At the Stars(39)

“I am. It solves two problems, right? You need a car. I need to get rid of a car.”

My head hurts a little. “I can’t take a car from you. Let me pay you something.”

He smiles. “Figure out what you can afford. Don’t worry too much, though. I’m okay.”

I’m okay. He’s so close I can smell the soap on his skin and the coffee on his breath. I can see strain around his eyes. I don’t believe that he’s okay. I don’t believe I am either.

“I’ll call my bank and get you a check by next week. Is that okay?” I try to smile. This should all be a good thing. I can’t figure out why my chest feels so heavy.

“Sure. You can stay for another week?”

I will have been in Evergreen Grove for almost a month. I almost can’t believe it. “I promised Dante I’d stay until next week. Anyway, I need to decide where I’m headed next.”

He pulls back. The quiet harmony between us strains like a chord gone off-key, and it’s painful. “What’s the story with you and him?”

I can’t tell him. Dante’s story isn’t mine to share. “He’s a friend. I’m not about to open a joint bank account with him or anything, but I think his intentions are good.”

Jake rocks back against the wall, stretching his legs in front of him. Against the paint’s stark whiteness he looks so vibrant with his kaleidoscope of tattoos and the nervous energy that practically bounces off his skin. He opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, then pounds his fist against his thigh like he’s frustrated.

“Shit.” He hisses the single syllable out between angry, clenched teeth. “I didn’t like seeing him touch you and everything. You two seemed...” He spreads his fingers, bending and flexing them in some male effort to articulate what he can’t with his words.

I think about what Dante said. He doesn’t want you but he doesn’t want anyone else to have you. If it’s true, it’s frustrating as all hell. I mean, damaged or not—and that goes for me or Jake—I have got to be able to do better than guys who treat me like I’ll break if they look at me the wrong way.

I thought that guy could be Jake. Maybe not. Maybe he’s too wrapped up in whatever his own shortcomings are.

“Dante is a friend,” I grumble. “A friend. Let’s remember though, you’re the one who smacked me down. To be clear, a gal’s self-esteem can only take so much of that stuff, so I’m trying real hard not to take it personally. I’m trying to remember about how there are things I don’t know that make it impossible for you to so much as kiss me. You know, you might as well tell me, since you don’t wanna touch me now anyway.”

I cross my arms over my chest and breathe deep, catching up from my tirade. I realize I’m crying, and that is an absolute no-no in front of other humans. I swipe my arm over my face before my mascara can run or anything else gross, but I fear the damage has been done.

Damn, I feel energized though. Turns out bitching someone out until you’re blue in the face is cathartic.

Slowly, he stands. His back inches up the wall with the whisper of cotton and denim on drywall. When he reaches his full height, we’re so close I have to look up some. I wish we could go back to him kneeling. I liked being taller for a change.

He grips my shoulders. Not hard, but enough to get my attention. “I like the way you look at me. Like you see good there. And possibilities. Like you want more than for me to rock your world and leave out the back door before morning so your husband doesn’t see me.”

“Jake...” I don’t ask if he really thinks that’s all he’s good for. It’s on his face, and it breaks my heart.

He puts a finger under my chin. “You don’t want to know the truth about me. You’d never look at me the same way again.”

Something pings and snaps inside. A dam bursts and the tears come out of me, harder than before. “Seriously, what could you have possibly done? I’ve got news, buddy, shitty things have happened to us all. You know, I lost my virginity to a guy holding a pair of scissors against my throat. In my favorite music store, where I went every day after school. The clerk who tried to save me got stabbed... right here.” I place two shaking fingers against my neck, between my chin and my collarbone.

The familiar nausea’s rising as I push out the last part. “He bled to death on the floor next to me while I waited for help to come. Wanna guess how people respond to that information? Or look at me like I’m a three-legged puppy who’s about to be put to sleep at the pound? So whatever issues you’ve got, you can take a number.”