Puck’s Property by Monique Moreau

ChapterTwenty-Six

Puck’s broad frame, bent over his bike in the cold, greeted her every evening as she strode up the walkway to her house. Every evening, she passed him without acknowledging his presence and slammed the front door. After checking a few times, she’d eventually swing the door open and walk back inside. He’d amble into the house, pull off his gloves and leave them on a little side table by the door, shrug off his jacket, and hang it up in her closet. Then he’d join her for dinner.

He’d attempt to start a conversation, but she wasn’t having it. She may be too softhearted to leave him in the miserable cold, but she wasn’t about to go belly-up and take the chance of him gutting her again. Or wheedling his way into her heart like he did at Duchess County.

Over the following days, they settled into a strange routine. He’d talk, she’d listen. He’d ask questions about her day, her job, her clients, and she’d refuse to answer, so he would continue with the one-sided conversation until their meal was over.

Puck could be an obstinate mule, and so could she, but she couldn’t deny that it somewhat mollified her bruised pride to see him at her doorstep every evening. After dinner, she’d hand him his jacket. He’d put it on, drop a kiss on her forehead that had her gritting her teeth, and saunter out the door. If they were fighting it out in a boxing match, like he’d labeled it the night of the snowstorm, then they’d passed the twelve rounds without a clear winner.

About two weeks into their standoff, Derick stopped by Ava’s office on his coffee break. A week or so after the collapse of her relationship with Puck, he’d reinstated his old habit of visiting her during his breaks a few times a week.

Derick popped his head inside her office and asked, “You up for company?”

Ava glanced up from her computer and nodded for him to come in as she put finishing touches on her report. After saving the document, she gratefully reached for the Styrofoam coffee cup he held out for her.

Taking a seat across from her, he propped his foot over his knee and fiddled with the shoelaces of his government-issued boots. There was a shift in the air around them. Uh-oh. By the furtive looks coming her way and the nervous energy whirring off him, he was going to ask her out again. She’d only recently ended things with Puck, and they were nowhere resolved to her satisfaction. Despite her best attempts, her entire soul was focused on the son of a bitch. Even if they weren’t in this stalemate, she would’ve prudently taken time to get over Puck before agreeing to a date. And at this point, with Puck at her door every evening, she couldn’t imagine another man touching her.

“So…I was wondering if you wanna go out tonight? It’s TGIF and all that.” He trailed off as his gaze shot to hers and then scattered nervously.

“Oh, Derick, that’s so sweet of you to ask me,” she exclaimed, “but, I’m kind of in the middle of ending a relationship. I’m totally flattered, but it’s not the right time for me. Can I get a rain check?” she asked cheerfully. The chances of Puck letting her go, with the way he was coming around, were slim to none, but her head was spinning. She had no idea what she was doing.

Derick’s gaze drilled into her. “You’re still with that ex-con?”

His tone was cold, edged with disgust.

Ava’s eyebrows shot up. “Ahh…yeah. You know about that?” Crap, crap, crap. My job… He’d never hinted at anything before.

“Yes, I know,” he seethed, his lips twisting in revulsion. “A fucking ex-inmate. Christ, Ava, you could do better than that.”

“H-his case was dropped,” she stammered out. Oh, God, how much does he know?

“I saw you around town with him,” he said, giving her a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Ava’s head snapped back. What? That didn’t make sense. It was cold and wintery outside, and they rarely ventured out of the house. It was too cold for more than a short ride, and outside of the few times they’d gone out with Kat or to a party at the clubhouse, they’d stayed home. Anxiety slithered up her spine, raising the hairs on her nape. He was lying. She saw it in the way his eyes flitted from side to side.

“Really? Where?” she asked casually.

He rubbed his mouth. “Where what?” Hmm, he’s deflecting. Pretending he didn’t understand.

“Where did you see us?” she said in a firmer tone.

His nostrils flared. “Around,” he mumbled. “I don’t remember exactly where.”

Ava froze. Not only was he lying, but there was an inexplicable edginess to his body language. His movements were jerky as he flicked at his shoelaces and repositioned his foot over his knee. Questions raced around her head, but one in particular circled back repeatedly. He’d been watching her. Stalking her. It explained the odd feeling she’d had at times that she was being watched. She thought Puck put a prospect on her because he was a biker and bikers sometimes had to protect their women. Instead, it was Derick. The instant the thought pierced her consciousness, she shivered in revulsion. I’m right.

Carefully, as if in the presence of a wild predator, Ava pronounced, “Well, it’s over between us.”

His eyes flew to hers. “It is?”

“Yes, we’re in the final throes of a bad breakup, but I need time. It’s been a hard few weeks, and after I cut it off with him, I’ll need time to recuperate and heal. You do understand that, don’t you, Derick?” she asked in a cajoling, sugary tone.

“I guess…” he replied. “I can help you get over him.” He looked at her hopefully.

Good God, this man’s delusional.

“I wouldn’t want to use you as a rebound. You know how that is,” she said with a flick of her fingers.

“Not really,” he groused.

“As a social worker, I’m going to get through this the right way. There are stages of grief one normally goes through with the end of any relationship. Why don’t you give me a few weeks? Then we’ll go on a nice date together?” she suggested, holding her breath. Her skin crawled because if he’d been sneaking around and stalking her, then, he could be dangerous. He might be struggling with mental illness. Her heart stuttered. Derick could be the culprit of the destruction at the bar.

Everything fell into place in her mind. It was never the Renegades. It made more sense that this unhinged CO, who was essentially a trained law enforcement officer, had perpetuated the destruction, not a group of middle-aged dads who rode expensive bikes.

Holding her breath, she reiterated, “What do you think, Derick? Can you do that for me?”

“I guess,” he muttered, like a petulant child who’d been refused a treat.

A breath of relief whooshed out of her. “Wow, thanks for your understanding and patience, Derick,” she lied, holding back the sarcasm that was eager to escape.

“I’ve waited this long, I guess it don’t hurt to wait a little longer,” he grumbled.

Her eyebrows shot up again, but she quickly hid her expression and pasted on a fake smile. Through it, she fibbed, “Great, it’s a date. Well, I better get back to work.”

With a grunt, he got up. A slight sheen of sweat dotted her skin as she impatiently waited for him to get out of her office. Grabbing the cup, she gulped down the lukewarm coffee as she watched him leave her.

Tonight, she wasn’t leaving Puck out in the cold. They were going to have a talk.