An Act of Release: Order & Chaos Book 2 Read online

  "Vamos, irmão." He set the gun on the counter in front of him and stood, motioning for me to follow him with worry in his eyes. "Let's go to the office." I towered over Nick since he was a good eight inches shorter than me at five-foot-nine. He always made a point of telling me that he was above average in Brazil, and frequently called me gigante louco, or crazy giant.

  I wordlessly trailed him to the back of the building, and followed him into his small office. The room was the same electric blue with white trim, with colorful art on the walls. Two small white desks sat pushed together in the middle of the far wall, facing each other with a computer sitting on each one. Holly and Nick shared the space, and had no problem with the tight quarters. I thought they were nuts, but Nick always assured that they were perfectly happy with it and that a gigante louco couldn't possibly understand.

  Nick grabbed his wife's black leather desk chair and wheeled it around the desks so it was facing his, and took a seat. I followed suit and let out a heavy sigh as I lowered myself into the chair, trying to decide where to start. He waited patiently without a word, his sharp eyes watching me closely.

  Nick had more patience and restraint than any person I'd ever known. For the last ten years, I tried to be that way myself. For the most part, I succeeded, but this whole thing with Jen had thrown me into chaos. My ordered world was crumbling, and I didn't like it. I hoped like hell that Nick could help me put it back together again. I decided to start with my broken relationship with my father. It would make the rest of my problem make more sense.

  "Three years ago, my father walked in on me during a shibari scene."

  "Meu Deus," Nick blurted out an interjection with wide horrified eyes. I knew it was the equivalent of saying "Oh my God" in Portuguese.

  "Yeah," I said bitterly. "Anyway, he thought what I was doing was sick and perverted no matter how I tried to explain it. After that, our relationship was never the same. We barely tolerate each other now. I've learned to live with it, even though it still hurts."

  Nick nodded with a compassionate expression as I continued.

  "A few weeks ago, I met a woman, and I fell for her hard and fast. I trusted her, and gave her my heart. I shared things with her, told her things that I never told a soul. She shared things with me, and I thought she trusted me too. She seemed to accept me completely, the kinky bondage stuff and everything else, but it was all a lie." Pain hit me, and I tried to push it down. It didn't work. I squeezed my eyes shut and lapsed into silence as my heart ached in agony.

  "What happened, irmão?" Nick prompted me quietly, his tone filled with empathy.

  I told him everything then, every last excruciating detail, leading up to Jen calling me a sick fuck in that goddamn parking lot. I explained what happened at work today and how I came so close to assaulting A.J., wanting to lash out and take my pain out on him. When I was done, I felt raw and wrung out, despair falling heavily on me. I closed my eyes and buried my face in my hands.

  "I can't be that guy again, Nick," I whispered harshly. "I fought so hard to get rid of him, but it feels like it's all slipping away. I'm so fucking lost. I don't know what to do."

  "She broke your heart, Ford," he replied, his tone gentle and understanding. "That is not something to take lightly. You've been wounded, and it hurts. It is a lot easier to lash out at everyone around you, than acknowledge and face the truth. It is normal, and it doesn't mean that you're turning into your old self again."

  My face was still buried in my hands as I considered his words. I didn't know if I believed him. He didn't know how close I came to bashing A.J.'s face in. Shame lanced through me, adding more pain to my agonized heart.

  "Irmão," Nick said sternly, breaking me out of my own head. I looked up to meet his firm gaze. "The old you wouldn't have had the restraint to stop himself from beating that guy senseless." His voice was vehement, and his expression was filled with conviction. "The old you wouldn't have come to me for advice. He'd be in a jail cell right now. No?"

  "I guess," I admitted reluctantly, not completely convinced of that.

  "There is no guessing, Ford." He eyed me sharply. "I know you, meu irmão. You're a good man. You worked hard to be the man that you are now, and nothing can take that from you, no matter what your father or this woman did to you."

  I pursed my lips for a moment before speaking again. "I'm lost here, Nick. I feel like I've been shoved off at sea on a boat I don't even know how to sail."

  "Sim." That was "yes" in Portuguese. "I imagine you do. As wonderfully and blissfully intense as love feels, when it falls apart, the pain is just as equally intense. It hurts like hell. It is a risk you take when you let someone in like that."

  "Then I'm never letting anyone in ever again," I said bitterly.

  Nick's face turned hard, his eyes glittering. It was easy to forget that he was a Dom through and through. He was generally a calm man with a kind heart, but his force of will was unshakable and terrifying when he chose to use it.

  "The Ford I know is not a coward," he said intently. "The Ford I know does not give up when things get hard. The Ford I know does not run away from something because he is afraid of getting hurt." He leaned forward, his hard gaze sharp and intimidating. "This is another test of your strength, meu irmão. Either you roll over like a beaten dog and give up, or you stand and fight like the samurai that I inked on your back."

  He was talking about the massive back piece that took hour upon hour of pain for Nick to etch into my skin over eight long months. The Japanese-stylized tattoo depicted a samurai battling a tiger with his bare hands. It symbolized how I conquered the rage inside me. He was right. I was a fighter, and I knew how to battle through pain and anger. If I conquered the pain and the rage inside me after my parent's divorce, then I could get through this and be a stronger person for it. It wouldn't be easy, but nothing worth it ever was. I let out a long heavy breath, bolstering my will and my determination. I couldn't give up on love altogether. Just because things didn't work out this time, that didn't mean I couldn't find real love next time.

  "Thanks, Nick," I said gratefully. "I needed that." This was exactly the clarity that I needed.

  "De nada." He nodded as his eyes softened back to his usual relaxed demeanor.

  "Nick?" Holly's voice spoke from the open doorway.

  "Yes, minha amor?" Nick's eyes softened as he looked over at his wife.

  "Your next appointment is here," she replied with love in her eyes.

  Pain lanced through me from how he called her "my love"in Portuguese, and their obvious affection for each other. Fuck me, this was getting old. It was going to be a long brutal battle to get through this.

  I stood and hugged them both good-bye before leaving, promising not to go so long without coming to visit again. It must have been at least a month because I'd been wrapped up with work and then with Jen. I was hit with another heart-wrenching longing for her at that thought. I wondered how long it would take until thoughts of her didn't make me ache inside. Part of me wondered if I'd ever get over her completely. Only time would tell.

  When I made it back to my shop, I stopped in my office to dive into the payroll. I called up front to let Liz know that I was here.

  "Oh good," she said. "There's some guy here to see you. He insisted on waiting for you to get back, and he's been here a while."

  "Is it a new client?" It wasn't unusual for me to have clients asking specifically for me now. I'd been slowly building a name for myself over the years, and it felt good to be sought out.

  "No," Liz said in a bemused tone. "He says he needs to talk to you."

  "Okay." I wondered who it could possibly be. "Did you get a name?"

  "His name is Andy."

  Andy? Holy hell, it was Jen's older brother. What the fuck did he want? For all I knew, Jen told him the same bullshit story about me that Tori fed her. I did not want to deal with that. I considered leaving again.

  "Ford?" Liz asked. "Are you still there?"

  "Yeah," I
said with resignation. Nick was right. Running wasn't an option. Facing this head on was the only way to get through it. "I'll be right out."

  I sat there for a long moment staring unseeing at my keyboard before finally blowing out a deep harsh breath through my mouth and getting to my feet. I walked out of my office with a reluctant and heavy heart, hoping like hell that I didn't have to fend off a pissed off overprotective brother with a vendetta against me.

  Chapter 2

  Jenny

  I don't know how long I stood in the parking lot of the dance club sobbing after Ford ended our relationship and drove away. At some point, I realized this wasn't the best place for me to be this late at night, and I wanted to go home. I started walking unsteadily back toward the entrance where there was light, and it was safe to call a cab. My equilibrium was thrown off by my emotional state as much as the tequila.

  I ached deep inside with guilt and shame. I fucked everything up. I believed a lie, and I was too stupid even to ask the man I loved if it was true. I assumed the worst of him then lashed out and said such loathsome things to him. I hurt him so badly. I saw it in his eyes underneath the stony mask he threw up before he turned away without even looking back. Who could blame him? I compared him to a man who used me and hurt me purposefully. Something I should have known Ford wasn't even capable of. I was such a horrible person. I wished I'd never listened to Tori's lies.

  Tori. Anger ignited inside me at the thought of her name. She betrayed me, my own best friend, and I didn't understand it. We'd been friends since we became roommates in college, and she was my only friend. All my other girlfriends outgrew me. They found boyfriends and husbands, and left the life I was still living behind, but Tori had stayed by my side. We'd been there for each other. I trusted her, and relied on her. And in return, she cost me the man I now knew I'd fallen in love with, the man I was beginning to think could be my salvation from the empty and lonely life I was living. Now I was left with nothing and no one.

  My pace quickened as I surged forward, now furious and eager to find Tori and have it out with her. I latched on to the anger desperately because the alternative right now was gut-wrenching pain and sorrow.

  I stormed up to the tall heavyset bouncer by the door, who shot me a worried glance, but waved me through when I showed him the stamp on my left hand. I pushed through the crowd to the edge of the dance floor. I scanned the mass of moving bodies, looking for a familiar head of blond hair and the bitch attached to it. After several long moments, I had to grudgingly admit to myself that she wasn't there. I stalked over to the bar to look for her, but was just as unsuccessful. Fuck, where the hell was she? She probably already left with some asshole to fuck, and hadn't given me another thought.

  I stood there seething for a moment, but then suddenly, all I could see inside my head was the look on Ford's face the moment that I broke his heart. It was seared into my mind, that moment when agonizing pain flooded his eyes, and for a brief second, I swear he almost cried. At the time, I was happy that I hurt him, reveled in it even, but now all I felt was harsh burning guilt that felt like it was eating at my core. I closed my eyes and felt hot tears start cascading down my cheeks again. I needed to get the hell out of here. I just wanted to crawl into my bed and never come out again.

  "Honey?" a deep male voice asked with concern. "Are you okay?" I opened my eyes to see that the bartender was looking at me with a worried frown. His use of the endearment that Ford always used made a strangled sob burst out of me.

  "No!" I blurted. "I...I need t...to g...go home!" I could barely get the words out past the harsh violent sobs erupting out of me. I closed my eyes and buried my face in my hands, embarrassed to be crying like this in public.

  "Hey." The bartender's gentle voice was right next to me now. I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. "Let's go get you a cab. Okay?" I let my hands fall to my sides, nodding and looking up to see his warm sympathetic brown eyes and bald head. He threw a comforting well-muscled arm around my shoulders, then started escorting me to the front door.

  "Hey, Mike," the bartender called out as we stopped near the exit. It was the same bouncer who let me back in a few minutes ago. He looked at us expectantly. "Could you call a cab? She's had a rough night and needs to get home."

  Mike looked down at me and gave me a kind smile with recognition in his dark eyes. "I'll take care of her." He immediately pulled out his phone and called me a cab.

  "Thank you," I murmured pathetically after he ended the call.

  "Don't worry about it, sweetie," he said with a sympathetic expression. "Do you want to sit while you wait?"

  "Yes, please." I was just now realizing how much my stilettos were hurting my feet. He disappeared from the small alcoved entryway for a moment and returned with a chair for me. I sat down gratefully with a deep sigh and wiped at my teary eyes as Mike greeted a few patrons as they entered the club, checking I.D.s and taking their cover charges.

  "Was that your boyfriend you were fighting with out there?" Mike asked when it was just the two of us again. He seemed genuinely concerned. I blushed with embarrassment since I didn't realize that Ford and I had an audience earlier.

  "He was," I answered pathetically as more tears streamed down my face. "But I ruined everything." A few more sobs shook my body, the anguish and the pain so fresh and raw that I couldn't hold it in.

  "It's just one fight, sweetie," he said reassuringly. "That doesn't mean you can't still work things out."

  I sobbed even harder. It was more than just a fight. There was no working this out. I'd seen the moment when Ford gave up on me, on us. My apology was too little and too late. I'd destroyed my happiness and my future with a few harsh words that I blurted out without thinking. All because I believed a lie and wanted to get even. I kept crying, unable to stop, and Mike looked lost and uncomfortable, like he didn't know what to do. He wordlessly gave me a handful of napkins, and just stood there next to me until my cab finally pulled up to the curb a little while later.

  Mike ushered me into the waiting vehicle, pressing more napkins into my hands as I settled into the backseat. "Good luck, sweetie," he murmured gently, then closed the door. I gave the driver my address and sank down into the seat to stare out the window despondently, feeling lost and wrung out for the entire trip home.

  When I finally made it to my apartment, I crawled into my bed, still in my club dress, too tired and emotionally drained to care. I rolled onto my side, weeping quietly and staring at the other side of the bed where Ford should have been as I prayed for sleep to take me. That side of my bed was empty now and always would be, just like my aching broken heart.

  **********

  The first thing I did when I woke the next morning was to call my dad and tell him that I was staying home sick today. I was somewhat hungover and had slept very little, but mostly I just didn't have it in me to be around anyone today. Not when I kept fluctuating between numbing emptiness and crushing misery. I don't think I'd ever cried this much in my entire life, and I could barely summon the will to get up and use the bathroom, let alone do anything else.

  I didn't feel any better about what happened last night. If anything at all, I felt worse. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Ford's face filled with pain and disgust, because now he knew the truth. I was damaged goods, just like I told him before. I deserved to be alone for what I did to him, but oh how I missed him. I could still feel his strong arms around me. I could still hear his softly whispered words after the last time we had sex. I love you, Jenny. I never said it back because I was afraid to admit it to myself, and now he'd never know. I was such a fool, and now I'd lost everything.

  At noon, I finally managed to crawl out of bed, throw on an old T-shirt and some ratty sweatpants, and shuffled out to the living room. I went into the kitchen and pulled the container of rocky road ice cream out of the freezer. Then I grabbed a spoon, and went to slump down on the couch with the remote, so I could binge eat as I stared mindlessly at the TV.

  An hour
later, I was nursing an ice cream food baby and watching the final reveal on a home-improvement show where they were flipping a house. I didn't even remember what it looked like before they started. All I could focus on was the young newlywed couple as they oohed and aahed over their newly remodeled home, and how happy they seemed to be. I burst into tears all over again because that would never be me. I thought this home-improvement channel would be a safe bet to keep from crying again, but I was so wrong. I curled up into a ball, sobbing and whimpering yet again.

  I startled when the doorbell rang, dropping the remote on the floor and knocking my box of tissues next to me off the couch. Who the fuck was that? I ignored it. I didn't want to see or talk to anybody. A moment later, the doorbell rang again. I ignored that too. Then my phone started ringing. It was sitting on the coffee table, and I could see that it was Mom calling me. With a sigh, I answered it.

  "Hi, Mom," I said in a subdued tone.

  "Hi, baby," she said sweetly. "I know you're sick and probably want to be left alone, but that's me at the door. Your father said that you didn't sound right when you called in sick, so I came to check on you."

  Shit. So much for being alone and so much for my plan to keep this nightmare to myself. I should have known it wouldn't work since I rarely called in, even if I was sick.

  "I'll be right down, Mom," I said softly, trying to hide my resignation. I went downstairs to let her in.

  I opened the door to find Mom standing there with a worried expression. She looked adorable in khaki capri pants and a lavender short-sleeved blouse paired with wedge sandals. I was the mirror image of my mother, with long straight dark hair and bright blue eyes. We both shared the same curvy petite frame too, but today I looked like complete shit in comparison. She immediately stepped forward to cradle my face in her hands and looked me over carefully. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  "Baby, what happened?" she asked softly. Damn, she could see on my face how much I was hurting. I didn't want her worrying about me, but it was too late now. As soon as she touched me, I started bawling again. What is it about seeing your mother when you were upset that always set off the damn tears?