by Lydia Rowan
Chapter Sixteen
The next morning, Verna looked over at Joe, trying to take in every nuance of him while she could, letting her gaze follow the ridges and planes of his sleeping face, then letting it trace the faint fine lines around his eyes and mouth that gave him just enough imperfection to make what could have been an alienating beauty nothing short of devastating. She wished she could touch him but didn’t want to risk waking him. It would be tough enough to get out of bed without rousing him from sleep, so she couldn’t press her luck.
Through some miracle or other divine intervention, she managed to get out of her bed and out of the room without him stirring. At least one thing had gone in her favor, and she hoped it was a sign of things to come. This morning would be difficult, and she’d need all the help she could get. After quickly showering and dressing in the guest bathroom—she still thought of it as Ethan’s bathroom even though her sweet little godson was long gone, off growing up with his parents in Geneva—she crept downstairs to wait.
The minutes passed with excruciating slowness, and with each that went by, the tension in her gut increased exponentially. She had no other choice; last night had proven as much but that didn’t make things easy. Before Joe had come over, and after they’d made love, she’d thought about everything that had transpired, and decided she should be grateful.
What he’d done had hurt; the thought of it and of the casual cruelty with which Joe had tossed away everything she’d allowed herself to believe was between them left a faint throb in her chest and had her eyes tearing. But still, as painful as it was, it was better to hurt now and spare herself in the long run. This thing with Joe, a drunken confession that had led to a no-strings sexual affair, had gotten out of hand. That his actions had the capacity to wound her so deeply showed her that she’d been burned by the fire with which she’d recklessly played. And she needed to put a stop to this immediately, before she got in so far that she wouldn’t make it out, at least not with her heart intact, assuming it even still was.
Not seeing him as much, not being able to touch him, would take some adjustment, but as much as his tenderness and affection, the easy, fun times they’d shared, might suggest otherwise, he hadn’t been hers to begin with, so she had no right to be upset that he hadn’t considered her feelings. And besides, Joe would want to move on soon enough anyway. Even absent what he’d done last night, she’d known it was only a matter of time before he’d want a better, more suitable woman to spend his time with, someone more attractive, less weird, less Verna.
As his friend—and she considered him that if nothing else—it was only right that she stop monopolizing him, let him be free to find whatever he was looking for. And so what if her heart twisted and her stomach squeezed into knots at the idea of him being with someone else? That was her problem, not his, and she wouldn’t visit her feelings upon him. If she were smart, she would have sent him home last night. But she was as dumb as she was selfish, and she hadn’t had the strength to send him away and had let herself give in to the need to be with him one last time.
Her gaze flew to the staircase where he was ambling down slowly, his legs, torso and finally his face revealed with each step. She’d perched on the couch opposite the staircase to wait for him, and when he reached the bottom, she stood. He stepped toward her but then, after looking her from head to toe and then back again, stopped, leaned against the foyer wall, and folded his arms across each other. The motion made his biceps bulge in a way that she’d salivated over for what felt like forever, but she wouldn’t allow herself to be distracted, not now. She needed to do this before she lost her nerve.
After a few moments, Joe hadn’t said a word and didn’t seem to feel any inclination to change that, so she launched into the speech she’d been preparing in her head most of last night and all of this morning.
“Joe…” She trailed off and then cleared her throat.
“Joe, I, uh, just want to say… Well, first, good morning,” she said, flashing him what had to be a stupid smile.
He said nothing, but she could see the tightness in his arms increase as he seemed to brace himself for what she might say.
“So, this has been great. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you and spending time with you, and I had fun…you know…with the sex stuff…”
He looked thunderous, so she sped up.
“But I think, I mean, it’s time to end that part of our relationship.”
Still, he said nothing, but his eyes practically burned with anger and she felt her own beginning to rise in response. This wasn’t easy, and he wasn’t making it any easier standing over there glaring at her like he was hurt and mad at the same time.
“I want us to be friends still, but we need boundaries. I’ve never wanted to be a burden, hold you back or embarrass you, and while I’ll forever appreciate and think fondly of the times we shared, that has to end now.”
Somewhere during her statement, her gaze had wandered off over his shoulder, but when she refocused on his face, the anger there was enough to make her look away again. She’d seen Joe mad before, used to get a great deal of twisted amusement out of watching his temper flare, but this was something else. He wasn’t the bear she was used to poking, one who swatted at her but was ultimately harmless. No, this was Warrior Joe, and her first real glimpse at what he probably looked like in battle. But that didn’t make sense; she was doing him a favor, so why was he going nuclear?
“What?” she said, her voice sounding exasperated.
He didn’t answer her question but instead responded with one of his own.
“So that’s it, huh? I do something fucked-up and idiotic, and instead of calling me on it, you’re throwing in the towel?”
“Joe, I—”
“Cut the shit, Verna. You’re just going to pretend that I didn’t do what I did last night, that you weren’t upset by it, that this epiphany that we need boundaries just so happened to occur to you separate and apart from me being an asshole?”
The mere mention of last night had the image—and the wretched feelings it induced—replaying in her brain, and she realized that while she may not have decided so consciously, that was exactly what she was planning to do.
“Why does it matter to you?” she asked, her voice much more needy and pleading than she wanted.
It seemed to soften him and he dropped his arms, tilting his hands out toward her.
“Verna, I care about you. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
His words were like knives in her soul, and she had to redirect the conversation before they cut too deeply.
“Of course you do, Joe. That’s why you’ve been so nice to me, because you’re a nice person. And like I said, I appreciate it; I really do. But I wouldn’t feel right if I continued to take advantage of your kindness.”
“‘Take advantage…’ Verna, don’t be silly. You know that—”
“Look, Joe.” She cut him off, unable to listen to him any longer while keeping her emotions in check. “I think we’ve said what needs to be said.”
She walked over to him, hand extended.
“Thank you,” she said.
He looked down at her proffered hand and then back up at her face, his expression far too close to anguish for her comfort.
“Please, don’t do this, Verna. I know I hurt you, but I will make it up to you. Just don’t quit on us.”
The sincerity in his eyes and in his voice had her resolve weakening, and she let herself think of what it would be like to just move forward, to pretend that nothing had happened. She wanted to, so very badly, but the memory of last night, of his blank expression, of how insignificant he’d made her feel, wouldn’t let her.
“Have a nice day,” she said, extending her hand again.
She looked away and jumped when his hand touched hers. He curved his fingers around hers, held her lightly, like he was afraid she might fall apart. And she would, later, when she was alone, but for now, she simply kept her gaze averted a
nd stood still and silent.
“I’m not giving up, Verna,” he finally said and then he left.
Chapter Seventeen
Thud. Thud.
The pound of fist against bag rang in Joe’s ears, the rhythmic sound almost hypnotic. He’d already gone for his daily run, but clearly hadn’t burned enough energy. He was still keyed up, and truth be told, he didn’t want to go home. He hadn’t run into Verna in the last week, and it had taken every scintilla of the discipline he’d nurtured over the years not to walk across that patch of lawn that separated their houses, bang on her door, and stay until they were back to normal. But he couldn’t; she was still angry or hurt or probably both. And he had no idea how to fix it.
“I never thought I’d see the day when somebody got the drop on Joe MacDermid,” Poole said.
Joe glanced up, noticing that the other man had indeed gotten within striking distance without Joe even noticing. He was way more fucked-up than he’d thought. That, or in addition to being a total asshole, he really had lost a step. Neither option appealed.
“I’m guessing you haven’t made things right with your lady friend,” he said.
“She’s not my ‘lady friend,’” Joe replied automatically, and then he cringed.
“Yeah, right. So that’s why you look like someone stole your truck.”
“Is this my psych eval?” Joe said, looking at the other man, whose expression gave away nothing.
“Does it need to be?” he asked in that infuriating shrink way.
“Fuck you, Poole.”
“First denial, now anger. Maybe you do need to schedule a session.”
“Dude…” Joe said, letting an edge bleed into his voice.
“What? Am I upsetting you? Maybe hurting your feelings?” Poole responded, standing a bit straighter.
“Fuck off, Poole. And don’t tell me you came to give me shit about what happened at Mason’s?”
“No, not intentionally, but when I saw you there I couldn’t resist. And you’ve earned anything you get,” he said nonchalantly.
Poole was right, and Joe knew it, but he couldn’t help but resent the other man’s intrusion. Still, it might be useful to talk to someone else about his predicament.
“Come on, let’s hit the track,” Matt said. “You can tell me about it while I get my PT.”
Joe nodded and they set off, the other man setting a fast pace, especially for Joe’s post-run legs, but one comfortable enough to talk. When he didn’t say anything, Joe figured he was waiting for him.
They made it about halfway around the track before Joe blurted, “I fucked up bad, man.”
Poole tossed a quick glance at him, but didn’t speak, so Joe continued.
“I didn’t mean to hurt her, and I certainly wasn’t thinking, but when I saw her standing there, I just froze.”
He looked over at Matt, but the guy’s face didn’t give any hint as to what he was thinking.
“Don’t look at me like that. I know I shouldn’t have done that, and I have no idea why I did.”
“Trying to impress the higher-ups?” Poole finally asked.
“Fuck no. Westmore’s a dick, and I couldn’t give two shits what that idiot thinks of me.”
“Then…” his friend said, letting his voice trail off.
“Maybe I’m just an asshole,” Joe said.
“Well, last week proved that much, but that doesn’t sound like a full explanation, at least not to me,” he said around a couple of deep breaths.
“So, what’s your professional opinion, then?” Joe asked.
“This isn’t a session, so I’ll keep my professional opinion to myself, but personally, if you’re interested”—he paused and Joe indicated he should continue—“you were being a pussy, and poor Verna got the short end of it.”
Joe should have been upset at the accusation, but he found himself remaining silent as Poole went on.
“You’re hanging out with the old crowd, getting to pretend like you’re still twenty—which you’re not—and Verna walks up, the living embodiment of the crossroads you’re at.” Poole looked over at him and then continued. “And if I had to guess, I’d also say she got a little too close, you figured out you liked her being a little too close but it also freaked you out at the same time, so you ice her out, pretend that she doesn’t exist so that she leaves. If I could use a little lingo, it’s what we call self-sabotaging behavior.”
Joe let the words rattle around in his mind, considering them. He wanted to reject them outright, but there was an uncomfortable ring of truth to what Poole said. It had seemed so simple. After their bumpy start, and even during it, he’d enjoyed Verna, found her a rejuvenating, if sometimes irritating, breath of fresh air. And then making love with her and later, seeing, piece by piece, those bits of her that she kept from everyone else, realizing that there was something special shared only between them…
Holy fuck.
He’d fallen in love with Verna, and before he’d even realized it, he’d pushed her away.
Poole slowed to a stop and Joe followed, body mostly on automatic pilot as his brain tried to reconcile what he’d just discovered.
“I didn’t even know you liked the girl, certainly didn’t think you were involved.”
Joe cut him a glare, and Matt raised his hands in placation.
“I don’t mean anything, but if I recall, the last time I saw the two of you in a room together, you were bickering about something or other. Didn’t seem like the beginnings of a love connection, at least not from the outside,” Poole said.
“It’s complicated.”
“Seems so,” he responded. “How do you plan to fix it?”
“I apologized, tried to talk to her…”
“Do you want to make it right?”
“Of course,” Joe said. And he said more forcefully this time, “Of course.”
“Well, then, try again,” Poole said.
And after a rough pat to Joe’s back, he ran off.
Chapter Eighteen
“So you haven’t made up with that neighbor of yours, I take it?” Blakely said out of the blue.
Verna had come over to do a final fitting on the jackets she’d ordered after she realized she loved the pants, and after springing that trap of a question, she now stared at Verna, her gaze piercing and probing. Blakely was tough, but Verna wasn’t even going to open that door, so she went with a tried and true defense: denial.
“What are you talking about? What neighbor?”
Blakely was utterly unconvinced, and Verna sighed and walked over to slump on her friend’s couch.
“Shit. Why didn’t you buy that?” she finally asked.
“‘What neighbor?’ was an oversell. You could have maybe pulled off pretending that you’re absolutely fine, but denying the man’s existence altogether? A step too far.”
“How did you even know about us? We never even went out.”
Blakely shrugged out of the jacket—Verna took a moment to be pleased at how perfect the fit and finish were—and sat down next to her.
“My God in heaven, you can’t be that clueless.”
Verna slid what she knew was a telling glance at her newfound friend and said, “I’m that fuckin’ clueless, Blake.”
“Well, I’m not. Every time I came over, he was watching your house like a hawk. I’m not into that sort of thing personally, and it had the potential to be all kinds of creepy, but it was actually kinda sweet.”
“What do you mean? If Joe was looking at my house, it was probably to make sure I wasn’t doing something foolish.”
“I disagree. He seemed genuinely concerned, like he cared.”
“He doesn’t,” Verna said.
“So then why couldn’t you two keep your eyes off each other at Mason’s?”
Verna’s mouth dropped with shock. “Of course we could. We weren’t even—”
“Yes, you were. It was almost sickening; him looking over at you, trying to be cool, you doing the same. I ha
d half a mind to just go over there.”
“Thank God you didn’t,” Verna said, her heart sinking further than it already had at the mention of that night.
“What is he to you?” Blakely asked, brows drawn tight.
“He could have been everything,” Verna said, the words slicing through her with a biting sting.
“And what are you to him?” she asked.
“Nothing. Well, I used to be a convenient hole to occasionally wet his dick in, but I’m not even that anymore.”
Blakely gave her a stern glare that had Verna flushing with shame.
“Don’t lower yourself like that. You’re more than that and this Joe fella seems to agree.”
“How’d you know his name?” Verna asked.
“You only mentioned him in every other sentence, Verna. ‘Joe did this,’ and ‘Can you believe Joe said that?’” Blakely said.
Realization swept through her, leaving her horrified. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it, but looking back, she knew Blakely was right. The tears sprang up hot and fast and before Verna could stop them, they spilled over. Blakely’s eyes went wide, and Verna saw fear in the other woman’s expression. That made her smile.
“Sorry,” she said, though the tears still flowed.
Blakely stared at her, still looking as if she wanted to find the nearest exit, even though this was her house. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t do tears, most emotions really, so I have to pretend I don’t see those.” She gestured at the tears freely flowing down Verna’s face. “But I’ll listen.”
“Deal,” Verna said, emotion making her voice waver.
“So…” Blakely looked at her expectantly.
“Long story short: we hated each other; then we hated each other less; he did something nice; we started fucking even though he was ashamed of me; we stopped fucking when I found out because I may be pathetic, but I’m not that pathetic, although I still miss him despite what he did.”
“Okay,” Blakely exhaled, “that’s a lot to unpack.” She squared her shoulders and leveled a no-nonsense look at Verna. “What did he do to make you think he’s ashamed of you?”