Table of Contents 9 страница

“Put your seatbelt on,” he said quietly, his voice tight with tension.

For a second, I thought about arguing with him, but then I remembered that Mikey had died when he’d been flung through the windshield of the car Jordan was driving. He hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt.

I clipped it into place, and a relieved expression crossed Jordan’s face, before it settled back into the more familiar impassive coolness.

We drove the couple of miles to the Rectory in silence, each too upset and angry to find words that would heal instead of hurt.

When we arrived, I unclipped the seatbelt and hurled the door open.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice soft and tender.

“Yeah, you and the rest of the world. You know what, Jordan? I didn’t fuck you out of some warped sense of pity. I did it because I liked you. But I guess you really are an asshole after all. Have a nice life.”

And I slammed the door shut before he could say another word.

 

 

 

Jordan

 

Wow. I screwed that up big time. If I’d planned how to end our non-date in the worst possible way, that would have been it.

Could I have been more of an asshole? Well, I guess I could have let her walk home—that would have been high up on the scale of assholish behavior. But the way she looked at me, I think she would have preferred to walk home barefoot on a gravel road covered with hot coals rather than ride with me. I couldn’t blame her.

I’d driven the whole way under 25, going deliberately slow just to try and give myself time to think of something to say to her while I still had the chance. It had just been such a fucking shock when she’d said all that heart-warming shit to me. She’d said I had a good heart. Obviously she was wrong about that, but I couldn’t help liking the fact that she thought so.

And fuck! Touching her, feeling her hands on me, being inside her. I couldn’t remember it ever being that good. I know it had been a long time, but I thought my black heart would explode from the raw passion rushing through me.

God! Why was I such a dumb fuck? I knew I didn’t deserve her, but to go out and deliberately shoot down any chance with her. Shit.

I just couldn’t find the words to tell her what the last two nights had meant to me. I tried, but I kept choking on them. After she slammed out of the truck, I drove home, using every cuss word I could think of and yelling them out as loud as I could. Ironic, huh?

I was less than three miles from home when I saw the lights of a police cruiser in my rearview mirror. He followed me for a half a mile, and I thought I might be okay, but then the siren went on and I pulled over to the side of the road.

I watched him approach me slowly, his hand on the gun at his hip. I dug my ID out of my wallet and kept my hands on the steering wheel where he could see them.

His uniform and weapon were giving me flashbacks. I could feel sweat breaking out over my entire body and my legs were trembling with the effort of not running.

“License and registration,” he said.

I already had them in my hand, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t be enough to placate him.

He gave them the shortest scan ever. At that point I was certain that he already knew who I was.

“Step out of the vehicle, please, Mr. Kane.”

I didn’t even bother to ask why I’d been stopped, although strictly speaking, he should have given me a reason.

“Have you been drinking alcohol?”

“No, sir.”

He made me walk in a straight line, touch my finger to my nose, stand on one leg—all that shit—and he still breathalyzed me anyway.

When it came up negative, the other questions started: where did I live; where had I been; what had I been doing; how often did I have to report to the police station; when was the last time I got tested for drugs and alcohol; when was the last time my parole officer had visited my place of residence. On and on.

It was all designed to let me know that he was the one in control, the one with the power—and that he was watching me.

He kept me there half an hour, almost up until my curfew, then finally let me go home.

Dad and Momma were waiting up for me. Wow, this evening really had no chance of improving.

“Where have you been?” Dad started immediately.

“Out. With a friend.”

“The preacher’s trashy daughter?”

My temper started to fray. I held it in tightly.

“She’s not trashy.” Isn’t that exactly what I just called her?

“You stay away from her,” he went on. “She’s no good.”

“Jesus Christ, Dad!” I exploded at him. “She’s the only person around here who talks to me! How is that ‘no good’?”

He pressed his lips together but didn’t answer.

“Oh, I get it. Anyone who talks to me is automatically bad, is that it?”

Yep, I reckoned I’d hit the nail on the head there.

“While you’re under our roof, you’ll abide by our rules.”

Un-fucking-believable!

“What fuckin’ rules? I’m on parole! I get tested for alcohol and drugs every week. We have to have my parole officer do random searches on the damn house! I cain’t go to the city to get a decent job! I have curfew! What other rules do y’all want to add to that? Y’all already said I’m bein’ kicked out—well hoo-fuckin’-ray! Go for it, Dad, because this place is just another jail!”

“Don’t you bring your foul prison language into this house!” he roared.

I gave up and headed to my room, throwing myself down onto the bed. I pressed my face into the pillow, feeling the sting on my cheek where Torrey had hit me. Fuck, I deserved more than that for the way I’d treated her.

I lay there in silence. I thought Dad might follow me, but he didn’t. I heard him talking to Momma, his voice angry, but I couldn’t catch the words. Probably just as well.

Then I heard the telephone ring, which was unusual this late. Whoever it was, I could tell from his tone that dad was annoyed but trying to be polite. The call ended pretty soon after and the house sank into silence.

I lay awake, listening to the night time noises, alert for any sound that meant the bastards had come back for my truck.

I thought about Torrey and what she’d said, what she’d done. And I thought about what I’d said, and what I’d done. And I thought about what I shouldn’t have said, and shouldn’t have done.

I didn’t sleep that night either. But this time it was different. Torrey hadn’t freaked when I’d told her what had happened to Mikey, or even about the attempted murder rap. No, somehow she’d accepted that. Right now I was losing sleep for being the regular kind of asshole, and treating a decent person like shit. I was pretty darn certain the irony wouldn’t be lost on Torrey either.

When my old fashioned alarm clock rang the next morning, I sat up immediately and swung my legs to the edge of the bed. I felt like shit, but at least I’d decided what to say to Torrey. Well, mostly just a whole shit load of groveling. I hoped that would do it.

If I could have afforded flowers, I would have bought her some. I even considered picking some wild ones that grew at the side of the road on the way to her house, but that seemed kind of lame and a bit pathetic. Which I was.

I took a quick shower and pulled on another of Mikey’s t-shirts. I knew it half killed Momma when I wore his clothes, but I didn’t have a whole lot of choice. She’d gotten me a couple of t-shirts from Goodwill, but they’d both been too small. I think she’d have preferred it if I’d stayed in prison uniform, like a visible mark of what I was. Jeez, I think she’d have brought back branding if she could, she hated me that much.

The kitchen was empty and the house was still silent. I thought if I hurried, I could avoid bumping into either of my parents again. I was starting to lose weight from the meals I was missing lately. Leastways, my borrowed shorts seemed even baggier.

I squished a slab of cheese between two pieces of bread and stuffed a couple of apples into my pants pockets, which left me looking deformed. It sort of matched how I felt inside.

I heard someone in the shower and knew that I didn’t have time to make a thermos again. I really hoped Torrey would forgive me—again—and make me some of her damn fine coffee. But the way I’d left things last night, she’d probably toss it in my face. I wouldn’t blame her.

When I reached the Rectory, I was wrong on all counts, because her car wasn’t there. My first thought was that she’d found another guy to hook up with. The idea hurt so bad I thought I’d lose the small amount of breakfast I’d been able to force down.

I tapped on the door and waited, almost holding my breath.

“Good morning, Jordan,” said the Reverend, opening the screen door and peering out. “If you could start by emptying out the old shed today. A second dumpster is arriving at noon, so toss anything broken. Stack the good stuff to the side and I’ll take a look at it later.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She started to close the door.

“Uh, excuse me, ma’am. Is Torrey home?”

Her lips thinned and I thought she’d just shut the door in my face like most people, but I guess she had her ‘good guy’ rep to protect.

“No, she’ll be gone for a few days now.” I think she must have taken pity on me because she quickly added, “She has two days’ training for her new job so she’s staying in the city.”

I thought she was dismissing me and I turned to go. But then she spoke again.

“How are things at home, Jordan?”

“Fine, thank you, ma’am,” I replied, automatically.

“Good … that’s good. Will your mother be home this morning?”

“Uh, I guess. I’m not really sure.”

She nodded, offered a slight smile, then the door closed and I was alone. Again.

Shit. Torrey had really gone. If she didn’t come back … the thought was too painful to contemplate. I tried to tell myself it was just a couple of days, and then she’d be back. Then I could apologize in person. Again. If she’d let me.

I got to work in the backyard, wearing the work-gloves Torrey had bought for me. I missed her coffee. Hell, that was just so much crap—I missed her. I missed her smile and her sarcasm. I missed the way her hair hung in tangles around her face, and that she didn’t care whether it had seen a brush or not. I missed those long legs stretched out in front of her as she sat on the step and closed her eyes, enjoying the early morning sunshine. I missed hearing her talk about her plans for the day, or the music she’d listened to, the book she’d just read. I hated to think that she was in the city where I couldn’t go, and maybe meeting some slick city type, maybe going to his room.

God, that thought tortured me.

I was glad I had to throw some heavy shit around cleaning out the Rev’s shed, because it was a way of venting the anger and anxiety that coursed through me. But who was I kidding? I was just an easy lay to her, and not even a particularly good one. I felt my skin flush with humiliation at the way I’d not been able to control myself with her, blowing my load like some fuckin’ adolescent—again.

Ever since I’d taken an interest in girls as a kid, I’d gotten a lot of action. I was tall and considered good-looking, so even some older chicks had been interested in giving Mikey Kane’s little brother a ride. Yeah, I’d been a bit of a player. Life sure had a sick sense of humor because I really wasn’t anymore, and the one woman that I wanted probably hated my guts.

At lunchtime, I heard the second dumpster arrive, and the one full of garden waste was taken away. Stupidly, I kind of missed it. Seeing it getting filled, it was a way of measuring how much crap I’d cleared out of the wilderness.

I sat on the porch step and ate my sandwich. I hadn’t brought anything to drink, but the Reverend had an outdoor tap in the backyard. A hose was corroded onto it, but using a wrench from Mikey’s toolbox, I was able to rip it off. The first gush of water was brown with rust, but after I let it run for a minute or two, it tasted okay. A bit tangy, like when you get punched in the face and it splits your lip so you taste your own blood. It was okay.

At 4:30 PM I packed up and drove home slowly, dreading the dead hours before it was time to go to bed. Even though my body ached from the laboring I’d done, and my brain was foggy from lack of sleep, going to my parents’ house was the last place I wanted to be. I’d have liked to go for a long drive, but I wasn’t allowed more than ten miles from the town limits, and I couldn’t afford the gas anyway.

But when I got home, I saw the cans of paint that Torrey had found at Hulk’s junkyard, and I had an idea.

I dug out some old paintbrushes from the garage and set to work. I didn’t need a sketch to know what I was going to paint. I did it for Mikey, for me and for Torrey. I hoped that if I used her gift, she’d see that I was grateful, and sorry for the cruel things I’d said.

First of all, I turned the ugly red smear that covered up the word ‘murderer’ into a boiling blood-red sea—the way it can look when the setting sun sinks into the ocean. Then I painted a large Celtic cross onto the door, the same image I had on my shoulder blade, the same image I had seared into my brain. Then I added the bleeding heart and Mikey’s name in a looping script across the whole design.

I’d probably been kneeling down for a couple of hours when I straightened up suddenly, aware that Momma was watching me. How long had she been standing there?

“Reverend Williams came to see me this mornin’,” she said. “What have you been sayin’ to her?”

I blinked in surprise.

“Nothin’. I’ve hardly spoken to her. Why? What did she say?”

“You must have said somethin’.”

“She asked me how I was getting’ on at home. I said it was fine. That’s it.”

“And what about that girl of hers?”

My eyes dropped to the ground. “Yeah, I talk to Torrey.”

Momma’s eyes narrowed and her lips curved in a sneer.

“I knew it: that girl’s trouble.”

My heart started pounding. What had Torrey told her momma? Surely nothing about us? Please God, not that!

“I haven’t done anythin’,” I said, my voice entirely lacking in conviction.

“Well, the Reverend has been around here again, pokin’ her nose in where it don’t belong.”

I didn’t know what to say, but I got the impression that Momma didn’t need me to speak either.

“Looks like we’ll have to keep you,” she spat out.

“What?”

“The Reverend said it was our Christian duty to keep you the whole time you’re on parole. So we will. We’ll do what’s right, but then I want you gone. Understand?”

“Yeah, I understand.”

“I don’t think you do!” she said, her voice shaking with fury. “Every time I look at you it sickens me! All I can see is your brother’s cold, dead body rottin’ in that grave, and you’re walkin’ around wearin’ his clothes, breathin’ God’s good air. It’s not fair. It’s just plain wrong!”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” I yelled back. “Don’t you think I wish a thousand times a day that it had been me and not him?”

Momma’s eyes snapped to mine. “I wish that, too.”

She slammed back into the house, rattling the door and frame.

I leaned over as my stomach emptied itself, splattering the open cans of paint with vomit.

 

 

 

Torrey

 

Two days in the city had been about my limit. Guess I was turning into a country girl. What a thought.

The barista training had been tedious beyond words, mainly because I didn’t learn anything new, just a bunch of marketing slogans they wanted us to use as we prepared a triple soy latte chai mocha with cinnamon shit. But I liked a couple of the girls I’d met, and we made arrangements to meet up in a few weeks to hit the clubs.

I’d been given the late shift at the mall for the first month—two till midnight. It suited me. I definitely wasn’t a morning person … although some things made an early start worthwhile.

I looked out of the window when I heard Jordan’s truck. I’d calmed down considerably since I’d last seen him. Thinking about it long and hard, I recognized that neither of us had a great track history with relationships. And if I was honest with myself, I knew that I’d tried to push him too hard. So I was giving him one more chance not to be a douchebag. He’d better damn well take it with both hands or I was kicking his ass.

I immediately noticed the incredible artwork he’d painted to cover up the ugly graffiti. Damn, he was some artist! I recognized the motif—it was the same as the tattoo over his back. It made sense now. It was a memorial to his brother, and it was obvious that he suffered Mikey’s loss every single day.

I looked at the small box lying in a plastic bag next to my bed, wondering again about the present I’d bought him. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Now, I wasn’t so sure. But as I’d already lost the receipt, he may as well have it. But getting involved with someone so … damaged? Now that was a really dumb idea. Pity being smart wasn’t enough to stop me jumping in with both feet.

Since I’d broken up with Jem, my first serious boyfriend when I was a college freshman, I’d made it a point of staying away from guys I liked too much. Instead, I played the field and kept it simple. Even my ex-boss was supposed to be casual. But there was something about Jordan; plus, I had a shrewd idea that the sex was only going to get better. The combination of his strength and softness, his firm fit body and kindness that he let out every now and again. Not that what we’d shared so far hadn’t felt pretty damn good at the time, but I sensed he had plenty more to offer. I was looking forward to finding out, providing he did the appropriate amount of begging my forgiveness, of course.

I staggered downstairs and took the time to make some coffee. Then I carried two mugs out onto the porch step. Jordan was already shirtless, wearing just his cut-off jeans, and hauling garbage out of Mom’s shed.

His smooth skin glistened with sweat, and I could appreciate again the breadth of his shoulders and his narrow waist, the fine curve of his ass, and long, strong legs. He was beautiful on the outside, but I think I was the only person who saw that there was beauty on the inside, too.

“Hey, cowboy! You forgot your damn coffee!” I shouted.

His head shot up, and I could see from the expression on his face that he hadn’t expected to hear from me again. It was kind of sweet how nervous he looked. I sobered quickly when I remembered the reasons for that.

He walked up and hovered in front of me, uncertain whether to sit or make a run for it.

“Put your ass down,” I said, pointing to the space beside to me. “Seeing you hopping from foot to foot is making me want to pee.”

He cracked a small smile at that and sat down on the step below me so I had a grandstand view of his strong shoulders and muscled back.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he said, softly.

“You’re lucky I’m a forgiving person,” I said.

“I am … lucky,” he agreed, nodding slowly. “I don’t deserve for you to even talk to me right now.”

“Oh, jeez! Not the pity party again! ‘Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, think I’ll go and eat worms!’”

He frowned and wrinkled his nose at the same time. “Worms?”

“I’m guessing you weren’t in the Boy Scouts.”

“Um, no! Not my scene.”

“Oh, right—resident bad boy.”

He scowled and looked down.

“You owe me an apology, you jerk,” I said, insistently. “And I’m not a very patient person.”

“God, I know,” he said, hanging his head. “I was such a fuckin’ tool.”

“Yes, you were. Here…” and I dropped his present onto his lap.

“What’s this?”

“For you.”

“You … you got somethin’ for me?”

He seemed stunned.

“Yup.”

“What is it?”

“Well, gee! Why don’t you take a look-see, numb nuts!”

He opened the plastic bag and stared inside.

“You bought me a cell phone?”

“Yep. Cheapest I could find. It’s pay-as-you-go so you’ll have to add the minutes when you need them. I put $50 on it to get you started.”

“You bought me a cell phone?” he repeated.

It really wasn’t sinking in.

“Yes, Jordan, I bought you a cell phone.”

“But … I don’t have anyone to call.”

I rolled my eyes.

“It’s so you can call me to apologize when you fuck up again. I programmed my number in already. And you still owe me a fucking apology. So get texting.”

I left him sitting on the step with his new toy. He wasn’t moving, but I was pretty sure he was still breathing, so I figured he’d be okay.

I guessed he wasn’t used to receiving presents.

It made me wonder what happened in prison at Christmas. I couldn’t imagine they had presents from Santa, but you never know. I’d have to ask him.

When I got out of the shower, my cell phone was blinking: 1 new message.

I grinned to see that it was from Jordan.

 

I’m sorry.

 

 

Well, hardly Pulitzer prize winning, but it was a start. Clearly, he was a man of few words.

I couldn’t help smiling to myself as I read his message again.

I slid my new black polo-shirt out of the polythene sleeve and dressed slowly. My uniform was all black, showing that I was a barista. It was way cooler than having to wear a green apron like the rest of the staff, but not that cool. They’d promised me some uniform pants, too, but because they hadn’t had any in my size, I was allowed to wear my own jeans for now. Yay for me. At least they made my ass look good.

I decided to debut my new outfit to Jordan and make him another coffee before I left.

I was just about to bang on the kitchen window when I remembered that I was trying not to scare him to death. Instead I just took two mugs outside and waited for him to notice me. It didn’t take long.

“What do you think?” I said, holding my arms out so he could see the new uniform.

His eyes swept up and down my body and he swallowed several times.

“Uh, you look good. Great. You always look great.”

“Oh my God! Don’t tell me my barista uniform is turning you on!”

He gave a shy smile. “Well, yeah. I guess it is.”

I laughed out loud and fist-pumped the air. “Workers of the world unite!”

He sat down next to me and picked up the second mug of coffee.

“Uh, so did you get my text message?”

I smiled at him.

“Yes, Jordan. I got your effusive, heart-warming message.”

His cheeks flushed and he looked down.

“I liked your message very much,” I said, quietly.

“I mean it,” he said, still staring at the dirt by his left foot.

“I know you do. Apology accepted. So, do you want to do something on Sunday?”

“Sunday?”

“Yes, Sunday, the day after tomorrow. I’m working Saturday but I thought it would be fun to do something on the weekend.”

I paused, waiting for the penny to drop. Waiting … waiting … but … nope. No dropping pennies.

“Jordan, this is where you ask me out on a date!” I said, giving him a huge, Texas-size hint.

His eyes got big as he stared at me.

“You … you want to go on a date with me?”

“Well, jeez! You don’t have to! Way to make a woman feel wanted!”

I stood up to go, feeling the raw sting of rejection.

He leapt to his feet.

“No! I mean, yeah! I do! I just … I thought I’d blown my chance with you.”

“Well, you said you were sorry. I believe you, so … how about we try again?”

“God, yes!” he said, his eyes alight with hope. “Torrey Delaney, will you go on a date with me on Sunday?”

“I’ll have to check my calendar.”

His face fell instantly.

“I’m teasing you, Jordan. Yes, I would very much like to go on a date with you on Sunday.”

He closed his eyes, a small smile curling the corners of his lips. When he looked at me again, his pupils were dark and intense.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he said, huskily.

A pulse of desire shot through me. “Go ahead.”

He took a step toward me and placed his hand on my cheek, stroking it with the pad of his thumb.

Because I was still standing on the porch, we were nearly the same height. He simply leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine, sighing as he pulled away.

“So soft,” he whispered.

I wanted more.

Wrapping my arms firmly around his neck, pressing his body against mine, I pulled him toward me again.

It was like striking a match, except I didn’t get a chance to stand back before the flame burned. His explosion of desire awed me.

He grabbed me around the waist and took two quick steps up onto the porch, slamming my back against the wall of the house so breath rushed out of my lungs. I gasped and felt his tongue in my mouth, forceful and demanding. My legs wrapped around his waist and he ground his hips into me, a hard point of heat against my inner thighs.

His intensity was unnerving, but I was too lost in the moment to care.

“I want you so fuckin’ badly,” he growled, against my neck. “God, I want you!”

His grip was almost painful and I could feel his whole body trembling.

I was panting hard, mewling wordlessly.

“Please!” he begged. “Please, Torrey, please!”

Thoughts of being late for work, thoughts of any description flew out of my mind.

“Upstairs,” I gasped.

Still clutching me in his arms, he shouldered his way through the screen door and into the kitchen. His eyes darted around and I pointed toward the stairs. He almost ran up them, the weight of my body insignificant against his need.

“Second door on the left!”

We crashed against the frame and fell backwards onto my bed. I felt the springs of the old mattress protest beneath me.

He bit my breasts through my shirt and started tugging at my jeans even as I fumbled with his zipper.

“Condoms are in the drawer,” I rasped out.

He yanked the drawer so hard, it flew apart, showering the contents over the wooden floor. But he was a man on a mission and he found what he wanted among the debris. His hands were shaking so hard he could barely hold the packet.

I’d managed to push my jeans and panties past my knees, but they’d snagged around my sneakers. Jordan took one look at my predicament and flipped me onto my stomach, then pulled my hips up so I was on my hands and knees.

A second later, he was inside me and I cried out.

I felt his whole body hunched over me, his bare skin slapping loudly against mine. Each thrust threatened to make my arms collapse and I had to fight to keep my balance, pushing back against him.

It was hard and shocking, coarse and crude. Utterly unrefined and utterly thrilling. His roar as he came was loud and certain.

We collapsed onto the bed, his weight on top of me, his hot breath searing my neck.

I felt his dick twitch inside me and I whimpered.

He cursed softly and pulled out, rolling onto his back.

From the moment we’d kissed on the porch, to this second must have been less than four minutes.

For a while I lay unmoving, feeling sluggish and fighting sleep. Finally, I turned so I could see him. His chest was still heaving and one arm was thrown across his eyes. I looked down to see my jeans and panties tangled around my feet and I couldn’t stifle a small giggle. He froze at the sound.

“Hey,” I said, “you still alive under there?”

I tried to move his arm but he wouldn’t look at me.

“Jordan!”

“Christ, I’m so sorry,” he mumbled, still refusing to look at me.

“Um, what for?”

“I behaved like a fuckin’ animal.”

“Well, yeah, you did. But I liked it.”

This time he let me move his arm and he turned his head toward me, his beautiful soulful eyes filled with doubt.

“Did I hurt you?” he said, quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Hell, that was a great start to my day!” I chuckled. “It was like a shot of adrenalin followed by a coma. My body doesn’t know what the fuck’s going on, but damn that was good!”

“Good?” he sounded puzzled.

“Jordan, you dope! That was amazing! I haven’t been fucked like that since … well, ever. I’m slightly in shock. I think I’ve been missing out all these years.”

I glanced at my watch.

“Oh, hell! I’m going to be late on my first day! Oh, this won’t look good, turning up looking well used and smelling of sex!” I slapped his chest. “It’s your fault! Look, I’ve got to hustle, but feel free to take your time, have a shower—whatever. Oh, and you totally have to clear up the drawer you upended.”

I sat up, grabbing my pants and shuffled to the bathroom to clean up as best I could. A damp washcloth was good for soothing my throbbing lower half, and I splashed cold water on my flushed face. Hopefully, I’d look reasonably presentable by the time I got to the coffee shop.