Jules
A sense of sadness roils through me as I watch Cash disappear down the alley. The rain is a ruckus on the awning over the vestibule. Normally, the cacophony of water hitting the metal soothes me, but I can’t displace this feeling of unease I’ve had since Cash opened my door to Chris, and I realized my ex had gone back on his promise to remain sober.
I go back inside and that’s when my cell goes off. I reach for my phone, expecting a call from Les since she’s been calling almost every night to chat about one thing or another—usually the band or the funny shit her customers say. It’s her way of checking on me.
But it’s not Les.
“Hi, Dad,” I say, closing and locking the door behind me.
“Hey, Jules. How’re things going? Still loving your job?”
“Things have been good. And yes, working at MontBlake is amazing.”
“I can’t tell you how proud of you I am.”
I don’t miss how he didn’t say we.
“Thank you.” Opening the freezer, I finger through my options for dinner. Turkey, enchiladas, or Salisbury steak. I need to do some serious shopping because living off of frozen dinners and sandwiches from the deli down the street from MontBlake is kind of pathetic. “Mom still not talking to me?”
His heavy sigh comes through the line. “Give her time. She’ll come around.”
I put the Salisbury steak into the microwave and press the frozen dinner button. “She’ll have to because this is my life, not hers.”
“She’ll figure it out eventually. But you know how your mother is.”
“Stubborn and always right?” According to her, anyway.
My dad laughs, and I can’t help but join in. “One out of two ain’t bad,” he says. His laughter dies a second later, turning into a coughing fit.
“You promised you’d quit.”
“Hey, I’m down to half a pack a day. Give your old man a break, okay?”
His chain-smoking habits, coupled with the old man part is what concerns me the most. Dad is fifteen years older than Mom, and he isn’t getting any younger.
“I worry about your health.”
“I’m fine, Julie Bean.”
“How’s Brit?” A change of subject is needed. I don’t want to get into an argument with the only member of my family who isn’t upset with me for choosing to live on the other side of the country.
“Your sister is…” He clears his throat. “Well, you know how your sister is. Nothing will keep that girl down. She just signed a modeling contract with some fancy clothing line in the city.”
“That’s great! I know how hard she worked for it.” The photo shoots and various modeling jobs to build her portfolio finally paid off. My first instinct is to call and congratulate her, but I give that another thought. Unlike Mom, Brit’s still speaking to me, but the few times we’ve talked on the phone, her tone has been icy.
“I’ll pass on your regards.” Another coughing fit fractures our conversation. “Sorry, Jules. I’ve got an early day tomorrow, so I’m off to bed.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Even with the two hour time difference, he’s calling it a night earlier than usual.
“Stop worrying about me. I told you I’m fine. Just caught a summer cold, is all.”
“Summer ended last week.”
“I’m fine, Jules.”
“I can’t help it.” I open the microwave to stir the potatoes before setting it to cook for a few more minutes. “I worry about you.”
“Well you don’t need to.”
And he calls Mom the stubborn one.
“If anyone should be worried, it’s your old man. My baby girl is off on her own in a big city, hanging out with rock stars and working for scandalous people.”
I burst out laughing. “The rock stars are harmless.”
“And what about your employer?” He pauses. “You don’t have to put on a front for me, Jules. Are you sure everything’s okay? I’ve been following the news over there.”
“It doesn’t involve me,” I lie. “I’m just keeping my head down and doing my job.”
Several seconds sneak by, and Dad breaks it with another cough. “Chris called me. He’s got it in his head that you’re involved with your boss.”
My heart sinks to the bottom of my gut. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” There’s no hiding the tremor in my vocal cords. I’ve always been a horrible liar, and the last person I want to be dishonest with is my dad. But I can’t explain everything to him right now, especially over the phone.
A knock sounds on the door, and I send a silent prayer up to the gods of perfect timing. “Someone’s here, so I’m going to let you go. I hope you feel better soon.”
“Okay, sweetheart. Take care of yourself.”
We say our goodbyes, and my heart skips a beat as I glance at the clock above the stove. It’s been ten minutes since Cash left, but I don’t think twice about opening the door, because every fiber of my being expects to find him on the other side, thinking that maybe he forgot something.
But it’s Chris, and he barrels his way into my apartment before I can stop him. The door slams, the microwave beeps, and Chris latches the deadbolt, making his intentions clear.
He’s not leaving—not of his own accord.
I still have my cell in my hand, but he steals it from my grip before I’m able to get out a single text. “Give it back!”
“So you can text the guard dog? Don’t think so.” He takes another step toward me, and his foot catches, sending him into the nearby wall. “I need to talk to ya, Jules,” he slurs.
Maybe it was the conversation I had with Cash before he left my apartment, or the fact that Chris is drunker than I realized, but a cold sweat breaks out on my skin.
“What do you want?” My voice shakes with the question.
“I want you to admit it,” he growls as he comes closer, like an animal on the prowl.
I back up for every step he takes toward me until my spine meets the wall. “Maybe you should come back tomorrow after you’ve sobered up. We can talk then.”
“I’m not wasted.” He waves his arms in the air. “Didn’t have that much, promise.”
“Did you drive here?”
“Fuck no. Took an Uber.” He cages me in, hands planted on either side of my head, and his breath is hot and heavy on my face, reeking of alcohol. “Admit you still love me.”
Chris has never caused this kind of fear to riot through me, but I’m trembling with it now. “You’re scaring me.”
“I’m not tryin’ to scare you. I just want you to fuckin’ listen. Remember how good it was between us.” He dips his head, lips brushing my ear, and I try moving out of his arms, but he won’t let me. “My cock felt so fuckin’ good inside you, baby.” He grinds his erection against me.
The stench of alcohol on his breath, the aggressive way he’s handling me, the way he’s not acting like Chris at all…
Something tickles the edges of my mind, speeding up my pulse, clogging my throat. I can’t pull air into my lungs. I close my eyes, and another face hovers over me in the darkness with whiskey on his tongue, the forceful grip of his hands holding me down, leaving me helpless to fight him.
Perry.
The gaping black hole where that night should have been casts me in a blind spin, but in the middle is a pinprick of a memory, growing bigger and stronger, triggered by Chris’ drunkenness and desperation.
It’s a mere sliver of comprehension, but it tears through me like a tornado. Letting out a horrified sob, I shove Chris with enough strength that he falls into the adjacent wall. The weight of his body sends a mirror crashing to the floor, and the glass shatters to pieces like I do.
“Get out!” I scream, advancing on him, mindless of the glass under my bare feet. I pound my fists against his chest. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you fucking dare!” I back away from him as quickly as I advanced.
“Jules, please…” His shocked gaze locks on mine as he stumbles toward the door. “I-I’m sorry. Don’t know what the fuck I’m doing anymore. I’m so lost without you.”
I slap a trembling hand over my heaving chest. “Go back to Oklahoma. I mean it. I want you gone.”
He dips his head, face a mural of shame. “I need to tell ya something.” Running a hand through his hair, he sucks in a breath, and when he lifts his gaze again, the tears he tried to hold back slide down his cheeks. “You should hear it from me.”
I lean against the wall, locking my knees so they don’t give out on me. “Tell me what?”
He opens his mouth, but several long seconds pass in his indecision. “I fucked up.” He shakes his head, expression a blatant apology. “I fucked up so bad, baby. I’m so sorry.”
Nausea rises in my throat. “What did you do?”
His expression fractures, and he runs a hand down his face. “Brit’s pregnant.”