Page 49 of King of Pain (Damaged Hearts #1)

Hello Again

Anthony

I know that ass. I’d know that ass anywhere.

I stand frozen in the middle of the karaoke bar, drink forgotten in my hand as my gaze locks onto the thick backside of the man at the bar.

The place is a cozy pub in midtown Phoenix—wooden tables, tall ceilings, and warm lighting bouncing off the aged wood floors.

The buzz of conversation and the occasional off-key singing fill the air, but all of it fades into the background as I stare, my pulse thudding in my ears.

Jen dragged me out tonight against my will, as usual.

She claimed I needed a night out, and I gave in, mostly because I knew she wouldn’t let up.

Lexi and her husband Beau are here, too, along with Jen’s friend and coworker, Spencer—also an attorney.

Spence is a model-level gorgeous twunk, and Jen tried to set us up a couple years ago.

He’s a good guy, but there’s nothing there beyond friendship.

He’s a little too buttoned-up for my taste.

Still, he fits in well with our group, keeping the conversation lively with his very sharp quick wit.

I should be paying attention to the chatter around me, but all I can do is stare at the man at the bar. My stomach twists with awareness as my fingers tighten around my glass.

The arrival of Butters draws attention around me. People recognize my pro football quarterback friend immediately, offering high-fives as he makes his way to our group. Butters grins and greets Jen before turning to Spence, who he hasn’t met yet.

“Butters, this is Spencer,” Jen says. I see her gesturing between them from the corner of my eye. “He’s also an attorney at the firm. Spencer, this is Ryan Buterbaugh, but we call him Butters.”

Spence replies in his trademark snarky tone. “I know who the quarterback for Arizona is. I don’t live under a rock. I’m not calling you Butters, though, Ryan.”

Butters laughs. “Fair enough. Good to meet you, little guy.”

Spence scoffs. “There’s nothing little about me. I’d be happy to take you to the men’s room and compare.”

I barely register Butters standing there with his mouth open in shock.

I'm just staring. Straight ahead. At the ass at the bar.

Jen notices my weird behavior and nudges my shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”

I shake my head and point. Jen follows my gaze, scanning the bar. “What is it?”

I still can’t speak. My breath is stuck in my throat.

Then he turns around.

Jen gasps softly, covering her mouth. “Oh. My. Fucking. God.”

Butters, oblivious, frowns. “What? What’s going on—oh holy shit.”

He starts walking toward us, and Spence, never one to miss an opportunity, whistles low and murmurs, “Raw. No further questions, Your Honor.”

Jen slaps his arm, shooting him a look, but I can’t even react to their antics. My world narrows to the man now standing directly in front of me.

“Hey, Beautiful.”

Time completely stops. We just stand there, our eyes getting reacquainted. His blue meets my hazel and my skin ignites.

But then, as if a switch flips, rage surges through me. “No. You don’t get to call me that.”

I turn sharply to leave, but Chance grabs my arm. I yank away from his grip, my pulse pounding.

Before I can say anything else, Butters moves, his posture shifting as he steps up, ready to get in Chance’s face.

Jen is faster, throwing herself between them, her outstretched hand pressing against Butters’ chest. “I got this. You and Spencer take him outside. Lexi and Beau are here if I need them.”

Butters glares but nods, turning to me. “Let’s go get some air, yeah?”

Words escape me, so I just shake my head in the affirmative.

As I turn to leave, I catch one last glimpse of Jen, her finger jabbing at Chance’s chest as she lays into him. But he isn’t even looking at her.

His eyes are locked only on me.

The cool night air is a shock to my system as I step into the parking lot. The heat of the bar, the press of bodies, the overwhelming scent of alcohol and cologne—all of it fades into the quiet hum of the city night.

Ryan and Spence follow, but I barely clock their presence. My mind is spinning, my body tense as I pace a few steps away and turn to face them, hands on my hips, trying to steady my breathing.

“Damn, Anthony,” Spence says, Adjusting his hair—for the twentieth time tonight. “Who was that tattooed god? And are you sure you can’t fix him?”

Butters shoots him a look. “Dude, no.”

Spence’s lips curl. “Aww, don’t be jealous, ball boy, you’re a smoke show too.”

Butters stares at him for a beat and says, “Bro, read the room.”

Spence smirks and turns to him. “You can read?”

Butters scoffs. “Insulting the jock’s intelligence. How original.”

Spencer chuckles. “Relax, QB1. Just trying to lighten the mood. I’m good in a courtroom, but not at… whatever this is.” He gestures vaguely at me.

I turn away from the bar door, place my hands on my knees, and try to catch my breath.

Those two idiots are still bickering, but I can’t make out a word of it.

My pulse is hammering too hard in my ears.

The door to the bar swings open.

I don’t have to turn around. I know.

I feel him even though I can’t see him.

Chance.

His presence is like a phantom limb, something I swore I had lost forever but still aches in places I thought had gone numb.

“Ant,” he says, his voice cautious, measured.

I shake my head, my jaw locking. “Don’t.”

“I just—”

My voice cuts through the air like a blade. “I said don’t.”

Silence.

I stare straight ahead, refusing to turn around and look.

“Ant,” he tries again, stepping closer. “Please. Just look at me.”

I don’t move.

Seconds stretch, thick and suffocating.

I clench my fists, exhale sharply through my nose, and finally turn.

Chance’s eyes search mine. Wild. Desperate.

“You get three minutes,” I say, my voice cold as steel.

He hesitates, confusion flickering across his face.

“Three minutes,” I repeat, stepping closer. “One for every year you left me here.”

I hear the commotion before I see them—Jen and Lexi, both coming out of the bar. Jen is watching the scene unfold, arms crossed over her chest like she’s waiting for a reason to go off, while Lexi looks like she’s barely containing the urge to lunge at Chance herself.

Good.

Chance steps even closer, his hands raised slightly like he’s trying to approach a wounded animal. “Ant, three minutes isn’t enough. It’s going to take a hell of a lot longer to explain everything.”

“Why should I even consider giving you the time?” My voice is sharp, cutting, but it’s nowhere near as vicious as the fury in my chest.

Chance huffs a breath. “Because I can explain. It’s not as simple as you might think.”

I scoff. “It’s not that complicated, Chance. You got me to open up to you, to accept myself.” My voice cracks, but I push through it. “Then I gave you my heart, and—”

I square up to him, pushing him back by the shoulders with each word.

“You—” shove.

“Left—” shove.

“Me—” shove.

“Here.”

Chance lets me push him, taking the force of my shoves without resistance. When I’m done, I wipe a single tear from my cheek before it can fall.

“Ant—” His voice is raw, but I cut him off.

“I don’t even know what happened to Ma,” I say, the weight of those words settling deep in my bones. “I couldn’t even be there—” My throat seizes, and I force myself to stop before I spiral into something I can’t claw my way back from.

I shake my head. “No. You know what? No. I’m not doing this right now. I don’t know if I ever will.”

“Ant, I want to tell you everything,” Chance says, voice pleading. “Please, can we meet sometime?”

I stare at him, my gut twisting. There’s pain in his eyes, deeper than I’ve ever seen.

And Ma… Ma wouldn’t want me to turn my back. He’s lucky I loved her so much.

I exhale sharply and pull out my phone, unlock it, and hold it out to him.

Chance just looks at me.

I shove it at him. “Put your new number in there. You know, since you cut off your old one.”

He sighs. “Beautiful, I—”

“Just put your number in.” I bite out. “I’m not saying I’ll use it, but if I feel like letting you grovel, then I’ll have it.”

Chance nods, then his fingers fly over the screen for a little longer than is necessary. I hold out my hand, and he hands the phone back to me. “I’m going to leave now.” His voice is quiet.

“Fine,” I say. “I’m glad you’re not dead, at least.”

I don’t give him the chance to respond. I just turn and head toward Jen’s car where Butters and Spence are leaning against the side, watching the whole thing go down.

Spence pushes off the car, running a hand through his hair, and points at me, saying, “Woo-boy. If anyone ever looks at me the way that man looks at you, I’ll drop to my knees and show them why ten inches is my deep throat record.”

Butters chokes, eyes wide, snapping his head toward Spence with something that looks an awful lot like heat.

Spence smirks, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Calm down, QB1. I don’t do straight. You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

Jen snickers as she approaches. “Spence, get in the car.”

Butters blinks, still staring at Spence like he either wants to push him or kiss him. Then he clears his throat, shakes his head, and looks at me. “You okay, PacMan?”

Before I can even answer, a screeching voice echoes across the parking lot. “Are you fucking kidding me, Chance?”

We all turn to see Lexi shoving at Chance, her voice echoing into the night.

Butters sighs. “I better go get Beau from inside. It’s gonna take two of us to hold her back.”

Jen cackles, already sliding into the driver’s seat. “Good luck with that.”

I climb into the back seat while Spence takes shotgun. As Jen pulls out of the lot, I let my head fall back against the seat and finally, finally let myself breathe.

Three years. Three years, and somehow, Chance looks even better than before.

His black hair is longer, but still styled to messy, frustrating perfection.

He’s gotten even more muscular, his thighs stretching the limits of those jeans he was wearing.

And that ass. That ass is even bigger and more perfect than before.

I sigh and pull out my phone, considering if I should text him my number.

But when I open my messages, my eyes land on something unexpected.

A text.

From my phone.

To a number with no contact name.

I stare at the screen, my pulse pounding as I read the message:

I had your phone in my hand. I couldn’t not text myself from your number. Let me explain, Beautiful.

I let out a breath and drop my head back against the seat.

“Motherfucker.”