Page 10 of Renegade Rift
“Just take it, Jules.”
My stomach bottoms out and bile rises in my throat. Voice low and deadly, I snap, “Don’t call me that.”
“What?” He looks over his shoulders, his eyes firmly rooted on mine. Though where mine blaze with anger, his are filled with confusion.
“Don’t. Call me. That name.”
“Why? It’s your name.”
Maybe once it was a nickname of familiarity. But now it’s nothing more than the haunting name his brother used when he wanted my forgiveness. The name he used when he would crawl back into our bed and kiss my temple like he didn’t just tell me what a useless waste of space I was. The name he used when he was drunk and wanted me to strip—to show him what was his so we could pretend like I wasn’t an epic failure in his eyes. It’s the name he used to draw me back in.
And I went willingly.
Every. Single. Time.
But I’m not about to admit all that. Especially not to Ford.
Instead, I relax my shoulders and lift my chin. “My name is Etta.”
Etta is strong.
Etta fights for what she wants.
He openly scrutinizes my face, likely searching for answers he’s not going to find.
“Okay.” He nods, accepting my words. “Etta then. Will you please put on this shirt, so I can have a conversation with you and not accidentally slip and stare at your tits?” He fumbles over his words. “Not that they aren’t nice tits, I just—damn it, can you please put me out of my misery and put on the shirt?”
From what I remember, Ford was always put together. Calculated in his words. He was the captain of the baseball team. The guy every girl wanted. And he knew it. Which meant he never slipped. He was composed of charm and wit that would make any mother proud. To see him flustered is a real treat.
I take the shirt and slip it over my head. It’s big enough to fall just below the hem of my skirt.
“Thank you.” He sighs and finally turns to face me. “Now, you want to tell me where the hell you’ve been the last year, and why you were standing in my apartment topless?”
I give him a deadpan glare.
Is he serious? In what world does he think he gets to demand a damn thing from me?
“Where I’ve been is none of your damn business.” I start, stepping back until I can comfortably lean against the kitchen island. These heels might do wonders for my legs, but they aren’t exactly comfortable. “Second, I was here topless because that’s what I was hired to do.”
He meets my glare with one of his own, holding it for what feels like a lifetime before he drops his chin to his chest and runs a hand through the hair he keeps long on the top. “You’re right. It’s not technically any of my business. But you’re family, so humor me.”
“I’m not your anything, Mr. McCoy.”
That gets a dark chuckle out of him. He looks up through his long lashes, a hint of a grin tipping the right side of his lips. “It’s Mr. McCoy now, huh?”
I lean into my false confidence, reveling in the notion that sticking it to Ford is almost like sticking it to Tyler. “That’syourname, isn’t it?”
“I have never been Mr. McCoy.” He pauses and raises a brow. No doubt for dramatic effect. “McCoy, sure. Ford. Always.”
It takes everything I have to restrain rolling my eyes at his effortless prince charming vibes. Some things never change.
“But the title of Mr. McCoy is reserved for the man who gave me this name. Maybe someday I’ll live up to the moniker.”
Or maybe they do change. My lips part, and I’m not entirely sure what to make of his candor.
“But I suppose you’re right,” he presses on, almost as if he’s working through something for himself rather than for my sake. “You don’t know me, and I haven’t seen you in damn near twelve years. It’s just—you’ve become a ghost. No one has been able to find you. Your family?—”
“Leave my family out of this.” If there was any part of me that was considering giving him the benefit of the doubt, he doused it by bringing up my family.
