Trouble

I can feel him withdrawing from me. I don’t like the way it feels.



“You’ve been good to me,” I press.



He lets out a hollow laugh. “You’re probably the only person on this planet who can say that.” His eyes fix me with a stare. “And I haven’t really done that much for you, Mia. Not really.” He looks away from me. “There’s nothing good about me, believe me.”



“I think there is a lot that’s good about you,” I push back.



So much. Too much.



His eyes come back to me. Dark and angry. “Did you not hear what I said before? I completely screwed everything up. I fucked up my dad’s life.”



“No. Everything your dad did was his choice.”



“As a result of my actions.” I can see his anger rising.



This is normally the point where I back down, give in, and agree – not that I would have ever argued this far. But with Jordan I know I can, and I’m not backing down. Not this time.



“Everyone is responsible for their own actions.”



“I fuck random women all the time. I use them for sex, then discard them like trash.”



My breath catches in my throat, and a jealousy I shouldn’t feel hits me with a harsh wallop.



Jordan grabs his beer and takes a long drink. His eyes don’t leave mine for a moment, almost like he’s daring me to look away, but I don’t … I can’t.



His confession just doesn’t fit with the Jordan I’ve gotten to know. But then when do you really ever know anyone?



I, better than anyone, know that.



But the thing annoying me most is the stupid little voice on repeat in my head. The voice that wonders why, if Jordan does what he says he does, hasn’t he hit on me?



I hate that I think this. I shouldn’t want him to hit on me, but I did … do.



I can feel my skin prickling.



Tapping my fingertips on the table, I swallow down my feelings. “And your point is?”



My response surprises him. I see it in the widening of his eyes.



Trying to hide his surprise, he straightens his back like he’s gearing up for round two.



“My point is … I’m responsible for those actions. They’re not the actions of a good person.”



He wants me to dislike him. Why?



I shrug, forcing a casual I don’t feel. Then using his earlier words against him, I simply say, “Depends on how you look at it.”



His eyebrows lift.



I’ve got his attention now.



He leans close, arms perched on the table. “And how are you looking at it, Mia?”



God, I totally love how he says my name.



“Well … the way I see it, you’re a lose/win. I’ve known men who do far worse things than just sleep around with lots of different women.”



Okay, so Forbes did that too – but that’s not going to help make my point, so I’ll just eclipse the fact.



His brow furrows. “Your ex?”



I take a deep breath. “The black eye wasn’t the first time he hit me.” I rub the instant chills from my arms.



I see Jordan’s jaw tighten. “How often?” His words come out punchy.



“Um…” I lift my suddenly heavy shoulders, my confidence slipping. Memories slam into my mind. A blur of memories, mixed with two faces.



Oliver…



Forbes…



Slammed up against a wall.



Thrown to a floor.



Pinned to a bed.



Thrown down the stairs.



Hit.



Slapped.



Kicked.



Punched.



Beaten.



Broken ribs, wrist, fingers…



Heart–broken – irreparable.



Worthless.



In pain.



All the time.



It never stopped.



No one ever saved me…



“Mia.” I feel Jordan squeezing my hand.



I blink my eyes clear.



“Jesus, are you okay?” His voice is soft, but his jaw is tight.



“Yeah, I … uh.” I touch a hand to my face, wanting to cover any emotion showing on it.



“I lost you again. Where did you go?” he asks gently.



Closing my eyes on a long blink, I shake my head and slide my hand from his.



I hear the grind in his teeth as he speaks, “How often did he hurt you?”



Swallowing down my shame, I answer, quietly, “More often than not.”



His face freezes. He looks like he’s in pain. “Why did you stay?” It sounds more like a plea than a question.



“It’s a long story.”



“I’ve got all night … week … year.”



“It’s not worth going into.”



He drives his hand into his hair. “But you left. Came here. What gave you the push?”



“He tried to rape me.”



I see my words hit him like a physical blow. He recoils, hands white-knuckle around the edge of the table.



There’s this horrible strained pause between us.



I feel sick.



My body has broken out in a cold sweat. Tremors running all over, settling into my stomach, a pit of fear and self-loathing.



I need food. And privacy.



Now.



I curl my fingernails into the bed of my hand, trying to control my urge to leap from my chair and run to the nearest convenience store.



Jordan’s eyes have not left my face. A myriad of emotions scrolling through them. I don’t want to look at him right now, but I can’t seem to bring myself to look away.



“He did what?” I don’t know if he actually says the words, or mouths them because my ears are ringing with the truth.



I pull my top lip into my mouth, biting it.



I blink once. Twice. “He tried to … rape me.”



“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Jordan whispers angrily. Elbows on the table, he drops his head in his hands.



I shouldn’t have told him. Why did I tell him?



I shrink back into my seat, wishing to be invisible. Wanting to rewind time.



The atmosphere is awful. The silence painful.



When I reach the point where I can’t take it anymore, which isn’t long, I push my chair out.



Jordan’s head snaps up at the sound of wood scraping wood. “Where are you going?”



“I, uh…” I glance in the direction of the exit.



His eyes follow mine, then flicker back. “Don’t go.” He blows out a breath, pressing at his temples with his fingers. “I’m sorry, I’m not handling this right … I just—” He shakes his head, leaning close to me. “Jesus, Mia, I just can’t handle the thought of anyone hurting you – not like that – not at all.”



His words make it hard to breath. They matter to me more than I care to admit right now.



When his eyes rest on my face, they soften. “What can I do … to help you?”



And those squeeze my heart.



“Nothing.” I swallow past the huge lump in my throat. “I’m fine.”



“I don’t buy it. I can see it in your eyes that you’re far from fine.” A storm rolls in over his features. “Tell me where he lives.”



“W-what? Why?”



“Why do you think?”



I tense. “Jordan, I didn’t tell you so you’d go beat him up.” Why did I tell him? “I told you because…” I shake my head. “I don’t want you to beat Forbes up.”



He frowns. “That’s his name – Forbes?”



I realize this is the first time I’ve spoken his name in almost a week. And I wonder if Jordan knowing his name is a mistake on my part.



I say nothing.



He breaks my gaze and rests his elbows on the table, putting his head in his hands again. Tension is pouring off him in waves.



Tilting his head back slightly, his eyes lift to mine. There’s a vulnerability in them that surprises me. “I need to do something, Mia.”



“Why?” My words are quiet.



“Because … I just do.” His are soft.



“You are doing something. You’re being my friend. That counts for a lot.”



“I need to do more.”



“No.” I shake my head, edging off my seat. “I don’t need more. I shouldn’t have told you. It was a mistake.”



The skin around his eyes tightens. “You’re wrong. The only mistake was not telling me sooner.” He reaches over and grabs my hand, keeping me from leaving.



I try to ignore the way his touch makes me feel. The ache in my chest of longing for something I never knew I wanted until now.



“I wish you’d told me before now,” he adds quietly.



He rubs his thumb gently over the back of my hand. It’s an unconscious move on his part but means so much to me.



Men don’t touch me gently. Not like this. Not ever.



And he’s done it twice in the matter of minutes.



“Have you told anyone else, aside from me, what he did to you?”



My eyes widen in horror at the thought. I’m still in shock that I told him and trying to figure out what that means, let alone tell anyone else.



“I’ll take that as a no.” He shakes his head sadly. “You need to report this to the police. He can’t get away with what he did to you.”



“What? No.” Panic squeezes my stomach like a vice.



“Mia…”



“No!” My voice is harsher than I knew I had in me. I rear back, taking my hand with me.



Whatever Jordan sees on my face has him placating, “Okay. No police.” He lays his palms on the table between us. “Just do one thing for me…?” When I don’t respond, he continues. “Don’t keep anything else locked up inside you. You need someone to talk to, someone to trust – that person is me. I won’t ever judge you. I will never hurt you. And I won’t let you down. I might have done some shit things in my past, I might have treated people badly … people who didn’t deserve it, but I won’t do that to you – ever. I promise.”



His words are impassioned, his face earnest. “You have me at my word. I won’t break it.” His mouth lifts into a gentle smile.



I want to believe him. I do.



But it’s just not in me to be able to trust. The ability is not something I’m gifted with.



I don’t know what to say. So I do what I do best, and avoid. Smiling, I nod and ask, “So, what now?”



Jordan’s dark eyes are curious on my face. For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to push it further.



He doesn’t.



“Now…” he says, rising from his seat, “we drink more tequila.”



Chapter Thirteen



Jordan



I never thought I would want to be close to a woman as I do Mia.



But I do. I’m just not entirely sure why.



And even though I am close to her, possibly closer than anyone has ever had the privilege to be, I want more.



I want all of her. In every way possible.



The morning after the tequila had worn off, I was worried things would be weird between us.



Not because of what Mia told me had happened to her … fuck, no.



That changed nothing in the way I see her, the way I want her.



The only thing that has changed is how deeply I want to bury my fist into that asshole’s face.



I thought I was pissed when I knew he’d hit her. But knowing what I know now, my anger has gone so beyond pissed there isn’t even a word for it. All I know is I want to kill a man I’ve never met, and I’d do it with absolute fucking pleasure.