Jacked Up (Bowen Boys #4)(64)

She didn’t like where this was heading, not at all. “What the hell are you talking about? I do stuff, true, like most people with a minimum of a social life, present hermits notwithstanding. I’m not burying anything.”

“Sure, that’s why you look like you’re on crack all day long, rushing from one place to another. Why you can’t sit still. You need to stop running and face reality,” he stated.

“That’s what I was doing until you waltzed into my life and f*cking kidnapped me,” she yelled, trying to wrench away. He didn’t even move a quarter of an inch.

“Bullshit. You might not physically run out of Boston, showing up every day at Rosita’s and being there for your sister, but you’re going through the motions, spacing out nonstop. Your body is present; your head and heart aren’t. You’re always occupying yourself with something not to think or feel.”

She swallowed down the intense need to cry. It infuriated that he could see through her so easily. The first year after her dad and brother had died, she’d run. Disappeared for weeks at a time. Traveled to Florida with her mom and spaced out however she could. Then she’d come back to Boston and manned up. Buried all that shit and had gotten on with her life. With Rosita’s. With whatever was needed. What else could she do? If she let down the walls she’d erected and allowed herself to feel, she’d get swept away by the flood and might never resurface again.

Then his tone softened. “You have to mourn your dad and your brother, pet. This isn’t the way to do it.”

“Let me go. I don’t want to talk about this.” She had better things to do than lying there, visiting memory lane.

“Tough shit. You aren’t going anywhere.”

“And I don’t cry. It’s useless. Pointless. It takes too long to put yourself together. Much longer than it takes to fall apart. I can’t afford the time or the luxury. I’m too busy.”

He snorted, not a speck of humor in his voice. “‘Life is short. Break the rules. Forgive quickly. Love slowly’. You surround yourself with all those inspirational quotes but you do the opposite. You kiss fast, never forgive yourself, and never let yourself forget.”

“Life is short, so I live fast,” she retorted. “And I do break the rules.”

“You don’t live at all, pet. You exist. And you hide. You pretend to be careless and free, when in reality you’re chained down. Trapped. And you are your own jailer. What are you avoiding thinking about? What, too tough for the fragile little princess to face reality?”

“You know nothing about me,” she said, gritting her teeth, which, by the way he was able to press all her buttons, was a big fat lie.

“Why do you stay at your parents’ house?” he insisted. “Answer me.”

“It’s my penance,” she yelled, tears finally escaping. “You happy now? It’s my penance for killing them! I’m not allowed to forget it.” Not even for a second.

This was the first time she’d said those words out loud and no matter how hard she tried not to break down, she couldn’t control the waterfall.

Jack didn’t even flinch. “You didn’t kill your father and brother. A drunk driver did. I read the police report.”

“They were there because of me. It was my night to close, but I was too busy partying. My car was in the shop, so I took Dad’s and Jonah drove him home. They were not supposed to be anywhere near that intersection. If it wasn’t for me, Dad would have been home, and Jonah would have been upstairs cuddled with Emma, his fiancée, pregnant with their unborn baby. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, I couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone when Tate and Mom called. Too busy having fun and drinking and whatever the f*ck I was doing to rush to the hospital to say good-bye to my dying brother.” By the time she did answer, it was too late. “So now I live in the house as a constant reminder and do everything that Jonah used to do.” It was the least she could do to right her wrongs. Not that she was doing enough. There would never be enough.

“So that’s why Aston Biggs—”

“That * took something from Cecilia that she can never have back. He stole her last words to her son. He deserves all the shit I’m dishing on him. All my wrath.”

“But that wrath is ultimately directed to yourself, not to him.”

As it should be. She couldn’t even blame somebody else for not making it to the hospital on time. It had been her. All her.

She wiped her eyes furiously. “Then I took off and dumped everything on Tate, who almost died while I was partying in San Francisco and Florida, avoiding setting foot in Rosita’s.” Because being guilty of her dad’s and older brother’s deaths wasn’t bad enough to begin with.

The grandmas at Eternal Sun were wrong. She wasn’t golden; she was a fake.

“You did the best you could at the moment. You had to run to survive, but you’re stronger now. You don’t have to. You can deal with their deaths.”

“I’m not so sure,” she whispered. It hurt so badly every time she thought about that night. She hated being alone with her mind. Couldn’t stand it, actually.

“Give it time.”

Right. “Time doesn’t heal a damn thing.”

“Yes, it does,” he insisted. “You’re better. You’re not running anymore.”