Loving Lies (8 page)

How could she have been so wrong? It didn't make sense, he was supposed to shower and come back with a change of clothes. They were going to eat dinner, then have dessert in her bed. They were going to… Nothing.

She felt the breath hitch in her throat, felt the tears that scalded her cheeks a second before a sob echoed in lonely misery around her. For five years she had waited on him, certain more awaited her than a single fool's weekend. Certain that even if the relationship didn't work out, she would at least have the chance to try. He was a hard man, his life had been hard, but she never believed he would take her to his bed, that he would tease and promise to wait for her, if he hadn't wanted more than a weekend.

She leaned her head against the leg of the table and she cried. She had no intention of holding it back, or “bucking up” as her father called it when one of his children cried. He had never been able to handle the tears. But he wasn't here now. He was gone, and the misery inside her soul was ripping her apart. It was cry or die, and she would be damned if she would die for Slade.

She loved him. It wasn't a death sentence, she was young, and she would get over it. Right?

“Oh God.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach, leaning forward with the convulsive shudder of agony that shook her from her soul outward as she heard the motorcycle start up, heard it scream from the parking lot. “I love you, Slade,” she whispered, knowing that all the love in the world could never hold what wasn't hers. “I love you.” And it didn't matter, not really, because she wasn't mature enough, wasn't slick enough to fit in his world. The only difference was he had realized it before it was too late, where she had continued to hope. And to dream.

Chapter Seven

 

The world didn't end with a broken heart. There were still classes to attend, a job to hold down, and Jessie did both on autopilot. The only difference was that she immersed herself now in both school and her job, working herself to exhaustion, praying that the night would come when she would fall asleep and she wouldn't dream of Slade.

She stayed away from the parties and the forested clearing where they were held, avoiding it with a desperation that clawed at her as each weekend rolled around. Was Slade there? Of course he was, he was a steady there, rain or shine, and there was no way she could face him, no way she could face the pity if anyone ever learned how easily, how casually he had dropped her. How deeply he had hurt her.

Even now, three weeks later, the open wound that had once been her heart, ached continually. She dreamed of him, of loving him, of hearing him whisper his love for her, of his arms surrounding her, protecting her. She awoke to a cold, lonely bed and the tears. There were enough tears to drown her.

She pulled into the parking lot of her apartment complex. She breathed out tiredly as she glimpsed the two Harleys parked beside her spot and the men resting casually on them. Jazz and Zack were good friends but it was after midnight, the shift she had pulled at the local Wal-Mart had been a hard one. She wasn't in the mood for chitchat.

She had a feeling though they were after more than chitchat.

She pulled the car into its slot, staring at the two men through the window as she shut the engine off, grabbed her purse and opened the door. They straightened from their bikes, lean, muscular bodies and eagle-eyed expressions tense and waiting.

“Hey, Jazz. Zack.” She threw the strap of her purse over her shoulder as she locked her car and headed for her apartment. “What are you two up to this late?”

She pasted a cheerful smile on her face as she pushed the key into her door and glanced back at them. She restrained her sigh as she saw they had all intention of going in with her.

“Checking on you, little girl,” Jazz grunted as they followed her into the apartment, closing the door and waiting as she disengaged the alarm.

“Checking up on me?” She threw her purse to the chair beside her before striding into the small kitchen. “Want a beer?”

“Yes to both questions,” Zack answered as they stood in the middle of her living-room floor, waiting.

Hell, she just didn't need this. Not right now. Not until she managed to patch the open wounds inside her.

She carried three long-necks into the living room, passing each of them a cold bottle before moving past them and settling back in the large, comfortable chair that sat several feet from the front door.

The room wasn't large. It held a comfortable couch, chair, coffee table and the entertainment center that housed her small TV. But the rent was cheap and the location close to school and work.

Jazz pulled a chair from the small dining-room table, setting it across from her as he straddled it and stared at her with midnight-blue eyes. Zack sat back on the couch, one foot propped on his knee as they both watched her silently.

She hated it when these two went silent and just watched. It usually meant they were seeing much more than anyone wanted them to know.

“I'm not ready.” She knew what they were after, there was no sense in playing games, but she had learned she wasn't nearly as adept at reading men as she once thought she was. “Just go away for now.”

She lifted the beer, taking a long, slow drink, needing the false courage she gained from it.

Jazz glanced at his partner before staring back at her. Neither said anything as her stomach began to cramp with tension and her throat thickened with tears that were only shed in the darkness of night when she awakened in her cold, lonely bed.

“Get your bathing suit.” Zack's voice brooked no refusal. “You don't have school tomorrow and you're off for the weekend—”

“Wrong.” She flashed him an enraged look. She would not be forced into something she couldn't face. “I signed up for weekend classes and I had my work schedule changed—”

“And I called your fucking boss an hour ago, right after you got off work. Get changed, dammit, you're coming to the clearing if I have to carry you there.”

“Why?” She slammed the bottle to the table, furious. “And who gave you leave to fuck with my schedule or my life, Zack? You're not my father or my fucking husband, so get off.”

He rose to his feet.

“I don't have a problem carrying you in, girl.” He smirked. “You're not going to hide like this. Everyone will figure out why—hell, they're already wondering. You're getting your butt out there and you're going to party and laugh. You and Slade both missing on the weekends is causing tongues to wag.”

Her breath stopped at his name. She forced herself to breathe again, to work past the agony clenching her heart.

“What does he have to do with anything?”

“Don't play games with me, Jessie,” he snarled. “He's a big boy, he wants to fuck his life up, I'm all for it. But I'll be damned if you're going to let wagging tongues hurt you. Now get that goddamned suit and let's go.”

“I don't have one.”

“Sure you do.” Zack picked up the small bag he had carried in with him. “Here it is. We don't want excuses, you're tougher than this, Jessie—”

“Don't tell me to buck up,” she snapped, pushing her fingers through her hair as she paced across the room, unable to stare them in the eye, to see the knowledge there. “I can't do it. I'm not ready.”

“I don't give a damn what you think you're ready for,” Jazz growled. “Get dressed and let's go.”

She shook her head, tears filling her eyes. “I can't face him.”

“If he's there, you won't have a choice,” he snarled. “He hasn't been in three weeks, and talk is starting. I won't have you on the tip of wagging tongues, Jessie. Not like this.”

She wrapped her arms around her chest, swallowing convulsively.

“It will kill me to see him…”

“It will hurt. It will rip your heart apart, but you'll smile and laugh and pretend he doesn't exist, or so help me I'm going to end up beating the hell out of him for it. So it's your choice, play the game or he'll go home from the office Monday bruised and bleeding from one end to the other.”

She swung around in shock.

“Why?” she questioned, furious, hurting. They were Slade's friends. It didn't make sense that they would turn on him over her.

“Because he knew better.” Jazz finished his beer, taking the bag from Zack before handing it to her. “You didn't. Now get it on and pull on some jeans and a shirt. You'll ride in with one of us, and one of us will take you home. But you are going. And you will have a good time if it kills you.”

 

 

 

And it was going to kill her. The next night, exhausted, with too many beers speeding through her system, Jessie laughed and joked and partied the night away, feeling the sting of Slade's eyes on her, the pain lancing inside her.

He had pulled in hours before, securing his RV to its spot against the riverbank beside Jazz's. The bonfire was glowing on the bank, music pulsed and pounded in the air as laughter and drunken revelry filled the clearing. There had to be nearly forty people spread out along the wide clearing that led to the bank of the river.

Fourth of July weekend, she had forgotten it was even a holiday weekend. She stood beneath the awning of Ron's RV, sipping at another beer, watching the antics of the men and women shedding the week's tension and enjoying the night to its fullest. Jessie just wanted to go home. She could feel Slade watching her, no matter where she moved, his brooding gaze biting through her control as she danced too much and fought to stay one step ahead of the groping hands.

“Hey, pretty girl, when do you intend to dance with me?” Raw-boned, broad as a Mack truck and as dark as Slade was blond, Jazz moved up to the sheltered RV, watching her with quiet blue eyes despite his smile and booming voice.

His gaze flickered up the line of RVs and vehicles, stopping at Slade's before his gaze came back to her.

Jessie leaned against the side of the RV, smiling back at him as she shook her head in exasperation. “Who's going to hold the other up?” She laughed as he weaved a little drunkenly. She knew she would be no steadier on her feet than he was on his. But he had kept his promise, he hadn't hit Slade, he hadn't even acted as though he were pissed at the other man.

“We can prop each other up.” He spread his arms wide. “Come on, one dance then I can find my bed and sleep like the angel I am.”

She snorted at that, though she stepped carefully from beneath the dubious protection of her shelter. She was trembling at the thought of dancing, of having another man touch her, hold her. The music was slow and dreamy now, romantic, enfolding the night with a hint of passion and seductiveness.

As his arms went around her waist, she shuddered.

“Hold on, sweetie,” he growled in her ear. “If you don't dance, everyone will know you're hurting. Me, Zack and Capt'n Ron are the only ones in the know right now, let's keep it that way.”

He wasn't nearly as drunk as he pretended to be.

Jessie lowered her head, letting him lead her as they swayed to the music, swallowing the unbearable need for another man's arms.

“He'll drink his limit and run and hide soon,” he soothed her as she shuddered again. “Just dance here with me a bit, then I'll take you to my little home away from home and let you hide there for the night. I think you've been brave enough, little soldier.”

Gentleness filled his rough voice as her breath hitched and she cushioned her forehead against his shoulder.

“Tell me how to make it stop, Jazz,” she whispered, weak, fighting every instinct inside her that screamed out to her to go to him, to scream in rage that he had thrown her away so carelessly.

“Takes time.” He laid his head against the top of hers. “Just close your eyes, pretend he's holding you—I won't care a bit—and save face. Then you can go lick your wounds so you'll be able to do it again tomorrow. You're doing great. No one knows you're breaking inside.”

His voice was at her ear, a soothing baritone that eased the shudders racing over her.

“Why does he keep watching me?” She could feel him, even now. “He won't stop.”

“Because he's a dumb bastard.” His hands were petting up and down her back. It would appear a caress, when it was actually a soothing gesture to ease the pain inside her.

Jazz, like Zack, was one of the good guys. Hard-working, without the dark, rough edges Slade possessed.

“We're almost done,” he breathed against her ear. “One more little song and we can stumble to the RV and pretend to expend our passion. Damn, you know, if I hadn't seen you in diapers way back when, I might have been able to take advantage of it.”

She laughed. Yes, he had seen her in diapers. Once. The fool.

“You're crazy, Jazz.” She settled against his chest. It wasn't Slade, but Jazz only wanted a dance, not her soul.

“Yeah, I'm just a grinnin' fool,” he assured her as the song ended. “Here we go now.”

He pulled back from her, his arm looping over her shoulder as he led her to his RV. If she didn't know him better, she would have never stepped foot on the pervert wagon, as it had been nicknamed.

She kept her head down, grateful for the escape as they entered the darkened interior.

“Go on back, I'll sit right here and watch the damned fools out there. Someone is going to catch the hills on fire before it's over with.” He pointed to the back of the RV and the bed there. “You go sleep, sweet pea. I'll stand guard.”

She was too tired, too drunk and too confused to argue. She moved through the camper, entered the narrow door and crawled into the large bed there. The night was hot, but she pulled the light quilt over her, her body chilled as she fought the shudders racing through her.

“I love you, Slade,” she whispered, as she had every night for the past three weeks. “Goodnight.” He wasn't with her, but the words allowed her to close her eyes and let the alcohol take over as she drifted into sleep.