Since I’d picked up the new key on Sunday, I went straight up to my floor and checked out the new door. Like the old one, it was wooden, but it didn’t have any visible repair patches and looked much more solid. I gave it a couple of hard thwacks, and it didn’t sound hollow like the old one had. Impressed, I unlocked it and stepped inside.
The chemical smell of new carpet was the first thing to hit me. I closed and locked the door behind me before shuffling down the hallway to my room. The bedroom door was open, so I glided inside as my gaze landed on the spot at the foot of my bed.
Nothing remained of Nate. I couldn’t even tell where his body had been. Relieved, I released the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and dropped my bag of dirty clothes.
You got this, Jess. It’s not that bad.
The pep talk wasn’t much, but it managed to spur me into motion. I dragged the bag to the laundry closet and started a load before heading into the kitchen to check out that situation. Carly must have come back and cleaned up Trent’s cereal bowl and retrieved the Army men, because the kitchen was clean. The garbage disposal worked! I silently thanked Spade for ripping into Matt while opening the fridge and looking inside. A container of sour cream and a package of chicken had expired, so I dumped them in the trash and took it out before settling on the sofa with a book to wait for the washing machine to finish its run.
Shortly after I changed over the clothes, there was a knock on the door. My nerves practically shot through the ceiling, and I froze, waiting for history to repeat itself and the door to come crashing open. Nothing happened. I took a breath and pulled myself together. “Just a minute,” I called out, giving my heart a few seconds to stop trying to pound out of my chest. Telling my body to get a grip, it was probably the handyman picking up forgotten tools or something, I hurried to the door. Pausing, still apprehensive, I looked out through the peephole.
Spade was standing in the hallway.
Spade
Two hours ago
MY UNCLE WAS dying, my family was driving me crazy, I felt dead on my feet, and there wasn’t shit I could do about any of it.Uncle Jaime’s diagnosis was hitting me hard, and I’d never felt more helpless and out of control in my life. It seemed like I should be doing something to help him, but my hands were tied. Surgery was his choice, and no matter how much I’d begged and pleaded with him to have it, he hadn’t budged.
Hopefully Mom would have better luck talking him into it.
Now that I was back in Seattle, it was time to get back to normal. I had a shit-ton of other responsibilities to tend to, after all. Since it wasn’t even noon yet, I should have taken my ass to work, but I was still pissed at my dad for not helping with Uncle Jaime’s move, and didn’t want to say something I’d regret later. Besides, Miguel had cracked the handle on my rubber mallet, and I was in too foul a mood to deal with his ass. Rather than heading to the construction site, my bike turned toward the fire station.
As I drove, I thought about my uncle. All this time, I’d believed he chose the bachelor life. Hearing him admit that his solitude was something he’d forced upon himself because of his PTSD did a number on me. Wondering how he’d lived alone all these years made me think about a possible future with Jessica. Sure, I didn’t know her well, but I’d felt a connection with her, something I’d never experienced before. I’d thought a lot about her while I was gone, and as I drove to the station, I realized I wanted to see her more than I’d wanted anything in a long ass time.
She’d only wanted one night with me, but I was confident I could get Jessica into my bed permanently. Her body had been so damn responsive, almost like it was made for me. I didn’t miss the sex half as much as I missed the sound of her laugh and the sight of her big brown eyes. There was no denying I had it bad for the girl, and by the time I rolled my bike through the side entrance of the fire station, I was ready to find her and make her mine.
The building was quiet. I’d never been alone in the fire station before. There were always brothers in the common room, arguing about a game, shooting pool, throwing darts, or fucking with one of the club whores. Music usually played from the old jukebox in the corner. The bar normally had a few patrons sitting around, shootin’ the shit. The silence felt wrong. It felt suffocating and lonely as fuck.
This was the kind of silence my uncle had lived with his entire adult life.
The thought was staggering. Sure, I complained about my loud, obnoxious, demanding family and nosey club brothers, but I couldn’t imagine living without them. I’d pushed around the idea of moving out of the fire station and finding a place of my own, but I didn’t want to live by myself.
Hell, I didn’t even want tobeby myself. Especially not today. The shit going on in my head was too loud and overwhelming, and I needed chaos or conversation or something to take my mind off my problems. I could join my club brothers at the campsite, but they weren’t the distraction I needed.
I knew exactly who could pull me out of this funk.
Expecting Jessica to be in her room, I took the stairs two at a time and came to a halt in front of her door. I knocked, but there was no answer. I tried the doorknob, but it was locked. Since I had no way of getting in touch with her, my only option was to head over to her apartment and hope like hell she was home.
But my bike wouldn’t start. At all. I must have tried at least two dozen times, and the temperamental hunk of junk wouldn’t even turn over.
That’s when I officially lost my shit.
I’d held it together when I found my uncle in his apartment, knocking on death’s door. I’d kept my cool during a week and a half of cleaning up after a grown-ass man like he was a fucking toddler. I’d remained calm while packing up his entire life under the crushing knowledge that my efforts were futile since he’d never need it again. Hell, I didn’t even flip out when I realized Uncle Jaime had been hiding his prognosis from us for years.
Through it all, I’d been a goddamn champ, but my dead bike… that bullshit pushed me over the edge. Rage burned through my veins as I marched to the toolbox, scooped up a tire iron, and brought it down hard on the frame. The metal dented, and my arm shook with the reverberation, but I didn’t give a single fuck. I hit it again, and again, suddenly unable to stop.
Conversations played over in my mind.
“Be straight with me, Doc. How much time does he have?”
“It’ll be a miracle if he makes it to Christmas.”
“Why didn’t you tell me, Tio?”
“You can’t even live your own life, Tonio. I sure as hell don’t need you meddlin’ in mine.”
Angry, frustrated, helpless, I beat that piece of shit until it was unrecognizable. Sweat dripped into my eyes, blurring my vision, and the muscles of my arm spasmed. Disgusted with my loss of control, I tossed the tire iron aside and faced the damage I’d done. My ride was wrecked. Not even Wasp could fix it now. Thankfully, I somehow had the mental capacity to leave the tanks alone, so nothing was leaking. I knew I should be upset or concerned about my violent outburst, but all I felt was numb.
