by Jennie Marts
Setting her down, he grinned at her, his eyes lit with amusement. “Dang, girl. You grew up. And you’re still as gorgeous as ever.”
She landed a playful punch on his shoulder. “You’re still as full of shit as ever.”
He chuckled. “Some things never change.” He kept an arm wrapped around her shoulder as he chided his brother. “Damn, Jack. You didn’t tell me she looked this good. You better hold on to this girl, or I might snap her out from under you.”
“Hey, Beau.” Jack waved in greeting, ignoring the taunt, and picked up the food his mom had brought over. “I’ll put this stuff in the kitchen.”
“Geez, what’s wrong with him?” Beau asked, dropping his arm from around her.
“He’s had a rough night,” she told him. “But we both really appreciate you all coming over and helping out with the kitchen today.”
“We’re happy to help,” Matt told her.
“Yeah,” Beau agreed. “Hell, this is what we do. Dad said he and Owen already took care of demo and you guys had everything painted and prepped, so all we’re doing today is installing cabinets and countertops.”
She nodded. “Yeah, the hardware store delivered everything earlier this week, and it’s all in the garage. We drew up a plan of where everything’s supposed to go. Well, Jack drew it up. You know he’s good at that kind of stuff.”
Beau nodded, but her compliment fell on deaf ears as Jack was still doing his best to ignore her.
“Let’s get to it then,” Beau said as he clapped his hands together. “We’re burning daylight.”
She led the group out to the garage and explained the contents and order of the assortment of boxes.
Barb taped Jack’s meticulous diagram onto the wall of the pantry as the men started pulling cabinets out of boxes and carrying them in.
Murphy found an oldies station on the stereo and music filled the house as the Bannisters set to work.
Within a few hours, they’d made a huge dent in the project. The cabinets were in, and they were going to start on the countertops and the sink after they broke for lunch.
Jack was still sullen and quiet, ignoring both her and his brother’s attempts at stupid jokes, choosing to partner with his dad and focus on the tasks at hand.
She and Beau worked together—which meant he told her what to do, and she basically helped carry things in and hold them steady while he drove screws and hammered nails through them.
They were just finishing lunch when they heard a horn honk, and Murphy looked out the window to see her car pulling into the driveway. The paint was perfect, sparkling brilliantly in the sun with the absence of the vandalized graffiti on the side.
“Yay. My car’s here. I’ll be right back.” She grabbed her purse and headed out the front door to meet the guy from the body shop, glad to hear Jack’s footsteps following behind her.
“Looks great,” she said, rounding the side of the car as the driver stepped out.
“Hey dude,” the driver said, tipping his head to Jack.
Jack nodded back. “Thanks for bringing the car over, Gabe. It really does look great.”
The two men knew each other from high school, which probably accounted for the personal service and the car being dropped off at her house.
“You did an amazing job. You can’t even tell there was any damage,” she told Gabe as she dug her checkbook from her bag. “How much do I owe you?”
The mechanic held up his hands. “There’s no charge. I was happy to do it.”
“What? No. Of course I’ll pay you.”
“I won’t take it. Jack helped me out with a sticky tax situation last year. I owe him, so this one’s on me.” He ran a hand lovingly along the hood of the sports car. “It was a damn shame to see somebody try to ruin this beauty. It was fun to restore it to its previous glory.”
She couldn’t believe it. But it was obvious from the man’s tone and the set of his shoulders that there was no use arguing. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“No problem.” He gave Jack a one armed guy-hug then crossed the lawn and got into the waiting car that had must have followed him over.
She turned to Jack. “That was really nice. He didn’t have to do that.”
“Gabe’s a good guy.”
“He really likes you.” She took a step closer, hoping to bridge the gap that had been between them all day. “So do I.”
He stepped back.
The small action had a large effect. It felt like a punch to her gut.
He held up his hands. “Don’t. Just don’t.”
What the hell is going on?
“Jack, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“Everything.”
“Could you be a little more specific? You’ve been quiet all day. Just talk to me.”
He stared at a crack in the sidewalk where a dandelion had sprouted. “I’ve been quiet because I’ve been thinking. I was up half the night and have spent the day thinking it through, and it’s just not going to work.”
Dread filled her chest, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what he had to say next. “What’s not going to work?”
“This. Us.” He kept his gaze trained on the dandelion, as if it held some secret that it would reveal if he stared at it hard enough. “I’ve thought it through—gone through every scenario in my head—and I just can’t find one that has a good outcome. One that has a way for us to work out.”
She shook her head, refusing to hear what he had to say. “Oh, you thought this through, did you? Made some calculations, created a graph? Well, I call bullshit on your calculations. We’re not going to work out because of some stupid scenario or perfectly analyzed outcome. Life doesn’t work like that. We get to decide if we’re going to make this work.”
“I am deciding. And I can’t do it. We’re too different. Everything about us is the opposite. Liking the same kind of pizza isn’t enough to build a solid relationship.”
She couldn’t believe he was saying this. Not after the last few days. Not after all the time they’d spent together—both in bed and out. “How about liking each other? Doesn’t that count for something?”
How about loving each other?
Except maybe she was the only one in love. Just because she was in love with him didn’t mean that he felt the same way about her. He’d never come out and said that he did.
“It counts, but it’s not enough. It might be enough for now, but in the end, there’s no way you’re gonna be happy with a guy like me. A guy that can’t even protect you. That goes down when it counts, that can’t be there when you need me. It might not seem like a big deal to you now, but it will. And I can’t take that risk. I’m already in over my head. It will break me if I fool myself into getting more involved and then you leave me.”
She tightened her hands into fists as her bewilderment transformed into anger. “Oh, I see how it is. You’re going to leave me before I can leave you, is that it?” She swallowed, trying to keep her emotions in check. “You know, Jack, for such a smart guy, you’re acting pretty stupid.”
He finally looked at her, misery clouding his eyes. His shoulders drooped, and he slumped forward as if he were carrying a heavy weight on his back. He seemed to be shrinking before her eyes. “I know. Being around you does that to me. I can’t think straight.”
His words were like a slap to her face. Was he saying her lack of intelligence was rubbing off on him?
Well, screw him. She didn’t need this. Didn’t need him. She was supposed to be focusing on her career anyway. But she wasn’t going down without a fight.
He’d dropped the gloves with that last comment, and she was going to get in her punches before the game was over.
“You know what? I think you’re right, Jack. We probably wouldn’t work out. Not because we’re too different, but because you’re too weak to stand up and fight for us. You are a coward.”
Chapter Sixteen
Jack reared back, his head snapping as if she’d physically
slapped him.
She might as well have.
Murphy knew her words were like a knife to the back, but she didn’t care.
He’d started this.
He was the one breaking up with her—breaking her heart. And not just breaking it, but slicing it into tiny pieces, carving it into thin slivers of ache and misery.
She wanted to take it back, to grab the words from the air and force them back into her mouth, but she couldn’t.
He’d hurt her, and she did the only thing she knew how—hurt him back.
He might be killing her, but she wasn’t going down without getting in a few strikes of her own.
And she knew the words she’d said were the strongest weapon in her arsenal—the ones that would do the most damage—that would slay him to his soul.
He glared at her, his lips set in a tight line.
She held her ground, staring back, her chest heaving as she silently challenged him to dispute her words—to take back his plan to break things off with her—to choose to fight instead.
To fight for her. For them.
What was left of her heart shattered as he said, “Tell my dad to bring my dog home when they’re done.”
Then he turned and walked away.
The rest of the afternoon crept by in muddled hours rotating between misery and make- believe as Murphy tried to fake her way into acting like everything was fine and that Jack hadn’t come back inside with her because he didn’t feel well.
Barb took Jack’s place with Matt, and the four of them finished setting the counters and getting the sink and the faucet in place.
They’d left over an hour ago, taking Maggie with them, and Murphy had collapsed on the sofa, finally letting the tears come that she’d been holding back all day.
Winston had snuggled against her side, offering her his doggy brand of comfort as she wept into his fur.
Flashes of the pained look on Jack’s face kept playing in her mind, coupled with images of them laughing and kissing, of them tangled in the sheets of her bed, naked and curled in each other’s arms.
Pangs of guilt and regret plagued her. Would that whole thing have gone differently if she hadn’t lost her temper and shot off her mouth?
How could Jack ever forgive her?
How could she forgive him for giving up on them so easily?
Although, hadn’t she given up just as easily by accepting his decision to break up with her?
She was no better than he was. At the first crack in the armor, she’d spat bitter words and let him walk away.
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe she could still save this.
But she couldn’t save anything by curling up on the sofa and crying into her dog’s neck. No, she needed to take action. To face him.
All she had to do was walk across the driveway, up the stairs, and knock on his door. Then push her way in and inform him that she wasn’t leaving until they worked things out.
Now that she had a plan, she washed her face and changed into the new pink shirt that he’d bought her.
At the last minute, she grabbed the plate of brownies that Barb had left and brought them along as a peace offering. Who could resist a heartfelt apology coupled with homemade brownies?
Granted, she hadn’t made them, but they were the best choice she had.
She took a deep breath and knocked on the door, mentally preparing herself to face Jack.
But nothing could have prepared her for the sight she saw when the door flung open.
A curvy redhead stood in the foyer, wearing only a towel and an annoyed expression. She’d obviously just come from the shower. Her pale skin glistened with moisture, and her long hair was wet and dripping down her chest. “Can I help you with something?”
Murphy’s mind went blank. She had absolutely no response.
Could she help her something? Yeah, she could help her by telling her who she was and what the hell she was doing in Jack’s apartment? And in his shower?
Murphy tilted her head and tried to see around the woman’s shoulder. “I’m looking for Jack,” she stammered.
“He’s busy right now.”
Busy?
Doing what?
Lying his ass off?
Hiding a secret relationship with a trashy redhead. At least she assumed she was trashy by the tattoo of a tiara with the words “Slutty Princess” inscribed underneath it visible on the top of her ample breast that the towel was barely holding in.
And who answers the door in a towel anyway?
Murphy swallowed, struggling to find her voice as she tried again. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”
“I’m Jack’s girlfriend. Who the fuck are you?”
Yeah, definitely trashy.
Wait—did she just say she was Jack’s girlfriend?
All the air left Murphy’s lungs, and she fought to catch her breath. “I didn’t realize Jack had a girlfriend,” she said, her voice soft.
The redhead planted a hand on her hip and tilted her head. “I’ve been out of town.”
What the hell?
Jack had a girlfriend? Had he only been using her to keep himself entertained while his real girlfriend was out of town?
Had Jack been lying to her all along?
She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t equate the guy that she knew with the kind of guy who would do that. Or who would date a self-proclaimed slut. Not the man she’d been hanging out with—hell, more than just hanging out with—falling in love with. Jack wasn’t that guy.
He couldn’t be.
Then why wasn’t he coming out here to talk to her himself? Why hadn’t he answered the door?
Because maybe he wasn’t the guy she thought he was all along.
Maybe he was a coward. And this was his spineless way of making sure she knew they were truly broken up.
Well, he was going to have to tell her that himself.
“I’d like to talk to Jack,” she said.
“You can’t. I told you he’s busy.” The redhead gave her an indifferent shrug, a look of disdain evident on her face. That was rich, a look of disdain from the woman who deemed herself royalty among trashy woman. And she didn’t even claim the crown. Why did she settle to be the princess and not just make herself the queen of the sluts?
Murphy shook her head. This line of reasoning was getting her nowhere. She obviously wasn’t getting past the princess. She’d have to wait and try a different tack.
“Just tell him Murphy stopped by. I’m a friend.”
Or I was a friend.
She didn’t know what the hell she was now.
Except pissed off. She knew she was that.
And hurt.
But she didn’t want to think about that. Didn’t want to think about the searing pain that ripped through her chest—the thick mass of emotion that was clogging her throat. No—she needed to focus on the anger.
“Okay, I’ll let him know.” The slut princess offered her a saccharine grin and snatched the plate from her hand. “Thanks for the brownies,” she said before shutting the door in her face.
The nerve.
Murphy’s hands curled into fists as she stomped down the stairs.
This was just great. Now not only was she was pissed, but she didn’t even have the brownies.
She slammed her own door, startling Winston who was asleep on the sofa, and searched the room for something she could punch.
Fury grew in her gut, churning into a ball of heavy swirling anger. She ran up the stairs and into her bedroom, striding toward the window where she had the perfect vantage point to look into his apartment if the shades were open—and they were.
She didn’t see Jack though, just the slut princess sitting on the sofa. What was she doing? Why didn’t she just go get dressed? And where was Jack?
A flash of color caught her eye, and she glanced down to see Jack jogging up the driveway between their houses. He hadn’t been in the apartment after all. He’d been out for a run.
He pulled his
shirt off and used it wipe the sweat from his head as he climbed the stairs. Seeing the taut muscles of his tanned back—the back that she had just been running her fingernails down as Jack made love to her—fueled the ball of anger and pain roiling in her stomach.
Through the window, she saw his front door open, and the redhead stand as Jack entered. She crossed the room, dropping the towel as she walked toward him then threw her arms around his neck.
Murphy froze, her breath trapped in her throat.
The anger and fury turned to a hard pit of grief and sadness. Her shoulders fell, and she brought her hand to her mouth trying to hold in a sob.
She turned away from the window—not wanting to see another second of Jack with another woman. A woman that should have been her.
Jack blinked. Twice.
He shook his head trying to comprehend the naked woman walking toward him.
What the hell was she doing here?
Her presence dumbfounded him, and he stood transfixed, his T-shirt hanging loosely in his hand, as she threw her arms around him, her breasts pressing against his bare chest.
“Jack, I’m so glad you’re home. I’ve missed you.”
He cringed. Every single thing about this felt wrong—so wrong.
Peeling her arms from around his neck, he took a step back, putting distance between them, but not enough. “What the hell are you doing here, Kali?”
She responded to his bristly behavior by wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Ew—you’re all sweaty.”
Maggie was running around his legs, sticking close to him, but he couldn’t pay attention to her right now.
He yanked his shirt back on, rubbing the feel of her off of his chest with the damp fabric. The feel of his sweaty shirt was better than the sensation of her pressed against him. “That’s what happens when you exercise. You should try it sometime. Like how about right now—you can start by taking a walk.” He picked up the fallen towel and tossed it back to her.
“Geez, you don’t have to get so snippy.” She wrapped the towel back around her, tucking in the edges around her chest.
“What are you doing here? Why are you in my apartment?” And why the hell are you naked? He couldn’t bring himself to ask the last question.