who no longer loved him. Bella-mine.
He shoved the painful thoughts away as Brooklyn caught Travis’s hand and tugged on it several times, her excited squeal helping to separate the then from the now a little quicker, and with a bit less pain.
“Lloyd.” The woman’s voice was warm and husky, catching Travis’s attention immediately. “If that kid of yours is harassing Aaron again, I’m calling the police.”
Travis might have looked over at the woman just then—she sounded kind of familiar. But his blood had started roaring in his ears, his still recovering body telling him to sit the fuck down. Now.
“This ain’t about Brant harassing anybody. This fucker here was knocking him around!” Lloyd snapped, finally looking away from Travis.
“You liar!” Brooklyn shouted. She shoved between Lloyd and Travis, moving in a way that said she did everything at top speed. She half-tripped over the hem of her fluffy pink gown and wobbled, her thin shoulder slamming into Lloyd’s groin as she tried to steady herself.
This time, at least, it was an accident.
Lloyd went red, eyes crossing in pain. His hand shot out toward the little girl and Travis reacted. Pure instinct guided him again as he shoved forward, using his body to separate child from adult before catching the man’s wrist. He twisted Lloyd’s arm and the man bent over, snarling out a curse at the pain as Travis put pressure on the limb.
“I told you not to put your hands on that kid,” he said, teeth clenched as the wound in his side protested—and tore. Something hot oozed down his side. Fuck. Perfect. Just perfect. He’d gone and busted open the staples, or at least a couple of them.
He dragged in air, tried to focus past the nauseating rush of pain, tried to clear his head.
It might have worked. Maybe.
But over the scent of the sea and the overpowering scent of the man’s cologne, Travis caught the hint of something warm and feminine. It tugged at an elusive memory, teasing him even as the warm, wet body fluid trickled down his side to dampen the waistband of his loose, gray sweat pants and the asshole in his grip jerked against his hold.
His head swam even more and he blinked hard, blew out a slow, steady breath.
Some piece of shit asshole wasn’t going to put him on his ass. He didn’t care if he was just a few days out of the hospital, still recovering from a miserable infection that had been hours short of going septic.
His thoughts cleared, some.
“My patience is pretty much gone, so somebody needs to start talking.”
That voice—
This time, the memory wasn’t so elusive. Adrenaline swam over him in a wave, clearing the fog from his head.
A face came to him. He blinked and gave another sharp shake of his head. Nah. Couldn’t be.
Miles would not have done that—
Fuck. Yes, he would have.
Slowly, he looked up and found a pair of green eyes slanting his way at just that moment.
For a minute, she stared blankly at him, her gaze showing no sign of recognition.
Then her lips parted on a soft inhalation.
As for Travis, he felt leveled, like he’d been hit sideways across the head with a metal baseball bat. The impact was so intense, he let his grip on the asshole go slack.
Lloyd tried to jerk away and Travis automatically tightened his hold, taking the heavier guy’s leg out from under him at the same time.
“Stay down.”
He did it all, takedown and order, without looking away from Isabel.
Mouth dry and mind racing, he tried to find something to say.
He managed an abbreviated version of her name before his lungs locked up on him.
“Bel.”
The thick fringe of her lashes temporarily hid the rich green of her irises. Soft color flushed her cheeks. But once she opened her eyes and focused on him, her expression was a smooth, blank mask.
“Travis.”
She said his name with such icy precision, that he wouldn’t have been surprised to look down and discover he had frostbite.
“Why did you put my neighbor on the ground?”
Travis blinked, a full second passing before the rather sensible question actually made sense. Following the direction of her gaze, he looked at the back of the grown-ass man who’d had no problem mocking a teenage kid, side by side with his mouthy son.
“He was being an asshole,” Travis said, his disgust strong enough to clear his head. “Was about ready to grab your little fairy princess.” He paused, then added, “The princess did kick him, and kinda accidentally racked him. But she barely reaches his hip.”
“Lying puke,” Lloyd mumbled, his cheek pressed in the dirt and face lobster red with anger or humiliation. Probably both.
“Bet the security cameras will disagree, shithead.” Travis didn’t spare him another look.
“Shithead,” Brooklyn said agreeably, delight in her voice. “D-hole shithead.”
Chapter 5
Travis Barnes.
For a few seconds, she hadn’t even recognized him, his face more square and roughly hewn in a way she wouldn’t have expected.
But then she’d seen his eyes—and there was no mistaking those eyes.
Of all the people to show up in her life, now, why was it Travis Barnes?
But then again, thinking of the shape Miles was in, was she surprised?
She shouldn’t be.
The sight of Travis, even as pale and ragged as he looked, hit her like a punch to the gut, to the heart.
She wanted to stare, greedily imprint the image of him as a fully-grown male on her mind. He was whipcord lean, too lean, it seemed, especially with the wide wall of those shoulders, but still, fucking beautiful. His jawline was granite hard and square, overwhelmingly masculine, saving his face from being too pretty.
Somehow, some way, it almost didn’t seem right, didn’t seem to fit the picture she’d always had in her head of him. But it had been years, hadn’t it?
And those eyes ... those eyes were unmistakable. Heart-stopping.
Travis ...
Lloyd’s screeching interrupted the spiral of her thoughts and she jerked her gaze away to glare at the man who had become a monster pain in her ass.
Just then, she really wanted to kick her neighbor, even if he literally was down. Maybe she wouldn’t discipline Brooklyn too hard about ... whatever had happened. She had absolutely no doubt that whatever had happened, Travis’s version was much closer to the truth than whatever tale Lloyd wanted to sell her.
Taking a deep breath, she looked at two of her foster kids. “Back to the house. Now.”
“But—”
“C’mon, Brooks,” Aaron said, his quiet voice and quick, meek look getting through to the little general in princess clothing in a way Isabel couldn’t do even if she yelled at the top of her lungs.
Not that yelling was her thing. Brooklyn just adored Aaron and had almost from the first time they’d met not even six months earlier.
As the two kids walked back to the house, she shifted her attention to Brant. Her narrow-eyed look had his face going red and hot and he backed up several steps, shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Do you really want to grow up being the kind of person who picks on weaker people, Brant?” she asked.
His Adam’s apple bobbed, eyes jerking toward her, then away.
His dad snarled, face still in the dirt.
“Don’t talk to my boy, bitch.”
The rage in his voice had the blood draining out of Brant’s face until he was all big, scared eyes and nerves.
“Go home,” she mouthed to him.
He didn’t respond, but she wasn’t surprised to see him spin on his heel and take off running.
Wordlessly, she directed her attention to Travis.
He was still staring at her, one hand controlling Lloyd’s body with ridiculous ease. His free arm was tucked in close to his side, the position awkward, almost unnatural.
“Let him go.” She didn’t ask.
But Travis complied, releasing Lloyd and backing up a few steps as Lloyd came surging up, one hand swinging in a wild punch.
Travis had moved toward her and without her quite realizing how he’d done it, he put his body between her and Lloyd, moving her several steps back and well out of range of Lloyd’s clumsy attempts to strike.
Lloyd spun around, his eyes landing on Travis, then shifting to Isabel, fury a vibrant glint in his gaze.
“You ever put your hands on this woman or any of her kids, I won’t stop with a warning next time,” Travis said, his voice so cold and flat, it sent shivers down her spine just to hear it. “I’ll break bones—more than one. You’ll be trapped flat on your ass healing for months, and that’s if I’m in a good mood. And if I see that kid of yours with even a mark on him tomorrow, if he even moves funny, I’m going to drag you kicking and screaming from your bed and beat you to a bloody pulp.”
Lloyd stared at Travis, his reddened face draining of blood.
Whatever he saw, it made the bigger man back up a step.
Then Travis added, “And I’m going to enjoy every fucking second. You might want to think twice about giving me a reason to ever look your way again.”
Lloyd walked away, his pace not quite a run, but a hell of a lot quicker than the man’s usual strutting gait.
His door banged shut maybe a minute later.
Travis still stood with his back to her.
She drew in a ragged breath and almost moaned because now her head was full of the scent of him.
Backing up a couple of steps, she took another breath and reminded herself to focus.
It worked, too.
But she found herself focusing on the wrong kind of thing.
“What the ... ” She sucked in a breath. “Travis, you’re bleeding.”
“I know.” The words came out gritty. “It’s fine. Just tore a couple of stitches.”
Without even looking at her, he walked away, elbow tucked in close to his side where the fabric was slowly growing wetter and redder from blood.
She shoved a hand into her hair and fisted it. Her thoughts spun in empty, dizzying circles before finally settling down into a coherent stream.
Travis was hurt.
He’d intervened and helped her kids.
And he was hurt.
Fuck.
When he didn’t answer, Isabel let herself in, braced for the ear-shattering screech of the alarm system.
But it was quiet.
Please don’t let me find him collapsed on the floor somewhere.
Less than a minute passed before she found solid proof she needed to be much more specific when she prayed for things.
Travis had all but collapsed.
But he had made it to the couch in the minimalist-styled living room where she’d often sat with Miles over the six years since she’d settled in Maine.
Looking at him now, pale, sweating, mouth set in hard lines as he pressed a folded towel to his side, Isabel’s mouth went dry. A hundred questions flashed through her mind, everything from what happened to why are you here to why didn’t you have faith in me.
But the last one was the most intimate, the most personal, the one she’d never let herself ask.
Do you still love me?
As if some psychic echo of her question slipped from her mind to his, his eyes snapped open.
Despite his obvious pain, the force of his personality was evident in his blue-green eyes as he stared at her. It didn’t matter that he was slumped on the couch, hair disheveled and in need of a wash, with the scruff of what was probably a week’s worth of facial hair darkening his cheeks and chin. Travis Barnes was a man who compelled the eye just as much now as he had been as a teen, hovering on the edge of adulthood, ready to take her father on, despite the apparent disparity of power between a well-known DA out of Virginia and a young, if affluent, teenager from the West Coast.
That the force of him was so much ... more now didn’t surprise her at all.
He blinked, wildly curling lashes sweeping down to hide the incredible color of his eyes for a split second. When he looked at her again, it was like he’d pulled on a mask.
The hard lines of his face smoothed out.
The deep groove between his brows disappeared.
And although he didn’t sit up, everything about his demeanor changed—a second ago, he’d been in pain, yeah. But he’d had this ... watchfulness to him. An alertness that told her he might not be looking for trouble but fuck the world if it thought he couldn’t handle it. She knew that attitude. She hadn’t realized just how well she’d known it until she was away from it, either. The men her father had called friends or employees who had actually been his hired muscle had moved with an awareness similar to what she’d just seen in Travis outside.
