by Maria Luis
She kept her hands locked together in her lap.
“Mom never left him. This isn’t one of those cases where the wife has a come-to-Jesus moment. He’d beat her to within an inch of her life, then do the same to me, and she’d still be there waiting for him when he got back from whatever bar he went to that night or whatever woman he decided to screw.”
Jade held back her wince.
“When he left, it wasn’t some big, crazy event. He just never came back.” With a roll of his shoulders, he slid from the bed and yanked on his drawstring shorts. Pacing the bedroom, he turned his gaze on Jade. “My dad had inherited this house from his dad. We kept living here because it wasn’t as though we had anywhere else to go, and it wasn’t as though Mom wanted to risk leaving and missing his return.”
Softly, so softly she wasn’t even sure he’d hear her, she asked, “Did he ever come back?”
He laughed, a hollow sound that rattled her heart. “Once. I was fourteen. No one else was home. Mom was at work and Lizzie at school.”
“And you?”
“Skipping,” he answered bluntly with a flash of his usual grin that now seemed misplaced on his somber face. “Like I said, I was a little shit back then.” He moved to the foot of the bed. Sat down in a heavy way that made it seem like his knees had taken a hike and gone on vacation.
“He found me in his old study. That was the thing about my dad. He was an accountant—real smooth businessman. Always dressed in suits and a tie, even on the weekends. Used to post himself up in the study for hours, demanding drink after drink from the fridge.” Danvers planted his elbows on his knees, head dropping briefly before he looked back up.
Not at Jade, though. He hadn’t glanced her way in what felt like years.
“He kept his good stash in the study. Bourbon, gin, high-class shit that he only broke out for special occasions.”
Jade wrapped a hand in the sheets and edged closer to him. “What happened?”
His stone-gray gaze flicked up to hers and she was struck immobile by the hardness she saw there. “He fucked me up. I woke up on the floor with medics all around me, my mom wrapped up in my dad’s arms and the word ‘suicide’ being thrown around like it was goddamn Christmas and they were telling everyone ‘happy holidays.’”
This time Jade couldn’t hide her shock. She’d tried, but this . . . Her hand went to her mouth and she released her hold on the sheet. This was not . . . This wasn’t what—
“Don’t look so horrified, honey.”
She stared at him, her gaze running over his face. “He lied and said you tried to kill yourself,” she whispered. “How could I not be horrified?”
“Because that was the last time I saw him. Drunk driving accident a few months later did him in, apparently. I’m just surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”
“Danvers—Nathan,” she corrected herself, “this isn’t okay.” She threw a wild glance about the bedroom, a sickening feeling sending her reeling to her feet, yoga pants and panties be damned. “All of that, and you still live here? No wonder Lizzie—”
Jade cut off that line of thought, briskly turning away. Mindlessly she searched for her underwear on the floor.
His big body stepped in front of her, her cotton panties dangling from his fingertips. She snatched them from his grasp and hastily pulled them up her legs.
“What did Lizzie say?” he asked in a deceptively soft voice. “That she doesn’t understand why I live here?”
Jade made a grab for her yoga pants, which she found haphazardly thrown across the laptop on his desk. “If you know what she said, then why bother to ask?”
He jerked his hand through his messy hair; hair that she’d taken all the pleasure mussing up while he’d pleasured her. “She acts like I’m doing this on purpose. As though I live here just to punish myself for not being able to stop my dad from what he did when we were younger.”
“Are you?” The words escaped before she could stop them. But she wanted to know the answer as much as she dreaded hearing it. Because now Lizzie’s unease on the phone earlier made so much sense.
“Of course I’m not punishing myself,” he bit out defensively, like maybe he didn’t want to believe the words to be true.
“Have they asked you to move out?” Jade asked. “Your sister and mom, I mean.”
“I don’t know what that has to do with anything.”
“But have they?”
His mouth flattened into a thin line. “Yes. But it’s not because of my asshole father. It’s a big house for one person. I barely use a fourth of it regularly. They want me living somewhere else more manageable. Hell, my mom wants me on the West Bank with her.”
As Jade watched him, she realized that she’d been wrong to assume his family didn’t know him. That they didn’t know what he hid beneath the charm and the easy laughter. They did. It was the only reason she could think of that connected Lizzie’s disapproval of him living here and their joint pushing to get him to move.
To step out of the shadows.
She pressed her palm to her aching heart. If she hardly knew him and she hurt for him so strongly, she could only imagine how Beth and Lizzie had felt all these years, watching their son and brother continue to live in the place he’d been terrorized and accused of attempting to commit suicide in.
The sucky part of all was that Jade didn’t even think he realized any of this.
Large hands landed on her biceps and turned her around. The sight of his towering form, cut and masculine, made her mouth water.
“Not everything was bad at this house,” he told her succinctly, as though saying so could wipe away all the negativity. “There are good memories, too. And it’s just a house, Jade. It doesn’t impact my life in any way.”
She bit her lip. “When was the last time you went in there, into the study?”
He lowered his gaze. “Fifteen years.”
Shaking her head, Jade pulled away from his grasp. She had to go—she couldn’t do this. Maybe his family had no problem watching him silently self-sabotage himself over the years, but Jade couldn’t. She’d just left a relationship with John Thomas, the king of pretending everything was fine. Four years with a man who never opened up. Four years with a man who spent the night in her bed but who was a virtual stranger in the bedroom and out of it. Coming to New Orleans was meant to be a fresh start, a way to strip the complications from her life and pursue her dream.
Every moment she spent with Nathan Danvers, her once-precise plans blurred. She wanted him. But she wasn’t willing to give her heart to a man who couldn’t be honest with himself, even when his own family pressed him to open his eyes and see that he clung to the shadows, the hurt, by continuing to live in this house. It was better to go now, before she was in too deep and could never imagine her life without him again.
Her heart squeezed with a startling thought. What if she was already in too deep?
In her right hand, she continued to clutch her yoga pants. “I don’t think that’s why you’ve stayed.”
His expression cooled. “You don’t know everything, Jade.”
Right, she thought with a pang, because he obviously did. Jade stuffed one leg and then the other into her pants, pulling the waistband into proper place over her butt. “You asked me to trust you.”
Slowly, he drawled out, “I did.”
“Then trust me when I say that I happen to agree with your sister and your mom. I think staying here provides you with something else to hide behind. You hide behind being Mr. Tall, Dark, Flirtatious because it fits the mold you want people to see. But beneath all of that . . .” She took a deep breath. “Don’t you see? You don’t give people the real you—the shadows and the light. You give quarter measures. I don’t get it. Are you worried that they’ll think less of you?” Jade shoved her feet into her flip-flops. “Is that why you won’t ask for help with the Zeker case? Because you think you’re better off struggling alone? I have all of these theories”—she swallowed, then m
et his gaze—“but you don’t want to hear them. The other night in the glass room, you shut me down so quickly. You’d rather go at it alone than accept that someone else might have the answer.”
He started forward. “That’s a low blow, Jade.”
“Is it?” She crossed to the door and flicked the lock open, only pausing to turn back once the door was pushed wide and she was standing in the threshold. “Nathan, the fact that you choose to go by your surname—the same surname as the man you clearly hate—is yet another form of self-induced punishment. Nobody calls you Nathan, not even your family. It’s ‘Danvers’ or ‘Danny.’ Isn’t that weird to you?”
He threw his arms up in the air in frustration. “So, what? I’m just a walking, flagellant billboard?”
“No,” she answered firmly, softly, “I think you keep everyone at arm’s length with the happy-go-lucky attitude. You’re funny Danvers, don’t-take-me-seriously Danvers. But that’s not the truth, is it?”
Jade’s fingers tightened on the doorknob at the sight of the wounded look on his face. When he demanded, “Then what is the truth?” in a ragged voice, he damned near killed her.
Her eyes squeezed shut. She didn’t want to say this. But something told her that it had to be said. If he didn’t want to listen to advice from his family, maybe he’d hear and digest the words when they came from practically a stranger.
He doesn’t feel like a stranger, though.
“What’s the truth, then, honey?” His voice was closer now. She opened her eyes, not at all shocked to find him standing within her personal bubble, a tick pulsing in his jaw and his hands planted on either side of the doorframe. “Go ahead. Tell me if you think you know me so well.”
Jade glanced past him to the bed that they’d successfully mussed up just thirty minutes earlier. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
She cleared her throat, choking down the guilt of ruining whatever they had. Or could have had, as the case may be.
“The truth is,” she said, “you don’t trust anyone not to hurt you. You expect it from them. You’ve asked me to trust you on multiple occasions. In the glass room when anyone could have walked in. Here”—she pressed a hand to her throat—“when you tied me to your bed. You stripped me of my defenses and made me think that you trusted me, too. But that’s not the truth, either.”
The flash of raw vulnerability on his face cued her in that everything she said rang accurate for him. Perhaps, more than anything, that hurt most of all. Jade didn’t trust people easily, and she’d certainly never given herself as openly as she had with Nathan.
When he rasped, “Anything else you want to add?” Jade knew that it was over. Them. Sleeping together. A potential relationship. She’d been at his mercy tonight, if he’d wanted to do something, and what had she gotten in return?
Nothing, really.
Just sex.
Maybe she hadn’t gotten rid of her predictable nature fully, because for the first time, Jade didn’t think that sex was enough. She could easily get it from someone else. Not Nathan Danvers, though. With him, she wanted more. And that didn’t seem to be something he was willing to give to her.
She tipped her head back to stare up at his face, her words faltering when she noted the closed-off expression on his face. “Let me just ask you this,” she said haltingly, “Why open yourself up to the possibility of hurt, of being Nathan, when you can stay just Danvers for the rest of your life?”
A rush of air blew from his nose, and he stepped back. “I think you should go.”
“I know.”
He didn’t stop her on her way out the door, not that she’d expected him to do so. That would have been too much of a risk. And Danvers, though he was more than equipped to play the role of adventurous lover, wasn’t up to that task.
For the entire ride home, Jade ignored the stinging in her heart.
She was independent. She was making it. She was setting up her future.
Unlike a month earlier, the words didn’t bring nearly as much comfort, and she had no idea what to make of that. And as she pulled into the parking lot at her apartment complex, she realized that she was crying.
She’d never cried over John Thomas, not once.
Her shoulders hunched and she fought the lump growing in her throat. Jade didn’t believe in fate, but maybe it was true after all. Maybe she’d had to have a major meltdown with Danvers to remember why she’d come to New Orleans in the first place.
Nowhere on her list had there been a bullet point about falling in love with a man who was emotionally unavailable outside of the bedroom.
“I like you too.”
Her eyes squeezed shut. Apparently he just didn’t like her enough.
19
The French Quarter, New Orleans
“I need another drink,” Lizzie announced to the table, her empty margarita glass raised in silent demand.
Shaelyn Lawrence, Lizzie’s friend, snorted into her wine. “You might be a YouTube star, girl, but you aren’t Kim K. Sit your butt back down.”
Grumbling, Lizzie dropped back to her seat and leaned over toward Jade. “I don’t know why we put up with her. She’s so mean.”
“More like realistic,” Shaelyn said with a cheerful laugh. “When you reach Kardashian levels, we can talk more.”
Anna, Shaelyn’s beautiful blonde cousin, laughed and then gestured to the server for another round of drinks for the table. “Lizzie, we need to talk about this channel of yours. Why haven’t you done a special on the boutique?”
Apparently Shaelyn and Anna co-owned a lingerie boutique in the French Quarter called La Parisienne. This would have been more exciting if, of course, Jade had need for sexy lingerie. With the way things were going, she’d be trading in her thongs for granny panties in no time at all.
In reply to Anna, Shaelyn threw in, “Because she doesn’t want to get in front of millions of people in lingerie?”
Tanya, who’d only shown up tonight with the promise of a free drink on Jade’s dime, announced, “I’d do it if I had the body for it.”
Everyone gave her a disbelieving look. The woman was built for prancing about in her underthings. “All right, all right,” she said, “I’d do it if I had Lizzie’s body.”
Lizzie waved a dismissive hand. “Nah, I don’t care about any of that. I’d totally wear a bedazzled bra on camera. I can already see my outfit now. Hair pulled back in a high ponytail, decked out in a push up bra. A little silver mascara, maybe a pop of green contacts . . . ”
Jade held up a finger. “Question. Would green eyes really make a difference when you’ve got blue eyes?”
Danvers’ sister gave Jade a hard stare. “Um, yes. Green eyes are mysterious.”
Anna, who was the proud owner of blue eyes, pointed her wine glass at Lizzie. “Hold on. If green eyes are mysterious, then what are blue eyes?”
Four pairs of eyes turned on Lizzie, who was better known as ThatMakeUpGirl on YouTube. Lizzie shrugged. “Blue eyes are common.”
“I thought brown eyes were common.” Jade should know. Hers were nearly black. Soulless, some might say—or at least that was the joke with her sisters. “Statistically, more people in the world have brown eyes.”
“I don’t disagree.” Lizzie leaned back as the server brought over their drinks. To everyone’s delight, she tapped the server on the butt. He jerked upright, nearly upending his loaded tray. When he saw the identity of the butt-touching culprit, his pissed-off expression morphed into a welcoming smirk.
“Can I help you?” he asked, leaning down so he could be heard over the pulsating music.
“You certainly can.” Lizzie propped her elbow on the table, swirling the tip of her finger around the rim of her empty margarita glass. The server’s gaze dipped to her finger, attached to her breasts, and then belatedly bounced back up to her face. Lizzie didn’t even flinch. The slow smile she bestowed on him was one for the record books. “What do you think of green eyes?”
His decidedly coff
ee-brown eyes hit on every woman on the table, intelligently taking note of each of them. He turned back to Lizzie. “Overrated,” he said simply.
“Hmmm,” Lizzie murmured, still tracing the mouth of the glass with her fingers. “And brown eyes?”
Again, the server scoped them all out. Jade gave him a pitying smile. Lizzie was on the prowl, and the kid didn’t even know he was about to be swallowed up by a professional.
“Pretty,” he said finally, “but not as pretty as blue eyes.”
“My life is now complete,” Tanya intoned sarcastically to Jade. She owlishly blinked her black-liner-rimmed blue eyes before cackling into her drink.
“What about fake tits?” Lizzie asked, a mischievous kick lifting her lips. “How do you feel about them?”
The server’s cheeks bloomed tomato red. “I, uh . . . ”
Bursting into laugher, Lizzie swatted his arm. “I’m just kidding.”
The server’s shoulders drooped with relief. “Oh, oh okay.”
“Just kidding!” Lizzie threw her chest out. “I got these bad girls a few weeks ago, but I’ve discovered I still have a lactating problem.”
This time the server didn’t even wait to hear what else might come out of Lizzie’s mouth. He turned on his heels and sprinted to the other side of the bar, crashing into one dancing couple as he went.
For a moment, the table remained silent.
“Lactating silicone boobs?” Shaelyn finally murmured. “That’s new.”
Tanya glanced down at her rather large chest and rearranged the girls. “Never had that problem myself,” she quipped. “Thank God.”
Ever the businesswoman, Anna appeared unfazed as she said, “I bet we have a bra at the boutique that could solve that issue for you.”
“Really?” Jade asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. “You’ve got a bra that could solve lactating breasts?”
Shaelyn sipped her wine. “It’s called a pump.”