P s i hate you, p.21
P.S. I Hate You, page 21
“But you tortured me.”
“I tortured myself. You were the collateral damage. You deserve so much better than me.”
The pain wavering through those baby blues is too much to bear. Jace Wilder was born to be king, but beneath the brawn and might is a broken boy who chose fear over love. He’s fighting a war with no one but himself, and all the while, his heart has been crying.
Ten hours ago, I was out the door. I was ready to pack my things and put him behind me. Maybe I’m crazy for wanting to stay. After everything he’s done, all the awful things he’s put me through, I can’t stop thinking about him.
A violent rap on the front door echoes through the house. I spring up and turn toward the sound, my heart in my throat as Jace rolls over, then pushes to his feet. Flashing lights beam through the small garage windows, flooding the room in red and blue. “What’s happening?”
Jace rolls his eyes. “Took them longer than I thought it would.”
He saunters to the front door and wrenches it open. Two uniformed officers stand on the porch. “Jace Wilder?”
“Yup.”
“You’re under arrest for the assault of Troy McNamara. You’ll have to come with us.”
Jace lazily turns around and crosses his wrists behind his back. My stomach bottoms out at the clink of the cuffs. A yell catches in my throat. The horror of Jace being lowered into the back of a squad car has me frozen to the spot. I stand helpless as the last sight of lights stops shining through the trees.
“Shit!” Adrenaline courses through me. I look around, my mind racing as I wonder what to do. Cindy. I run back to Jace’s room to find his keys, then dart out into the night. The neon sign comes up ahead, The Great Notch bustling with activity.
The hem of Jace’s tee smacks my bare thighs as I hop from the truck and run inside. Classic country croons from the jukebox in the corner. I step around the hunchback locals cowering over their drinks and slip into a small opening beside the bar. A whistle catches my ear, but I ignore it. I wave as Cindy looks up.
With pinched brows, she ambles down to the edge, throwing her snake-like braid off her shoulder. “What’re you doin’ in here, sugar? Everythin’ alright?”
Tears spill down my cheeks as I shake my head. “Jace was arrested.”
Her expression falls. “Arrested? What for?”
“For defending me.”
She leans back and yells through an open doorway, “Rick! Take over!”, then ducks under the bar. Leering eyes bore into my skin as I follow her out. The heavy door closes with a thud, leaving them all on the other side. “Now tell me what happened.”
The entire story rushes from my mouth. Troy, the party, Jace’s stupid act of valor … it all spills onto Cindy as the blood drains from her face. She runs her hand through her messy hair and spins in a single, tight circle. “Okay, first things first. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Alright. I’m gonna head to the station. You go home and wait for me, alright?”
“I’m coming with you.”
She side-eyes me with a humorless laugh. “That’s the last thing we need right now.”
Her words bruise my heart. “What do you mean?”
“The McNamaras are rich, and they’re mean. You goin’ in there shoutin’ rape accusations against their boy will only make things worse.”
My blood runs cold. “So he’s just supposed to get away with it?”
She puts warm hands on either side of my face. “It’ll all come out in the wash, I promise you. But for now, I gotta bring Jace home.”
***
The noxious stink of bleach burns my eyes. I scour the grout with the scrubby side of my sponge, then flip it over to wipe away the remains. It’s been an hour since Cindy left for the station, and I’m stewing with so much nervous energy, I can’t sit still. I started in the kitchen, and when every cupboard was cleansed and each appliance gleaming, I moved on to the bathroom.
What the hell is taking so long?
The back door quietly creaks, and footsteps shuffle in. I scramble to my feet and peer around the corner as Jace scuffs across the freshly mopped floor to grab a beer. He and Cindy don’t say a word, and they don't have to. The tension hangs heavy in the space, blending with the residual fumes of Easy-Off still poisoning the air.
She stops short in the middle of the room, her head rotating like an owl. “Um … El?”
“Yeah?” I step out from the shadows, sponge in hand.
“Whatcha doin’?”
Flush creeps across my face. “Rage cleaning?” I shrug. “How’d it go?”
“Fuckin’ bullshit,” Jace grumbles, turning his back to both of us. Two seconds later, his bedroom door slams, and I jolt like a scared Chihuahua.
“About that good,” Cindy replies. She sinks into a chair and toes off her shoes. “But we’re home now. You can retire your scouring gloves to greener pastures.”
I giggle, although nothing about this whole scenario is funny. “I should go talk to him.”
She winces. “I wouldn’t.”
I pull a heavy breath through my nose and blow it out my mouth. Giving him space is obviously the smart choice, but I can’t do it. I’m the reason he went to Troy’s, and I’m the reason he ended up in jail. I can’t just sit back and watch it all unfold without trying to make it right.
“Jace?” I tap on his door with my knuckle. “Can I come in?”
“You gonna barge in anyway if I say no?”
“Probably.”
“May as well come in then.”
The bulb from his remaining lamp casts a spotlight on his bare chest as he lounges back against his pillows. I slide onto his bed with one bended knee, my opposite foot flat on the floor. “Was it awful?”
His throat moves as he takes a long sip from the bottle. “Ain’t my first time in lockup.”
My lower half clenches. Jesus H Christ, when did I become such a stereotype? The good girl lusting over a bad boy for the simple sake of being bad. “What happens now?”
With a kick, he catapults himself off the mattress. He guzzles down the last of his beer, then hurls the bottle against the wall. Brown shards erupt on contact, glittering glass dappling the floor.
A sharp breath hits my lungs. I sit in silence as he stalks back and forth like a caged animal, fury twisting his features into something vicious.
“They said they’d drop the charges ...”
The burden on my shoulders lifts. “But that’s great news! It’s over, right?”
He stops his maniacal pacing and stares daggers at my heart. “If I fight him and lose.”
My mouth goes dry. “What do you mean lose?”
He rolls his eyes, sinking his fingers into his hair. It spikes through his fists in raven spurs. “Friday Night Fight at the club, I’m expected to throw the match and hand that fucker my title.”
My jaw drops. “They want you to lose on purpose?”
“Well, he can’t beat me on his own merit,” he snaps, his eyes narrowed to darkened slits. “Skinny punk ain’t even in my weight class.”
“And if you don’t agree?”
“An assault charge on my permanent record? Possible jail time? My mother can kiss half her income goodbye, that’s for dang sure.”
“But they can’t do that.” The pitch of my voice is a borderline shriek. “Tell them what happened! Tell them you were defending me! You can’t just sit back and let him blackmail you.”
“You have no fuckin’ idea how the world works, do you? You’ve always been lucky enough to be on the other side.”
My stomach tightens. My eyes begin to water, but I blink my tears back. “Don’t do that. Don’t drive a wedge between us with this your side my side bullshit. We’re on the same side, Jace.”
He spins around and drops to the edge of the bed. I crawl up from behind and lay my hands on his thick shoulders. “So you throw the fight. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“Besides everybody thinkin’ that Pretty Boy beat me? I could lose my place at the club. Jimbo keeps me on ’cause I’m a winner. I bring in a line at the door. Everything I worked for, gone in a flash.”
I lay my cheek on his back. “You’ll still have me.”
I meant it as a joke. A cutesy quip to lighten the mood, but he sweeps his arm behind him and gathers me onto his lap, his blue gaze hard as sapphire. “You’re no one’s consolation prize.” He thumbs the purple bruise coloring my cheek. “I don’t regret a fuckin’ thing, but now I gotta pay the penance. I’ll fight that rapist fuck next week, and I’ll lose.”
Chapter twenty-two
Fire swims in my veins. I cut last period gym and raced over to Red Drum High School as fast as I could. Now, sitting on the trunk of Troy’s Porsche, I stare up at the sign reading into the irony for the first time.
Red Drum spelled backward is murder with two d’s. Which is exactly what I’m going to do to Troy if he doesn’t stop blackmailing Jace.
The school bell shrieks. People begin pouring from the doors and scattering across the quad. I shield my eyes from the sun, my gaze roving over every face until I find the one I came to see.
“Get off my car,” he snaps, weaving between the others in the lot.
I slide off his precious Porsche and rest my butt against the quarter panel. “I wanna talk to you.”
“What about?”
His feigned innocence makes my blood boil. His eyes on the yellowing blemish staining my face. There isn’t enough concealer to hide a shiner like this. But that’s not what I’m here for. I cross my arms over my chest to hold my heart from breaking through. If I never saw him again, it would be too soon. “About Jace and how you’re blackmailing him.”
“Oh, you mean the guy who walked into my house uninvited and socked me in the face when my back was turned?” He points at his split lip as if that’s enough to cry assault.
Just hearing him say it makes my bile rise. “Is that any worse than what you did to me?”
His jade stare narrows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I take a deep breath and let it out, preparing to play my next hand. “You either drop the charges on Jace, or I’m going to the police to press charges against you.”
“Oh, please. You think anyone is going to listen to you? Your mother has a rap sheet a mile long, and you’re just as bad.”
I crinkle my nose. “I’ve never even gotten a parking ticket.”
“No, but you’re a pro at B and E, aren’t ya? I already caught you breaking into the country club. How do I know you didn’t break into my house, too?”
“Because even you know how stupid that sounds.”
“Do I? From where I’m standing, all I see is a poor girl bred for theft who’d do anything to get her money back, and that’s what the cops’ll see, too. But they’ll go easy on you. First offense and all. But Wilder?” He lets out a long, slow whistle. “They’ll throw the book at him so hard, his mama won’t even recognize him when he gets out. If he gets out.”
Chills skitter down my arms. He has me right where he wants me, and he knows it. “Why are you doing this?”
He shrugs. “Because I can.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “You’re a shit. All this time, he was right about you, and I refused to see it. Is that what this whole thing was all along? A plan to hurt Jace?”
“You aren’t hot enough to be a villain origin story, El.” He chuckles. “Using you to hurt him was a bonus, not a plan. I thought your mother’s wealth could afford to buy you some class, but you’re nothing but a white trash orphan.”
I meet him toe-to-toe and look up into his smug face, wondering what I ever saw in him. “And you’re nothing but a spoiled piece of shit rapist crying because his daddy doesn’t love him.”
His hands curl into fists at his sides, but I stand my ground.
“You gonna hit me again, Troy? I’m sure all these people would be amazing witnesses.”
“Watch it, Ellie.” Reaching for his door handle, he pushes me aside, then folds into the driver’s seat. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll take you back once I’ve made Jace my bitch.”
***
The crowd at Mad Dog’s is standing-room only. I chew my nail, pacing back and forth as Coach tapes Jace’s hands. He hasn’t said much about the fight. Neither of us has. I gave Troy the benefit of the doubt up until the bitter end. After all that’s happened, I was sure he would pull a small shred of decency up from the hollow of his heart and call this off, but once again, I’m giving credit where none is due. I don’t know what’s worse—the fact I was so easily duped or that Jace is being forced to pay the price for my naïvete.
“You’re wearin’ a hole in the floor,” Jace grumbles. “Could you sit down? You’re makin’ me nervous.”
I stop short and slide onto the bench beside him. “Aren’t you already nervous?”
“No.”
“Winners don’t get nervous.” Coach slaps Jace on the arm and gives it a squeeze. My stomach flips. That may be true, but after tonight, Jace won’t be a winner anymore. He’ll have handed over everything he’s worked toward and walk out of here with nothing. It shouldn’t have to be this way.
Out in the main area, the music shifts. Jimbo’s voice echoes in the open space. It brings me back to the very first fight. So much has happened since then. It feels as if a lifetime’s passed me by. That innocent girl holding the cards isn’t the same one standing here today. Her face may be similar, but inside has been hardened from the harsh reality of the truth. I see the world through new eyes, and everything is different than it was before.
“I’m gonna find my seat. Good luck.”
I move toward the door, but Jace’s gloved hand tugs me back. “Thanks for being here.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
He slides his fingers to the nape of my neck and pulls me in for a quick kiss. “That’s enough,” the coach barks. “We need you strong out there!”
“I am strong.”
Coach punches his opposite palm and growls. “I didn’t hear you, pussy! Who’s strong?”
“I am!” Bobbing his head back and forth, Jace leaps off the bench and hops on the balls of his feet.
“Who’s a winner?”
“I am!”
“Who’s gonna smash Pretty Boy’s face into the mat?”
“I am!” He beats the air with his fists, blowing a strong breath through his mouth with each rigid punch.
My heart lurches into my throat. I stave off the tears building beneath my lashes. Jace isn’t the only one who needs to be strong. Jimbo stands in the center of the ring, the chain link cutting his stout frame into diamonds. I take my seat just as he begins revving up the spectators.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve got a fight tonight like you’ve never seen! Lightweight versus middleweight in three rounds of good versus evil! The ultimate face-off, where one man walks away champion while the other just walks away.
“In the blue corner, mixed martial artist, twelve wins, two losses. He stands five feet, ten inches tall, weighing in at one hundred and forty-eight pounds, representing Red Drum Elite, the challenger, ‘Pretty Boy’ Troy McNamara!”
Half the room howls while the other half boos. Troy trots out like he’s the king of the world, his nose in the air as he raises his fists. He dances around the octagon, showing off spin kicks and playing to the crowd.
“And in the red corner, the man you all came to see. Mad Dog MMA’s all-time undefeated champion with ten first-round finishes, standing six feet and a hundred and seventy-two pounds, the wild stallion himself, Jace ‘The Wild One’ Wilder!”
I wince from the pitch of the screams that follow. Jace steps out, his head bowed but his eyes forward. No usual theatrics or bold-faced displays of masculinity. Just an evil stare aimed at Troy. His crew gets to work, slathering his face with vaseline and preparing him for battle before ushering him into the ring.
Jimbo moves out as the ref enters the middle. He stretches his arms out wide, peering from one side to the other. Jace lifts his gloves, poised in a fighting stance as Troy gets down low, shifting side to side.
“Ready? Fight!”
The ref backs to the fencing as the two men attack. Troy comes out swinging. Jace plays defense, letting him swing with all his might before landing a kick to his ribs. Troy stumbles but recovers quickly as Jace comes in with a roundhouse that narrowly misses his face. He responds with an uppercut to Jace’s gut.
They round the octagon, punches flying. It’s obvious Jace is holding back. He’s far too comfortable, toying with Troy as he bounces left to right.
Troy’s fist catches Jace in the mouth. His head snaps to the side, a dollop of blood landing on the mat. He lashes out and nails Troy dead in the face. Troy falls like a tree in the woods, but Jace doesn’t stop. He pummels him into the mat as Troy twists to protect his front.
As if tugged by unknown forces, Jace pulls back. Troy staggers to his feet as the first-round bell sounds. They scatter to their sides, their pit crew rushing to their aid.
A one-minute reprieve is not enough for me to catch my breath. I clutch my chest, praying they get it over with soon. I can’t bear to watch, but I can’t look away. Two more rounds, ten minutes, six hundred seconds of torture sharing the seat beside me.
For the second time, the ref counts down, and the boys move in. Troy starts with a jab to the face. Jace shakes it off like a gnat bite. He thrusts right, then left, then right again while springing backward on the balls of his feet.
Troy lands a swift kick to the leg. Jace recovers with a strike to the hip. This is a joke. Two children in a slap fight spinning in a circle. I’ve seen Jace take down tougher opponents in a matter of seconds. His last fight was over almost before it even started. Every hit Troy lands is an act of humiliation.
By the second round bell, I’m silently praying for Jace to fall to the mat and stay there. The coach is screaming to get his head in the game. They blot the blood from his mouth, and it’s time for round three.
Troy’s tired of dicking around. He swings his arm, then catches Jace in a hug and jams his knee into his face. The crowd erupts, a splattered mix of cheers and jeers reverberating around me.
