Page 44 of Look What You Made Me Do

Even then Pete hadn’t been downtrodden, confident that it was only temporary, but Jake had been appalled.

“His mom had passed and there was no one else and no money. Just her car. So, I…” He shrugged. “I hooked him up with a bunch of services. Got him a job.” He took a sip of beer. “Haven’t been able to get rid of him since.”

“So,” Rosie beamed at him, “you collect strays too, huh?”

“Nah. Just Pete.”

“And dogs,” Ella reminded him.

“And the Demons,” Simon added.

“No wonder Daisy and Iris like you so much,” Rosie said with a grin.

A prickle of unease at their unsolicited praise needled at the base of Jake’s skull. It seemed, suddenly, he was a regular caped crusader. A tag he really didn’t want. Or deserve.

Mother Theresa he wasn’t.

Roger Hillman’s piece of skirt crack earlier had focused his thoughts squarely on Trish. She knew better than anyone that his feet were most definitely made of clay. The night was turning into a real downer – first Rog and now this.

“You’re actually a pretty decent guy, Jake,” Ella said. “You know that, right? Very gallant.”

Another time Jake might have laughed at the surprise in her voice. Stop the press – Jake Prince is a good guy. But his past sucked at him as a surge of anger and regret filled his chest.

Would she think the same if she knew the truth? And what kind of rock had she been buried under to be apparently clueless about this stuff?

“Don’t go putting me on any pedestals,” he muttered. “I’m here to help Deluca High. I’m not looking to be canonized.”

“You shouldn’t downplay this,” she chided. “You’ve really gone to bat for us. For Pete. For Cerberus.” She poked him in the chest. “It’s a good thing you’re doing.”

Jake gave her a tight smile and drained his beer. She was looking at him like he was a god and he suddenly couldn’t stand her praise. Ella had always been good – a good girl, a decent woman, a compassionate teacher – and he felt totally unworthy.

Standing abruptly, he said, “I think I better get back to the bar. Pete’s looking snowed under again. I’ll send over another round of drinks.”

She let him out and Jake headed straight for the bar and the oblivion of hard work. Pulling beers and pouring shots – anything to distance himself from Ella’s big trusting eyes. The aroma of hops filled his head as the floor grew tackier beneath his feet. People laughed, asked for autographs, women flirted, men shook his hand, a metallic beat played in the background. It was just what he needed to keep his mind off the black mood that had settled on his shoulders. The overwhelming desire to smash things itched under his skin, a feeling Jake from Trently knew too well and he struggled to push it back. It had been a long time since he’d used his fists and he was damned if he was going to regress on tonight of all nights.

Although Roger Hillman and his mates getting steadily trashed in front of him didn’t help. Neither did the multiple TV screens plastered with Jake’s arch nemesis turned sports caster – Tony Winchester. How he could even hold his head up in public, let alone score a TV gig, was beyond Jake.

He and Tony had started and ended their careers together and had spent the intervening years butting heads on and off the field. Tony Winchester was an asshole and having to look at him now on top of everything else was really grinding Jake’s gears.

He glanced over to see Ella and Simon laughing at something Rosie had said and his gut twisted tighter. What had she said to him a few weeks ago in her office? He was backward. He was Trently and she’d come too far to go back.

Maybe she was right? A few weeks in her company, a couple of hours with good old Rog buzzing around and Tony fucking Winchester on the TV and he was spoiling for a fight.

Just like the bad old days.

An hour later, the group sitting at the booth were all feeling the hum from one too many cocktails.

“Jesus! This music is giving me a facial tic,” Rosie complained. “I’m gonna put something decent on, then” – she walked her fingers up Simon’s chest and smiled – “we should dance.”

“Dance?”

Rosie rolled her eyes. “Yes, you know… moving your arms and legs to music.”

“Decent music,” Ella added.

“Not something I excel at,” Simon admitted.

Rosie stared at him and shook her head. “What do I see in you again?”

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