I never really expected to see Duncan again. I honestly believed that for him, it had been a one-night thing. We shared a little time and enjoyed each other, and I thought that was it for him. But when I looked into his eyes a minute ago, I saw something totally different. I saw that the connection we shared was still burning within him. I saw the feelings that passed between us that night – a night that seems so long ago now – were still alive and well inside of him.
The mere thought that he still feels for me as I feel for him sends a shockwave through my mind and heart. It's not something I ever anticipated. Secretly, it's something I still hoped for. Duncan Clyburne has fueled my fantasies since the night of the gala. I can't count the number of times I've masturbated as I replayed that night, we shared in the conference room.
The spark between us had been unlike anything I've ever felt before. It goes well beyond anything I could have ever dared hope for or imagined. It's something that's been seared into my mind, my heart – hell, it's been seared into my very soul. And seeing that he still feels that connection very nearly took my breath away.
“I should go home,” I mumble. “I'm not feeling very well.”
Brad scratches at his beard and watches the crowd passing by for a minute. When he looks back at me, he doesn't look abashed or embarrassed by his behavior as I expected him to. He looks – defiant.
“Duncan is the father of your baby, isn't he?”
The question takes me off guard and sends me reeling. That's a closely guarded secret – how in the hell could Brad know? His eyes bore into me, his face painted with an inscrutable expression. He's angry, but I can also see hurt in his face, as well as something else – something like desperation.
“Isn't he?” Brad presses.
“I don't think that's your business, Brad,” I say. “What in the hell is wrong with you?”
He steps forward, looming over me. My heart starts to race, and I suddenly feel angry that he's pushing me back up against the wall like this. That he's trapped me and is demanding answers he has no right to have.
Brad nods. “Yeah, I could see it in the way you look at him, Lexi,” he says. “He's not just an old friend, he's the father of your baby. Admit it.”
My face is burning with anger and my body tightens with the stress of it all. “What does it matter if he is?” I hiss.
“I'm just asking for a little honesty here.”
“I've never been dishonest with you, Brad,” I snap. “Me not telling you the name of the baby's father is not a lie. It's a choice.”
He smirks at me. “You realize, by not simply saying no, you're only reinforcing the idea in my head.”
“And what if he is? So what?”
Brad looks away again, that strange mix of emotions still on his face. I take the opportunity to push myself off the wall to head home. Brad has other plans, though. He grabs me by the upper arm and pushes me back against the wall so hard it makes my teeth click together.
“Brad, what the hell? You're hurting me,” I snap. “Let go of me.”
Brad recoils as if I just burned him, holding his hands up, a stricken look upon his face. He takes a step back.
“What in the hell is wrong with you?” I yell.
“I – I'm sorry,” he stutters. “I just – I kind of lost my head there for a minute. I'm sorry.”
“I need to go.”
I push myself off the wall and start to walk away from him, but Brad is right behind me, shadowing my every step.
“Lexi, I'm sorry,” he says.
I ignore him and keep walking. People flow around us the way a river flows around a rock and suddenly, everything seems impossibly loud. The lights are too bright, the buzz of conversation on the street is deafening, and the shrill honking of the car horns sounds like bombs going off in my ears. The sensory input is overwhelming and I'm starting to feel dizzy. Then pain, unlike anything I've known before, grips my body.
I stop and lean against a wall, trying to slow my breathing and calm my heart, which is beating a staccato rhythm in my chest. Brad takes the opportunity to slide in front of me. I do my best to shut him out and focus on willing the pain racking my body away.
“Lexi just listen to me for a minute,” he says. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to grab you like that.”
“Get away from me, Brad.”
“Look, I don't care if it's his kid or not. I really don't. I love you, Lexi. I always have,” he says, desperation punctuating his words. “I can be a good husband to you. A good father to your – to our – child. I can give you the kind of life you deserve.”
I shake my head, tears streaming down my face. It's too much. It's all too much. My body feels like it's being squeezed in a vice – and it's slowly crushing me. I feel like I can't catch my breath and I cry out as another spasm of pain ripples through me.
“Leave me alone, Brad,” I manage to gasp.
He grabs hold of my arm, forcing me to look up at him. A wave of searing anger flashes through me as I look at him. I wanted to believe otherwise, but somewhere deep down, I always knew it would come to this. I knew he'd never be able to just be my friend. Somewhere in my heart, I knew he couldn't just be the person I needed him to be for me.
Damn him. Goddamn him.
“Lexi, he doesn't deserve you. He ran away, leaving you to deal with this all on your own,” Brad presses. “I've been here for you from day one. I've been the man you've needed. Just think about it for a second. I mean, who's been there for you every step of the way?”
“You were supposed to be my friend,” I say, the wave of pain gripping me growing even stronger.
I stand up straight – or, at least, try to. I need to get home. I need to lay down. The stress of the evening is taking a toll on me and I need to get out of here. Need to get away from Brad.
“Come on, Lexi, you knew the score all along,” Brad pleads. “You flirted with me too, you know. You knew this thing between us was leading to this. And you know you want to be with me.”
“I did no such thing,” I spit. “And no, I don't want to be with you. I told you that a million times, Brad. I only wanted you to be my friend.”
“Bullshit,” he says, his voice suddenly full of heat.
I look up and find him staring back at me, his face dark and full of anger. I feel myself growing weaker – like a toy or something whose batteries are draining fast.
“I'm not doing this,” I say. “Get out of my way, Brad.”
I push past him, but he grabs my arm again, spinning me around to face him. His eyes bore into mine with a crazed light that scares me. He leans close, his breath warm against my face. I recoil and try to pull away, but he holds me fast.
“You and I belong together, Lexi,” he growls. “You know it and I know it, so stop fucking around. Stop playing hard to get. You belong to me. You're mine.”
The sharp crack of flesh meeting flesh rings out and it seems to take him a moment to register the fact that I've just slapped him across the face. His cheek is red from where my hand made contact and his eyes grow wide and startled, the expression on his face is one of pure disbelief that I would hit him. He's so shocked that his hold on my arm loosens and I take the opportunity to pull myself away from him.
“Stay the hell away from me, Brad,” I hiss.
The shock doesn't last long enough for me to get away, though. When I turn, his hand shoots out like a piston, and his grip on me is like steel. My head swimming and starbursts appearing at the edges of my vision, I cry out again. The people passing by us slow and look at me curiously. Some of them are just looking forward to the prospect of bloodshed because it excites them – yet, nobody steps in to help me.
“Let go of me,” I scream in his face. “Get your fucking hands off me.”
I reach back to slap him across the face again, but Brad catches my hand, squeezing my fingers together, bone grinding on bone in my hand painfully. There are tears rolling down my cheeks and a spike of pain pierces my entire body.
“You're hurting me, Brad,” I shout. “Let go of me.”
As I'm rocked by another blast of pain, I close my eyes and grit my teeth, refusing to give in to it. All of a sudden, Brad releases me. I open my eyes to see two large men – bikers, by the look of them – pulling him off of me. The larger of the two, a bald man with a goatee has his massive hand wrapped around Brad's throat, his face filled with malice. The second one turns to me, his eyes filled with concern, and when he speaks, he's surprisingly soft-spoken.
“Are you okay, Miss?” he asks.
Not really, but I'm better now than I was ten seconds ago. Flushed with gratitude for my two guardian angels, I nod.
“I'm okay,” I say. “I just need to get out of here.”
The man nods. “You go on ahead,” he encourages. “We’ll keep him – entertained – for a bit.”
“Thank you,” I say, fresh tears rolling down my cheeks. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” he answers.
Brad is struggling mightily in the other man's grip, his eyes wide and filled with terror. He's screaming my name and the crowd on the sidewalk has stopped to watch the spectacle unfolding. Still holding onto his throat, the goateed man drives his fist into Brad's stomach. I hear the breath leaving Brad's lungs in a violent whoosh and he doubles over, wheezing as he tries to catch his breath. I look to the soft-spoken man and give him a nod.
“Thank you again,” I say.
“Think nothing of it,” he tells me. “Now, you'd best be on your way.”
I turn and take off as quickly as I can – which, at my stage of pregnancy isn't all that quickly at all. I waddle down the sidewalk, people parting for me like the Red Sea as I go. I hear cheers and shouts behind me, hear Brad cry out, and suddenly feel a stab of guilt for the rough treatment he's getting at the hands of the two bikers – it's a feeling I quickly try to snuff out.