Page 8 of How to Trust a Hellhound (Hellhounds of Paradise Falls #4)

Josh

I laid around and watched a documentary on fraud, and then I watched one on an internet scammer. I played a matching game on my phone, and I stressed about texting Rick.

I probably needed to.

He’d go home, find my stuff missing, and freak out.

A tiny part of me hoped he’d be worried, but I knew he’d actually just be mad. So, the question was whether I wanted to wait to deal with his wrath, or whether I wanted to tell him before he started sending angry messages. He was probably at work, and I hated to bother him at work.

You know what? Fuck that. I wasn’t at work today because my face and wrist were bruised. Why should I try and make his life easier? That was all I ever did, and look where it had gotten me.

I started writing a long text, then erased it, then started again, then erased it.

Ugh.

I paused the documentary, because I had totally lost what was going on.

I couldn’t even relax properly. It was so hard to turn off my brain.

Work did it, because I enjoyed getting lost in numbers.

But I had taken the day off, and I still felt too out of sorts to go through other people’s accounts.

The last thing I wanted to do was screw something up.

As a financial advisor, I did a lot of different things, from bookkeeping to payroll to retirement planning.

Barb was picky about who she took on as customers, so I was lucky that I got to help a lot of small businesses and individuals.

I never felt like a “slimy, stuck-up wall street asshole.”

Yeah, Rick had called me that once, “just joking.” Which was stupid, because I didn’t even work with the stock market.

I looked at my phone. I just needed to text him and get it out of the way, but I continued to stare at it.

He’d probably call me. Or send a barrage of text messages back.

I didn’t even know what I would say, and although I knew I wasn’t going back to him, I didn’t know if I could handle dealing with him.

Someone knocked on the door, pulling me out of my head.

“Josh? It’s Q,” a voice called out.

“Come in,” I called back.

Although the door was a few feet away, the thought of getting off the couch where I was wrapped in a blanket was not appealing.

Plus, it was Q’s boyfriend’s cabin, or one of his brother’s.

I still didn’t quite know who owned what, since they all seemed to treat everything like it belonged to everyone.

It was weird, but it was also kind of nice.

Q walked in, handed me a paper bag and a cup of coffee, and stared at my face. If he’d looked sad or like he pitied me, I probably would have started crying. Q just looked pissed off, though.

“Want me to kick his ass?” he asked. “I’m small, but I’m feisty as fuck.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my mouth. Q quirked a smile at me and sat down next to me on the couch.

“Aiden made you some lunch, and I insisted on the coffee. They’re heathens. Aiden wouldn’t have even brought over a coffee maker this morning if I hadn’t told him to,” Q said.

“Thanks, Q.” I set down my phone, pulled open the bag, and saw a wrapped sandwich and a pouch full of cookies. I thought about eating, but my stomach cramped, thinking about the text I still needed to send.

Q was staring at me, eyebrows raised. “I’m serious about the kick-his-ass part.”

“Maybe that would be easier than the break-up text I’m trying to send,” I muttered.

“Ohhh, a break-up text. I can definitely get on board with that. How about ‘Go fuck yourself.’ Or maybe ‘Eat shit and die, and don’t ever contact me again, motherfucker.’”

I laughed. If only I were that bold. I probably wouldn’t be in this mess if I had Q’s attitude.

“Are you not sure if you want to break up?” Q asked.

I looked over at him, but I didn’t see judgment.

“No. We’re done. We’ve been done, honestly, and I don’t know why it took this”—I gestured at my face with my wrapped wrist—“to make me finalize things.”

“Because you’re a giver,” Q said. He must have seen the look on my face, because he continued, “That isn’t a bad thing.

You give people every opportunity and think everyone is inherently good.

You have endless patience. You care about people, and you want to take care of them and make things better.

I see that with your interactions with Toby and Sebbie.

I bet you haven’t even told them yet, because the idea of someone worrying over you is probably uncomfortable to you. ”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Rick is an asshole, and you deserve so much better. So tell him to fuck off, or let me tell him to fuck off, and then block him, because you’re done taking his shit.”

“Block him?” I asked.

“Yup. Block the fucker. You don’t need to hear from him. Make it final. The guys are picking up all your shit. If your name is on the lease, we can totally handle that for you, and I doubt you have joint bank accounts or anything, but we can handle that, too, if necessary,” Q said.

“No joint accounts,” I said distractedly. “My name is on the lease. It’s technically my place. I didn’t even think…”

“Hey,” Q said. “No worries. Liam will call the landlord and tell him you’ve vacated and your ex is now the resident, so he can transfer the lease or give the guy notice. Do you have a deposit you need back?”

“No, it’s okay. I’m leaving without notice. He can keep the deposit. Or use it as the next month’s rent. I don’t care. I don’t want Rick hounding me for money, so that’s probably best anyway. He won’t be able to afford that place, so that will give him time to find something else.”

Q shook his head. “You’re too fucking nice, Josh.”

My cheeks heated. Maybe I was too nice, but I was also non-confrontational, and I didn’t want to fight with Rick. I didn’t want to be blamed for him not having a place to stay, because then I’d feel guilty.

Rick made me feel guilty a lot in our relationship, and I didn’t need to feel guilty about us breaking up.

“I just… I don’t want him to be able to blame me for anything,” I answered. “I don’t want to fight. I just want it over.”

“Ok, so let’s compose a nice, non-confrontational text and then block the fucker,” Q said, and he handed me my phone.

I managed to write the text—eventually—and I even chuckled a few times, because Q was not good at non-confrontational. I think he suggested half the stuff he did just to make me laugh, but it felt good.

“I’m not going to tell him to dip his balls in a vat of boiling oil, Q,” I said again.

“Are you sure? Maybe right between that part about not contacting you again and the information on how you’re letting him stay in your place for another two months?” Q asked .

I snorted, then I hit send on the text, breathing out a sigh. Q put his hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“I still can’t believe you said ‘we can’t make each other happy.’ But it was totally a nice break-up text. And very definite, at least.” Q made a face when he called it nice that had me snorting again.

“Ok, so how do I block him?” I asked. I mean, I knew, but somehow it was just easier to give my phone over to Q so he could do all the work.

Q pressed a few buttons, then looked at me. “He’s blocked on texts and calls. I’m going to block him everywhere. What socials do you have? What’s his email address? I’ll block that, too.”

I told Q, and he went to work. I kind of just sat there feeling a little numb.

Would it really be so easy to get Rick out of my life?

Somehow, I didn’t think so. I had been final and decisive in the text, but Rick was used to getting his way.

I didn’t think he even really cared about me anymore, but he would care about being broken up with.

He’d once told me he’d never been broken up with before and that he always chose his boyfriends carefully.

I think I was supposed to feel honored or something.

Q eventually handed my phone back, patted my shoulder, and said, “Done. You let us know if the fucker finds some way to contact you. Liam is good with computer shit. We’ll handle the lease and the landlord—you have nothing to worry about.

The guys will bring your stuff over later. Do you want me to stick around?”

“Nah, I’m okay. Thanks a lot, Q. I really do appreciate all this. You guys have been… I mean, I don’t even know why you guys are helping me so much.”

Q smiled, and it didn’t even look snarky. “We’ve been there, Josh, in some way or another. Sometimes we all need help, and we all deserve help.” He paused, then added, “God, I sound like Aiden. Don’t tell him I got sappy. That’s his job. If you want anyone’s dick cut off, you let me know.”

I laughed, which I’m sure was Q’s intention, and then he wandered off and left me to watch more documentaries.

I wasted most of the day on the couch, and eventually I got up to go shower.

If the “guys” were bringing my stuff over, I didn’t want to look like a mess.

I’d already embarrassed myself enough yesterday.

I grabbed some underwear, khakis, and a polo from my stuff—yes, my clothes were boring, too—and headed into the bathroom.

I unwrapped my wrist, and I was amazed at how much better it looked.

I’d need to wrap it again, and I could probably manage, but…

Well, Toby would be pissed. I’d been here overnight and all day, and I hadn’t even told him yet.

Shower first, I decided, then a message to Toby, because I was sure he’d be knocking on my door five seconds after I texted him.

The hot water felt amazing, and I took my time. Getting undressed and dressed was slow work, but I managed. Once I was dressed and brushed my teeth, I texted Toby.

I’m in the cabin on your property. Stop by if you can and I’ll explain.