Jacked Up (Bowen Boys #4)(77)

“We agreed there was no future for this.”

“Walking away from each other is probably the smartest thing to do, but I don’t want to. I really, really don’t want to.”

“I do,” he said curtly.

O-kay.

There, her hand chopped off.

Her whole head, actually.

Something compelled her to keep talking. “Do you feel anything for me?”

His grim expression didn’t bode well. “Do you really want an answer to that?”

“Yes, I think I do.” She deserved more than a brushoff. She deserved the words. Or so she thought. As soon as he opened his mouth, she realized her mistake.

“Not enough.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Do you think I’m the sort of guy who would waste time lying?”

He had a point there.

“What do you want me to say?” he continued. “That I enjoyed f*cking you, but this is as far as I’m willing to go? Is that what you want to hear?”

He didn’t blink while delivering the blow. His voice didn’t waver, not even once. Not even a little.

“I see.” For once in her life, she was out of words. Her throat clogged. Poor Elle, moping like a kicked puppy because a man didn’t want anything to do with her. Fighting not to lose her composure, she smiled. “Well, there it is then. I think I’m going to go now.”

Holding the sheet in front of her and doing her damnedest to keep her smile in place, she gathered her clothes and moved to the bathroom to dress and piece together her shattered dignity. That’s what she got for sticking her neck out. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It didn’t work. Her dignity was beyond salvation. But losing it and storming out of there wouldn’t work. Jack would throw her over his shoulder and take her home. Talk about lost dignity. The spoiled rotten little girl throwing a tantrum because the grown-up hadn’t wanted to give in to her.

By the time she left the bathroom, Jack was dressed too.

The fifteen-minute drive to her house lasted an eternity, the silence frigging uncomfortable, weighing a ton. Although it didn’t seem to bother him in the least. It was business as usual for The Borg. At least he didn’t give her the it’s-not-you-it’s-me line.

The Bowens appeared at the front door when they pulled into the driveway, their chattering and fussing over her a welcome distraction from the tension in the car.

“You not coming in?” James asked as they walked to the porch.

He shook his head.

They noticed something was not right. Well, Tate did, because she pushed her husband and Cole inside and said, “We’ll give you some privacy.”

“No need,” Elle said, but they’d left, leaving Jack and Elle alone.

Elle’s gaze drifted away from him. She was fidgeting. “I guess this is good-bye. Thank you for all that you did for me. I really appreciate it.”

He nodded curtly. “I’ll send someone to pick up my things.”

“I’ll give them to James.”

Oh, look at them. How very polite. She felt like gagging. Or screaming at the top of her lungs. Shaking the living shit out of him and his imperturbable calm.

“Jack?” she called out. “Not giving us a chance is a mistake. I never thought I’d say this to you, but you’re a coward. And you are the one who can’t take me on.”

His gaze was forbidding. “Pet…”

“Don’t sweat it, I get it. Wrong pet,” she finished.

He didn’t deny it; he said nothing. After holding her gaze for a second, he turned around and left, never looking back.





Chapter Eighteen


“You f*cked up, bro,” Ronnie said. “Royally.”

“Watch it, kiddo.”

“I’m watching it,” she said, sprawled on the chair near him. “I have a great view of the roadkill.”

Come on, he’d never been the life of the party. He couldn’t be so much worse than usual. “Not forcing my company on anyone. You’re more than welcome to leave.” That was actually why he’d escaped Boston and gone to the cabin, to be left alone. No such luck.

“I saw you together,” Ronnie insisted. “You had something there.”

Jack flinched at those words. Elle had uttered them too. “Sure we did, a recipe for disaster,” he muttered after downing half his beer.

It had killed him to walk out on her, but he’d done it. And he would do it again, in a heartbeat, because it was the right thing to do. The reasonable thing to do.

The only thing to do.

What seemed unreasonable to him was why, after ten days, he was still having trouble swallowing it. He never wallowed over past decisions. He always moved on without as much as a backward glance. Not this time.

For one, because he hadn’t been ready for that conversation. He hadn’t expected Elle to bring up the subject so boldly. He would have thought she’d be ecstatic to get rid of him. Instead, she’d basically said she wanted to be with him. No one voluntarily, except for Ronnie, had ever wanted to spend time with him. And if he got real, Ronnie didn’t count, seeing as she was his little sister and was more or less forced to put up with him. He was too controlling, too unbending. Too grating. Too abrasive. And too set in his own ways to make any adjustments.