Thrown Down (Made in Jersey #2) Read online

  Chapter Two

  River had never considered a career in acting, but realized now she might have been shortsighted. Even after months of preparation for Vaughn’s return—yes, she’d gone back to blonde and refused to apologize—she hadn’t really expected to pull off a warm greeting. After all, this was the man who’d left her broken, bleeding, and sobbing on her knees while he sped off into the night. A woman could take a lifetime to recover from something like that, but in River’s case, she thought it might take three. Because while she stood there, smiling up at the son of a bitch, a metal crowbar was doing its damnedest to pry her ribs apart.

  Why did he have to be so ruggedly gorgeous? His dark blond hair was finger combed, longer than the last time she’d seen it, when he’d rocked an army crew cut. Scruff darkened his cheeks, only adding gravity to his soulful, deep brown eyes. Vaughn had always been in good shape. She remembered watching him do pull-ups on the doorframe of her bedroom, pushups on the floor beside the bed, on nights when he snuck in through the window, or afternoons her parents weren’t home. Burning energy, he’d called it. Later, she would realize he was working through a reservoir of sexual frustration, but he’d never once pressured her, never made her feel guilty for his painful condition.

  River shook the bittersweet memory loose. Yes, Vaughn’s arms had always been carved in marble, but they’d expanded beneath the woven together tattoos, barely fitting into the sleeves of his gray T-shirt. His body had settled into manhood with a vengeance, maturing in ways that were not convenient when River needed to remain focused on the plan.

  Right, the plan. Get Vaughn to turn around and leave Hook, secure in the knowledge that his presence wasn’t needed. Free to go about his business, whatever it was.

  He’d fallen off the face of the Earth forty-nine months and three days prior. Unreachable. A lot like he’d been, even when standing right in front of her, all those years ago.

  When they’d met in high school, Vaughn’s closed off nature had been mysterious. Then she’d graduated Hook High and spent two years taking night classes at the local community college while Vaughn fixed cars to make money—before he’d surprised her by enlisting in the army, staying away for two more years, before returning to Hook and leaving her for good, on the very night of his homecoming. That air of mystery had grown stale by then, but she’d been too stubborn to quit attempting to reach him. To beat those walls down with love.

  Vaughn rolled his neck, a lot like a boxer entering the ring. If River didn’t move soon, one of two things would happen. The crowbar would finish the job it was doing on her ribs, and she’d collapse like a corpse on the floor. Or Vaughn would take on the entire lounge in the most unbalanced fight of the century.

  “I know it goes against the De Matteo code,” River started, “but I’d appreciate you living to fight another day.”

  He rolled his big shoulders, appearing to evaluate the approaching men in order to decide on his first victim. “Why is that?”

  “I’m the one who cleans up the blood here.” She swallowed hard, feeling her mask slip a little. “And I need this job, Vaughn.”

  “You clean up…” He trailed off, taking a long, shuddering breath. “Riv, I can’t let you stay here. You know that, right? You know two decades from now, I still won’t be over seeing you in this disgusting place.”

  “Vaughn—”

  His gaze was half apologetic, half uncompromising. “Either you quit or I take on all comers. Either way, the mother of my kid isn’t working in this place.”

  Thank God her boss chose that moment to interrupt, because River could hardly breathe under the first acknowledgment of them having a child together. Two invisible pillows pressed against her ears, muffling the bar sounds. Vaughn must have experienced the same shift of gravity, because the intensity radiating from him was palpable.

  Destructive.

  But it had nothing on the low, brutal hum of guilt that had existed in River’s breast since the night Vaughn left.

  Focus. She could make up for her impulsiveness if she just stuck to the course of action she’d laid out.

  “I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend, River,” her boss said, in an unfortunate choice of words. At least the man staved off the encroaching wave of customers by holding up a staying hand.

  “River having a boyfriend is none of your concern, now is it?” Vaughn massaged one his wrists, the tension packed around him like an aura, growing stronger by the millisecond. “Not that I wouldn’t mind hearing an answer myself.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” she sputtered.

  Her boss huffed, pacing back and forth behind River. “It is my concern when that boyfriend comes in and assaults me.”

  “Whatever we are, it’s past the boyfriend-girlfriend stage.” Vaughn ran a tongue along his bottom lip. “What’s it going to be, Riv? We getting out of here?”

  What choice did she have? Standing back and allowing innocent—okay, that was pushing it—customers take a beating when she could prevent it would be petulant. With smoke about to whoosh from her ears, River skirted around her boss to retrieve her purse from behind the bar, leaving her apron beneath the register for the morning waitress. Walking back toward Vaughn, she felt time slowing, and molasses churned in her belly. Don’t you dare look at me like that, she longed to scream in reproof. His dark eyes took in every detail of her appearance in one swoop, that gaze heating considerably the closer she came, as if they were going outside to get sweaty in the Pontiac’s backseat, just for old time’s sake.

  Not on your life, pal.

  River could feel every customer’s eye on her back as she slipped out the exit, Vaughn close on her heels. “That worked, huh?” Vaughn asked, surprise living within his tone. “You’re really just going to leave with me.”

  “No,” River answered, stopping at the driver’s side of her Pontiac. “But I thought it would be easier to have a conversation without the angry mob you incited breathing down our necks.”

  Vaughn appeared thoughtful as he processed that. “So you were expecting me, huh? I guess I should be thankful you knew I would come…once I found out. I never get mail at the PO Box, or I would’ve been here sooner.” He took a step closer, his Adam’s apple bobbing, so much heart in his eyes that River’s breath suspended in her lungs. “Ah, doll—”

  “No.” The endearment snapped her spine straight, set her heart galloping around the track of her chest. “I-I mean, yes. I knew you would come. But if I’d had a phone number for you, I would have called to tell you…”

  His brawny frame stilled. “Tell me what?”

  River forced a smile onto her face. “To tell you how unnecessary it was to travel this whole way.” She reached out and gave his rock-hard shoulder a playful shove, ignoring the zap of static. “Vaughn, I have everything under control. Marcy is—”

  “Marcy.”

  Chains rattled in her belly. “You didn’t know her name?”

  She watched as he went back a few steps, resting against the opposite car. “No. The letter didn’t mention it.” The eyes from her dreams lifted, snaring her. “I like it, doll. You picked well.”

  “Please stop calling me that,” River whispered, before clearing her throat and willing—with all her might—that positivity surround her like a cloak, hiding everything beneath. “As I said, you are in the clear. We’re getting along just fine on our own, and I wouldn’t dream of asking you to—”

  “Just what the hell is this, River?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  Vaughn shoved off the opposite car and eliminated the distance between them. River ordered her hands to lift, to stave him off, but they remained useless at her sides, both elbows squeezing against her ribs. Her blood clamored, running with vigor for the first time since Vaughn left. Damn him. Damn him. “I’m in the clear?” He repeated her words slowly, as if trying to pronounce the name of a rare disease. “You think I would drive back to Hook at the drop of a goddamn hat because I want to be in the clear
?”

  “I wouldn’t presume to know your thought process,” River returned with a bemused expression, all the while dying and resurrecting on the inside, in a never-ending pattern. She hadn’t tried to find Vaughn upon learning she was pregnant, or even after Marcy was born. She had her reasons for shouldering the responsibility alone—reasons she’d housed inside in an uncrackable safe. They were one and the same with her motives for sending Vaughn packing, as soon as possible.

  Raising Marcy alone had been the only option she’d ever allowed herself to consider. She’d built a safeguard against a single iota of dangerous hope for something else filtering in. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered. “Thank you for caring, but I’ve been doing this alone. I…take pride in doing it alone. Please, go. You’re free to go.”

  His breath puffed out on a half laugh, half scoff. “I’m trying to be patient here. God knows I am. But I just found out I have a daughter—a…Marcy. I find out you’ve been busting your ass to raise her. Alone. Alone. And while we’re on the subject, you’re not getting along just fine if you’ve been working in this shit heap, River. Okay?” He gripped the Pontiac on either side of her head and shook the entire car. “All these years, I thought you were finally in college where you belonged. Instead you’ve been serving beer to the local drunks.”

  “You left. You left and vanished so you don’t get an opinion. You don’t get to judge what I’ve done to get by.” The words blasted out of her, along with her hands, which pummeled Vaughn in the torso—again and again, harder when he didn’t so much as budge or show a reaction. “I hate you. How dare you show up like this, like some hero? Forcing me out of my job and caring. Caring. You’re the villain, don’t you realize that? You left, and you should have stayed gone.” Her voice broke. “I hate you so much.”

  “There we go. There it is. Okay,” Vaughn breathed, gathering River’s body close, despite her attempts to push him off. Those cannon-size arms banded like steel around her and wouldn’t let go, crushing her against his woodsy-smelling chest. “Okay, doll. I know you’re right. I…I wasn’t a good man to you. I’m still not a good man. But I’m here, and I’m not leaving until we figure out how to handle this between us.”

  River inhaled a lungful of Vaughn’s scent, catching him off guard, which finally allowed her to jerk free of his hold. “I don’t need a hero. I’m my own hero now…and I’m trying to be one for Marcy.” She groped for the driver’s side door handle behind her. “If you ever felt anything for me, Vaughn, you’ll turn around and leave Hook.”

  His gaze cut to the side. “Can’t do that, Riv.”

  Frustration welled within her. “Well, you can’t be part of our lives when you never wanted me—” Her cheeks flamed. “Us. Never wanted us to begin with.”

  River got into the car and blew out of the parking lot, trepidation prickling her skin when she glimpsed Vaughn in the rearview mirror—a very determined Vaughn.

  And she knew the fight was only beginning.

  Chapter Three

  River drummed her fingers on the keyboard, waiting for the ancient church computer to catch up with modern technology, also known as the internet. Since she didn’t have a computer at home—although she’d been saving for one so Marcy could benefit—Adeline, the choir director, allowed her to use the church’s old Dell desktop once a week to Skype with Jasmine.

  Her best friend had moved to Los Angeles months ago to be with River’s brother Sarge, who had blown back into town with his guitar and turned everyone’s day-to-day routine on its head. In an amazing twist, Jasmine was now a vocalist with Old News, Sarge’s rock band, and they were preparing for a world tour.

  While she couldn’t be happier that two of her favorite people were in love and getting ready to marry, River couldn’t help but wish—just a little bit—that everything was back the way it had been before last Christmas. Then it had been two best friends against the world, working side by side in the factory every day, Jasmine going on bad dates, River attempting to ignore the lingering specter of Vaughn. She missed having someone read between her lines, knowing her mind without a single word.

  Selfish. Stop being selfish. River checked the digital clock in the lower right-hand corner of the screen, willing the computer to work faster so she wouldn’t be late for her shift at the factory, where she printed license plates, along with other outsourced products mostly seen on infomercials. It would only be five thirty in the morning in Los Angeles, but Jasmine insisted River call anyway, being that she had no other time options, working two jobs and caring for Marcy.

  And now Vaughn was back. River’s drumming fingers paused in their vigorous rhythm, and her eyelids slid lower. She’d screwed up last night, erupting up like a volcano of feelings, and she needed to be more careful. Whether she liked it or not, her ex-boyfriend and father of her child had a knack for reading every thought in her head. Telling Vaughn she hated him was counterproductive, immature…and not necessarily true, either. He would see right through her encouragement to leave Hook—to be free of responsibility—and know she wasn’t over the past.

  Get back on course. That was the revised plan. She’d gone through the sleepless nights, the teething, the potty training with Marcy all on her own. She’d done a good job and would continue to do a good job. She would never regret the decisions she’d made that night at the motel—they’d brought her a beautiful little girl that loved her unconditionally—but no way would someone else’s life be affected by her actions.

  Biting down on the guilt, River sat forward, relieved when Skype began to dial the number she’d entered five minutes ago. Jasmine answered on the first ring, draped in a white bathrobe, a cup of coffee poised at her lips. “Hey, Riv.”

  “Hey.” God, Jasmine looked so happy and content, a rosy glow and tangled hair making it obvious how she’d spent the prior evening. Not that River wanted the details about her brother and best friend’s sex life. Although, if the songs they’d been writing together were any indication, things were…pretty darn super in that department. “Sorry for the early call.”

  “Stop. You apologize every week.” Jasmine set down her coffee mug with a click. “How’s the kiddo? You haven’t texted me a picture in days. Me and Sarge are going through withdrawals.”

  “Sorry.” River fumbled for her cell phone. “I have one with a bowl on her head…milk still inside. I can send—”

  “What’s wrong?”

  River looked up to see Jasmine scrutinizing her from three thousand miles away. This. This was what she missed. Without River having to explain, Jasmine knew something was up right away. She sighed. “Vaughn is back. I saw him last night.”

  “Shit.” Jasmine scooped her dark hair back over her shoulder. “Took him long enough. Sarge sent the letter months ago.”

  “Yeah, still not over that,” River responded drily. “Something about a PO box. Guess that’s why no one could find him.” A jab of pain landed in the center of River’s chest, renewing her determination to do what was best. “He really didn’t want to be found.”

  Jasmine was silent for a beat, as if deciding where to start. “What did he say about Marcy?”

  The picture on the screen froze, before resuming animation. “I-I think he’s still in shock. We didn’t get very far before I tried to beat him up in the Kicked Bucket parking lot.”

  “Oh, Riv.” One side of her best friend’s mouth lifted. “How’d that feel?”

  “Pretty great.”

  Jasmine sat back in her chair, drinking coffee and waiting. It was her way—not to push, but to let River speak in her own time. Lord, she appreciated that. They were coming to the reason she had Skyped this morning, for more than their usual social call. There was something she hadn’t even told her best friend. Something about the night Vaughn left. And now that the reckoning was coming, she needed someone to remind her she wasn’t an awful person. “Jas—”

  Sarge walked into the frame…in nothing but a pair of red briefs. River held up both hands t
o ward off the image, slamming her eyes shut. “No. No, I didn’t sign up for this.”

  “What?” said her brother’s sleepy voice. “Oh, hey, Riv.” When she looked back at the screen, her rock star brother had made no attempt to cover himself, totally unashamed of his lack of clothing in front of his sister. “I’m still getting used to seeing you blonde again,” he said.

  “Yeah.” She sighed, patting the top of her head, self-consciousness replacing her outrage. She still felt silly for impulse-buying the drug store dye months back, but acknowledging the reason she’d made an effort with her appearance definitely wouldn’t help brighten her morning. “Only forty-five minutes and I was right back to my old self.”

  Ugh. Pity party, table for one. Why was she subjecting Sarge and Jasmine to her melancholy attitude? Having Vaughn back in town was no doubt the catalyst for her doom and gloom this morning—not to mention her nerves—but there was no sense involving her loved ones in problems they could do nothing about. No. She needed to get to work, make money to care for Marcy and add to the college fund that grew a little more every week, and handle Vaughn on her own.

  “Sorry to cut this short, but I’m going to be late—”

  “River?”

  She stood up and whirled around so fast, she upended the plastic stool on which she’d been sitting. Just inside Adeline’s small office, filling the doorframe, stood Vaughn, looking freshly showered and…screw it. He was thick and sturdy and sexual. Always had been. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’ve got a better question.” He sauntered into the room, muscles flexing with displeasure. “Why are you talking to some dude in his underwear?”

  …

  Vaughn’s jealousy slipped over him like a silk net. So familiar and yet he hadn’t experienced it in so goddamn long. The emotion had only ever been associated with River, and it appeared that wouldn’t change any time soon. If he’d known she would be in the church office, maybe he could have prepared himself to act like a rational human being, but Adeline had directed him to the back—with what he now recalled to be a sly wink—and bam, double whammy. River plus River talking to another man went down his gullet like a handful of spikes.