Jace flattened his hands against the cool tiled wall, breathing through the guilt that tore at his chest. The pain at the memory of turning away from the enemy to see Dean drop to the ground.
He’d been right there…right beside him. And he hadn’t been able to save him.
Fuck.
When breathing became too hard, Jace turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, suddenly needing something, anything, to calm him. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist before lifting his phone. He had to text her; the one person he knew could help get air into his lungs.
Jace: Come out with me tonight. Meridian. Let me buy you a drink.
When Elle didn’t immediately reply, he sent another text.
Jace: Please. Eight o’clock. I’ll be there. And I hope you will too.
His gaze remained on the screen for another beat, and even though she didn’t write back, his heart still started to slow andhis skin felt less clammy…just at that small connection with her.That’swhat she did for him.
He’d just dried off and thrown on some jeans and a T-shirt when his phone vibrated. He lifted it, expecting to see a text from Elle. It wasn’t. The text in front of him was from an unknown number—and it made every muscle in his body lock.
You didn’t protect him. You’re the reason he’s dead. And I hope that knowledge plagues you for the rest of your worthless life.
CHAPTER 12
Jace wrapped his fingers tightly around the bottle of beer. It had been a shit day. Elle never texted back about meeting him here tonight, and he’d been so damn busy at the skywalk, he hadn’t been able to visit her at the café. And all the while, that text from the unknown number had tortured him, playing over and over in his head like a bad fucking dream.
You didn’t protect him. You’re the reason he’s dead. And I hope that knowledge plagues you for the rest of your worthless life.
Who the hell had sent it? Someone in Dean’s family? It had to be. It couldn’t be one of his teammates, and they were the only other people who knew.
He threw back his head as he downed a third of the beer in one go. He’d read that text over and over throughout the day, almost not believing it was really there. A part of him wanted to believe he’d conjured it up. Because it was exactly what every angry, ugly thought in his head had told him every damn day since his teammate’s death.
He checked the door for the hundredth time. Even though he was sure Elle wasn’t coming, there was still a bit of hope insidehim. Had his kiss scared her off? He’d been so sure she felt the same way he had, but maybe that was just in his head. Maybe he wanted her so badly he’d felt something from her that hadn’t been there.
She’d told him that she loved him in high school. Loved. Past tense. He couldn’t really blame her for not loving him anymore. He’d been gone so long. Fifteen years, and over the years he’d lost contact. Even when he’d returned to town for his father’s funeral, he’d barely spoken to her. Barely spoken to anyone.
He lifted the beer again, taking another sip just as the soft booth seat beside him dipped. He looked up, hopeful it would be Elle. It wasn’t. It was Molly from the café.
She grinned. “Hey. I saw you sitting over here by yourself. Thought you could use some company.”
“I’m not in the best mood for company, Molly.” Understatement of the fucking century.
“But that’s where you’re wrong. You see, we get into these funks where we assume we’re best off on our own, but then we let someone else in, and we’re like, shit, Idofeel better with company.” She leaned in close, and he could smell the vodka on her breath. “I get into funks a lot, so I would know.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, not even sure why he was still at the bar. He’d come hoping that even though Elle hadn’t texted back, she might still show up. But it was eight thirty, and if there was anything he knew about Elle, she was always punctual.
“I’m actually heading home now.”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Jace. Not until I know I’ve cheered you up.”
“That’s not gonna happen tonight.”
“How about one dance? I guarantee it’ll turn your whole night around.”
The idea of dancing with any woman who wasn’t Elle made his gut churn. “Molly. I’d like to get out of the booth now.” He was trying not to get angry—the woman had clearly had a few to drink—but fuck if it wasn’t hard when all he wanted to do was get home.
She pouted, but after a few seconds of him not wavering, she sighed. “Fine.” She eased out of the booth.
He stood, just as she took a step away and stumbled. He grabbed her and tugged her up, and she turned and grinned at him. “Sorry. I guess alcohol and heels aren’t a good combination.”
“Probably not. Good night, Molly.”
