P.S. I Hate You, page 11
Choosing the latter, I push through the door. The torrential water echoes off the tile. I creep past and slip into a stall and do what I came to do, but on my way out, I’m startled by the sound of Jace’s voice. For a split second, I think I’m caught, but the low rumble continues, a raged rush of breathy mumbles and guttural groans. I catch a glimpse of his back through the small space between the curtain and the wall. Water cascades down his sinewy body, the light catching on the hills and valleys of muscle. The air leaves my lungs. I know it’s wrong. He deserves his privacy as much as anyone else, but I can’t look away.
Then he tips his head back. A moan catapults to the ceiling as he braces his free hand on the wall in front of him.
Holy shit.
Jace is …
Holy shit.
I back away as if seeing a bear in the forest. Outside on the bench, I try to scrub the image from my brain, but it’s no use. It plays over and over, the blood rushing in my ears like the rain running down his skin. I can’t unsee it. Worst of all, I can’t unhear it.
Jace was not just pleasuring himself in the shower.
He was moaning my name.
Chapter eleven
“You have to quarantine for two whole weeks? You’re not even sick.”
With the phone pressed to my ear, I pace my room in a tight circle. “Yeah, I know, but it’s precaution.”
Troy makes an ick sound. “It’s ridiculous is what it is.”
I roll my eyes. Is he really giving me shit over something I can’t control? Meanwhile, he barely even acknowledges the fact that Jace’s mom is in the hospital. “Cindy is better, by the way. Her fever broke last night.” My voice drips with sarcasm.
“Oh, um… that’s good.”
When I sit on the edge of the bed, my pencil rolls beneath my thigh. I pull it out and tuck it into the spokes of my sketchpad. My gaze scans the various designs drawn on the top page. I’ve never been much of an artist but ever since Jolene asked me to create a design plan for the store, my brain has been exploding with ideas. Not just for Boots n’ Bangles, but designer style fashion as well. The more I draw, the faster they come. I wonder if this is how Coco Chanel felt at first?
“Yeah. She and Jace should be home any second.”
“Great,” he mumbles with zero inflection.
“What?” I ask with an exasperated sigh.
“Nothing. I just hate the idea of you holed up in the house with Jace for two weeks.”
The mention of his name sends a shudder down my spine. My shoulders tense. Ghosts of last night haven’t left me alone. It’s all I’ve thought about. The rumble of my name sliding off his tongue, angry and feral. Even now, I find myself crossing my legs to staunch the smoldering desire beginning to build. “I’ll be fine.”
“I think it would be best if you quarantined here. That way I can keep an eye on you.”
My lips fall open while my woozy mind scrambles for a response. “I don’t need you to keep an eye on me.”
A heavy breath floats over the line. “That’s not what I meant. All I’m saying is, what if you get sick? Who will take care of you? Jace? Not likely. Here, you’d have staff at your beck and call.”
My stomach sinks. As lovely as that may sound, I’m appalled that he even suggested it. I owe Cindy more than that. She was the only one there for me when I needed someone, and I won’t turn my back on her now. This is where I belong. “I’m not just gonna leave Cindy and Jace here alone. They need me.”
“They were fine before you got there. They’ll be fine after you’ve gone.”
Something about his tone puts a sour taste in my mouth. This doesn’t sound like the same guy who brought me to a soup kitchen on our first date. The guy who broke down my defenses with his kind nobility. I’d still like to believe that wasn’t all for show like Jace said, but I’m having trouble wading through the haughty self righteousness to find him right now.
“I should go start dinner.”
Another sigh, followed by the click of his tongue. “Okay. Call me later. Love you.”
“Bye.”
Unbelievable.
I disconnect the call and sit stunned as I rehash the conversation in my head. There was zero empathy behind his words. I know Jace isn’t his favorite person, but I assumed he’d have a little compassion for Cindy at least.
I sweep my things up and set them in the nightstand drawer before heading into the kitchen. My mother wasn’t much of a cook, but her chicken soup always made me feel better when I was sick. The dish was passed down from her grandmother, and while I don’t have the exact recipe, I’m sure I can figure it out.
Peering into the fridge, I collect my ingredients. After locating a cutting board and a big chopping knife, I get to work. I dice the carrot, celery, and onion, then throw in a couple of chicken cutlets whole. Add some sprigs of parsley and a crack of pepper, and before long, the entire house smells like comfort.
The screen door creaks. I lean back to see who’s coming and find an exhausted Cindy shuffling through. “Hey! Welcome home,” I say with as much cheer as I can muster.
“I reckon the other mornin’ must have been an awful fright for y’all. I’m sorry.”
I pet her arm. “Don’t be sorry. Not like you planned on getting sick. I’m just glad you’re well enough to come home.”
She offers a groggy smile. “Ima go lie down.”
“Okay. I’ll bring you some soup when it’s ready.”
“Is that what I smell? You’re just full of surprises, ain’tcha?” She touches my cheek as she passes.
Minutes later, Jace barrels through the door like a tornado. “Hi,” I say when he stomps into the room.
His lip curls. “What are you doing?”
I look down at the half-shredded chicken on the cutting board, then back at him. “I’m making dinner.”
“Fixin’ to poison us all is more like it.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not completely inept in the kitchen. I’m sure I can handle throwing together chicken soup.”
He guides me backward and steps in my path to the stove. “Watchin’ servants make your meals doesn’t count as cookin’. Stick to what you know, princess—shoppin’ and spa days—and leave the hard stuff to me.”
Heat trickles up my face as I meet his narrowed gaze. “This act of yours is starting to get old real quick.”
“Who’re you tryna impress? My mom ain’t got no money. You got nothin’ to gain here.”
His spiteful words detonate a bomb in my chest. “Shut up! I’m tired of you throwing money up in my face like it’s a bargaining chip. I used to be rich—so what? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not anymore. In case you also forgot, my mother died over that wealth. So I don’t give a shit about money. Your mom is the only parent I have left, and fuck you for thinking my actions have an agenda other than carrying my own weight.” I shove him hard, but he only wobbles. “Get out of my way,” I grit through my teeth.
Blue flames explode in his eyes. I swear this man is going to be the death of me. For all the weeks I’ve tried to maintain my composure, it took me losing my shit to get a rise out of him. I will never understand him. Last night, he’s rolling around with me on the mat. Today, he wants to tear me apart. This Jekyll and Hyde behavior is exhausting, and I don’t have the energy for it. Right now, my only concern is Cindy.
But when I turn to bring her a bowl of soup, I find Jace stalled outside her door. My heart skips a beat. His mother brings a soft side out of him that he insists on hiding from the outside, but he can’t hide it from me. I know what it’s like to lose a parent. You never get over it.
Grief ebbs and flows. Some days you’re fine, while others, you’re hit with a Mack truck of heartache, and the tears come out of nowhere. I never knew my father, but Jace is still reeling from the death of his. I imagine Cindy being sick just brings it all back. The sorrow, the pain, the fear of losing someone you love so much.
I stop beside him before going in. “There’s a whole pot of soup if you’re hungry. I think I made too much.” Without waiting for a response, I open the door and pad into Cindy’s room. Her body looks like a lump under her quilt, her dark hair wild and chaotic. “You should eat something,” I murmur.
She pushes to a sitting position and takes the bowl. “You didn't have to do all this.” She lifts the spoon and blows off the heat before taking a slurpy bite. “But I sure do appreciate it.”
“Is there anything else you need?”
“Take a load off.” She gestures to the chair in the corner of the room, and I sit. “This is good.”
“Thanks. It’s my mom’s recipe.”
“Hmm,” is her only reply.
“Did you know her grandmother?” I’ve spent the last weeks trying to uncover my mother’s secrets. It didn’t occur to me that I have a whole family of skeletons out there somewhere. I know my mom’s parents weren’t around, and she was raised by her grandma, but my knowledge ends there.
She wrinkles her nose. “You mean Grandma Spy? Yeah, I knew her.”
I lift a brow. “Grandma Spy? I thought her name was Violet.”
A throaty chuckle rumbles in her chest. “It was, bless her heart. She was known about town for bein’ a watcher. She’d sit inside the house all day spyin’ on the entire neighborhood through the crack in her curtains, smokin’ Pall Malls like they were her only source of sustenance.”
A laugh escapes. “That’s funny.”
“She was …” She trails off, trying to find the right words before continuing. “An interesting lady.” I cock my head as if to urge for further explanation. Cindy gets the message and sets her bowl on her lap with a sigh. “She was very religious. Cold. It was tough for Sarah.”
“What happened to her parents?”
“Welp, your gran—I think her name was … Maggie?—anyway, she had your mom young. Still in high school and not ready to be a mama. She wanted to get rid of the baby, but Grandma Spy was havin’ none o’ that. She stuck it out for a couple of years, raised your mamma up to toddler, then split with some guy she met on the outskirts of town.”
“Wow.”
“Yep. Sarah went through a lot growin’ up. It was no surprise she left. Leavin’ was in her blood, I guess.”
“What about you?”
Her eyes crinkle in the corners. “What about me?”
“I don’t know anything about you, really. Other than you were my mom’s friend.”
A laugh blows from her nose. She sets her bowl on the nightstand and curls up under the covers. “There’s not much to tell. Born here, raised here. I’ll prolly die here, too.”
“Jace said his dad died on an oil rig. Were you together long?”
A faraway look streaks across her gaze. “We met in high school. Jackson, God, he was as infuriatin’ as he was gorgeous. I fell for him instantly. The day he went to ask my daddy for my hand, he was chased out of the house with a shotgun.” She lifts her hand over her mouth as if holding in her giggle. “I was sure he was gone for good, but he came back with a job and a ring and insisted he’d be the husband I deserved. And he was. A little while later, we settled into life, had Jace …” She looks down at her quilt-covered legs. “He was a good daddy. Jace just adored him.” When she lifts her eyes, they’re damp with unshed tears. “A thirteen-year-old boy without a father ain’t right.”
“I’m sorry you lost him.”
She shrugs. “Thank you for the soup, El. It was delicious. But if it’s all the same to you, imma go to sleep and kick this damn virus to the curb.”
“Sleep well.” I rise to my feet and take the bowl with me as I go.
In the kitchen, Jace hovers over a steaming bowl. Beside him, another sits untouched with a slice of bread and butter next to it. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t have to. The gesture is there, and it’s enough.
I pull up a chair and dip my spoon in the broth. We eat in silence. The only sound is the clang of silverware until he eventually pushes his bowl away and sits back. “I know you just wanted to do somethin’ nice. I shouldn’t have been such a shit.”
The unexpected apology steals the breath from my lungs. “You’re worried about your mom. It’s okay.”
“I’ll try to be better, alright?”
I meet his gaze, wondering who the hell this guy is and what happened to Jace.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says with a dismissive wave. “I still think you’re a pain in the ass, but I can see you’re tryin’.”
I stir my soup and watch the veggie cyclone spin in a circle. “I know you don't want me here. I invaded your home, took over your room, and intruded on your school, all because my mother couldn’t handle the consequences of her own actions. Now you’re stuck with me.”
He takes his bowl to the sink and rinses it out. “You ain’t so bad.”
I turn in my chair, hooking my arm over the back. “Jace Wilder, was that a compliment?”
He glances over his shoulder. “Don’t get used to it.”
When I lift my bowl and set it in the basin, he begins to wash it as well. Now I know something happened to Jace. While I was hiding from him in Cindy’s room, I’m certain he was abducted by aliens. The real Jace is off on a spaceship somewhere, getting poked and prodded while this new, somewhat nicer one was left in his place.
Hell, I’ll take it.
Together, we clean the kitchen. I set what’s left of the soup in the fridge and sweep the floor while he finishes the dishes and wipes the counter. We whirl around the tiny space like snowflakes on the breeze. A silent dance, a shared experience, a moment of calm before the eventual storm.
The old broom handle is rough in my hands. I open the door and brush the debris outside, but it splinters as I run my palm down the shaft. A gasp hits my lungs, and the broom falls to the floor. Jace’s attention whips in my direction. “What’s up?”
“I got a splinter,” I whine, sucking in air through my teeth. Pain throbs up my wrist, and I cradle my wound against my chest.
“Lemme see.” Jamming my eyes closed, I extend my arm. He lifts my hand to inspect the sliver of wood lodged under the skin. “That ain’t nothin’.” His fingers close around my wrist. He drags me to a seat at the table, then disappears for a split second before returning with a needle.
Panic rises up my throat. “What? No!”
I try to wriggle away, but his grasp is hard. “Hold still.”
“Ow, ow, ow, it hurts!”
He rolls his eyes with a gravelly sigh and yeets the needle on the table.
“No, no, not like that either!”
But his brows pull in grim determination. He drives his fingernail into my palm, forcing the splinter up and out. “There ya go. Big baby,” he muses as he holds it up for me to see.
“You’re a sadist, you know that?”
“You’re welcome.” He taps me on the nose and gets up to throw it in the trash while I soothe the ache with the pad of my thumb.
“Thank you.”
“You’re gonna wanna put some alcohol on that,” he says, but instead of going back to the medicine cabinet, he opens the fridge and pulls out a beer.
I guess I can’t argue with that.
The cold bottle feels good on my tender palm. I lift it to my lips. Jace nods his head toward the door before stepping out onto the porch. I follow and settle in a rocking chair as he lights a cigarette. Pink gashes split the purple sky. Say what you want about Hell’s Bend, Texas, but I’ve never seen a more beautiful sunset than I have right here beyond the trees while sitting on this rickety old porch.
The air cools as the sun goes down, and I can finally breathe. I close my eyes and pull it into my lungs, then let it out slowly. His eyes are on me as I stare into the night.
“Bet you city folk prolly never seen a sky like this.”
“It’s better to look at the sky than live there.”
“Come again?” Jace’s expression pinches.
A shy grin tugs the corner of my mouth. “It’s from Breakfast at Tiffany’s. It was my mom’s and my favorite movie.”
“Oh,” he says.
“But to answer your question, the city’s never dark enough to even see stars, but at my home in Jersey, it was nice sometimes.”
“I thought you were from New York?”
“I spent a lot of time there, yeah, but our home was in a small town about thirty minutes from the city called Franklin Plains.”
“You miss it?”
I nod. “I do, but the longer I’m away, the less it feels like home to me. I looked the part, but I never really felt like I belonged there. Old money turns its nose up at the ‘nouveau riche,’” I say, using finger quotes. “Generational wealth is cruel and vindictive. I was raised to work hard and be grateful for what I have. I guess I don’t really fit in anywhere.” I drop my gaze to the floor. It feels wrong to complain when my life has been so fortunate, but sitting beside Jace in the quiet of evening, the truth simply slipped out. I’m an outcast everywhere I go. “What do you normally do for fun? I mean, besides fighting?” I ask in an attempt to change the subject.
The corner of his mouth curls up. He takes a long drag from his cigarette and turns his head to blow it away from me. “Usually just drive around. Find a place in the woods to drink and hang out, things like that. Ain’t much else to do.”
“Is that why you got into MMA? Boredom?”
He laughs. “Nah. I needed a way to channel my anger after my dad died. I was gettin’ into fights at school and got suspended a few times. It was a lot, ya know? Anyway, I beat the hell outta this one kid for makin’ fun of the way I talked, and it turned out to be Jimbo’s son.”
My jaw drops. “No way.”
“Yup.” He nods. “After the dust cleared, he came to my house and offered me a job in exchange for lessons.”
“You’re really good at it.”
