Like You Hurt: A Standalone Enemies to Lovers Romance (Devilbend Dynasty Book 2)
Page 9
I lit the cigarette and inhaled, then pulled my knees to my chest and stared at the still, dark water as I blew the smoke out.
The sound of someone approaching made me turn my head and lower the cigarette out of view. I was fully prepared to dump it in the pool, but when I saw who it was, I just faced forward again and took another resigned drag.
Why couldn’t I get away from him? Even in my own house?
Hendrix came to a stop right next to me, his boots touching the edge of the pool, and whistled low. “Nice view.”
I glanced up at him. He was looking out past the pool, taking in the twinkling lights of Devilbend and the Californian landscape beyond.
“Best in Devilbend,” I deadpanned.
He folded his tall frame down next to me and draped one arm over his bent knee. Gripping the neck of the bottle with the tips of his fingers, he twirled the vodka on its base; the glass crunched against the travertine pavers. “There really is no happy medium for you, is there? It’s either one extreme or the other.”
I raised a questioning brow and took another drag.
“You’re either the perfect princess, headed for the ivy league, or you’re drunk on vodka, smoking, and going to Davey’s dressed like sin.”
“You think you know me?” I shook my head. He wasn’t wrong, but I’d die before admitting it to his face.
“Can I have a drag?” He held his long fingers out for the half-smoked cigarette.
I sighed and handed it over. He was taking everything else anyway.
He pulled on it, squinting at me, then blew the smoke in my direction before handing it back. “You try to be what everyone expects you to be, but deep down, even you must know you can’t control everything. And that thought terrifies you. But you don’t know how to deal with it, so you go out and do stupid shit as a fuck you to the universe. Or just to prove to yourself that you can. Or just to let off steam. I haven’t figured that part out yet.”
Yet. As if he was actively trying to figure me out. As if he was convinced he would eventually. The arrogance . . . I wanted to punch him in the throat for his assumptions, but part of me also liked that he wanted to know more.
“You have no idea what you mean . . . what you’re talking about.” Shit. I was wasted. I hated how slurred my words came out, that I stumbled on them. I didn’t want to show him any weakness.
“Yes, I do.” He stopped swirling the bottle and put it behind him, out of sight and reach. “I didn’t have your control issues, and I definitely didn’t give a shit about my reputation like you do, but I used to do reckless shit in order to feel alive too. I know the high you’re chasing, and trust me, it can only end in disaster.”
“Is that what happened?” I let my knees drop to the side, brushing up against his leg, and leaned on one hand for balance. After one last drag, I put out the cigarette and left the butt on the ground. “Is that why you moved here? You did something disastrous? Did you crash daddy’s Porsche?” I stuck my bottom lip out and mock-pouted.
He scoffed. “I wish. I . . . I’ll never forgive myself for what I did.”
He stared at the pool, and the mocking expression fell from my face. He was serious. And I was too drunk to deal with this conversation. My head spun, and I involuntarily tilted into him, grabbing his shoulder for balance.
Immediately, he gripped my elbow. He smelled like cinnamon, like that night in the rain, but there was a hint of cigarette smoke too. It was heady, alluring, and in my inebriated state, I couldn’t stop myself from leaning in to get more of it.
My lips were inches from his, my body remembering how infuriatingly good it felt to have his body pressed up against me. I wanted him—badly, the pressure between my legs building. But in that moment, in the cold night, with the still pool water reflecting all our flaws, I realized what I craved more was how he’d made me feel after. When he picked me up and told me he had me, and I believed it with every fiber of my being.
“Shit.” I dropped my head to his shoulder, squeezing my eyes shut, my breaths coming in pants.
He sighed and ran a hand down my spine, the touch gentle, hesitant. “You’re wasted. Come on.”
He pulled away, but he didn’t disappear as I expected him to. He helped me to my feet, steadied me, and wrapped an arm around my waist as he slowly walked me back toward the house.
The sounds of the party got louder, the weight of my life heavier, with every step.
I pushed down the confusing emotions in my chest, blinked back the perplexing tears.
Just before the last bend in the path, I made him stop and took a step away from him, breathing deeply, willing myself to sober up. It was fine to have a few drinks, have fun with my friends—I didn’t want people thinking I was a robot—but I couldn’t have anyone seeing me completely wasted either.
Hendrix held on to my elbow until it was clear I wasn’t going to faceplant, then let go, the last connection between us severed.
I pulled my shoulders back and ran my hands over my dress to check for dirt. Hendrix stepped in front of me, and I froze as his gentle fingers smoothed down a few errant strands of my hair.
“You’re perfect,” he whispered, brushing the very tips of his fingers across my cheek. I gritted my teeth to resist leaning into the feather-soft touch.
“I’ll go around the side of the house. So people don’t get the wrong idea.” He smirked, then turned and walked away.
I watched his broad back until he disappeared into the darkness, then I walked back into the chaos.
Chapter Ten
Donna
I woke up the next morning hungover as fuck. But I still woke up. Harlow and Amaya were both out cold in Harlow’s bed. Turner and Mena may have been up, but the door to the spare bedroom they’d slept in was firmly closed, and the faint noises coming through were a pretty good indication they didn’t want to be bothered.
Did I want to sleep off the previous night’s poor choices, stay in bed, and ignore the world until sometime in the afternoon? Of course. But someone had to let the cleaners in and check in with the parents so they wouldn’t rush home early. So I dragged my ass out of bed at nine thirty and was dressed and showered when the professional cleaning crew rang the bell at precisely ten.
Sundays were Magda’s days off, so I pressed the button to open the gate and put on a pot of coffee myself. I stood in the silent kitchen, the cold from the tiles seeping into my feet as the water percolated, and tried not to think about Hendrix.
Even though I should’ve stayed down there to supervise the cleaners, I took my steaming black coffee upstairs, grabbed a throw off the end of my bed to wrap around my shoulders, and went out to my balcony. It looked out over the yard and had a stunning view of the town and landscape beyond. The sunshine made my head hurt even with my sunglasses on, but I embraced the pain, letting it work with the caffeine to wake me.
The pool was visible from my vantage point, and the bright morning sun glistened off the water, making me wonder if I’d imagined how dark and still it had been the night before. Maybe it hadn’t ominously reflected all my darkness back at me. Maybe my bizarre drunken talk with the boy I was supposed to hate never happened. Maybe his touch and his declaration that I was perfect—which had given me the strength I needed to go back to the party for another hour, pretend I was having a grand time before I managed to slink away to bed—had all been imagined.
I took a big sip of the bitter coffee and sighed, pulling the throw tighter around my shoulders. It was wishful thinking. I hadn’t been that drunk, and there was no way in hell I’d imagined how amazing he smelled, how good and strong his shoulder felt under my hand.
I couldn’t let Hendrix Hawthorn get under my skin. He was not part of the plan. College was my plan. A law career and a perfect reputation that would allow me to one day run for office were my plan. William was my plan.
My stomach roiled; saliva gathered in my mouth. I threw out a shaky hand and steadied myself on the railing. I must’ve been more drunk t
han I thought.
I forced several deep, cleansing breaths into my lungs and pushed thoughts of boys out of my mind. Then I sat down and finished my coffee before heading back downstairs to tackle the day.
The others shuffled into the kitchen one by one after the cleaners left, looking worse than me—rubbing their eyes, grunting in greeting, dragging their feet.
“Whoa! It doesn’t look like there was even a party here last night.” Turner looked around in awe, then rushed to the window to check the patio area.
Harlow put some chill music on, and we ordered in for breakfast. By the time our parents got home, everyone was showered and feeling more like themselves.
Thankfully, the evening was quiet, and I was able to get some homework done before going to bed early.
I spent Monday and Tuesday avoiding Hendrix as much as I’d warned everyone else to. Tuesday evening provided another good distraction, with the added bonus that I could accomplish something for my future and for the greater good.
After school, I changed into plain black clothes and headed straight into Devilbend’s downtown for my volunteer shift with Devilbend Community Legal Center. I worked there for four hours every second Tuesday.
I mostly just made coffee, did filing, and took a few phone calls, but my two-year commitment would look fantastic on my college application, and I was gaining invaluable insight into family law. While the clinic covered various areas of practice, Tuesday night was devoted to family law appointments. Lawyers from some of the best firms in the area volunteered their time to provide advice to members of the community who couldn’t afford legal help otherwise. I’d met partners and associates from the law firm I was hoping to intern at over the summer, plus I was building relationships and doing good in my community.
It was the right thing to do, but it secretly felt more like an obligation than anything else. I’d never admit it to anyone, not even to myself out loud, but these Tuesday nights had turned into a boring chore.
“Here’s your coffee, Jasmin.” I gave the manager of the center a smile.
“Thanks, Donna.” She shoved several dirty cups out of the way so I could place the new one next to the pile of files on her desk.
I frowned but chuckled. “How many have you had today?”
“Uh . . . four? No. Six. I don’t know. An even number. Are the volunteer lawyers here yet?” She was the cliché of the overcaffeinated community lawyer, with cheap suits, tired eyes, and her chestnut hair in a messy bun. But clichés existed for a reason. She was overworked. She was underpaid. She really needed the caffeine to get through her day.
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Horowitz just got here, and the first clients should arrive any moment now. The interview rooms are set up, and I’ve got everyone coffee or tea. Also, here’s a phone message from James. His son has strep throat again, and he won’t be able to come in tomorrow.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Great. Perfect. First they cut my damn funding, then three people call in sick. I’m going to have to reschedule a dozen appointments tomorrow.”
“I’ll do as many as I can tonight.”
“That would be really great. Thank you, Donna.”
“It’s no problem. How bad is the funding cut?”
She winced. “Bad. I’m probably going to have to lay someone off—when I actually need to hire two more to keep up with demand for services. And donations are down. It’s one of those days where the coffee is the only thing keeping me going.” She saluted me with her mug and took a long drink, then frowned. “I’m sorry. You don’t need me unloading all this on you. Thank you for volunteering your time. It makes a difference.”
“It’s no problem. On both fronts.”
The little bell above the rickety glass door chimed, and I had to go welcome the first clients.
The rest of my shift passed as usual as I assisted the lawyers and made those calls, but the mundane admin tasks didn’t do much to quell my frustration at how much this woman had to deal with on top of all the obstacles constantly being thrown in her way. I helped Jasmin tidy up and close for the night, and we left together just after eight.
“Thanks for your help tonight, Donna. I’ll see you in two weeks.” Jasmin deadlocked the front door, waved at me, and headed for the bus station around the corner.
I was parked a few blocks away in the opposite direction, so I pulled my coat in tight and started walking.
Even this late at night, the lobby beyond the glass windows of the BestLyf building was bright and lit up as I passed. DCLC’s offices were in a dingy two-story building right next door, which also happened to be owned by BestLyf. I probably wasn’t supposed to know that, but I’d glimpsed a rental statement once when I was doing some filing. The rent was astronomical. I understood that real estate in the heart of Devilbend was in high demand, but DCLC was a nonprofit, for fuck’s sake, and BestLyf owned the biggest building in Devilbend and half the other properties on the block. It wasn’t as though they couldn’t afford to give a charitable organization a discount on rent for the shittiest building on the street. I guess they wanted to help everyone live their best life, but only if you weren’t poor.
Glaring at the pavement as I powerwalked, I didn’t notice the other people approaching on the sidewalk until a deep throaty laugh slammed me right back to Saturday night. My steps faltered, and my head shot up.
Sure enough, there was Hendrix, walking toward me with a man and a woman next to him. He had his hands stuffed into the pockets of a dark blue coat, the collar popped against the harsh wind, and his hair was even more disheveled than usual.
Our eyes locked, and we both slowed until we were standing in front of each other. His companions stopped too, throwing curious glances between us.
I recovered first, clearing my throat and shifting my feet. “Hey.”
Ugh. I’d figured just walking away without saying anything at all would be worse, but . . . Hey? I mentally slapped myself.
The side of his lip quirked. “Hey,” he said, his jaw slowly working a piece of gum as he stared at me.
The woman cleared her throat. “Hendrix? Are you going to introduce us to your friend?”
“We’re not friends,” we both rushed to say. Laughter bubbled up in my chest, but I kept it contained and smiled at her instead.
“Oh.” She raised her eyebrows. “Girlfriend?”
I snorted, and Hendrix laughed. “Definitely not. This is my aunt Hannah and her partner, Robbie.” He gestured to the couple. His aunt gave me a friendly smile, and her boyfriend waved, stomping his feet against the cold. “Guys, this is Donna. She . . . goes to my school.”
For some reason, I enjoyed how hard he was finding it to define who I was to him. Remembering my manners, I turned to face them and reached out my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
They both shook my hand, and then Robbie asked, “Are you all right out here on your own? It’s getting late.”
“Yes, I don’t like you walking around downtown on your own,” his aunt added. “Would you like to join us for dinner? We can drive you home after.” She was genuinely friendly. How the hell was that surly asshole related to her?
Hendrix stiffened next to me, his jaw clenching on the gum. I decided to put us both out of our misery.
“That’s very kind of you, but I’d like to get home. I just finished a volunteering shift at Devilbend Community Legal Center, and I’m tired. I’m parked just up ahead. I’ll be totally fine.” Without waiting for them to insist or ask more questions, I started sidestepping away. “Enjoy your dinner.”
“It was lovely to meet you,” his aunt called after me.
“You too!” I waved and tore my gaze away before I was too tempted to march back over there and demand to know why Hendrix was frowning at me so hard.
When I got home, I headed straight for my father’s study at the back of the house. The door was ajar, and warm light was spilling onto the marble tile in front of it. I could hear soft voices and the clinking of ice.
I knocked on the door as I pushed it open. “Daddy?”
“Oh, shit.” Mom laughed, leaning her elbow on the arm of the leather couch in the corner.
Dad squeezed her knee and swirled his scotch with his other hand. “You must want something big if you’re calling me Daddy.”
I placed my hand on my chest and plastered an outraged look on my face. “Can’t a girl show affection to her father without being accused of manipulation?”
“When it comes to most teenage girls, no.” Mom took a sip of her own scotch.
“When it comes to you, sweetness, definitely not. You don’t do anything unless it’s with intention. You get that from me.” There was pride in my father’s eyes as he leaned back against the couch.
My parents knew me so well, and yet . . . no one knew that part of me that came alive by throwing myself at dangerous men in seedy bars. Other than Hendrix. And he’d still called me perfect.
I pushed him out of my mind and sat on the soft rug, helping myself to the cheese board. “So rude,” I said around a mouthful of brie and cracker. Other than with the girls, this was pretty much the only place I’d allow myself to speak with food in my mouth.
My parents each raised a brow, waiting.
I rolled my eyes. “OK, fine.” They burst into laughter, and I had to raise my voice. “But it’s not for me.”
“What’s going on?” Dad set his glass on the table and leaned his elbows on his knees.
“DCLC is having its funding cut. Jasmin says she’s going to have to let someone go, and they’re stretched so thin already. It’s just not fair.”
Dad nodded and gestured for me to continue. I sat up straighter and met his gaze head-on. I’d never asked my parents for this much money before.
“I’d like you to make a donation. An anonymous one.”