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Wound Up(28)

By:Kelli Ireland


                He stood, looming over her.

                She crossed her arms under her breasts.

                “Shit.” He raked his fingers through his hair.

                “Pretty much.”

                “Why didn’t you mention you were doing your practicum at Second Chances?”

                “I could ask you why you didn’t tell me you would be working there. Same answer, Captain Obvious. I had no idea it was relevant.”

                He stalked out of the bathroom and, if she interpreted the sound correctly, punched a pillow before his words punched the air. “Freaking fabulous.”

                “You know what? You better gain a little perspective and a lot of control, fast. You’re acting like I did something wrong. News flash—I didn’t. So get over yourself and cut the temper-tantrum crap.”

                “Grace, if they find out I screwed around with an intern, I could be fired before I even start. This could destroy my career. Don’t you get it? You may have just ruined my life!”

                How often had she heard the very same thing from her mother? How often had she been forced to listen to all the things her mother would have seen and done if she’d been able to afford an abortion?

                “Go to hell,” she whispered, the words a gauntlet thrown down after a lifetime of blanket neglect and emotional abuse.

                Snatching her jacket off the luggage rack, she blindly dug out a handful of bills and walked over to Justin, dumping them at his feet. “Here’s the tip I didn’t give you last night, and some free advice, too. Never piss your ‘client’ off before you’ve been paid or the deal might fall through.”

                His eyes narrowed. “Did you just call me a whore?”

                “I’m losing my touch if you have to ask.” With that, she headed toward the door. “Enjoy your waffles.”





                                      5

                JUSTIN HOPPED OFF the 28 bus and, shoulders hunched, started up the sidewalk. Though it was only a couple of blocks to his mom’s, the walk through this neighborhood could be a little dicey. The area was rough, but it wasn’t particularly violent during the day. That didn’t mean it couldn’t be under the right circumstances, though.

                Levi had offered to drop him off when Justin had returned the car, but he wanted time to think before he walked through into his childhood home for the traditional Sunday supper. He knew his family would sense his mood and ask him what was wrong. He wasn’t quite ready to answer those questions. Not with Grace’s fresh, clean scent still flooding his nose and those accusing green eyes filling his mind. It was hard to piece together exactly how they’d ended up exchanging such vitriolic words and letting something with so much potential go up in spectacular flames.

                It was the worst possible reminder of who he’d been—the kid with potential who never quite got it right. Was he still that same kid? Would he never outgrow the impulses that led him to screw things up just when the perfect opportunity presented itself? Would he never be able to hold his damn tongue when someone seriously pissed him off? If he couldn’t manage these basic human decencies, he was destined to fail at whatever he tried to do or be.

                Justin strode up the front walk as he had a thousand times before. Sounds from the television leaked through ancient caulking around the windows, and the CBS Sunday-morning news anchor’s distinctive voice was followed by dramatic music and a second reporter’s voice. The front door stuck when Justin twisted the knob, forcing him to put his shoulder into it. He’d have to fix that. The last thing his mom needed was having to muscle open the door after she’d been on her feet for ten straight hours, waiting tables all night.