Love Lock (The Love Lock Duet Book 2) Page 12

  Six feet five inches of solid muscle looms in the doorway. Incensed, bloodshot brown eyes drill into my skull. Hard, angular face. Short brown hair, so short you could call it a buzzcut, and the small dimple in the center of his chin is made more pronounced by the easily two-day growth of dark stubble on his face.

  My husband.

  “Pippa,” he clips, stepping into the house and forcing me backward.

  My heart hammers so hard it’s all I can hear and sweat prickles at the back of my neck as my stomach bottoms out. He’s pissed and all I can think about is Claire in the next room. He’s never hit me or tried anything else with an audience, but something tells me this time is different. I’ve left him and want a divorce. He’s barely hanging onto his composure and nothing and no one is off limits.

  “Hey, Pippa,” a deep, familiar voice—light and friendly—says from behind my husband.

  Matt.

  Thank goodness, Matt is with him.

  “Hey, hi, Matt.” My voice quivers and swallowing is tricky with the sudden dryness of my throat.

  He steps in beside Brock with a steady hand on my husband’s shoulder, holding him in place. Matt’s smile is thin, brittle, and judging by the tightness around his eyes, he’s picked up on the potential danger sparking between us.

  “Matt, I told you to stay outside,” Brock says, never taking his eyes off me.

  “Pip, who is it?” Claire asks, and before I can turn around, the sinister glint in Brock’s eyes tells me she’s in the entrance.

  “Oh,” she squeaks, tugging on the back of my blouse.

  I peer over my shoulder with a faint, almost pleading smile. “Claire, you remember Brock. And I don’t think you’ve met Matt.”

  My hand shakes as I point to the large impressive men standing in the doorway. She stands beside me, her lips curved into a tense smile, and nods at Brock before turning to Matt.

  “I remember you. We met at the wedding.” Her hand flies to her mouth as if wishing she could take back the mention of our marriage.

  “We sure did.” Matt inches nearer, engulfing her tiny hand in his huge paw. “I’d never forget meeting such a beauty.” His drawl is thicker than usual, and his gaze and smile are tender.

  He likes what he sees and the need to protect flares like a fire within me. Instead of worrying about Matt’s intentions, I see an opportunity to get her out of here.

  “Claire, why don’t you take Matt outside and show him around.” I gently nudge her toward the door, grabbing her coat off a hook on the wall.

  Her cheeks heat, and she flashes a nervous glare in my direction. She’s uncomfortable, and while I should be apologetic for putting her in this situation, it’s overridden by my desire to get her out of here. If Matt has to protect one of us, it should be her.

  Matt chuckles, nodding, but pauses to look back at me, then to Brock. Concern swirls in his gaze but I nod, encouraging him to go outside and he does, closing the door behind him.

  “Let’s go in and talk,” I say quietly.

  “What the fuck, Pippa?” Brock stomps into the living room, scoping it out as if he expects to find an orgy. Eventually he’s satisfied that we’re alone and his shoulders relax a little.

  “How’d you find me?”

  I’m curious. His coming to Toronto isn’t a stretch, it’s my home after all, but how he knew I’d be at Drew’s cottage is troubling.

  He crosses his beefy arms over his chest and stares me down. His expression is closed, hard, and pissed. Definitely pissed.

  “Not that I owe you an explanation. You just fucking up and left, and when I try to call you, text you, you fucking ignore me.”

  “I didn’t ignore you.” My tone is calm, not looking to escalate this but also not wanting to back down. I won’t let him put me in a position of weakness.

  And it’s true. My responses to his many questions were deliberately vague. But I did tell him I wanted a divorce and that we’d talk soon.

  He studies me, his dark gaze forcing my shaking hands into the pockets of my hoodie.

  “I hired a P.I.,” he says smugly.

  My mouth gapes open, gobsmacked. I hadn’t anticipated that response. Money isn’t an obstacle for him and while he may have grown up middle class, having to work hard for what he wanted, he’s easily adapted to the “take what I want” mentality.

  “Baby, we can work this out.” His tone is still gruff but he’s trying for soft.

  “There’s nothing to work out. It’s too late.”

  “How can you say that? I love you. We’re married.” He holds up my wedding rings.

  “We’re getting a divorce.”

  “No.” His hard stare slices through me like a dull, rusted blade.

  “This isn’t up for discussion. You cheat and lie and hit me.”

  His body stiffens, rock solid, before he strikes, taking two steps toward me. I can hear Matt and Claire’s faint voices from the window and hope if I scream, they’ll hear me.

  “Why the fuck are you staying with your ex?” His cruel sneer weakens my legs, but I resist the urge to run, remaining still and tall.

  “He’s a friend. I’ve known him all my life.”

  “You could have stayed with your parents.” One step closer. “With Paige. But no, you fucking shack up with that dickhead. What the fuck?”

  He’s now only a foot away from me, leaning down so our gazes are level. If he wanted to, he could reach out and grab me. Wrap his hand around my neck and squeeze the life out of me. I’ve had this terrifying thought countless times before. I feel a tickle at the back of my throat and a prick behind my eyes. He’s just gearing up. It’s only a matter of time, but I won’t back down.

  “We are getting a divorce,” I grit out again, arms now at my sides, fists curled.

  “No. Fucking. Way.” His nose is almost touching mine and his hot breath coats my mouth.

  I shudder and step back, not able to stomach his proximity. In that instance, flashes of another time when he stood this close, when it started just like this, punch through the dark corners of my mind.

  He could severely beat me right now and I wonder how many blows he could deliver before Matt gets in here? Terror tangles my insides.

  Brock’s harsh growl cuts through my frightening thoughts and he grabs my wrist, yanking me flush against him.

  “Get away from her,” shouts Tom, and another voice, I think Finn, says, “I’ll fucking kill you.”

  And then I’m pulled from behind, dragged away from the room where Finn, Drew, and Tom are shouting and grabbing at a snarling Brock. My gut twists and I can’t help but worry. Brock is a beast and I don’t want him to hurt any of them.

  Matt rushes past us, and I catch sight of Brock stilling at the presence of his friend and teammate. Thank goodness Matt is here. He’s about the only one who can get through to him. I never understood their relationship, but for what it’s worth, Brock respects Matt and seeks his approval.

  Cass pulls me from the room, and we join Claire in the foyer. She’s trembling, and I open my arms, needing to hug my sister as much as she needs it. Cass wraps one arm around me, gently whispering it’s going to be all right.

  It’s unclear if it’s seconds or minutes later, but Matt returns, hauling a reluctant and still very angry Brock from the house. He pauses at the threshold, one hand bracing against the doorframe, and pins me with a hateful glare.

  “We’re not done, Pippa.”

  “Yes, you are,” Matt grinds out and tosses him through the door. “I’m so sorry. Pippa, call me when you can. I’m here to help.”

  I nod, my chin wobbling, so grateful for his friendship. He briefly looks to Claire and my sister’s cheeks flush as she casts her eyes to the floor.

  The next several minutes are a barrage of questions, all well-meaning, firing at me from all directions.

  “Did he fucking lay a finger on you?” Finn asks.

  I shake my head no, but he’s fuming, and his eyes are glued out the window at the
truck still in the driveway.

  “I’m calling the police,” Drew says, pulling his phone from his pocket.

  “No, please don’t.” I wrap my trembling hand around his, both of us holding the phone, and he stares intently into what I’m sure are watery eyes.

  “How the hell did he find you? He could come back,” Drew says at the same time Tom adds, “You need to get a restraining order.”

  “He hired a private investigator. That’s how he knew where I was.” I take the phone from Drew and his brow furrows as he loosens his grip.

  “Motherfucker,” Finn says, bolting through the front door.

  “No!” I attempt to go after him but I’m stopped by strong arms grabbing me around the waist.

  Drew holds me against his solid chest while Tom follows Finn outside. Cass paces, her arms clutching her middle, and Claire slumps onto the bottom step of the staircase, hanging her head and burrowing her fingers into her hair in distress.

  “Please let me go. I need to stop this,” I plead with Drew.

  He tilts his head forward so his warm lips are against the shell of my ear and I shiver involuntarily.

  “It’ll be okay. Nothing is going to happen,” he whispers in a steady, confident voice. “Finn needs to do this and from what I’ve seen, Matt won’t let it get out of hand.”

  “How can you say that?” I twist to meet his steady gaze. “My brothers are hotheads. Matt’s a big guy, but he can’t hold back Brock and them. Let me go!”

  I wriggle to get free of his grip just as the front door opens again and in walks Tom with Finn right behind him. They’re both in one piece and it doesn’t look like any fists were thrown or blood was drawn.

  “What happened?” I ask as Drew loosens his hold.

  “Nothing,” Tom says, defeatedly rubbing a hand down his tired face. “They were in the truck, doors locked. We threatened him to stay away.”

  Relief washes over me; they could have both been hurt. Finn is silent, his expression grim as he brings Cass into his arms and stares at me over her head.

  “I don’t like it. We need to get the cops involved,” Finn says gravely. “What’s to stop him from coming back?”

  I want to argue, but he’s right and I’m worried about the same thing. It’s bye week and he doesn’t have to be back in California for a few more days.

  “I’ll reach out to Matt tomorrow and see how things are. Then we can decide what to do,” I say, hopeful that will do the trick. Everyone mulls over my suggestion and they finally agree.

  “Okay. I’m going to lie down,” I say, turning toward the stairs.

  “Let me take you up.” Drew’s at my side in a flash. Too tired to argue, I nod and wish everyone a good night.

  Drew waits in the room while I slip on my PJs and brush my teeth in the bathroom. I find him sitting on the mattress, arms resting on his thighs, head hung low when I return.

  “Are you okay?” His head snaps up to me.

  “Yeah,” I barely whisper.

  “Pip, when I saw his hands on you.” Pain washes over his features and his eyes close as if to block out all the possibilities. “I thought I was going to lose it.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t. Brock is a big guy and though it isn’t part of his game, he’s good at blocking.” I don’t expand on how Brock is also good at hitting whereas Drew’s life isn’t as physical.

  “I wasn’t worried about myself.”

  “Well, I was.” Hot tears press behind my eyes and I’ve got nothing left in me to fight them back.

  He pulls me into his lap. “I’m fine.” He wraps his arms around me, holding me while my silent tears fall. “You sure you’re gonna be okay tonight?”

  “Will you stay till I fall asleep?”

  He nods, scooting us back to semi-recline. I sink against him, my forehead burying into the crook of his neck, and we lie like that for a long time. So long, sleep finally comes.

  19

  Drew

  I wake the next morning with only one thing on my mind.

  Pippa.

  Getting out of bed, I dress, anxious to see if she’s okay, and on my way out of the room, I glimpse Claire skipping down the stairs. Their bedroom door is ajar and from what I can see, someone is still in bed. Quietly, I peer around the edge of the door and my breath stills.

  Pippa’s sleeping peacefully on her back and her pretty pink lips are slightly parted with her long blonde lashes fanning her cheeks. Her features are smooth and serene and on a relaxed exhale, I take my fill of her.

  Thanksgiving gave her happiness and slowly, over time, she’s coming out of her shell. But last night was a taste of the hell she’s been living. She’ll no sooner open her eyes and remember everything than her serenity will vanish. I want nothing more than to make the threat go away. End Brock.

  Quietly turning away from the door, I head downstairs to find everyone already up and mid-conversation when I enter the kitchen. No surprise, Brock is the topic. Tom and Finn talk over each other about what they’ll do if he tries to see Pippa again.

  I’ll kill him.

  “Morning. Sleep okay?” I pull a mug from the cupboard and get a few good mornings and nods, but not enough to pull them from the topic at hand.

  “Guys, we should ask Pippa what she wants,” I say at the same time she strolls into the kitchen.

  “What I want?” She yawns, stretching an arm above her head, causing her cotton PJ top to rise and reveal a thin strip of silky skin.

  She looks like she fell out of bed with her hair knotted messily on the top of her head and her eyes still glassy with sleep. But she’s breathtaking. Suddenly the room is silent. Tom and Claire avert their gazes and Cass is the only person brave enough to look Pippa in the eye.

  “We were talking about Brock,” Cass says.

  Pippa blanches but rebounds quickly, neutralizing her expression. “And?”

  “He’s going to come back.” Finn’s tone is challenging, daring her to disagree.

  “He won’t, not now anyway.” She smiles and takes the coffee I hand her.

  “Pip, don’t be foolish. He doesn’t seem like the type to just walk away with his tail between his legs.” Finn scowls.

  “I’m not underestimating him, but Matt texted this morning. They’re at the airport getting on a flight to LA.”

  “And then what?” Finn’s still not satisfied and while well intentioned, if he doesn’t back off soon, I’m stepping in.

  “He’s angry because we’re getting a divorce.” She stirs her coffee and rests the spoon on the counter.

  “Do you need a lawyer?” I offer, mentally going through contacts who can help find one in LA.

  “No, I already have one.”

  Tom whoops and advances on his sister, wrapping her in his strong arms and lifting her off the ground. She squeals and he laughs, but his eyes hold many more emotions.

  “Hey, Pips, I’m just glad you’re okay.” His voice is rough, almost choked, as he places her on her feet and turns his head slightly, trying to gain his composure.

  Like most of us, seeing Brock—the huge menacing asshole that he is—made all that she’s endured all the more real. I feel helpless and angry with myself; I can only imagine how her family feels as we grapple with an unspeakable truth.

  “You good?” Tom finds his voice.

  “I’m great after that ride,” she teases to ease his discomfort and warmly rubs his arm as if sensing he needs the contact.

  Finn’s frown deepens, not content that Brock is leaving Canada, and he wordlessly strides from the room. All eyes track his departure.

  “Let me talk to him.” Tom follows his older brother from the room and Pippa watches before turning to Cass.

  “Is he okay?” Tiny lines form on her forehead.

  “Yes. We talked a long time last night and you know how much he loves to talk about his feelings.” We chuckle at her droll response. “It’s not good to keep things in and talking with Tom will be good for both of them.”
/>
  His wife sounds like a pro, familiar with navigating Finn’s moods and worries. Satisfied, Pippa’s forehead smooths and she crouches down to open a cupboard and pull out the griddle.

  “Who wants pancakes? I’m feeling chocolate chip. Or we could do blueberry?”

  The next day and a half are low key and mostly spent outdoors. There’s no talk of Brock, and fortunately, also no sign of him, although he has contacted Pippa and, surprisingly, she’s shared his texts with us. Nothing alarming, just that he doesn’t want the divorce and blames her for how he’s acted. If only she didn’t do this or that to make him lose his cool. He insists that she give him another chance to show her things can be better. He’s a sick asshole.

  Tom finally kayaks, Claire even tries her hand at archery, and before we know it, it’s time for them to return to the city.

  Placing the last bag in the car, I slam the back door and make a beeline for Finn. We’re alone, only moments away from everyone else piling out of the house.

  It’s my opportunity to make my intentions clear where his sister is concerned. It feels old-fashioned and Pippa wouldn’t be amused, but this isn’t about asking for his permission, it’s about making sure everything is out in the open. The secrets played a big part in his unravelling and that’s on me.

  “Hey, you got a sec?”

  Finn stands at the water’s edge and glances over his shoulder at me, nodding.

  “It’s so peaceful out here. I love the city but this right here,” his chin dips in the direction of the calm lake, “makes me want to stay.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Um, we really haven’t had a chance to talk about Pippa since she came back and I wanted to be up front with you.”

  “How so?” Finn has now turned to fully face me.

  Voices are now behind us, still well enough away, by the house and cars, that they can see us but can’t hear us.

  “I love Pippa.”

  There’s no other way to say it and I brace for an outburst, but nothing comes. He’s calm, his lips twitching as if amused. Finn’s therapy has done wonders for his mental health, but we’ve never really talked about how he’d feel if Pippa and I were together again.