He fought them back. Let his hurt swallow them up. When he arrived home, he parked the Ducati in the garage, and barreled through the house to pour himself a drink, chugging it down so he could pour another. And another. And then, knowing he should have been asleep, regretting his plans to help Ellie open the store, he started throwing punches at his heavy bag.
He should have taped his hands. Should have worn gloves, but the pain in his knuckles was a welcome relief from the emotional pain he worked so hard to keep at bay. Even after his knuckles split open and started to bleed, he kept punching, grunting and gasping for air until he was nothing but a raw nerve, shaking with pain and fury. Then, and only then, did he wander upstairs and collapse into a dreamless sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
Ellie
Ellie woke half nervous and a whole lot excited about spending the day with James at the café. Her body hummed with anticipation and she couldn’t decide if it was a good thing or bad thing. Part of her hoped he didn’t even show. If he ditched her, she could write him off as the player he’d become instead of hoping he was the hero he used to be.
James did show.
And he was pretty good in the kitchen.
But his breath stank of whiskey and his knuckles were covered in bandages with bruises peeking out from all sides. Whatever happened between the time he left the night before and the time he staggered through the door that morning wasn’t good. She did her best to avoid him, only crossing paths long enough to give instructions or to answer his monosyllabic questions. She would talk to him about what was wrong later.
Or maybe not at all.
He’d obviously gone back on his vow to cut back on drinking. If his moods were going to be so all over the place, maybe she didn’t want anything to do with him after all.
As the hours stretched out in cycles of awkward silence interrupted by the hum of customers and their chatter, Ellie found herself watching James during the quiet moments of the day. The more she watched, the more she saw a man battling despair. A man whose heart was burning him from the inside out. His dark eyes, rimmed in pain, stayed averted not just from her, but from everyone, as if he wanted to completely disappear.
Sometime around noon, she brought him a glass of water and some ibuprofen. “Want a coffee?” she asked as she set the water beside him, carefully avoiding eye contact.
James shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. But we’ll skip that part for now. Coffee? Or no?”
When he finally met her gaze, the storm boiling beneath his surface took her by surprise. Her breath caught in her throat and she reached for him.
He dropped his eyes to his work, shunning her touch. “I brought this on myself. I’ll deal with the consequences myself.”
Ignoring the ibuprofen, he took a long drink of water and didn’t look at her again. She sighed heavily and opened her mouth to tell him exactly how little she appreciated the silence—not to mention the about-face in his attitude. He was worrying her and making her feel awkward, but another round of customers trundled through the door before she got one word out. She turned for the counter, glad her mouth didn’t get a chance to totally alienate him. Whatever James was dealing with, the last thing he needed was her piling a bunch of crap on top of it.
Wasn’t that the whole point of the fake relationship?
He wasn’t ready for a real one.
Not then, and maybe not ever.
And that was fine, except Ellie was becoming attached to the idea of being around him. He might not want a relationship, but she was starting to wonder if she did. The day ended and James left with barely a word spoken between them.
Ellie’s stomach boiled with nerves and anger.
Parasite Steve had used her for her apartment and her money. For him, she was nothing more than a roof over his head, food in his belly, and a place to put his dick. She’d never loved him. Nor had she felt loved by him.
She didn’t want to live through something like that ever again. She wanted to give all the love she had inside and to feel loved in return. She wanted to look at someone the way Juliet looked at Ian the other night—well, from the moment they met really.
She had agreed to pretend to date James when she was tipsy on margaritas and atmosphere. She agreed because it sounded fun, like a chance to break through the tedium of everyday life. Sleeping with him was proving to be a terrible decision. It put her in a situation where she wouldn’t be able to keep her emotions separated from the agreement. She was going to end up wanting more than he could give and spending the next several months feeling used.
Had she traded one parasite for another?
Had she been so wrapped up in who James used to be that she hadn’t noticed who he’d become?
By the time she got home, her mood was almost as dark as his had been that morning. After spending the day mainlining coffee, she was too wired to take the nap she craved, the nap she knew would make her feel better. So, she plopped on the couch and tried to lose herself in a book, but still couldn’t stop thinking about him.
The hurt in his eyes. The bruises on his knuckles. The whiskey on his breath.
What happened after he left the café last night?
They’d had such a good time at the Shrimp Fest, laughing with Ian and Juliet, dancing as the sun set. And the kiss that sent them back to Good Beginnings, it had been so
