I should be thinking about what he said, but instead I’m taking in how the position of his arms accentuates his strong chest. My fingers itch to reach out, and see if that swell below his collar bone is as hard a it looks.
“Jane?”
“Huh?”
“I asked if you were ready to go home?”
“It’s not my home, Malice,” I say, staring at the ground. Back to this old chestnut.
“You called it home before.”
“Did I?”
He nods. “Besides, it’s more of a fucking home than anywhere else you’ll go.”
I lift my gaze, and frown at him. Is he trying to insinuate that I won’t be happy if I move out? Haven’t you all ready thought that?
“That didn’t sound right,” he murmurs.
“Damn straight it didn’t. What the hell were you trying to say?”
“That I want you to stay with me.”
I cross my arms, and firm my position. “Is that not what I’ve been doing?”
He looks to the pick-up, to Rocco, and the traffic before he can hold my gaze. “I meant as in, stay for good. I need you around to help me deal with this mess I’ve got myself in . . . if I’m going to do it.”
Well, isn’t that an interesting proposition? “You do realize that you’ll have to explain this ‘mess’ to me for me to help you?” I say, and start for the pick-up.
“Well aware, Jane,” he calls as I get in.
He drops into the seat beside me, and starts the engine.
“I’ll stick around for a while, but on one condition.”
He glances across as we pull onto the road. “What’s that?”
“If you want me to help you, you have to tell me everything. No leaving details out, no shutting down when it gets too hard. You need to be honest.”
“I’ll try,” he says.
“You’ve got to want the help for the effort to be worthwhile.” Isn’t that the exact thing I’ve learnt these past weeks?
“I know.”
We travel in silence for a while, before I decide to voice what’s been on my mind. “Why me?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t get what I can offer to help you. I mean, look at me: I’m a blithering mess when I leave the counselor. I’ve got enough issues to last me years of appointments at that place. What makes you think I’m equipped to help you out?”
He sighs, and runs his hands around the steering wheel. “Sometimes the people who understand the best are those who’ve been there themselves.”
“Been where, Malice?”
“Complete desolation. Rock bottom. The place where you can’t see the light to know the way back out of the hole you’re in.” He stares ahead, stoic, and defiant. Even now, he refuses to show an ounce of what the thoughts in his head are doing to him.
“What happened to you?” I whisper.
“Nothing I can change.”
I LET Jane into the house first, and head for the kitchen while she lets Rocco out to the back yard. Under the pretense of having a drink of water, I stand at the counter and watch her as she gives him a pat on the head, and turns for the door. My throat becomes thick, and despite all the water I gulp down, I still feel dry.
So many people have tried to tap into the mess that is my past and give me their back-room psycho-analysis of what it all means, and how it impacts the way I am now. But she’s the first person I’ve truly felt might be able to help unravel the knots I’m in. Problem is, I’m still shit-scared to tell her.
Her gaze lifts to find me, and I drop my eyes before we connect. The woman turns all the wrong dials, at all the right times. How the hell does she not see this between us? How the hell can she act so indifferent?
“How do you want to start?” she asks, walking into the room behind me.
“Start what?”
“Come on, Malice. Do I have to spell it out?”
I know what she’s asking of me; I’m being an asshole about it. Force of habit. “You promise you’ll stay?”
“For the umpteenth time, yes, I promise.” She appears at my side, and leans her head on my shoulder. “I would have left a long time ago if I didn’t trust you.”
Fuck. She trusts me.
Her intent is to put me at ease, but telling me she trusts me has driven me further into myself. She’s too good for me, too promising—I can’t ruin this.
“What do you see in me?” My throat sticks when I try to swallow.
“Loyalty, a big heart, and loneliness.”
And a lifetime of mistakes that can’t be undone.
“What do you see in me?” She catches me off-guard by turning the question around.