Hopelessly Yours (9 page)

We dropped the car off at one of Macone's lots and hopped back into my Explorer. We headed home, climbing out of the car like we'd just run an errand. My uncle headed to the kitchen, asking if I wanted coffee.

I mumbled a no that drew his eye.

"You okay, kid?" he asked in his gruff voice, studying me for his own answer. Even though neither of us had said so, this was a big damn deal. I didn’t know what went down in that room, but it couldn’t be good.

I gave him the answer he wanted to hear. "I'm good. Thanks for asking me to go along today."

He grunted something indiscernible, then turned back to his Folgers.

Curtains fell, the show was over. I ambled down the hall to the bathroom. I shut the door, turned on the sink and shower. I didn't look in the mirror. I couldn't.

Telling her the truth was no longer an option.

This was a secret I had to take to the grave.

I dropped to my knees in front of the toilet and retched.

When I was done and I had gargled until I couldn’t taste bile, I did the one thing I said I’d never do—I texted Victoria.

I know I have no right to ask this of you, but I really want to see you.

J
ace lived in a neighborhood that most people avoided all times of the day. Clint Heights was on the outskirts of town, literally separated from the rest of the town by railroad tracks. The shops and homes went from boutiques and family restaurants with small town charm to public housing apartment buildings, trailers, and pothole ridden streets. It had been years since I ventured into this part of town, and there was a marked difference between then and now. It wasn’t an outward change. The change was internal. In me.

I noticed small things, like the fact that I stood out like a sore thumb. My eyes flickered to the door to verify my car was locked up tight. It reminded me of my mother, and a wave of nausea rocked through me. She could throw a benefit gala in the blink of an eye, but if she ever had to go to Clint Heights, she had to psych herself up and head over with a police escort in tow.

I eased onto Jace's street, biting my lip. I wasn't like her. It was human to be wary.

I parked at the curb, peering at the door where Jace stood waiting. A black t-shirt clutched his muscular chest, jeans slung low. He looked so casual, so much like an old comfortable memory that I wanted to lean into him. Breathe him in deep and let his—

I tore my gaze away, inhaling deep and exhaling. By the time I got to his porch, I almost felt normal.

His lips twitched into a smile. "Feeling a little adventurous?"

I perked an eyebrow. "What?"

"Not locking your ride?"

I rolled my eyes. "You wanna have this conversation inside or outside?"

He stepped to the side, letting me pass.

The smell of cigarettes hit me like a blow to the chest. The whole room was covered in it, a heavy fog of musty tobacco hanging in the air like poison. The smell was too intense, too pungent to be a recent habit. I really must have been on cloud nine the last time I'd come here because the odor should have been seared into my memory, but the only thing I remembered about Jace's house was how soft his bed was. How good his neck smelled. Tasted.

A cough rose up out of the darkness, and I turned to it. A recliner was perched in front of the television. A small, frail woman in a maid’s uniform was holding what was left of a cigarette.

There was a moment of awkwardness where I looked at her expectantly and she looked right back. I vaguely remembered some strained conversations where he talked about his grandmother, Priscilla Murrow.

I glared at Jace for neglecting to do the introductions. "Hi!" I chirped. I held out my hand politely. "I'm Victoria."

Her hollow eyes returned to the screen. "This one has manners, Jace."

It should have been a compliment, but her voice was cruel. Almost incredulous. Under different circumstances, I might have felt pangs of jealousy that Jace had obviously brought enough girls home that his grandmother took notice and could compare and contrast, but I went on the defensive instead. There was just something about her voice—and the fact that Jace's whole body was pulled tight. Painfully close to the breaking point.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything to relieve the tension that hung as heavy as cigarette smoke. It ultimately didn't matter—because his grandmother upped the ante.

"You must be a desperate one to get mixed up with Jace." Her voice was thick with condescension, each word coated with syrupy intoxication. My eyes dropped to her lap. She was clutching an empty bottle of Arbor Mist. I wish I could say that was the cause of her callous remarks, but one look at Jace and I knew that drunk or sober, she let the insults fly. "Trust me dear—you can do better."

Anger sparked over me, ignited by her words and the fact that Jace was so used to it that he didn't even bother contesting it.

How long had his grandmother said such things? The spark became an inferno, a deeper, darker question clutching my mind.

Was she the one who told him he wasn't good enough? Was her poison the reason he believed that he was doing me a favor by breaking up with me?

I must have looked ready to go for a round with Grandma because Jace gripped my arm, bringing me out of the fog of anger.

A single word.

Don't.

No matter—he wasn't mine anymore. I didn't have to follow his advice or orders. The old me might have grinned and waited until we were alone to tell Jace that she was wrong. That he was a good person. But I had something to say, and it needed to be said now.

"The last thing I am is desperate or deluded." Priscilla opened her mouth, probably to spew more venom, so I didn't let her get a word in. "Jace is special. He always has been. The moment I met him, I saw it. Other boys talked about sports and girls. Jace talked about Edgar Allen Poe and looked at the world through lenses most people shun. He saw the ugly and the beautiful."

I was talking about the old Jace I knew. The Jace the world didn’t know existed. Even when he was acting like some sort of tacky pick up artist, draped in women, staring at me like I was a piece of meat and he longed to devour me whole, I knew he wasn't like other guys. It was in his eyes—they told the truth even when his lips lied.

"Jace feels. He cares about people. Even though you're a cold hearted—" ‘Bitch’ was the word that came to mind, but I took the high road. "
Person
, he probably even cares about you."

Words failed her. She gawked at me, all skin and bones and hate. She was so full of hate that her brown eyes seemed black. They were bottomless holes that swallowed up all light. She made a snorting sound and turned back to her television. I opened my mouth, determined to shout the truth until I went hoarse.

Jace didn't ask for my compliance. He demanded it, gripping my arm and steering me away from his grandmother’s soul-eating eyes.

He released me when we hit a hallway, forced to go down the hall single file.

"What was that about?" he snapped tersely. He didn't wait for an answer, storming into the bedroom.

I spun to face him, angrily pushing brown strands from my face. "How can you let her talk to you like that? Like you're scum? Like any girl that would want you must be desperate or a whore?" I was mad all over again, just remembering Priscilla’s self-righteous face. My dad's mom had passed away before I got the chance to know her, but he spoke of a woman who loved to bake chocolate chip cookies and spoil her kids rotten. My mother's mom, Nina, lived in Paris now and I hadn't seen her in person since I was little. When we Skyped, her love flowed through the screen, bridging the miles between us. I couldn't imagine a world where either one of my grandmas would say such things; talk or speak of me with hate gripping every word.

I wanted to shake him, ask where the badass he claimed he was had disappeared to, but I met his gaze and I couldn't bring myself to say the words. 

All these questions I asked, how he could let her talk to him that way, why didn't he stand up for himself, were seared into his eyes. I'd never seen such pain nor such anguish. He'd asked himself these very questions.

And I had my answer.

He believed her words.

Every single one of them. 

My heart broke into a thousand pieces for him. "Jace—"

"She's right, you know."

Gone was the cockiness. I realized it had just been armor, created to keep him safe.

"I mean, she practically raised me. Wouldn't she know better than anyone?"

I forgot the promise that I made to myself, that I'd never, ever kiss him again.

I gripped the front of his shirt and brought his body crashing against mine. Before I had time to think about the repercussions, what kissing his lips would do to me, I roped my arms around his neck and arched my body into his. My lips captured his, my tongue plunging into his mouth. I tried to say all the things that were too hard to say out loud. That I missed him. His dark vulnerability, his touch, his mere presence made me feel like some missing piece I never thought I'd find again had returned to me. I felt whole when he was around.

He was rigid at first, shocked by my brazenness, but then he let out a guttural moan as he surrendered. His tongue dueled with mine, his hands all over me. Every part of me melted for him. I'd been a fool to think that I could be around him and rein in my desires. I was a slave to Jace Murrow. I think I'd always want him. Need him. 

I pulled back, dizzy and panting. "Do you think I could do this, touch you, kiss you—" I stopped, the word burning in me like the hottest fire. "
Love
you if you weren't the best thing that ever happened to me?" I cradled his cheek with a sigh. I forgot how right it felt to touch him and be near him. "You can't listen to what she said. What anyone says." My mom was wrong. She had to be. "You're a good person, Jace. You deserve to be happy."

He closed his eyes, squeezing them shut like he was in shock. Like he didn't want to believe it. I held his face in my hands. I'd spilled my heart out, and there was no going back now. I wouldn't leave until he believed every word.

"Look at me, Jace."

He didn't. In fact, he doubled down, his whole body locked. So far away, even though he was right there, our bodies pressed against each other.

"Jace—"

"I know you think you know me. You think I'm good." He opened his eyes, and there was a look so dark that fear gripped my heart. "I'm not good for you, Victoria. I'm not saying that because you're from money and I'm from shit. Because you're going to an Ivy League college and I'm..." He trailed off, and for the first time, Jace looked genuinely afraid. “I don’t work at a gym.”

I took a step backward, panic racing through my veins like poison. I should have run, because I had a sinking suspicion he was about to confirm my worst fears.

He looked down at his hands, his face shadowed and guilty.

"I'm the one who beat the shit out of Mark Benton." His eyes flickered up to meet mine. "I hurt people for a living, Victoria."

I
'd decided to tell her the truth—well, most of the truth.

Now that it was out and there was no taking it back and her mouth fell open with disgust, I wished I really was a fucking jerk. I could have had her. Her desire, that cherry almond perfume she wore that made my cock swell with a need only Vix could satisfy; the way she nearly fucked my mouth with her tongue, her body was so warm. So right. I could have had her. Swept her up and pushed her down on the bed as my lips roamed every inch of her. I could have been inside her, where I belonged. But my stupid conscience had been eating at me from the moment I saw her, teeth sinking in to the bone when she said that underneath it all I was a good person. I couldn't quiet the screech. I had to tell her the truth.

And now she was looking at me the way she should have been the whole time. Like she never knew me at all.

She was ghostly pale as she blinked up at me. Those big blue eyes swam with tears. Hurting her made me feel dead inside.

There was a part of me that was holding out hope, that wanted to believe that maybe I wasn't rotten to the core. My uncle and every one else at Macone's beck and call seemed to get off on the violence; on the power that lay in blood and fist meeting bone.

Hope buzzed like an annoying gnat and even though I should have crushed it and walked away, I swallowed the knot and took a step toward her.

Her lip trembled as she took a step back. Red rushed to her face. “Don’t.”

Shock and disgust were transforming into anger. Good—I could handle anger. Disgust was too much to bear.

I drew a breath, steadying the nerves that battled in my stomach. Her eyes burned holes into my skull as I advanced. I wanted to believe I told her the truth so she could save herself, but that wasn't it. When I looked at her, the only girl I'd ever loved, that I ever wanted to give my heart and soul to, I knew the truth was that I wanted her to save
me
.

She still hadn't said more than a word since I dropped the bomb, but she fiercely shook her head when I took another step in her direction. If she took two more steps back, she'd hit the door. If she left like this, without hearing the why, something told me I'd lose her forever.

As much as I wanted to hold her and tell her that I'd never do her harm, I gave her the distance she demanded.

"I'm sorry that I lied about what I do. I just wasn't sure how to say that I beat people up for a living. I take no pride in any of it."

"A thug with a heart of gold," she scowled, tearing her eyes away like she couldn't stand the sight of me.

Use that. Tell her about the darkness. Tell her that she's the only light you see.

"I get that you don't want to look at me. I can't remember the last time I looked in the mirror and didn't hate the person reflected back at me." 

Her scowl wavered, but she still refused to look at me.

She wasn't leaving or calling me a liar, so I kept going.

"I'm from The Heights, Victoria. I half assed school, so no college or university in their right mind would take me. And even if one was desperate enough, how would I pay for it? There aren't many options for guys like me. I lived on my grandmother’s dime my whole life—I didn't want to be on the government's, too." I shifted uncomfortably, the walk down memory lane reminding me how stupid I'd been. Sure, I paid my own way now, but I'd just traded one master for another. At least I could flip my grandmother the bird and walk away. There was no walking away from Macone. "I saw how much money my uncle had stashed away in a chest in his room. Stacks of bills. More than enough to start a new life somewhere. I stupidly thought I'd just rough a couple of guys up and I could take the cash and put as much distance between me and this place as possible." I scoffed. "I was a fucking idiot."