Jagged

Again, memory lane, but this time, not such good memories.

“That was more than eight years ago, Ham.”

“Yeah, it was. And my point is, over eight years, I’ve always been there for you.”

“Only when you weren’t gone.”

His face turned to stone. “Bullshit, Zara, and you know it.”

I threw up my hands. “Jesus, Ham, I’m seeing you for the first time”—I leaned toward him and yelled —“in three years!”

He leaned right back. “And it was fuckin’ me”—he jerked a thumb at his chest —“who told you to keep that connection, babe, and you kept it. You dialed that line that connected us just last night.”

“A fuckup I knew was a fuckup last night but has now been elevated in status to a major fucking fuckup,” I fired back.

“Jesus Christ!” he exploded, shocking me. As I explained, we never fought so this meant I never saw him lose it like that. It was freaking scary but it also weirdly made me angrier, especially when he scowled and went on to inform me, “This is precisely why I don’t do this shit.”

“What shit?” I clipped.

“You find a woman you think is a good woman, you make the big fuckin’ mistake of lettin’ her in an inch, she tears her way through, leavin’ you bloody in her wake,” he answered.

“Oh my God!” I shouted, raking a hand through my hair. “Are you insane?”

“You walked away from me,” he bit out, jerking a finger at me. “And I see that took a bite outta you, Zara. I can fuckin’ see the hole it left behind right in your goddamned eyes.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I scoffed on a snap.

That was when he threw my words of three years ago right in my face, using them to tear through me, leaving me bloody in their wake.

“It was always me.”

Standing there in tatters, unable to take more, I whispered, “Get out.”

“Gladly,” he returned, bent, and snatched up the handles of his duffel.

He stalked past me and I followed.

He used the only hand he had, the one carrying the duffel, to yank open the door and I watched him move through.

I also followed him out, stopping on my welcome mat, something I bought and one of the few things I didn’t encourage Greg to take, in order to give Ham my parting shot.

“I’ll give you a call, darlin’, let you know the state of hell, seein’ as I’m checkin’ in with Satan to sell my soul for the ability to shield myself from assholes like you.”

At my words, he swung around and informed me, “Takes more than your soul, baby. He also takes his pound of flesh. I should know, seein’ as I made that deal with him years ago in an effort to protect myself from pain-in-the-ass women like you. Though, you might have noticed, seein’ as we’re havin’ this cheery conversation, sometimes his spell doesn’t work.”

“Then he can take two pounds of flesh so I can buy a stronger one that’ll work,” I retorted. “After this shit, I’m sure you’re not surprised that I’m willin’ to pay a high price.”

“That number might be busy, darlin’, but keep tryin’ it. I ’spect, after you ran him through the ringer enough for him to be so pissed he cleaned you out, your ex is on the line right about now, makin’ his deal.”

Already in tatters, that struck so close to the bone, it was a wonder I didn’t dissolve.

“You’re a dick,” I hissed.

“Yeah, and a grateful one, seein’ as you led with this bullshit so I could get the lay of the land real fuckin’ quick, cut my losses, and get the fuck outta here.”

I felt my face start heating with fury. “I led with a hug, you asshole.”

“It was not ten minutes ago, Zara. I remember. Then I got whiplash with your one-eighty. You sure you aren’t already tight with the guy downstairs?” he asked with deep sarcasm. “Five more minutes, I reckon I’d have watched your head spin.”

“God! Can you get worse?” I snapped.

“Yeah, there it is. All woman. Pure woman. You don’t know what you want, except the part where you want what you can’t have and, somehow, that’s my fuckin’ fault.”

“If you have heretofore unshared issues with women, Graham, work them out with another unwitting female.”

“Not a chance. Haven’t done this shit in years. Gonna do my motherfucking best not to do it again, ever. I drink, I eat, I fuck, I leave.”

“Well, you got that down to an art.”

“Why the fuck am I still standing here?” he asked.

“Beats me,” I answered.

I barely got out the second word before he turned to go.

But I wasn’t done.

“Now look who’s walking away,” I remarked and he turned right back.

“Yeah. And advice. Take a good look, baby, ’cause this is the last time you’ll see my ass and you like my ass. You want it. I know ’cause I still got the scars from your teeth the last time you took a bite outta me.”

Fury and remembered desire rushed through me. So much of both I was paralyzed. I could do nothing but stand immobile and stare.

Ham raked me with his eyes from head to toe and fired the final shot.

“Christ. All the proof I need standing right there. All that pretty. Shiny. Looks sweet. Tastes sweeter. So goddamned good, you fuck up, put your trust in that sweet, then she sinks her fangs in you and releases the venom. Only one woman I know not filled with poison, knew her own goddamned mind, her shit was fucked up but she didn’t make it anyone’s problem but her own, and I let her walk away from me, too. The difference with her and you, babe, is that I regret lettin’ her do it. I drove here thinkin’ the same about you. Glad to know right off, I was wrong.”

After I took that bullet, he turned, prowled down the walk, and disappeared.

I stood there listening to the door of his truck slam.

I kept standing there as the powerful beast growled to life.

And I stayed standing there as I saw his headlights illuminate the drive and I watched him back out and drive away.

Only then did I move into my house, close and lock the door, and wander to my room.

I laid in the dark, stared at the ceiling, and let his words shift through my brain, over and over.

Then she sinks her fangs in you and releases the venom.

And as those words shifted through my brain, I thought, Yep, that’s me.

Chapter Three

Mendin’ Fences

Five months later…

With filled grocery bags in my hands, my phone ringing in my purse, I struggled through the door to my studio apartment. Dashing to the counter of the kitchen, I dumped the groceries, shrugged my purse off my shoulder, snatched my phone out, and hurriedly took the call before it went to voice mail without looking at the display to see who it was from.

“Hello?”

“Cookie.”

At the surprise of Ham’s deep voice calling me his nickname, my body sagged into the side of the counter