by Carian Cole
Standing by a stack of Erin boxes, I’m mesmerized by the bulge of his biceps when he pushes the bar up one more time, then rests it on the rack. Swallowing hard, I watch as he stands, grabs a towel, and wipes it across his face. This is the first time I’ve seen him with shorts on, and I’m not surprised to see tattoos on his thighs and calves. Nor am I surprised to see the muscles in his legs still pumped from whatever workout he was doing before I came down here.
Sweaty people usually turn me off, but he’s incredibly sexy with his damp hair and shiny muscles. I have the urge to run my hand down the middle of his chest, trail my fingers through the tiny patch of damp hair there.
When he turns and catches me watching him, he takes a step back, almost knocking over the rack of free weights.
“What the fuck,” he says, breaking me out of my trance. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“I-I’m sorry,” I stammer, startled by the deepness of his voice echoing in the cellar. “I wanted to talk to you and I—”
And I what? Got all distracted drooling over him?
“What’s up?” he asks casually, as if he’s not oozing all kinds of sexiness as he wipes the towel down his chest to his abs.
Regaining my composure, I take a few steps closer to him. “I went to the dentist today, but they told me dental procedures aren’t covered under our insurance plan.”
His brows pull together. “Your eyes look weird. Havin’ a bad day?”
Jude always knows when I’ve taken the extra pill.
“Yes. A totally sucky day,” I explain. “I’ve had this bad pain in my jaw that I thought I could ignore away, but it didn’t go away. Rebecca sent me to a dentist friend of hers this afternoon.”
He throws the towel over his shoulder and pins me with a concerned look. “What did she say? Are you okay?”
“I have two impacted wisdom teeth. I have to have them pulled, and I’m too scared to be awake while it’s happening. I’m afraid I’ll freak out. But the anesthesia is wicked expensive. The whole thing will cost around two thousand dollars.”
“Fuck.” He blows out a breath. “That sucks. We have a dental add-on. There’s a different ID card, though, I’ll have to get you one. I gotta warn you, it doesn’t cover much. Mostly cleanings and x-rays, maybe a cavity.”
Shit.
“Okay. I just wanted to check,” I say, chewing my lip.
I’m totally screwed. How on earth am I going to pay for this? Dr. Katz made it sound like the surgery shouldn’t be put off.
“I’ll help you, ya know,” he says, moving closer to me. His black sweat shorts have slipped dangerously low on his hips, revealing taut muscles not meant for my eyes. “If you need some money for the dentist.”
“Jude, I can’t let you do that.” He’s already lent me money to pay for my prescriptions and co-pays. I simply cannot let him keep giving me money. Especially now that I know he also helps his aunt and uncle with their bills.
“How come?” he asks.
“Because you’ve done enough for me already. You’re not an ATM.”
Smirking, he shoots an eyebrow up. “So… there’s a limit to how much I’m allowed to do? Guess I missed the memo. You are my wife.”
“On paper. But I’m not your problem. We have an arrangement, and I’m trying to stick to it. It wasn’t supposed to include you totally supporting me.”
It wasn’t supposed to including random kissing and touching, either.
“You’re my friend. Nothin’ wrong with helping a friend. Why is it so weird that I want to do something nice? Everyone acts like I’m breaking some kind of fuckin’ law.”
“It’s not weird that you want to help me. I’m not used to having—or accepting—help. It’s humiliating and embarrassing for me. And it’s just not normal for you to do so much for me.”
His smirk disappears and his nostrils flare. “Lemme get this straight—you think I’m humiliating you by trying to help you get surgery? And you think I’m not normal? Thanks.”
Scowling, he pushes past me, clearly done with the conversation. His bare arm—warm and wet with sweat—rubs against mine, and I resist the urge to touch the place where his flesh touched mine.
“Jude, wait.” I sigh and follow him upstairs, where he goes directly to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I say to his back. “I appreciate everything you do for me. More than I could ever put into words. It just makes me feel bad, like I don’t deserve it. It’s too one-sided.”
He turns, wiping his hands on his towel. “You should be more worried that you think you don’t deserve it and less worried about me just being a nice guy.”
The truth hurts. I don’t believe I deserve his help.
“You’re right,” I admit.
“You want me to be an asshole, Sparkles? ’Cause I can be one if the nice me humiliates you too much. I can go back to the self-destructive, don’t-give-a-fuck-about-anyone, selfish douche I was a few years ago.”
“No.” I shake my head back and forth, sickened by the thought of him being an asshole. “I wouldn’t like you that way.”
“Then don’t make me feel like I was better off like that.”
“Okay,” I say, softening my voice. “I don’t want you to feel like that. But I also don’t want to feel like a charity case. I refuse to take any more money from you. It makes me feel like shit, like I’m using you. And it scares me when I feel like I can’t take care of myself. It makes me feel like I’m drowning. I need to pay my own bills.”
Easier said than done when my medical bills are exceeding my small paycheck. The initial tests I had at the hospital came with a lot of unexpected, out-of-pocket bills, totaling close to three thousand dollars. I’ll be making payments forever. And now this sudden dental bill. It’s never-ending.
Is someone my age really supposed to have all this financial stress?
“I totally get what you’re saying, believe me. But how are you gonna pay for all this?” Jude asks, his voice softer.
“I don’t know, obviously. I guess I’ll figure something out.”
Sighing, he looks down at his feet then back up again. “I guess you could sell your wedding band. I paid three grand for it.”
My heart leaps up into my throat at that admission. I had my suspicions the ring had real gems in it, but hearing that he actually bought me something so beautiful and expensive is a total shock.
“Jude…” I swallow and try to ease the emotion out of my voice. “Why did you buy something so expensive? I don’t—”
“What?” he interrupts, his gaze challenging mine. “You don’t deserve it?”
“No,” I say, close to tears. “I don’t.”
Disappointment darkens his eyes. “You’re wrong. You do.” His voice lowers. “Maybe I was trying to show you that.”
My mouth has gone dry. I lick my lips. “I’m not going to sell my ring.”
Even though I don’t wear the ring in public, I wear it alone in my room at night. I sit on my bed and move my hand back and forth, marveling at how the diamonds sparkle in the light like itty-bitty stars. I fantasize that it’s real—that the meaning and the vows behind it are real, and I have a person who loves me more than anything and wants to spend his life with me and only me. The daydream is so much better than the truth—which is that my life has turned into some kind of strange soap opera.
He glances at my bare ring finger, and I wonder if he wanted me to wear it every day, just like a crazy part of me was hoping he’d wear his.
“Why not?” The corners of his eyes narrow a fraction. “It’s just a ring. Right?”
Clearly, it’s not just a ring to either of us.
I jut my chin forward. “Because it means something to me, and I can count on one hand the number of things I own that have any value or special meaning to me.”
He leans back against the counter. Looking down at his hands, he cracks his knuckles, then slowly raises his gaze back to me. He cocks his head to the sid
e, as if he’s gauging me. “How about this. I’ll give you six grand for your car,” he says evenly. “Cash.”
I suck in a quick breath. His offer is like a punch straight in my gut. He knows how important the Corvette is to me. The extreme sentimental value it has. He knows I’d never give it up. But he also knows I’m in a financial bind with no options. I can’t deny the awful truth—that kind of money would let me have the dental procedure, pay off my bills, and have a cushion in the bank—something I’ve never, ever had, and desperately need.
“You could pay off your bills free and clear,” he adds. “You wouldn’t owe anyone anything.”
I swallow over the thick lump in my throat. “And how would I get to school and work?” My voice cracks and I swallow again. “I don’t want to buy a piece-of-junk car. That’ll end up costing me more.”
“You can drive my Subaru. It’s in great shape, low miles, it’s only five years old. I never drive it since I have my truck. You can use it as long as you want to.”
Leave it to Jude to have an extra car just sitting around.
Staring into his eyes, I can’t believe I’m even considering selling him my beloved car. But as much as I hate it, I have to consider it because he’s offering me a deal that’s impossible for me to refuse. My mouth is throbbing more by the minute, and I can’t imagine this pain continuing for days, weeks, or months. I’ll lose my mind.
I wipe a rogue tear from the corner of my eye. “What would you do with it? Are you going to sell it?” I ask.
He gives me a soft smile. “Nope. I’ll keep it in the garage and restore it someday. I’m not gonna get rid of it. It’ll be smokin’ when I’m done with it.”
I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Let him lend me money to pay my bills. I could’ve just said thank you and been grateful, instead of letting my pride and need for independence get in the way.
Skylar, you’re an idiot.
“Winter’s coming. You’ll never be able to drive the ’vette in the snow. The Subaru has four-wheel drive. It’s a helluva lot safer.”
Sniffling, I blink back hot tears. “You’ll really take care of it?” I ask. “If I do this?”
“I promise,” he says sincerely.
“And you won’t sell it? I don’t want anyone to have it. Ever. I don’t mind so much if it’s you, but no one else can have it.”
“You have my word. Someday if you want to buy it back, then it’s yours. I’d even sell it back to you for the six grand, no matter how much I put into it. But no one else will ever have it, okay?” He steps forward and touches my cheek, wiping my tears away. “I don’t want you to cry,” he says softly.
It takes me a moment to recover from the unexpected gentle touch. I take a deep breath to refocus. “And you can’t ever let a girlfriend drive it.”
He lets out a little laugh. “Really, Sparkles?”
“Yes, really. I’m not kidding. I don’t want any rando chicks driving my car.”
“Alright. That’s not gonna be a problem. We got a deal, then?”
Those intense gray eyes bore into mine, daring me to accept. I’m sure there’s a test here somewhere, but I’m not sure what the correct choice is. I just know there is one.
“I hope you have large bills,” I answer defiantly.
“’Course I do. Wait right here.”
My heart pounds and my throat aches as I wait in the kitchen. I kinda hate him right now for doing this, and I hate myself even more because I pushed him to do it.
Never look a gift horse in the mouth.
Moments later, he returns with a literal stack of hundreds and fifties in his hand. It’s more money than I’ve ever seen, and it takes me a few moments to take it. Reluctantly, I hand him the keys. My heart feels like it’s cracking into pieces. The memory of my grandfather happily jingling those same keys in front of me when he told me the car would be mine someday overwhelms me. My heart aches.
I’m so sorry, Papa.
I won’t cry.
I won’t have a meltdown.
“Don’t get too attached, Lucky. I will be buying it back someday.” I try to sound confident, maybe even a little flirty, but instead my voice quivers with emotion.
He tosses the keys in the air and catches them while flashing me his sexy, unforgettable smirk.
“Hope you like red interiors, Sparkles.”
Ugh. That teasing voice. He’s up to no good.
I glare at his muscular back as he leaves the room. As a matter of fact, red is perfect. It’s the color my grandfather and I agreed on, way back when I was excited and dreamy—because it’s the color of love.
Chapter 27
Skylar
People always tell us things will get better. And they do get better. But what people don’t tell us is that things will get worse again.
There I was, sitting in the waiting room of Dr. Katz’s office, trying not to freak out over the fact that at any moment, the nurse is going to come and take me to have my very first surgical procedure. I’m terrified of the needles and of being asleep while people do things to my body. I’m worried about how much pain I’ll be in after.
All morning Jude has been swearing up and down that once this is over, I’ll feel much better and I’ll realize all this worry was for nothing.
I hope he’s right, so I can finally rest my mind. My anxiety has been in overdrive all week.
But then Lisa Rottworth walks into the waiting room—Paige’s ultimate BFF and right-hand mean girl. Don’t ask me how Lisa got into the cool crowd with a last name like Rottworth, but somehow, she pulled it off.
Lisa glances at me with total disinterest as she and her mother take the seats across from me. I chose to be comfy today and wore black leggings, sneakers, and a white hoodie. I didn’t bother putting makeup on. Lisa must not be here for surgery because she’s decked out in full-glam makeup including fake eyelashes, high-heeled boots, skinny jeans, hoop earrings big enough to do acrobatics in, and a cashmere sweater. Being popular must be exhausting. Who wants to look perfect every moment of every day?
She’s probably getting an Invisalign.
My eyes shift to Jude, who’s at the reception desk checking me in because I felt too shaky to stand there and fill out paperwork and answer questions.
I am now greatly regretting that decision.
“You’re the policy holder?” the receptionist asks loudly.
“Yes.”
“And what is your relationship to the patient?”
Jude clears his throat. “I’m her spouse.”
My breath is sucked out of me like a vacuum.
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
The woman’s eyes dart to me, studying me from behind her bifocals as I offer her a weak smile. Pursing her lips, she gives Jude a judgy side-eye before she jams his insurance card through the reader.
My heart rate speeds to a thunderous gallop as I attempt to ignore Lisa’s stare, which I can literally feel from across the room, drilling into me like a psychotic woodpecker.
This can’t be happening.
At the front desk, Jude is paying my co-pay with the cash I gave him to do so, and the receptionist is going over the basic discharge instructions with him. Finally, she hands him written prescriptions for my antibiotics and painkillers.
I risk a peek at Lisa, and I was right. She’s on high alert, spine straight, phone in hand, her attention laser-focused, shifting from me to Jude, gathering information.
Information I already know she’s going to broadcast to Paige and the rest of their group.
“You’re all set,” Jude says, taking his seat next to me.
“Thanks,” I whisper, swallowing hard. I feel like I’m going to be sick even though I haven’t eaten since yesterday.
He grabs my hand, squeezes it in his reassuringly, and I love how naturally it comes to him to hold my hand, and that he’s not afraid to be mushy in public. But now is the worst possible time and place.
“Relax,” he says, his v
oice soft. “Once they put you out, you’re not gonna feel a thing. You’ll wake up thinking you blinked, and we’ll go home and Netflix and chill.”
He’s trying to make me laugh—using our silly joke about Netflix and chilling.
But Lisa doesn’t know that we don’t Netflix and chill in the hooking-up sense, and her fingers are already flying furiously over her cell phone keyboard, no doubt detailing this juicy gossip.
My empty stomach rumbles with nausea, churning with waves of panic.
I’m going to be put to sleep and have my teeth cut out of my head.
The doctor is going to put all kinds of stuff in my mouth, while I’m asleep.
I might not ever wake up.
I might wake up in the middle of the surgery.
I might choke. And die.
Blood might drip down my throat, into my stomach.
Lisa Rottworth is going to ruin my life.
“You’re shaking like a leaf,” Jude says, leaning closer to me and brushing his lips across my hair, right over my ear. “Try to relax. You’ll be okay.”
Was that the click of Lisa’s cell phone camera?
Resisting the urge to smack him, I pull my hand from his. Seriously, of all times for him to decide that now it’s okay to be touchy-kissy, he has to do it right here in the middle of the waiting room in front of Lisa Fucking Rottworth?
In any other place on the planet, I would love the affection and the comfort. I’d be savoring it, tucking every detail into my mind to daydream about later.
But not here, in the damn waiting room in front of Lisa Freakin’ Rottworth!
The door leading to the exam rooms swings open. “Skylar?” the young nurse calls in a cheery voice. “We’re ready for you.”
I stand on shaky legs and cross the room, glaring venomously at Lisa, who’s whispering to her wide-eyed mother.
“We’ll come back to get you when she’s recovering, Mr. Lucketti. It’ll be about two hours.”
Damn it to hell. Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, now Lisa knows my husband’s name.