Page 47 of Look What You Made Me Do

She supposed she shouldn’t have done it but hell, the man wasn’t exactly a stranger to bras. Hers included.

Given it was also wet, she whipped it off, pulling what she realized was a Founder’s jersey over her head. His? Or just some old merch he had hanging around? Her skirt hit the floor next, and, with her underwear mostly dry, she stepped into a pair of baggy gray sweatpants.

“You can look,” she said, smiling at Jake’s propriety as she sat and huddled into the layers of the jersey.

Turning slowly, he plonked his ass against the edge of his desk and regarded her. “Roger Hillman is a giant asshat. Always was, always will be.”

Ella nodded slowly, the pain of Roger’s words a dull ache now. “I know. I just wasn’t expecting it… it’d been such a great day.”

“Yes.” It was a bleak acknowledgment. “It was.”

She stared at her fingernails, tuning into the muffled bass of the jukebox, the throb the perfect backbeat to her troubled thoughts. “Do you know how many years it’s been since a guy spoke to me like that?” Ella locked her gaze on his. “Looked at me like that? Like I was a… commodity?”

Ella swore she could hear his teeth grinding as he said, “I’m so sorry.”

The impotency she’d been feeling started to ebb as pure mortification took over. How many people had heard his ugly inferences? Had Simon? Had Pete? What about the people on the dance floor around her?

“Nineteen. Nineteen blissful years. And that” – Ella searched for an expletive worthy of Rosie and failed – “moron gets to throw the past in my face?” A crushing sense of unfairness pressed in on her and Ella hugged her knees.

“Forget about him,” Jake growled.

Ella shook her head. If only she could. But if living in Trently had taught her one thing, it was that there was always another Roger Hillman. She’d just allowed time and distance to lull her into a false sense of security.

“How long, Jake?” she demanded, standing suddenly as anger replaced inertia. “How many years does it take? Until I get to be plain old Ella Lucas? Not Rachel’s daughter?”

She glared at him. It wasn’t his fault, she knew, but right now she wanted someone to vent at and he was it.

“I vowed when I left there I’d never look back. And here I am hundreds of miles away but everywhere I look lately there are reminders of Trently. Cam. Roger goddamn Hillman.” She huffed out a breath, her eyes locking with his. “You.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I know.”

His quiet acceptance took all the puff out of her sails. This wasn’t his fault. And he did know. But she wondered if he truly understood where she was coming from?

Sighing, she sat again, pulling her knees up and placing her chin on top. “Roger Hillman and his cronies, they used to… ask me my… price.”

Ella’s voice cracked as all the old feelings of revulsion and fear swamped her. The gossips of Trently had called her haughty but so much of that had been a front to disguise her anxiety. She’d never quite been sure if one of the boys wouldn’t try something on.

They may not have been men back then but they’d been experts at playing grown-up games.

To her horror, a tear leaked out of one eye and she brushed it away but not before Jake saw it. “Ella,” he whispered before closing the distance between them.

Throwing himself down beside her, Jake pulled her into his arms as a strangled sob tore from her throat. Ella didn’t want to be this person – the weepy woman – but another sob followed and another until her face was buried in his shirt and she was crying like she hadn’t cried in a long time.

She’d wept two years ago as the orgasm he’d given her had tapped into the grief of her mother’s death. But even then, she’d refused to give into soul-deep grief.

Not now. Now she was letting it all out. Crying for her lost childhood and Cam’s. And Jake’s chest was so big and warm and he smelled of deodorant and beer.

Or maybe that was her.

But she felt safe here with this man who knew all her secrets, so she cried until there were no more tears left to shed. Until there was nothing left inside. Until she was utterly exhausted.

And then she slept.

Jake drew the cue back and jabbed the white ball into the cluster of colored ones, picturing Roger Hillman’s face on the front of it. The satisfying smack was like music to his ears and his gaze tracked the blur of color as balls flew around the table. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been playing for, but it was his third game and he wasn’t done with smashing snooker balls just yet.

Pete had stayed to help him clean up after closing, hovering like a mother hen, challenging him to a game. But Jake had ordered him home. His self-appointed role as Jake’s guardian was amusing and Jake usually indulged him, but he was in no mood for Pete’s wisecracking tonight.

He’d wanted to be alone in his anger.

---