Breaking Down Page 6

  “Water would be great, thanks.” She pours two glasses, then walks past me, down a corridor to the living room that faces the beach. “Damn, this is a great view,” I say, taking a seat on one of her leather couches.

  She looks out and shrugs. “Yeah, I guess it is. I think seeing it day in and day out, I kind of take it for granted.”

  I take a sip of the water she offered me. “I get that, but coming from Booker it’s so different.”

  We’re both silent for a while, each lost in our own worlds, before I break it. “So, you going to tell me what it is you brought me here for? Or is this all a ruse to get into my pants, ’cause I gotta say, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

  She shakes her head, then sighs and runs a hand over her hair again. I’ve noticed she does this a lot when she’s nervous. My ego likes the fact it seems to happen a lot when I’m around. When she doesn’t speak, I continue. “We don’t have to have sex straight away. I’m more than happy to make out or some other fun stuff. We can get to the good bit later,” I say as I wiggle my eyebrows.

  She shakes her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “You never give up, do you?”

  I stretch my arms out along the back of the couch. “Up until a few months ago I was the reigning gold medallist for every BMX discipline at the Extreme Games. Nobody had even been invited to compete in all of them until me. You don’t get that kind of accolade by giving up easy. Besides, you’re hot, and I have two working eyes and a fully functioning, albeit a little neglected, dick. It’s only natural I’d want you.”

  She swallows roughly. “You want me?”

  I throw her my signature smirk. “You know I do, darlin’. Want to know something else?” I ask. She nods. I lean forward. “You want me too.” Her breathing has picked up, and her nipples are standing at full attention. Yeah, she wants me, but she’s a fighter and she’s fighting it for all she’s worth. Good, let her try. It won’t work. She shakes her head. “Don’t,” I say, cutting off whatever lie she was about to spout. “It’s gonna happen, darlin’. Sooner or later you will give in. But we’re getting off track here. What does the mysterious Bentley— Hey,” I say, realising something, “what’s your last name?”

  Now it’s her turn to smirk. “You mean you haven’t found that out already?” she asks, relaxing into her seat and crossing her long-arse legs.

  I shrug. “I usually don’t stick around long enough to find out last names. Last names mean getting to know someone, who they are, where they come from. It puts ideas in people’s heads, and I don’t want to do that.” Well, until Quinn, that is. I feel a pang in my chest when I think about it, and rub it away.

  “Should I be worried you want to get to know me?” she asks.

  I shrug again. “I don’t know, should you?”

  She stops and considers for a moment. “Nah, I think you’re harmless.”

  I’ve got to admit that hurts, like really hurts, but I’ll die before I let her see that. “I beg to differ.”

  “I’ll guess we’ll just have to wait and see who’s right, won’t we?”

  “I guess we will,” I say. “So you going to tell me your last name?”

  “It’s La Roche.”

  “Oooh, fancy,” I sing-song. “Bentley La Roche, I like it. And how old are you, Bentley La Roche?”

  “Surely a gentleman knows never to ask a lady’s age.”

  I smirk at her. “Never said I was a gentleman, darlin’.”

  She sighs. “I’m twenty-four.”

  My face breaks out into a massive grin. “I love older women.” Without warning, she throws a cushion at my head. “Hey! Watch it! I’m recovering from a concussion here,” I say.

  “Oh shit, sorry. Are you all right?” she asks, a look of concern on her face.

  I grin at her again. “I may not be able to stand, but the reflexes have come back, so you’re lucky.”

  “Fucker.” She gives me the finger.

  “Eh, I’ve been called worse.”

  “I’m sure you have.”

  “So have we stalled enough already?” I ask, relaxing back on the couch again.

  “You want to know why I’m helping you, right?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “The day we met,” she starts, “was the fourth anniversary of my break-up with my ex.”

  “Okay,” I say, not getting why that’s a bad thing, especially for me.

  “He was older than me, and things were good, until they weren’t, you know?”

  No, I don’t know, but I nod anyway. She runs her hand through her hair and plays with the end of her braid.

  “I thought Ethan was it for me. I thought we’d be together forever, get married, have kids, all that sappy stuff.” I have a hard time imagining Bentley ever being sappy, but again, I go with it. “It was little things at first, not liking my clothes, my friends, that sort of thing. Then it got to the point where, in his eyes, I could never do anything right. The slaps I thought were one-offs became kicks and punches.”

  I clench my fists and anger flows through my body. Who the fuck is this guy? And how weak do you have to be to take your anger out on a woman? Fucking coward.

  “The last night we were together was the worst,” she says, her voice bringing me back to the here and now. “I remember only bits and pieces of what happened before I woke up in hospital.”

  “Please tell me this fucker is in jail,” I say, unable to keep quiet any longer.

  She gives me a sad smile. “He is. Not for long, though.”

  “What do you mean, won’t be for long?” I ask.

  “They only tried him for aggravated assault. He was sentenced to ten years, which is the maximum, but he’ll probably be out way before then.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  She shrugs. “That’s the criminal justice system.”

  “Well, it sucks.” She nods. “So, not to discount your story or anything, but how does that relate to me?” I ask, confused.

  “I understand what it feels like to be hurt by something, or in my case, someone you love. The hurt, the confusion, I get it.”

  “Okay,” I say, “but I don’t. I’m not confused about my injuries. I got hurt. It happens sometimes. I don’t like it, but I know doing what I do there’s a good chance it could happen. It’s a risk I readily accept and hell, I probably even thrive off it.”

  Now it’s her turn to look confused. “So you’re not afraid to get back on your bike again?”

  “Hell no,” I say. “If I could I would’ve been riding all this time, but throwing 900’s when I can’t even spin on a desk chair isn’t a good idea.”

  “But I see it in you,” she says, “the sadness, the longing, even though you know you shouldn’t.”

  “You see that in me?” I ask, shocked. I thought I hid all that shit pretty well.

  She nods. “I thought that had to do with your accident, but now I’m not sure. What is it?” she asks.

  “It’s nothing,” I say, trying to play it down and get her to move on to something else. I look around the room, to help that process along. “So, ah, do you live here alone?” I ask.

  “Yes, I do, but it’s not enough to get me to drop the subject,” she says.

  I get up and pace between her couch and coffee table. “Why do you want to know? Is it so you can feel sorrier for me? ’Cause that’s what you do, don’t you?” I ask.

  “It’s not that, Jax, I promise.”

  “Yeah? What is it then?”

  “It’s two people who have been hurt, by whatever, who are getting to know each other, sharing their pain and helping the other to heal.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not in pain and I don’t need to heal.”

  She gets up and puts her hands on my shoulders, halting my progress. “Whether you want to admit it or not, you are hurting. Tell me. I’m right here, Jax, let me help you.”

  “No,” I say, escaping her grip. “You’ll leave, they always do.”

  “Who?
” she asks, concern written all over her face.

  “Everyone.”

  Chapter 12

  Bentley

  Jax is bordering on hysterical.

  “They all leave,” he keeps repeating as he resumes pacing my living room.

  “Jax,” I say, trying to get his attention, but still he paces. “Jax!” I call louder, but it’s no good. On his next pass, I step into his path. When he turns, I grab his face and smash my lips to his. After a few seconds he relaxes, and I release him. We break apart, a massive smile on his face.

  “I knew you wanted me,” he says, grinning.

  I shake my head. “You’re incorrigible.” He shrugs and winks at me. “Seriously though, are you okay?”

  “If I say no, will you kiss me again?”

  “I’m taking the fact you’re back to your usual annoying self as a sign you’re just fine. How you can bounce between that and not fine so quickly, I’ll never know.”

  “Just one of the many perks of being Jax Ryan,” he tells me.

  “Well, perk or not, I still want you to sit and calm down.” Surprisingly, he does what I say. “Here, have some water.” He does that as well. “So,” I say after a minute, “if I ask what that was all about, will it set you off again?”

  He sobers a little, his posture a bit more rigid than it was a second ago. “It’s nothing really, it’s just….”

  “Yes?” I ask, encouraging him.

  He sighs and runs a hand through his messy dark brown hair. “It’s just, people always leave me, that’s all. My mum, Mav, Quinn, they all left.”

  Oh. Wow. This is not what I expected. At. All. “Quinn?” I ask. “Who’s Quinn?”

  “Quinn Rhodes,” he sighs. I shake my head. “Bass guitarist for Places.” I shake my head again. “Well anyway, we had a thing. I wanted more, she didn’t. Well, not with me anyway.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, it’s my thing. Mav thought he broke up happy families. Reed was convinced women we loved died early. Park still thinks that. Mine is that people I love leave me.”

  My heart flutters when he says he loves this Quinn chick, whoever she is. “Well, if she’s stupid enough to not take you up on your offer, then she’s an idiot,” I say. Jax looks at me, a glint in his deep brown eyes. “What?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, chuckling. “Nothing.”

  “All right then. This Quinn chick aside, you know you’re not alone, right? I know you included your brother on your list, but haven’t you guys kissed and made up? He lives on the Coast, doesn’t he?” I say, trying for nonchalance.

  Jax chuckles, apparently seeing right through my ruse. “Bit of a fan of my big bro, huh?” he asks.

  I sigh and flop on the couch next to him. “It’s the tattoos,” I admit.

  “I have tattoos,” he says, stretching his arms and legs out, which are covered in black and grey ink with pops of colour thrown in here and there.

  “True,” I say. “But there’s just something about Mav. The strong, silent, broodiness of him, mixed with all that ink… it just screams bad boy.”

  “And I don’t?”

  I look at him. His floppy hair is a mess and he still has a touch of youth about him. “Nah, you’ve got that cute, cheeky, larrikin nature about you.”

  “So I’m Lassie?” he asks, a look of disgust on his face.

  “Basically, yeah.”

  “Fuck me,” he curses, throwing his head back on the couch. “Ow.” He brings his hand to his head.

  “Are you all right?” I scramble to help him.

  “I’m fine, Alfalfa. Chill, would ya?” he says.

  “Alfalfa? What the fuck?”

  “You know, from Little Rascals.” I shake my head. “The He-Man Woman Haters?” I shake my head again. “For fuck’s sake,” he curses, “who the hell are you, woman? You don’t know who Places are and you’ve never seen Little Rascals?”

  “Sorry,” I say, “but I’ve been busy having a life that doesn’t revolve around pop culture.”

  “Everyone’s life revolves around pop culture,” he says. “Besides, it was Park’s favourite movie growing up. I’m pretty sure he wore out the tape of it. But I’ve got to give credit where credit’s due, those were some cool dudes and I think they were onto something.”

  “Well, I don’t have any siblings so I was never subjected to that particular fad.” I shrug.

  He looks up and sees my TV. “Do you at least have Netflix on that thing?”

  “I have cable,” I tell him.

  He shakes his head. “Fucking useless,” he mutters as he pulls out his phone. He taps the screen a few times before handing it to me. “Here, watch this. Oh, and just so you know, Mav isn’t all that.”

  Maybe Mav Ryan isn’t all that, but I’m beginning to think his brother isn’t so bad either. I look at the screen and see the opening credits of Little Rascals flash across it. A smile tries to make its way across my face, but I manage to hide it before Jax can see. The last thing I need is for him to think he’s gotten under my skin more than he already has.

  ***

  Over the next few weeks, Jax and I work well together. After our “deep and meaningful” conversation, he’s a lot more receptive to my help. We’ve developed a solid friendship.

  A strong friendship, ha! Who am I kidding? The guy has undoubtedly got under my skin. Strangely enough, it hasn’t made me want to run in the other direction and hide underneath the covers. Jax just has this way about him. He makes you want to be near him, to be part of his circle. And once you’re in, he makes you feel like you’re the most important person in the world. Maybe that’s why I’m so intent on helping him rehab, because of the great friendship we’ve built. There’s nothing else motivating my actions. At least, that’s what I tell myself. It’s a mantra I keep repeating every time we catch each other’s eye in the gym, or every time he tells a joke and I find myself laughing so effortlessly.

  I think he’s probably nearing the end of his recovery too, and I’m dreading the day he realises he no longer needs our sessions and gives them up.

  “Come on, Darla,” I say, encouraging him to keep going. What can I say? Little Rascals struck a chord with me.

  “I never should’ve made you watch that movie,” he grits out, in between reps.

  “Yeah, but you did and now you have to suffer the consequences.”

  “Have I told you lately that you suck?” he asks.

  “You wish I’d suck,” I say.

  “I really, really do,” he replies. “Fuck.” He finishes his final round.

  “That’s it,” I tell him as he lets the weights drop down. I hand him his towel and water bottle.

  “You know,” he says, still panting after gulping half the bottle of water, “Alfalfa and Darla get together at the end of the movie.”

  “Not everything happens like in the movies,” I remind him.

  “No worries, I’m always up for role play.”

  I shake my head. “Didn’t realise cross-dressing was your thing,” I say as I take my place beside him on a treadmill.

  “Hey, I’m more than willing to have you in my bed anytime, darlin’,” he says, beginning a light jog.

  “I’ll be right,” I tell him.

  He shrugs. “Offer’s always open.”

  Inwardly I smile. I think it’s fairly safe to say he’s wormed his way into my heart. Unfortunately for him, I think that’s as far as it will go. I’m too damaged to let anyone in again. Inside, I’m black and rotten. What Ethan did broke me. Yeah, I’ve built myself up, but I won’t ever be the same as I was. I can’t hand all of me over to someone else again. I can’t give them the power to destroy me again. Jax has already gotten in further than anyone else. So far it’s been good. Sure, he flirts his arse off, but it’s harmless. He’s not pushing for more, and that’s my saving grace. I don’t know what I’d do if he did. He’s quickly become such a big part of my life, and I don’t want that to be ruined or disappear entirely. But I know if i
t did, it would only be one more casualty Ethan can add to his count. I’m broken. Jax, or anyone else for that matter, shouldn’t have to deal with that.

  ***

  I’m just finishing up work for the day when my phone rings. Seeing Jax’s face, distorted by a Snapchat filter, brings a smile to mine, and I have to tell my heart to calm down as I answer.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “There’s something wrong with Buttons,” he says, panic clouding his voice.

  “If this is another freak out because you think she doesn’t feel like a woman due to her missing ‘bits,’ I can assure you, that’s not the case.”

  “No, that’s not it,” he says, hurriedly. “There’s something really wrong with her. She’s walking funny and her voice has gone all weird.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter, “how quickly can you get her here?” I know what those are symptoms of, and if I’m right, it’s not good.

  I hear rustling and a car door slamming. “I’m on my way,” Jax says before hanging up.

  Ten minutes later (side note: I don’t even want to know how he got here so fast and remained in one piece) Jax is pounding on the door to the clinic, demanding to be let in. I rush to the door and let him in. He goes straight to the exam room, Buttons cuddled securely in his arms.

  “What’s wrong with her?” he asks.

  I pull on a pair of gloves, take her from him, and start examining her. “I think she has a tick.”

  “Fuck.”

  After a few minutes, I manage to locate the parasite, in between the fur and pad of her paw. I’m able to remove it, but I think the damage has been done. I look up at Jax.

  “Well? Did you get it?” he asks, concern written all over his charming face.

  “I did, but….”

  “But what?”

  “I think the damage has been done,” I tell him.

  “No. How do you know that? You haven’t even done anything. You haven’t even tried to help her!”

  “Has she been eating? Drinking?” I ask.

  “Not a lot. I thought she was watching her weight, you know, so she could feel more womanly.”

  “The paralysis has already started to affect her, Jax,” I tell him gently.

  “No, there has to be something you can do,” he says, tears springing to his eyes.