Inside my condo, I walk straight to the kitchen and produce my most expensive bottle of Scotch. I take out a solitary glass, a sad, empty thing. Will I always be sad and alone on this day? Only, I’m not alone tonight. Rachel is here. Though, not in the way I want her to be. God, I’d give my soul to get lost in her tonight. She’d make me forget better than any bottle. But she deserves better, and I won’t use her or her body to comfort my pain. I wonder what she’d think of me if she knew what a fuck up I truly am. That all this is just a ruse, a mask to cover the brokenness that can’t be mended.
I don’t have to wonder long, though. Because before I drink my first glass, her sweet voice interrupts my inner tirade of self-hate.
34
Rachel
Heavy footfalls along with the slam of the door is the only indication of Jude’s return. He doesn’t call my name, or play with Walter. The place is silent but for a few sounds from the kitchen.
I wasn’t sure when he’d return, so I busied myself clearing a few of the empty bottles and wiping down the counters in the kitchen before going back to my room. I shut off all the lights but for the entryway, anticipating he’d be gone awhile. There was a desperation to the way he quickly dressed, a coldness to his hasty retreat. Something was wrong. Gone was the flirting, happy-go-lucky man from this evening.
As I pad to the kitchen and find him pouring a tumbler of hard liquor in the near dark, my gut turns with an ominous feeling. Whatever this is, it’s bad.
“Jude?” I don’t know how to help him, but I want to.
“Go.” His command is hard, unfeeling, and his gaze doesn’t lift to mine.
I walk around the kitchen island. Anger rolls off his body in waves. My gaze roves his body to make sure he’s not hurt, but his clothes are in place, and the only thing visibly wrong is the scowl etched on his face. Someone or something did this to him.
“Rachel. Go away.” Mean Jude is persistent.
So am I. “No.”
He lifts his gaze, surprise in the lift of his brows. “No?”
“You were holding out on me.” I close the space between us and reach over his shoulder to retrieve a glass tumbler. The bare skin of my forearm brushes his and a shiver of lust runs down my spine, but I push the desire away. By the look in his eyes, something big has shifted, something dark has stolen the lightness in his soul. He’s fragile, masquerading as tough. I force a teasing softness into my next words in an effort to calm the brewing storm of his mood. “Tell me why we’ve been drinking cheap beer all night when you’ve been hiding the good Scotch.”
When he doesn’t say anything, I pull up the barstool at his right and sit, pushing my empty glass toward his bottle. That’s right. I’m staying.
“I won’t be nice,” he says, but fills my glass anyway.
“Okay.” I shrug with nonchalance, when inside I’m not sure I know what I’m doing. There’s something unhinged in his stare. A forceful energy waiting to let loose. I could be playing with danger.
He lifts his glass. “I’m sorry.” He clinks the Scotch against mine, and then lifts the liquor to his lips for a long sip.
I do the same. It burns. Oh, fuck does it burn, but soon the warm feeling will wrap around me and further loosen my inhibitions. Maybe that’s why I’m still here. I want to see Jude without pretense. Without his mask of armor. “What are you apologizing for?”
“Anything I say or do from here on out.” He scoffs, and the pain in his eyes as they train on the glass of Scotch should be enough to make me look away. But I don’t. “Don’t hold it against me. Normally . . . I’m stronger.”
I reach out, needing him to meet my gaze. “You don’t have to apologize.” My fingers skim over his hand.
“That’s my line.”
“What’s wrong?”
He holds his glass up and studies the contents. The amber liquid inside the beveled crystal tumbler sends diamonds of light across the shadows of his face. “Did you know I never graduated from college?”
“Okay . . .” I glance around his posh condo. Think about his luxury car, and how he seemingly knows half the celebrities in Los Angeles. Does he think I care about that? Maybe it matters in the circles he moves in. A soft chuckle leaves my lips. “I think you’re doing just fine.”
“I dropped out.”
I don’t follow, or understand why he feels the need to confess this. So instead of asking questions, I wait. The silence between us builds, the quiet as biting and hard to swallow as my drink.
“My parents split when I was in high school.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was for the best. My father wasn’t a good man. He never treated my mom well. Always talked down to her. Always negative.” He takes a gulp and dips his chin. Hair falls forward on his face, hiding his eyes from my view. “I don’t think they ever would have married if it weren’t for me. My mom was too good for him. The best kind of person there was in the world.” He laughs but there’s no humor in the sound. “But my father. Oh, my dear old dad—now he’s a piece of work. They split after my dad went to jail.”
Jude downs the contents of his glass, then fills it to the brim and gulps more down.
I don’t know what to say.
