Page 145 of Crash Course
On his best day, patience wasn’t exactly Cruz's strong suit. Now, he glanced at Cilla, ghostly pale, her green eyes giant orbs. "Stop it! Both of you!"
But Randolph? He lifted his hand again, set it flat on Cruz’s chest and . . . shoved.
And now Cruz was done.
Bam!
He swung, ramming Randolph square on the jaw and knocking him back a few steps. The sight of blood offered a sick satisfaction Cruz hadn’t experienced in years.
Randolph stumbled, lost his balance and windmilled his arms, grabbing for the door, but missing. He landed on his ass in the doorway.
Not being one to kick a man when he was down, Cruz stood in place, hands loose at his sides. "Get up," he said. "If you wanna finish it, get up."
"Cruz!" Cilla shrieked. "Stop!"
Randolph stayed on the ground, just set his head against the floor and lifted his hands to his face.
"Dad? Are you all right?"
Finally, the man dropped his hands, got to his knees, and peered up at Cilla.
"I’m sorry," he said, his voice shattering like glass in a hurricane. "It wasn’t supposed to be this way."
"Dad?"
Still on the ground, he shook his head. "I never wanted . . . Cilla, you have to know, I never wanted you hurt. It was just a car. A lesson. That’s all. You weren’t supposed tobethere."
"Oh, Dad."
A security guard flew into the room, spotted a bloody Darren Randolph on the ground and his gaze flew to Cruz.
"It was him," Randolph said. "Call the police. I want him arrested."
The following morning,after being bailed out by a none-too-happy Zeke and checking on Cilla, whose mother had flown in the night before to take care of her after she’d been released from the hospital that morning, Cruz drove his ass back to Steele Ridge.
Thankfully, he’d parked far enough from Cilla’s car that his truck came through with only minor scratches and dents from flying debris. All of which he could repair.
That was the easy part. Cilla? Pissed at him. He got that message loud and clear when she’d said as much.
Hell, at least she was honest. A good sign, he thought.
Next would be his mother.
By getting locked up, he’d done the one thing his parents had spent most of his teenage years fearing; he brought embarrassment to his family. Plus, he’d been unavailable for Cilla.
Somehow, he’d time-warped back to the restless teenager who couldn’t seem to stay out of trouble.
Helluva twenty-four hours.
Just after 1:00, he stood in the hallway outside the Friary’s kitchen where Zeke had told him their mother was having lunch. Mom had texted him an hour ago informing him they needed to talk upon his arrival.
And he’d definitely gotten the impression it wasn’t a request.
Time to slide into his big boy pants, explain himself, and apologize for his unacceptable behavior.
Gee, he might get a time-out after this.
Sent to his room.
