Broken Wings (A Romantic Suspense)(19)

“I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore after what happened. I was afraid you’d think it was my fault.”

“You certainly acted guilty. If it wasn’t your fault you wouldn’t hide.”

The anger fades from his face and he sighs. “I wanted you to contact me, Ellie. I was waiting for a phone call or a text or even a f*cking letter. I’d have left right then and my father be damned, but nothing.”

“Very brave to tell me what you would have done, Jack. You knew where I was. All you had to do was come, and you didn’t. You show up now, ten years later. What’s the matter, can’t get any action on Tinder?”

“Ellie, I have feelings for you.”

I snort. “That’s cute, Jack. Here I am, the poor crippled girl with the f*cked-up face. I guess I should just be so happy that handsome, dashing Jack has reappeared in my life. Should I swoon now, or do you want to get in position to catch me first?”

“I’m sorry—”

“You’re sorry. You’re sorry. I got my face burned off and my f*cking father is dead, and what happened to you? A broken leg and boarding school? Cry me a river, Jack.”

His shoulders slump. “If I could change places with you, I would.”

My breath catches. Something in my stomach flutters, like it’s waking up. I almost believe him.

“You have every reason to be upset with me. I know that. I was hoping…”

“What, that just the sight of you would heal my wounds and I’d jump into bed with you?”

“I was hoping you’d give me a chance. Everything since I left here has been shadow, and you’re the only light.”

“Very poetic. You read that somewhere?”

“I did practice it for a while.”

“Why should I? Why should I trust you ever again?”

He scrubs his fingers through his hair and sighs.

“Just give me a chance.”

“No.”

“Ellie, come on!”

“Is that your whole pitch? Come on?”

“Why are you fighting me? I know you feel something. I can see it in your eyes.”

I stare at him.

“Eye.”

My lips pull back from my teeth and my scars twinge painfully. I rise to my feet and Jack jolts to his, knocking his chair back. He rounds the table and before he reaches me, I slap him. Hard. The impact shocks up my arm, and my hand stings.

He barely flinches. I start to slap him again, backhanded, and his head turns a little, a red welt rising on his cheek. He just looks at me.

“Go ahead. Take it out on me if that’s what you need. Shit, maybe I deserve it.”

Fitzgerald bursts into the room and I almost shout at him to get Jack out of here, to throw him out of the house, but I motion him away instead. He steps back, just outside the door.

I try to rub my aching hand, but my other hand is a useless claw.

“Did that hurt?” he says, taking my hand in both of his. “Hitting me?”

“Yeah.”

He rubs my fingers between his. “Sorry. Make a fist next time, it’ll hurt me more and you less.”

I turn my face away from him.

Jack touches my scarred cheek and turns me back, so I face him.

“You don’t have to hide your face from me.”

“I don’t? I don’t? Look at me, Jack. I look like the monster in a shitty cable movie.”

“Says who?”

He plucks at one of the straps that holds my eye patch in place.

“We should make this a fashion statement.”

I shove him back feebly with one hand and step away.

“Don’t you dare make fun of me.”

“I’m not, I mean it.”

“Jack,” I sigh.

“Ellie.”

“What?”

“When you say my name I’m supposed to say yours. That’s what happens in movies.”

“This isn’t a movie, Jack. This is real life. You don’t want to deal with me. Go find somebody else.”

“I don’t want anybody else, I want you.”

I round on him. “Do you? Do you? How long can you keep it up, Jack?” I point at my face. “If this doesn’t turn your stomach, maybe this will.”

I yank the glove off my left hand and hold it up. Jack winces but immediately takes my wrist in his hand, pressing his fingertips into my skin. He leans in and touches the tip of my smallest finger, the most gnarled and burnt, to his lip.

I blink a few times.

“I can’t feel that. No nerve endings.”

“Oh, so I should kiss you where you can feel it?”

I suck in a breath as my stomach does a back flip. He can see the look on my face, damn him. For the first time I can ever remember, I turn away from someone to my right. I should laugh. I’m hiding behind my scars.

Jack’s hand rests against my cheek and he turns my head. His thumb caresses lightly along my cheekbone.

“You can feel that, right?”

“Yes.”

I can feel it. It tickles, and his palm is warm. I lean into his hand, rubbing my skin against his. It’s been so long since I felt someone else’s skin on mine. I think I’ve been touched by doctors more than by family or friends.