Hopelessly Yours (8 page)

"Everything all right?"

I skimmed the ice cream with my spoon. "Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, for one, you couldn't wait to tell me how terrible I was before, and now you're speechless and spacing out."

"Everything isn't about you," I glowered. "Maybe I'm just enjoying my dessert."

I expected a quip, but he did one worse—his voice was soft. Almost...remorseful. "I'm sorry for the way I ended things with us. I'm not big on looking back, but I'd give anything to go back in time—"

"And never meet me?" I cut in, my voice ragged and exposed.

"No," he gawked at me like I'd lost my mind before his very eyes. "You changed my life, Vix. You were the only bright spot in the darkness."

I gripped my spoon like a weapon. Something to ward off his words. To protect my heart. "You can't say things like that. Things you don't mean."

His eyes were intent. I wanted to see shadows, some indication that he was tricking me. Saying sweet things to get back in my pants—but he was earnest and true. Or was that just what I wanted to see?

I broke away from him, fighting a desire to smile. To let him back in. "So what have you been up to? Besides screwing anything female that moves."

He dodged my jab with a smile. "Not too much. I work at a gym—"

"The same place where you ruined your knuckles?" I dropped my eyes to his hands. They weren't nearly as jarring, but they still looked bruised and painful. I absentmindedly stroked the area beneath, and he inhaled sharply. I pulled back, but he was smiling.

“I like the way you touch me," he said softly. "I like that you were worried."

"Not worried," I sniffed. "Just hoping you're staying out of trouble."

His eyes flashed before he looked down at his ice cream. "You know me." He said it with inflection, clearly meaning it in a joking, lighthearted way, but his voice was heavy.

I had no interest in pretending the answer to that was a positive one. "Actually, I don't. Not anymore."

He put down his spoon. "I guess you have a point. Ask me anything. I'll tell you what you want to know."

I avoided the real question I wanted to ask, and we talked about my first year of college. My major.

“Let me guess,” he mused. “Biology, pre-med?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Guilty.”

“Like father, like daughter, eh?”

I knew he was joking, but something rubbed across my skin like a scouring pad.

The playfulness dimmed, replaced by genuine curiosity. “Becoming a doctor, that’s what your family wants of you. What do
you
want, Victoria?”

I reared back, his question surprising me. “What do I want?” I blinked rapidly, nibbling on my bottom lip. “I want to be a doctor.”

He gave me a long, pensive look, like he didn’t believe me. Hell, I wasn’t sure if I believed me. I hadn’t asked myself that question in a long time.

For some bizarre reason, the memory of Mark Benton’s face flashed in my mind. Swollen and unrecognizable. My throat tightened as I remembered my mother’s accusation that Jace probably worked for the man behind Mark’s beating.

“So, I’m helping out at my dad’s practice this summer, and a guy came in, practically beaten to death.” I stared at Jace, watching for any evidence that he knew anything about it. He just ate his ice cream nonchalantly, his eyes giving nothing away.

“Oh yeah?”

I nodded slowly, my heart leaping with joy in my chest.
Of course he had nothing to do with it, silly!
“One of the nurses thinks maybe Macone had something to do with it.”

Jace raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite the accusation.”

“Oh please,” I scoffed. “Anything rotten that happens in this town has Macone written all over it.” I didn’t wait for him to tell me I shouldn’t run my mouth. I kept seeing Mark’s face, his eyes filled with terror. “Someday, he’s going to pay for all the terrible things he’s done.”

Jace studied me for a moment, then one side of his mouth curved upward. “We all have to pay for our sins, sooner or later.”

I frowned. What was that supposed to mean?

I shrugged away the awkward moment, steering the conversation toward him. “So what’s been keeping you busy?”

I half listened as he told me about the gym he worked at now. There was no hiding from the one question that had haunted me for the past three years: why? And he was sitting awkwardly straight, the look on his face like he was preparing for said question, but I chickened out. I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer. If he told me something like he thought he was saving me, that he truly thought I deserved better, I didn't know if I was strong enough not to leap across the table and kiss him. I'd forgive him—and I just couldn't. Forgiving him meant I'd have to admit things that made me vulnerable. And I couldn't be vulnerable ever again.

I never should have come here.

I sprang to my feet, ignoring the shooting pain in my knee when it collided with the table. “I—I can’t do this.”

His eyes were sad, but he still made jokes. “Eat ice cream?”

I clutched desperately at the pain. The only thing that could save me from getting hurt again. “I can’t pretend that I forgive you and everything’s okay. I don’t forgive you, Jace. I don’t think I ever will.”

I
felt like a train had run me over. My head weighed a thousand pounds, too heavy to lift. Too heavy to move. Pain pulsed behind my eyes, and I felt the overwhelming urge to vomit.

That's what happens when you mix a line of shots with four beers, dummy.

"Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time," I said aloud with a groan, slowly pulling my aching body to a seated position. I looked down, still in my shirt and jeans from last night. They reeked of smoke and regret. My whole attempt at being open, apologizing for the umpteenth time and telling her that she was the best thing that had ever happened to me blew up in my face. Instead of helping her open up, she doubled down, steering the conversation to the furthest emotional point possible.

Forced, awkward conversation about my fake job at a fake gym, conversation about her epic first year of college. The fire that burned in her gaze when she relentlessly tried to convince herself that I was nothing more than the past were cold embers when she talked about her major. She was still Daddy's little girl, following in his footsteps. Off to become a doctor, doing what was expected of her. She used to question that role, airing her frustration at never measuring up to her mother’s high expectations and shouldering her father’s beliefs that she would take over his practice someday.

She used to resent the chains of their expectations, but droning on about her ten-year plans, it sounded like she had given up. When I asked her what she wanted to do, she'd looked genuinely taken aback. Like that question hadn't crossed her mind in awhile. We'd almost had a breakthrough before she leapt up like there was a fire. I'd asked her to stay, hated myself when I'd all but begged. Her voice had darkened as she looked at me point blank with the past circling in her angry eyes.

“I can’t pretend that I forgive you and everything’s okay. I don’t forgive you, Jace. I don’t think I ever will.”

And so I found the nearest bar and got so shit faced that the rest of the night was a blur. Macone owned the owner of the place, Tommy Brooks, just like he owned every other bar in town, so the fact that I was nineteen was irrelevant.

My throat went dry when I saw the keys on my bedside table before I remembered. The barkeep arranged for someone to drive my Explorer back to my place, and someone else followed to pick that guy up. I had a feeling both of them worked at Tommy's and playing DD wasn't in their job description, but they knew mouthing off could cost them more than their job.

Working for Macone had its perks. We were treated like royalty; one wrong move and heads would roll.

I narrowed my eyes, a neon piece of paper beneath my keys. I read the soft handwriting. 'Call when you're sober.' No name, just a number. I couldn't even remember her face. Not that it would have mattered. I hadn't craved any other girl since Vix came back into my world.

I cracked my neck as I got to my feet, deciding that there was someone I wanted to call while I was sober. I needed to call Victoria and tell her...what? The truth? Yeah right.

I'd have to be an idiot to believe the truth would set me free. I'd told her the truth once, and the only thing it had done was rob me of her. This truth would break her. Break me. She'd never look at me with need again. She'd look at me with disgust. She couldn't even say the name ‘Macone’ without scowling. What would she think when I told her I worked for him?

I avoided the phone on top of my dresser, not ready for the pound of flesh it required. I couldn't pretend anymore. Not after last night. I'd have to confirm her suspicions. That back then, I was just afraid. I had been good, damn near innocent compared to all the blood on my hands now.

But still I wanted her. I needed her.

I needed to believe that I could be redeemed.

Two knocks sounded at my door. The only thing that kept me from frowning was knowing it couldn't be my grandmother; the old witch didn't knock. Reason #1,345 I had to move out of here.

I went to the door, swallowing my yawn.

Uncle Tommy stood at the door. His brown eyes reminded me of a moth, unable to sit still, bouncing all over the place. He was either hyped up on something or fresh off beating the shit out of someone.

I envied him. This would all be so much easier if I could find that kind of bliss. I could remember the way it tasted, back when I was naive and believed that I would be like some mob avenger, taking out guys who looked at the wrong girl sideways or worse. That delusion was shattered when I went to some shithole trailer to collect on a delinquent loan. The guy was a fucking junkie, and something had told me he'd been one for a long time. He was jittery and incapable of making any real promise or signing any real contract. When he told me he had no money and dropped to his knees, promising me he'd do anything, I pitied him. And then I pitied myself. You didn't join the Macone family and have a conscience. Even if I wanted to spare him, it meant someone would be paying
me
a visit. It was him or me.

When I got back home, my body wrapped in blood-splattered clothes and my hands shaking, my uncle had embraced me for the first time in my life. He told me he was proud of me. When he asked me if I had fun, I knew there was only one right answer to that question. So I lied and said yes.

I snapped back to the present, where Uncle Tommy was giving me a once-over. His eyes settled on my face. "Good. You're dressed. My usual driver is out of state until the weekend, and Macone needs something done." His voice was as serious as his expression. "Will you ride with me?"

I hated to admit it, but I swelled with pride that he even asked me. I was a grunt. Disposable. But my uncle was like Macone's general, and he was asking me to be his right hand man.

"Absolutely. Just let me take a shower—"

"Nah, we have to go now. We have a tiny window of opportunity. In and out." He cracked the tiniest of smiles. "It's not a date, kid. I don't care if you stink up the place."

I smiled back. "Your funeral."

We hit the road and I followed his directions. The radio gave us all the conversation we needed, seamlessly filling the dead silence. When I realized we were pointed toward the good side of town, not too far from Victoria's house, curiosity won over.

"Where we headed?"

"To pay your old friend a visit."

I nearly slammed on the brakes, all my hackles snapping up at once. Did Macone know about Victoria? I didn't relax until we cruised past the turn you had to take to get to her house.

I didn't press and didn't say a word because I was afraid I'd do something crazy like cry tears of joy. I put on the mask of indifference, even though inside I still had the scratching discomfort.

Someone was going to have a very bad morning.

"All right, park on the side street beside the old Cullen's Jewelry."

I obeyed, leaving the engine running. My uncle reached in the backseat, pulling out a bag that had Benton's Athletic Supply in white acrylic letters.

“Benton’s been chatting with the DA.”

I peered around us and asked a silent question. My uncle gave a crisp nod, heading out the door. "I’ll be right back."

That fucking uncomfortable tightness in my chest returned.

If my uncle was here, it was bad news for Benton.

My uncle's face was probably the last face he'd ever see.

The thrill of accompanying him on a ride dwindled to nothing. My heart roared in my ears. I couldn't keep still, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel. Checking the clock.

I couldn't believe Mark would be so stupid. Macone had people in the DA's office. There was no safe haven, no deals to be made. The minute you signed on the line with Macone, you might as well sign in blood—because that's what it cost if you wanted out.

"Fucking idiot," I muttered. I wasn't sure if I was talking about myself or Benton. Maybe both. I'd been dumb enough to think that I'd find purpose in working with Macone, but I'd sold my soul. Benton had been dumb enough to think that Macone didn't insure his investments with fists and bribes. No one ratted on Macone.

No one.

I peered out the passenger side window. My uncle was done with his business. His gait was relaxed. Powerful. Made sense—he'd just delivered a message from the devil himself: The Lord giveth, and The Lord taketh away.

Our ride back was quiet. I didn't ask any questions. There was no evidence of what my uncle had done. I had proof of crimes on my knuckles, blood splattered on my clothing like a twisted Jackson Pollock painting. I'd heard around that my uncle used a garrote. A razor thin metal chain that he wrapped around the neck, breaking the skin as it cut into their flesh. Holding tight as his mark sucked in their last breath.

I should have thought about Mark's face, smiling from benches as I cruised by. Completely oblivious to his eventual fate. But another face haunted me. Victoria's face. Once she heard about Benton or saw it on the news, I could picture her gasping, remembering the battered man she'd seen at her father's office. Her solemn vow that a thug like Macone wouldn't get away. She was as naive as I had been. Life wasn't a movie or television show. In the real world, the bad guys won and the world kept turning so the villains could do more bad things.