Page 59 of Still Bruised
“Shove your apology up your ass… and get out of my shop,” Jude snapped.
His shop?Foster walked a little closer to the case, lowering his voice. “I know you hate me.”
“You’re right. I do.”
“I’m sorry, Jude. I really am.”
“Fifteen years too late, Foster.” Jude glared at him. “Leave before I throw you out.”
The last time they’d wrestled, it had turned into his first kiss from a boy. What would come of a second? He almost welcomed Jude coming for him.
“I’ll leave,” Foster said, lifting his hands in surrender instead. “I just… wanted you to know that I was truly sorry.”
“Now I know. Get out.” Jude turned and disappeared through a back door without another word.
Foster forced back the bile rising up his throat. He turned to see most of the folks in the shop staring at him. If only a hole would open up and swallow him.
But then, that was only a tiny fraction of the embarrassment and shame Jude had dealt with. He saw disgust in some of the eyes staring at him, and he deserved it.
All of it.
He shouldn’t have come to Jude’s place of work, that was on him. But he’d not been able to suss out a home address. And if he hadn’t come and done it while he had the courage, it might never have happened.
“I’m the asshole here,” he announced to the onlookers. He didn’t want Jude’s customers to think poorly of him. He cast a glance toward the door Jude had disappeared through. “It’s on me.”
He spun and stalked out, not feeling any better than he had before walking in.
It had been the right thing to do, hadn’t it?
Maybe Jude was right.
His apology had come fifteen years too late to do any good.
Jude watchedthrough the tiny window in the cutting room door and held his breath until Foster left. When he finally did, Jude released the air from his lungs and relaxed his shoulders.
“What’s up?” Paulie asked, pausing on his way from the cooler with a case of whole chickens in hand.
“Just some asshole,” Jude said, glancing out again to make sure Foster was definitely gone. “I sent him packing.”
“Who was it?” Paulie asked, tossing the case on the poultry cutting table.
“You remember Foster Price?”
Paulie looked thoughtful a moment as he sliced open the case with a box cutter. “Yeah, yeah. The quarterback who choked in the semi-finals for the state championship. I heard he was back in town.” Paulie chuckled. “Also heard that wife of his tossed him out on his ass so he came running home to mommy.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
Paulie shrugged. “I dunno.” He paused, frowning. “I think it was Kevin. He bartends over at McMurphy’s a few nights a week. Apparently Foster’s been stopping in for drinks on the regular with Cary Archer, so you know whatthatprobably means.”
“Whatdoesthat mean?” Jude asked, his eyes narrowing.Are Cary and Foster a thing? Inquiring minds want to know…
Paulie stopped and looked at up at Jude, eyes wide. “I meant nothing by it, I swear. I sometimes forget… you know… thatyou…” Paulie sighed. “I’m sorry, Jude. I just meant that maybe Foster likes the boys and not the girls, you know?”
“And if he does? Is that a problem?”
“No, but it might be the reason the missus kicked him out, right?”
Jude lifted a brow.
