Watch Me Fall (Ross Siblings, #5)(63)
“I think you’re still convinced you have to punish yourself, though. And I think that’s bullshit. You’re perfect the way you are.”
He hadn’t expected to utter those words, and given her silence, she hadn’t expected to hear them. His knuckles tightened on the steering wheel as her scent floated over to tease at his senses, reminding him of having her thighs over his shoulders only a few nights ago. It felt like years. And now that his tongue had started wagging, he couldn’t seem to stop it. “You have a lot of love to give someone, Starla. That’s really a rare thing in the world.”
Glancing over at her, he saw her blink several times in the dim glow from the dashboard lights. “I have a lot to give, but no one has ever wanted it.”
“Maybe you only try to give it to people who don’t deserve it.”
“I’ve never tried to give love to anyone. I’ve never loved anyone, at least not in the sense that we were together and they loved me back.”
At the very least, Macy had loved him once. He truly believed she had. Over the years, she’d lost it, or she’d outgrown it, or whatever the hell had happened. He could fall facedown in a rut torturing himself for days trying to figure out where he went wrong. But then he would look at his beautiful daughters and tell himself that everything happens for a reason. Now these lovely little souls were here to bring light into his life, and oh, how they did.
He hadn’t been able to see them today. He didn’t know if he’d be able to see them tomorrow either. Max had taken something away from him too. Any hang-ups he had about teaming up with Ghost would have to take a backseat to their mutual need to deal with a common threat.
When he and Starla had left the house earlier, he’d armed the rarely used security system and left on most of the lights. Still, he did an utterly paranoid sweep through the bedrooms and closets while Starla rummaged through his cabinets searching for anything she could make into a meal. Within half an hour, she’d turned some leftover chicken, a pack of tortillas, a couple of cans of cream of chicken soup and cheese and some other stuff he had no idea he had into a Mexican casserole. Neither of them had realized how hungry they were until half of it was gone.
Jared sat back with a groan and resisted the urge to loosen his belt. “Damn. If you stay for very long, I’m going to gain fifty pounds.”
She chuckled and dragged her fork through the remainder of her portion. “I don’t mind a man with meat on his bones.”
Good to know. Speaking of which, he wondered what he and Ghost would be faced with if they located Max. Scrawny? Beefy? Gargantuan? Ghost knew him, so Jared could find out from him, but curiosity got the better of him. “Brian’s no lightweight. Is Max a big guy, to get the better of him?”
A sneer crossed her face. She’d put her hair up again when she started cooking, but soft tendrils had floated down around her face. Clean of makeup, her skin was naturally without blemish, her lips a gentle pink even without a touch of gloss. “Max got the better of Brian with a knife. Fucker didn’t fight fair. Otherwise Brian would mop the floor with him.”
Of course she thought that. “Yeah, I know. I just wondered if he was particularly strong or just sneaky.”
“He’s a wormy little shit,” she practically spat.
“Wormy little shit. Got it.” Obviously, he wasn’t going to get any useful answers out of her. Which he could understand, given the circumstances. But after a few seconds of sullen silence, she spoke again.
“I guess he’s about average, I don’t know. He’s not as big as he likes to act.”
“That’s a fairly common problem.”
“Common my ass. It’s an epidemic.”
Chapter Nineteen
Something woke her.
Starla didn’t know what it was, but her eyes flew open wide at 3:51—she knew because she was facing the digital bedside clock—and she was wide awake, heart pounding, listening for what might have interrupted her hard-won sleep. Her phone? News about Brian? No, the device lay beside her dark and silent, and checking it revealed no new messages or calls. No news was good news.
The silence and darkness of Jared’s house pressed in all around, suffocating her. It was her third night to sleep in this bed, but she still felt like an intruder.
She sat up and pushed her hair back from her face. Her palms came away damp from the sweat broken out on her brow. It had probably been her own heartbeat shaking her awake—her dreams hadn’t been pleasant. Brian’s face kept floating through her mind, one minute laughing and happy and carefree, the next pale and lifeless. Then would come Candace’s, grim and accusing, even though Candace had never looked at her like that since Starla had known her. She would if she learned the truth…that is, if she ever looked at Starla again at all.
As the minutes ticked by, it became apparent returning to sleep was nowhere in her immediate future. She kicked off the covers and found her way to her bedroom door by the dim security lights filtering through the filmy curtains. Every little sound, every creak, even her own footsteps on the carpeted floor sounded horribly magnified. Hell, a pin drop could have awakened her; she wasn’t used to sleeping in such absolute silence and darkness. There was usually a TV on somewhere in her house, if not in her own bedroom, to keep her company.
Aside from the claustrophobic stillness, the house felt empty. It gave her the creeps, and while she knew it was irrational, she actually put her hand on Jared’s closed door and pushed it open just to make sure he was there. Sure enough, she could make out his sleeping form under the comforter. Of course he was there. Where else would he be?