Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense)(11)

I should be where the bouncing bride and groom can see me, so I stand near Laetitia but against the wall. I feel a little safer with something up against my back.

A voice whispers in my ear. “Hey, gorgeous.”

I jump and spin around, and find Jack towering over me, leaning against the wall. He touches his finger to his lips.

“Hi.”

“Go to hell,” I hiss, and turn away.

He moves closer. “There’s only one hell, Ellie. It’s one where I’m without you.”

“We’re done. This conversation is not going to happen. Don’t make a scene.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“I know why you won’t look.”

“I’m not going to forgive you.”

He leans down, his voice barely more than a breath in my ear as he stands behind me.

“You’re already thinking about it.”

When I look over my shoulder to shoo him away, he’s gone.





Jack





I slip away from Ellie. If she calls attention to me, I’ll be in deep shit.

I’ll play my father’s game for now, but I am not giving up on her. Even now I can’t take my eyes off her. She stands with the crowd but not part of it, her hood up, her hands hidden in her pocket, head down, shoulders hunched, like she’s trying to sink through the floor.

There is a gnawing feeling at my gut.

Give up, Jack. She means it. You have no right to torment her like this. Just let her be.

She’s not happy. I can see it. She’s miserable, by the looks of things. I feel her suffering along with my own, a dull ache in my chest.

Ellie woke up in the hospital with her f*cking face burned off and I wasn’t there for her. Of course, that’s not the real reason she’s mad at me.

It’s worse than that.

It wasn’t my fault. I can prove it, I’m going to prove it.

Commotion in the crowd snaps me out of my reverie. The bride and groom are leaving. My father is wearing jeans—there’s an event for you right there. The bride looks radiant even in casual clothes. Jessica beams, and breaks from her new husband’s arm to rush over and talk to Ellie and give her a big hug. Ellie hugs her back hard.

This must be hurting her. Jessica is probably the only person she has left in her life. Now she’s leaving. Well, temporarily.

I did some asking around. The bride and groom will be on their happy honeymoon for only a week. They’re heading to Philly International and from there to Florence. It’ll be a lovely trip, I’m sure.

That gives me a week to…

Jesus, Jack. Listen to yourself.

She’s suffered enough. I should just leave her alone. I’m ready to do that, but as the bride and groom head for the garage, Ellie looks right at me and our eyes meet. She flinches a little and looks away, and I swear I see her blush. The scars stay the same color but her right cheek turns bright pink.

I never take my eyes off her but I can see her fighting not to look at me. She gives me a wide berth as the crowd moves to the garage, where my father and my new stepmother slip into Dad’s Maserati. Somebody has taped a JUST MARRIED sign to the back window.

Dad beeps the horn, and they’re off.

I scan the crowd for Ellie but I can’t see her. A big hand lands on my shoulder and I turn to see Frank standing behind me.

“Surprised you aren’t going with them.”

He shrugs his shoulders. It’s like watching an earthquake. “Boss told me to keep an eye on you.”

“And…”

“Keep you away from her.”

I follow his gaze to see Ellie stepping into the backseat of a town car, her hood still up. The hotel bellmen are loading her bags into the trunk.

“I don’t envy you the job.”

“Me neither. You gotta stay away, though. That’s how it is.”

“I know.”

“I got a wife and kids, you know?”

“I know.”

“Time to go. Your father had the boys clear out an apartment for you.”

I sigh. “I’ll get my car.”

“Nah, you ride with me. Keys.”

I glare at him for a bit then fish my keys out of my pocket and drop them in his palm. He hands them off to another one of my father’s flunkies.

“Watch your ass,” I tell him.

Frank leads me down to the lower level of the garage and opens the back door of a lumbering black Tahoe. I ignore him, climb in the front seat, and kick it back. I need sleep.

Frank grunts when he gets in and starts it up.

“You go to work on Monday.”

“Let’s say I don’t. What happens?”

He gives me a flat look. “I get overtime.”

“Look,” I sigh, “I don’t want to give you any trouble, big guy.”

“Then don’t,” he says, a hint of something like reproach in his voice.

I keep quiet for the rest of the drive. Rain slashes the window, making the space inside the car even more claustrophobic. Droplets drum the roof, and I start drumming my leg in time with them. Frank turns on the radio to cut into the noise and doesn’t say a word.

My new apartment is in Rittenhouse Square. I don’t have much in the way of possessions, just what I brought with me in four bags. They’ve all been packed up and moved to the new place on the fourth floor of a loft on the Square. Well, at least I don’t have to pay for it. Dad charges his tenants in these swanky places a five-grand-a-month hipster tax.