Page 84 of The Jester and His Outlaw: Part One

She knows what I’m about to do as well, already shutting down. “Yes.”

“Let’s go,” I growl, expecting her to get up. She doesn’t budge. The hurt in her eyes is like a knife to my gut. I can barely face it.

“What? Are you actually kidding me right now? I mean, I saw it in your eyes but I didn’t think you’d follow through.” I pin her with my gaze, knowing damn well I’m hurting her and, in turn, hurting myself. But I’m used to the hurt and if she feels anything for me, anything true, eventually she’ll get over it. That pain will fade. Physical scars, though, they only fade so far, always to be seen. I won’t put more scars on her because this between us is over.

“No, I’m not. Not at all. I’m taking you home.”

“Riggs.”

“Do not argue with me, Charley. I said I’m taking you home. Now put on your shoes, your gloves, and your jacket.” I thrust the heavy leather toward her. Her face is rigid, her jaw ticking. Her hazel eyes flame, but I can’t give in. She’s angry. I get it. I’m angry as well, but not for the reasons she is. I’m fucking pissed with myself. Not only did I put my hands on her, but I hurt her. I’m so fucking broken that she couldn’t tell me. I won’t subject her to any amount of time with me.

By the time we dress, ready to go, she’s closed off to me and as hard as it is to witness, it’s what I need. I need her to hate me. It’s easier.

CHAPTER39

HumoringFoxy is all that is happening right now. I am in no mood to go to my party. Bubbly and chatty is not in my vocabulary today. My heart hurts, my brain refuses to function, and I’m tired. I fucking miss Riggs and it’s only been twelve hours since he brought me home. I miss him so much my body is aching. This feeling, this grip on my chest, won’t go away. It’s not something I’ve ever dealt with before and I’m not sure how to handle it. Foxy knows something is wrong, but she hasn’t brought it up.

“Girl, you’re gonna be so hot in this,” she says with a flare as she enters my ensuite. I know, ensuite, in my bedroom. Most people grow up with one bathroom in their house, let alone a bathroom off of multiple bedrooms. Each one of us has an ensuite. It’s just the way the ultra rich do it. This style of living, while convenient and great, has always made me sort of ashamed of myself and my family. Such luxury while people live in squalor can be embarrassing—at least for me, anyway. Since having Riggs in my life, it’s worse and not because he has less or is so indifferent toward the people in my community, but just that his feelings have solidified the ones I’ve had for so long.

Foxy frowns at me when I step out of the shower. Her eyes dart to my hip as if it’s a bright light she can’t steer away from. I would expect her to think that I fell, or it’s a hockey injury, but Foxy can read me like a book. She knows better. Not like I’ve been acting like an angel all day or anything, either. Putting the pieces together isn’t that hard. My sour mood, lack of enthusiasm toward all things Riggs today, and the bruise. She knows something happened.

Her knowledge of Riggs’ past is about as vast as mine. I know for a fact Jensen is staying tight lipped on everything and for a respectable reason. She doesn’t know shit more than I do, probably less.

“What happened?” she asks, a grim set to her features. She peers at me, fishing for a lie that I want to give her, but I won’t. I kind of need someone to talk to about it and I don’t want to bring it up to Kai because he doesn’t need to think any other way about Riggs than he does, especially being the over-protective big brother.

“Promise you won’t say anything?” Unfortunately, I can’t hide the quiver in my vocal cords or the trembling of my chin.

Riggs and I were about to connect on the deepest level for the first time, and just like that, he took me home and tossed me away like I was nothing. Because what? Because he has a past? It’s not fair to either of us. So, yeah, my voice is going to waver when I talk about him.

Foxy pulls one of her cheeks into an odd sort of empathetic smile. While always the one I can depend on for comedic relief, she is now soft, understanding, worried. I need her jokes, but I also need this version of my bestie more. The one I can count on, that won’t judge me.

Pulling a fluffy white towel from the rack on the wall, I wrap it around myself. The dress she chose is gorgeous and rather slutty, even for Foxy, but worst of all, it will show the bruise. There are slits running up and down the sides, so deep if I were to wear it, I’d have to tape my tits in. I’m not against that, or I wouldn’t be on any normal day if I thought Riggs would be into it. But Foxy invited him to my party and I don’t want him seeing the evidence that has already torn us apart.

Foxy follows me out into the bedroom and scoops my wet hair over my shoulder. “Okay, spill.”

“I’m going to tell you as much as I can without giving you too much.” She sits down next to me, crossing one thigh over the other and folding her hands together in her lap. She’s not making fun of me, not in the slightest, and I take comfort in that. I have to have someone to talk about this and I’m sure Riggs would understand. I’m not spilling his total life story—like I know it—just telling her what I need to get off my chest. She nods, looking a little impatient.

I take in a deep breath, fidgeting with the edge of the towel that drapes over my lap. My wet hair drips down my back and soaks into the towel where it meets my ass. Why am I so nervous to say this? Probably because I don’t want her to confirm that he is a bad person. I can’t deal with losing him if she says I shouldn’t try to fix things. He’s not a bad guy. There are issues he should try to work through, but doesn’t everyone have troubles? This is what his parents made him into. He’s not a dangerous guy, just troubled.

“Charley,” she warns, raising a brow and tapping her finger.

“Fuck, Foxy. I’m sorry.” I tuck a wet clump of hair behind my ear and take another breath. “So his past is pretty rough,” I start, and she dips her chin once. “I don’t know all the details because he is particular about what he shares. He doesn’t want me to know and won’t talk about it. We were at a park where he said he visited when he was younger for an escape. Some little girl hurt herself and started wailing. I was sitting on his lap and all of a sudden, he pushes me off of him. I flew and landed on the wood that edged the play center. He was stuck in some sort of flashback—shaking, whimpering, yelling ‘no’. There were even tears in his eyes, Foxy. Fucking tears.”

“He pushed you off of him?”

“Yeah, and when he came to, he had no idea.” I stop after my words come out shaky. The look on Riggs’ face when I told him what happened burned into my retinas as if someone had taken a picture with an old-fashioned camera. He was so upset, self loathing and regret so abundant.

Foxy is heartbroken, but she isn’t mad, not even for a second. She’s seen the moments my brother and I have had over the years, so she gets it.

“After that?” she prompts, and I snap out of my brief escape. I don’t want to tell her more. It hurts too much.

“After that, we got me stitched up and headed back to his place, and I stayed with him to make sure he was okay. We passed out on his mattress and when we woke up in the middle of the night, I guess I was a little frisky. We started making out and well, I was on top of him and he ended up touching the bruise.”

“Oh no,” she gasps, knowing where this is going.

“Yeah, he freaked out and I’m pretty sure we’re broken up. Though I’m not sure we were ever technically a thing.”

The gap between us disappears and my bestie has me wrapped in her arms so tight I can’t breathe. I wheeze, trying to catch my breath, but I also don’t want her to let go. I guess I need a damn hug. The only hug that will make it better is one from my guy, but I doubt that will ever happen again.

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