Till It Hurts by Cora Brent
Tori
Now
My head is spinning and my fingertips are pruned.
I’m also naked and I’ve been standing in the same spot underneath the shower spray for so long that the hot water has run out.
It’s only when I begin to shiver so hard my teeth clack together that I turn off the water, wrap my body in a fluffy grey bathrobe and towel dry my hair while sitting on the closed toilet.
Somewhere on the other side of that bathroom door is Jace Zielinski.
And his dog.
To be fair, the dog is cool. He’s one of those big, sloppy, broad-faced mutts that wants to love everything and everyone in sight. I’m glad he has no clue what a bad-tempered jackass he’s attached to.
To say I was hideously unprepared to encounter my high school boyfriend while emerging from a cocoon of sleep and morning breath would be an understatement. For a second I thought I might pass out. I still have no clue how long he’d been hanging out in the kitchen after skulking in like a prowler and staring at me as I slept.
I run a comb through my hair and get angry.
Seriously, who does that? Who breaks into a house and calmly eats a bowl of cereal while waiting to scare the pants off of their ex?
Okay, so he didn’t exactly break in. This is the house he grew up in. If we want to get all technical about things, then he probably has more of a right to be here than I do.
But I don’t want to get technical about things. I want to be outraged. He’s Jace Zielinski. He won the freaking Super Bowl. He doesn’t need to be here. He could probably purchase an entire Texas county if he felt like it. And the more I think about it, the more I’m sure he didn’t just show up on a whim. The expression on his face…it was like the cat who ate the canary. Jace looked at me as if he reveled in my shock and distress.
Speaking of looks, why does he have to look the way he does? For crying out loud, he’s ripped from here to hell. He’s a god on earth. Jace was one of the best looking boys at Arcana High. Now he’s one of the sexiest men on the planet. I get the feeling if he shrugs too hard then his thick muscles will bust right through his flannel shirt.
I’m getting off track.
Jace is here in all his gorgeous and stratospherically successful glory. He’s won a victory on behalf of malevolent ex-boyfriends everywhere and I’m at a supreme disadvantage.
I don’t want to stay here with him but I have to stay.
He should leave but he probably won’t.
Three sudden raps on the door make me yelp and fall off the toilet seat.
“What do you want?” I yell.
There’s no answer except three more thuds against the door.
“Shit.” I pick up the comb I dropped, get to my feet and double tie my robe before reaching for the doorknob. This situation is mortifying enough without my boobs making a special appearance.
I fling the door open. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT, JACE?”
But Jace isn’t there. Only McClane is there with a big, delighted doggy grin. He jumps up and his big front paws hit my chest, pushing me back into the wall.
Jace appears. He has shed his flannel shirt and wears a plain black tee that showcases his pro athlete physique. He makes no move to restrain his dog as he scowls at me. “What’s with the screeching?”
I swallow hard and force my eyes to quit admiring his biceps. “You were knocking on the bathroom door.”
“Nope, wasn’t me.”
I roll my eyes. “Who else would it be?”
McClane barks and tries to lick my face.
Jace crosses his arms and clearly thinks I’m an idiot. “The dog must have been pawing at the door.” He snaps his fingers and my new friend reluctantly drops to the floor. I pat poor McClane on the head to let him know my annoyance has nothing to do with him.
Jace resumes his cross-armed posture at the other end of the hall. “If you’re done with your tantrum, I’ll be in my room unpacking.”
Unpacking.That sounds ominous. People unpack when they plan to stay in one place for a while.
I tighten the already tight knot on my belt. I wish I was at least wearing underwear right now. A bare ass feels like a handicap. “Jace, I still don’t know why the hell you’re here but-“
He rudely cuts me off. “I don’t know why the hell you’re here either.”
I glare at him.
He glares back.
I can feel myself regressing. We’re becoming what we were the last time we were face to face; two miserable teenagers who hate each other.
Rather than participate in a pointless argument that will inspire me to smack the asshole Super Bowl champ, I return to the bathroom and slam the door. I’m pretty sure I hear him laughing on the other side.
The laughter fades and the telltale squeak of a door suggests that he’s gone to his bedroom to unpack, just as he said he would. In the five days since my arrival I have refused to even peek inside Jace’s bedroom. Knowing Gloria, it’s probably been kept exactly the same as it was when Jace lived here, a museum of his youth. And mine. I knew that room better than I knew my own.
After all, I lost my virginity there.
The bathroom is ill suited to pacing back and forth. There’s just not enough room to make it satisfying. I’m stuck in this house with Jace unless I can think of something else and I can’t. That’s why I’m here in the first place. I couldn’t pay my bills and I was out of ideas. As for the job hunt in Arcana, nothing has turned up yet. Paul Elkins promised he would ask around, although he was bewildered when I stammered out some phony excuse about why I haven’t worked in six months.
Bottom line, I need to find a job. And if Jace is sticking around, I’ll need a new place to stay. Added to my list of chores is the need to make an appointment with a local doctor and get my medication refilled. Last night I tried to go without. I helped my drowsiness along by downing half a bottle of wine but it wasn’t enough. I thrashed around and broke out into a sweat and cursed at the ceiling until I finally gave in at two a.m. and swallowed two pills. Then I slept like the dead.
In fact, I slept so soundly I didn’t even hear Jace and his dog arrive. My face burns for so many reasons today but right now it burns because I’m recalling Jace’s smartass remark about the wine bottle. He probably assumes I get crocked alone and then pass out every night. Great, let him think that.
After changing into jeans and a sweatshirt and finishing a comb through of my damp hair, I’ve run out of things to occupy me in the bathroom. Unfortunately, I don’t especially want to leave the bathroom either. When I leave the bathroom I will likely encounter Jace. Yet I can’t stay in the bathroom for eternity. This is a problem.
Then I remember that my car has nearly a full tank of gas. I don’t need to be here while Jace Zielinski circles me like a smug vulture and delivers cutting one liners calculated to boil my blood. Naturally I’ll have to return at some point. Jace will likely be here when I do. But the prospect of escaping for the day and clearing my head makes me feel less trapped than I felt a minute ago.
With my hair in a loose braid and my chin up, I exit the bathroom. If Jace is out there I will just march silently past him without a word. However, the only one I see is McClane. He’s rooted in place at the other end of the hall. His tail wags furiously as his big tongue rolls out of his mouth. I love dogs and I can’t bear to pass by without bending down and patting his big head.
“Don’t be sad,” I whisper to the dog because he begins to whine as soon as I withdraw my hand. “I’ll be back later.”
The sofa bed has been transformed back to its original shape, courtesy of Jace, unless McClane is far more capable than he appears to be. The idea of Jace handling my bed pillow is kind of disconcerting, almost as bad as if he was handling my underwear. The pillow in question is innocently lying on the overstuffed pea green armchair. The chair was Gloria’s favorite place to sit with her needlework. I can almost see her there, looking up with a sweet smile to gently correct my piano playing. I haven’t touched a piano since I left Arcana.
The sorrow hits me with fresh swiftness. I miss Gloria terribly. I should have visited. I should have called more. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give right now to hear her voice.
The garbage disposal blasts to life in the kitchen. I heave out a sigh and turn around. I don’t know how Jace managed to sneak into the next room without me seeing or hearing. He has the stealth skills of a cat.
Jace switches off the garbage disposal and sprays down the counter without looking at me. “You need to start cleaning up after yourself. I had to wade through your dirty laundry just to get to the door.”
He’s exaggerating. I’m not the neatest person on earth but I’m not a complete slob either. My dirty clothes are neatly kept in my purple laundry bag. Which just happens to be in the middle of the floor, but that’s not the point. He’s being a dick just because he enjoys making me angry.
I’m not going to play his game. I retrieve my keys and scoop up a pair of battered Converse sneakers. “I’ll be out for the day.”
He stops spraying all purpose cleaner and wipes down the counter with a paper towel. “Fascinating. I’ll alert the media.”
McClane sticks his nose into my laundry bag. He’s disappointed when I pick the bag up and toss it on top of the piano bench. I don’t know where else to put it. If Jace is repulsed by the sight of a laundry bag then that’s too damn bad. I’m about to leave without giving Jace the satisfaction of uttering another word when something occurs to me.
“Hey Jace, speaking of the media, I bet there are some enterprising reporters who would be mighty interested to know where you’re hiding out.”
Slowly, he raises his head. The flat stare he gives me shows he doesn’t appreciate the remark. It’s also proof that I’m right. Jace’s hatred of the media is legendary. He hates photographers and nosy reporters and intrusions into his personal life. He might hate the attention even more than he hates me.
I smile at him, happy to have turned the tables, even if just for a moment. “Perhaps you ought to give that some thought before doing anything else to annoy me.”
His mouth flattens into an angry line and his eyes narrow. He doesn’t even know what to say.
It’s a great mic drop moment so I shuffle to the door with my shoes lodged in the crook of my elbow and my keys in one fist. The door has just closed behind me when I realize that I’ve left my purse behind. Shit. So now I need to trudge back through the door in my socks, locate the handbag that now lies beneath the dirty laundry that I threw on the piano bench, and exit while fending off the enthusiastic greeting of a confused McClane.
As for my least favorite grumpy quarterback, he watches every move silently from the kitchen and says nothing. There are a lot of feelings in this house right now and none of them are good. I can’t wait to get out of here.
After I’ve shoved my shoes on my feet and slid behind the wheel of my car, I draw a blank on my next move. I don’t really want to stay in Arcana right now. The likelihood of running into someone I grew up with is far too high. Plus, the addition of Jace Zielinski to the neighborhood will eventually attract a lot of attention. Despite my veiled threat of a few moments ago, I won’t be the one to spill the beans on where he can be found. He’s probably cursing my name right now and looking out the window, wondering when the press is going to start camping out on the front lawn.
I don’t mind if he sweats this one out. This won’t be the first time I’ve led him to think the worst of me. Perhaps he’ll be motivated to jump back in his truck with his dog and return to the other side of the country where his gated Long Island estate awaits.
But I doubt it.
Jace came here for a reason.
I’m just afraid to find out what it is.