Hopelessly Yours (6 page)

And that’s exactly what I did.

The bell sang a song and the little old lady, Adalina Macone, looked up from the table she was wiping down. She had more grays than I remembered, age erasing her jet-black hair, but when she smiled, she reminded me of a kid on Christmas morning.

“Well, get a look at you.” She plodded over, moving at a pace that made my heart ache. She had hip replacement surgery a year ago, and a couple of months prior, she had a mini stroke. I hugged her like she was a delicate, fragile thing prone to breakage. Too fragile to have created someone like Anthony Macone.

She held me at arm’s length, her bright eyes surveying me like
I
was the one with health problems. “You okay, kid?”

Better now
. “I’m good. How ‘bout you?”

“Oh, you know me,” she winked. “Up to no good.” She peered over my shoulder at the girl behind the counter. “A Coke and a slice.”

My cheeks heated. “That’s okay—”

“You know there’s no point in arguing.” The light in her eyes dimmed. “You here to see Tony?”

“Yes ma’am,” I said with a solemn nod. “He’s in the back?”

“Mmhm.” Her eyes washed over me a second time, pausing as she gripped one of my hands and brought it to the light. She clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Let me get you something for that.”

I pulled from her grasp gently, but my voice was firm. “I appreciate it, but I’m good. I’m gonna head on back.”

Families lined the booths, all devouring the crack that was Luigi’s pizza. They were a lot like the families in the portraits on the wall, smiling and carefree. In another life, if my mom didn’t desert me and I had a proper childhood, I’d probably be just like them. Chewing, blissfully oblivious to what went on in the back room. The deals that were made, the names that were exchanged, the money that passed hands.

Michael DiMaggio, one of Macone’s personal muscle, stood at the door, stony faced and unmoving like he was guarding Buckingham Palace. He didn’t say a word, but he stepped aside to let me pass.

Macone was at the head of the long, mahogany table. There were other people in the room, but they didn’t matter. It was impossible to be in the same room as Macone and not look at him. And once you looked at him, it was difficult to look away.

He was a big man, 6 feet tall and 275 pounds of muscle. He always dressed in a suit, with a blood red rose on his lapel. His skin was the color of bronze, and his eyes were a dark brown, nearly black when you had the misfortune of pissing him off. His nose was somewhere between feral and aristocratic. A feature belonging to someone royal, but something gritty ran underneath. But it was his mouth that made one’s blood run cold. His thick lips were always curled into some version of a smile. He smiled when he kissed his mother on the forehead, or congratulated someone about good news...and he smiled when he gave the order to beat a man within an inch of his life and leave his broken body for his wife and young daughter to find.

He took a sip of his wine, his eyes shifting beside him to Damien Scott, a rail thin man who got entirely too much pleasure out of taking delinquent clients on ‘vacations’.

“Remind me, who was Jace supposed to have a talk with?”

“Mark Benton,” Damien answered smoothly, all but twirling a villainous mustache.

Macone looked to me, eyes smoldering with that damn smile. “And did he get the message?”

There was only one right answer. “Yes. Loud and clear.”

Macone nodded at a third man, the money man, who was in a similar suit as Macone. He opened his briefcase in a single, fluid motion. I didn’t know his name. I guess his name wasn’t really important anyway. All I needed to know was that I got the names from Damien, beat the shit out of them, then I got five hundred dollars in cash.

Our business was done, so I told Macone thank you and tucked the Manila envelope in my jacket. I turned to go, my conscience making me nauseous.

“Don’t use it all in one place, kid,” Damien said with a chuckle. It made me want to punch him in the face until he was an unrecognizable mass of tissue and bone.

I made an excuse and took my pizza to go. I sat at the curb, sipping the Coke and watching the geezers outside. Word was they were all like me once upon a time. They worked for Macone’s father, collecting dues and keeping accounts current by any means necessary. Disgust soured my drink and I dumped the rest before I started the car. I was just saving up, then I’d disappear. Nothing was keeping me here.

I gripped the steering wheel, Victoria’s smile making me a liar. There was one thing, one person that made this town worth it.
Don’t kid yourself. Last night was proof that you two are on two different paths
. Hers was love—I’d had so little in my life that I knew it when I saw it. She’d tattooed the words of my letter on my heart.

You deserve better.

My throat tightened with regret. She wanted more than I could give. The best thing I could do for her was walk away.

And then I saw her.

Arms filled with groceries, walking down the sidewalk in front of the natural food store I avoided. But I couldn't avoid Vix. Not in the blush colored spaghetti strap top she wore, and khaki shorts that hugged her hips and ass in a way that made me harden—and swerve into oncoming traffic.

The driver of the car I nearly collided with laid on his horn and I snapped my middle finger up in response...just as she looked in my direction.

A curious expression flitted over her face as she slowed. She didn’t stop. I smiled to myself when I realized she was giving me a chance to drive away. She was putting the ball in my court.

I guess I really was a bad guy, because I cut off the next guy in line and pulled into the parking lot.

Victoria picked up speed. Suddenly, she had somewhere to be.

I killed the engine and hopped out, watching her perfect ass twitch to the left and right as she scurried toward her car.

“Not that I don’t love this view of you, but let’s not pretend you weren’t hoping I’d stop.”

My words had their intended effect and she froze, deathly still until she whirled to face me.

“Contrary to popular opinion, the world does not revolve around you, Jace.”

I smiled despite her dagger clipping my defenses. I could care less about popular opinion. I cared about her opinion and at the moment, she looked ready to hurl the contents of her bag at me.

“About last night—”

“You mean when you nearly threw me through the windshield, then refused to talk to me the rest of the ride?” She balanced the groceries and shot me a piercing glare. “Please, continue.”

She didn’t appreciate it, but I couldn’t help but smile. I knew she wasn’t a pushover. Back in high school, she went toe to toe with any of her friends that treated me or the other social lepers like we were subhuman, but when it came to her and I, she was different. She let me keep her at a distance until I was ready to bring her close. Hell, she let me leave altogether after the promises we both made. The Victoria I knew was a fighter unless it came to matters of the heart. The girl in front of me was no easy prey. Yes, she still cared about me, but from her scowl, she’d be damned if she let me back in her life only to hurt her again.

And I wouldn’t hurt her. Not like that.

My jaw twitched. She’d leave
me
after she learned the truth.

“I’m sorry,” I said earnestly, dropping the tough guy act. It was useless around her anyway. She knew me from before. When I was too scrawny to defend myself against bullies and had to use a bat to finally end it all.

I flexed my fists at my side. Not anymore. I’d seen some of the guys that used to make my life hell since, and they went out of their way to cross the street or leave the building when our eyes met. But when I was around Victoria, it was like all the muscle and bullshit melted away and I was that kid again. Desperately in love with a girl I knew I could never really have.

I found her deep blue eyes and I made sure she saw me. More than what was on the outside; what lay beneath. The quiet things that no one else got to see.

“I didn’t answer because no words can change what I did,” I finished. “I screwed up. I never should have let you go.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth going slack. I rushed forward, catching the bag before she dropped it. She was so beautiful. Her brown hair falling so effortlessly around her face, her cheeks flushed like all of those days when we sat next to each other and she accidentally brushed my hand. The excitement, the arousal, the sheer chemistry between us was enough to make me forget we were in a parking lot. I pulled her to me, bag crushed against my chest, mouth consuming hers. It wasn’t a kiss of romance and private smiles, it was one of unrestrained need. My tongue dove into her mouth. I ran over her teeth and danced with her tongue, tasting her essence. Her lust.

And then she went rigid.

I couldn’t catch my breath, heart thudding in my chest as my lips hovered above hers. Her hands were on mine. Fingers on my knuckles.

She stepped backward, holding the groceries in one arm as her eyes narrowed in concern. She ghosted her fingers over the abrasions.

“Jesus Christ, Jace,” she whispered. “What happened?”

I was so close to the only real happiness I’d felt in years—and there was reality, snatching it away from me.

She was so worried about me, her expression a gentle caress I didn’t deserve. If I told her that she should be more worried about the guy I’d probably put in the intensive care unit, I’d lose her all over again.

“It’s from the gym,” I lied, taking the bags from her. “Went a little too hard in the ring. No biggie.” When she looked skeptical, I used humor to cover my tracks. “Unless you want to kiss my booboo?”

She rolled her eyes, but I got a laugh for my efforts.

God, I missed her laugh. I held on to every note, ignoring the worry that this secret would surely destroy us.

M
y dad's medical practice buzzed with activity. Patients young and old lined the chairs and in the hour that I worked intake, a steady stream of people continued to come in.

Cheryl McLeod, the head nurse, zipped beside me, her fire-engine red hair wild and standing on end. It had little to do with the back-to-back schedule and more to do with her genes. Her son, McCauley, had the same wild hair, always looking like he just stuck his finger in the socket. If his dad didn't own a string of dealerships, he probably would have been one of the kids he relentlessly picked on.

"Miss us yet?" Cheryl grinned, picking up the next patient's folder.

"Absolutely," I winked, then turned back to the front to get the next patient signed in. I never complained about the times I came into the practice to help my dad. He was surrounded by family practices, even a couple ran by corporations, but Johnston Family Medicine was the place the sick in Clint flocked to. My dad kept it simple. It was a nice, clean building with comfortable chairs and neutral walls. A couple of TVs with the remotes in the lobby, but they were always turned to Judge Judy. In the back, he had state of the art equipment and he worked with four other physician assistants. The thing that set Dad apart was the fact that none of his patients were a number. He knew them all by their first name.

I looked out into the lobby, surveying the waiting patients. I paused on Lucy Culvers. She was a hypochondriac, a little old lady who happened to be more healthy than most of the people that walked through the door. There was Mike Wallace, a local plumber with sad puppy dog eyes. And Chrissy Reynolds, who was my age and pregnant with her fourth child. My eyes swept to the door as the ding dong caught my attention and I gasped. I covered it with a throat clearing, embarrassed by my reaction even though the man was too far away to have heard me in the first place. His shuffle and wince of pain with every ambling step told me that the last thing on his mind was me.

He was hunched over, clutching his side. He looked up at me, and I bit my lip to stop a second gasp. His face was a wreck of black and blue. His left eye was swollen shut, the other trembling in its socket, darting around like he was waiting for someone to leap out and finish the job. His nose was askew and his lip was swollen to the point that I wished he didn't have to talk so I wouldn't cause him any pain. From the way he shuffled and gritted his teeth, it was even worse beneath his clothing. Whatever fight he'd been in, he’d lost.

His tongue slid out of his mouth and over his swollen lips. "M-mark Benton."

I dropped my gaze, scanning the slot. I swallowed hard, hating that I stared when I heard the whispers erupt behind him.

"I've got you right here." I handed him a clipboard. "Have a seat and they'll take you back when a room is open."

"Thanks," the single eye clouded for a moment, like he was ashamed, but before I could tell him it was going to be okay, something, he ambled toward the emptiest corner in the room.

A second nurse, a quiet woman with pale skin and even paler eyes, hustled to the desk, scanning the schedule. She looked out in the lobby and a hand covered her mouth when she stopped in the corner.

I raised an eyebrow at her when she looked back over at me. She was a nurse; she had to have seen much worse—and she should know better than anyone how fragile he was.

She sniffed and stepped back, cheeks flushing red. "Sorry. I just...I can't believe that's Mark Benton."

I looked back out in the lobby, then back at her. I was obviously missing something. "Who is Mark Benton?"

Her watercolor eyes bulged, like I'd said something like ‘Who is the president of the United States?’. They went back to their appropriate place when she remembered that I had spent the better part of last year at school.

She did a slow half circle, searching for something, and she let out a ‘Ha!’ when her eyes landed on a file cabinet near the back of the room. She zipped back over to me, holding a magnet out for me to see. On the magnet was a smiling blond man with his hands on his hips in a manner that reminded me of Superman. Well, that and the fact that his whole face seemed perfect. Angular, white teeth, golden hair expertly gelled. Below his picture in huge, dark font was “Benton Athletic Supply”.