The Closer You Come (The Original Heartbreakers, #1)(93)

A tremor of fear washed through her. What would happen if ever he lost his temper with her?

That day in the yard, he’d pushed her and come at her with his hands fisted.

He might not want to, might not mean to, but...

Fear held her in its jaws, razor-sharp teeth sinking deep into her heart.

“Are you sorry?” she asked.

“Every day since,” he said.

Was he really? Or was that his answer simply because it was the right one?

“You don’t look sorry,” she said. “You don’t look like you feel anything.”

“I feel. You know it.” He stared back at her—giving nothing away. “Are you afraid of me now?”

“Yes,” she snapped, because it was true. She understood why he’d erupted back then. His friend had been hurt in a horrible, cruel way. But he hadn’t stopped himself from going too far. In his own words, he couldn’t stop.

“I would never hurt you, Brook Lynn.”

“So easy to say,” she muttered.

Another flinch, as if she’d struck him. Yes, okay, he did feel. But was it enough to stop him from unleashing on her if ever his control snapped?

“Jase,” she said, hating herself—hating him. “I...I’m going to go. I need time to process this.”

He didn’t hesitate to give her a clipped nod, as if he’d expected the words. She waited, but he offered nothing more.

Disappointment coursed through her. Had she expected him to fight for her to stay after she’d just confessed to fearing his temper? It may have been wrong of her, but...yes. Part of her wished he would draw her into his arms, hold her tight and promise everything would be okay.

So confused!

“I...I’m sorry.” Turning, she fled the room, the house...and the man she’d never really known.

*

BROOK LYNN DIDN’T report to work the next day, or the next. Jase’s chest had stopped throbbing at least; it now hurt all the damn time. He wanted to shout “See! I knew this would happen.”

He’d once heard fearing something gave it entrance into your life, and actually brought it to pass, like a self-fulfilling prophecy, because it changed the way you thought and spoke and acted. This—Brook Lynn’s defection—had been his biggest fear.

And here I am. Without her.

By some miracle, during their talk he’d managed to return to the state he knew best—every emotion hidden behind armor—guarding himself against desperation, rage and even heartbreak. He’d managed to hold himself together all the minutes—seconds—since. He’d worked. He’d gone to another soccer game and cheered for the Strikers. He’d helped plan a few details for Tessa’s celebration.

Today, the armor had cracked and he’d begun to break down bit by bit.

He should have been prepared for this. How many people had he lost in his lifetime? He should be over it already.

Except he wasn’t.

Jase stood outside in his backyard. There was a full moon tonight. Locusts buzzed. Crickets sang. The combination was pleasant and should have soothed him, but he hated all of it. Brook Lynn wasn’t here to share it with him, and she never would be. One day she might even share it with someone else. Someone without a record.

He drained the beer in his hand then threw the empty bottle into the trash bin he’d carried out here. A six-pack waited on the porch table—his second of the evening.

“You want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Beck’s voice. Jase didn’t bother turning around as the back door slid shut and footsteps sounded. “No,” he said.

“How about the reason Brook Lynn stopped coming around making my dinner?”

“Nope.” He popped the cap of another beer, drained half the contents.

“Well, okay, then.” Beck grabbed a beer for himself.

“You aren’t going to push for answers?”

“No.”

“Why? Never mind. I know why.” Jase gave a harsh laugh. “I don’t know how many ways I can say it, but you guys really need to get over your guilt issue.” He drained the rest of the bottle, swayed on his feet. Had that been a sneer in his tone?

“I will always feel guilty for what we did,” Beck said quietly. “Or rather, what we didn’t do.”

“You shouldn’t.” Had the situation been reversed, had one of them taken the blame and told him to stay quiet, he would have done it, despite his feelings on the matter. Because that’s what they did for each other. Whatever the others asked.

He threw his bottle at a tree, the tinkle of broken glass filling the night. Brook Lynn had accused him of not feeling. Well, he felt. Despite his armor. He felt so much he suddenly choked on it. Bitterness, resentment. Hate. So much hate. Guilt of his own. Sorrow and remorse. Pain—oh, the pain, still there in his chest, growing worse with every second that passed. It was just better for everyone—including himself—if he didn’t allow himself to feel so strongly.

“She left me.” He pushed over the table. The remaining beers hit the ground, the tops blowing off. Liquid guzzled out. He was panting, fighting for every breath. “I told her about prison, and she cut and ran.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Beck cupped the back of his neck, applied pressure. “You and I both know just because something is going on one day doesn’t mean it will be going on the next. I’ve come to know that girl. I’ve seen the way she looks at you. Which makes something I’ve done especially stupid.”