Chapter 34
Thirty-Four
Jace
“I’ve been selfish,” she murmurs, early the next morning.
This is the first morning I’ve woken up beside her, so I’m just enjoying her body pressed to mine, enjoying the fact that she’s here, enjoying that we seem to be moving forward, fucking finally.
So her being selfish is pretty much the last thing on my mind.
“I think the fact that I had three orgasms last night is the antithesis of you being selfish, cookie.”
She smiles, swatting me lightly on my chest.
Then her expression goes serious.
“I’ve been so busy putting up walls that I don’t really know anything about you.” She pushes up on my front, quickly shaking her head. “No, that came out wrong. I know you’re kind and thoughtful. I know you’re persistent and a hard worker. I know you pay attention and that you have a good friend in Brooks and that you hate risotto.”
My lips quirk. “Well clearly, you pay attention too.”
Her expression goes soft. “And I know whatever was in the news,” she says softly. “I know that you started Genen-core after your mom died of complications from a blood clot and that you’re now the leading clot removal product in the world.”
“Then you know most of it,” I tell her. “My mom died from a pulmonary embolism; the clot broke off and caused a stroke and—” My throat goes tight.
“We don’t have to talk about this,” she whispers. “I know I sprang it on you and?—”
I touch her cheek. “It’s okay. She had a lot of health problems, so in a way it was a relief to see she was finally out of pain. It’s just…she was a single mom and did her best, but there wasn’t a lot of room for me with all of her illnesses, and I was resentful that they took up so much space…and then that, from the moment I was old enough, I was expected to step up and take care of her.”
“How old was old enough?” she asks softly.
“Twelve was the first time I called my mom’s doctor with a problem.”
“So young,” she whispers.
“If it wasn’t me, no one else would have been able to do it.”
“But it was you, and you were too young, so I think that some resentment is understandable. I had both parents and they were healthy, but they couldn’t be what I needed, and God knows, that messed me up for a long time.”
I stroke a finger along silky skin. “What do you mean they couldn’t be what you needed?”
“My dad was abusive—physically,” she adds matter-of-factly, and I can’t stop the rage from encroaching on my vision, from narrowing it to a tiny point that is solely filled by this woman. “He hit my mom. He hit me…until I was old enough to protect myself.”
“How could you protect yourself against a grown man?” I rasp.
Her hand finds mine, lacing our fingers together. “I’m okay,” she says. “Safe and whole, and he found out that I have a natural inclination for softball.”
I appreciate that she’s trying to lighten the mood.
I still want to hunt the fucker down and make his life a misery. “You introduced him to your bat?”
A nod. “Luckily, I got my smarts from him, and he was a fast learner. I made it clear that if he kept his distance and stopped hitting my mom that a repeat of the events would never happen…and I’d make sure that it stayed under wraps.”
I frown.
“For him, ego was everything.”
“Was?”
A nod. “He died about eight years back, six months after my mom. Turns out being a selfish leech your whole life makes it hard to take care of yourself. I was low contact from the time I left for college. It was the only way to survive. Unfortunately, the wounds he left ran deep.”
“How, gorgeous?”
“I picked bad men—selfish, mostly. Emotionally manipulative, for sure. And”—she sighs and my rage ramps up because I know her next words are going to infuriate me—“the last one hit me.”
I curse. “Please tell me you have his name and address because that fucker is going to pay.”
“So blood-thirsty,” she murmurs, lightly running her hand over my front. “But sadly for you, Jean-Michel found out and he took care of it. Last I heard, Oscar had to move back to Iowa and was living with his parents because he was downsized and couldn’t get a job.”
“Jean-Michel blacklisted him?”
She nods. “And had a pointed conversation with the owner of the company Oscar worked for. It didn’t take long for him to be sent packing.” Her hand slides back up, and she cups my jaw. “But this is mostly me talking, handsome, which isn’t helping my selfish streak.”
“You need to stop talking bad about my woman.”
“Trouble.”
“Me?”
“Definitely you,” she murmurs, pressing her lips to my jaw. “You’re far too charming for your own good.”
“Or maybe your good.”
Laughter in the air. “Oh, we know that already, considering how much I fought ending up right here.”
I tug at a curl and she leans in, lips brushing over mine. “Will you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“That deepest darkest secret,” she whispers. “Because I think it’s why your eyes go extra sad when you talk about your mom.”
“It’s hard to lose a parent.”
“That’s true enough.”
“Enough?” I lift my eyebrows in question.
“Yes,” she says. “That’s true enough, but I don’t think it’s the reason your grief and regret cling to your words when you speak of her.”
She’s right.
Of course she is.
But—
“It’s not pleasant, cookie.”
Her eyes gentle. “It wouldn’t be your deepest darkest secret if it was.”
She’s right again.
Of course she is.
“My mom wasn’t abusive, but she took up a lot of emotional energy, and one night just after I graduated college, I wanted to just be a twenty-two-year-old, you know? I wanted to drink with my friends and not think about anything doctor related for one night. No emails to her care team or visits to pharmacies, no phone calls to the insurance company. Just me and my friends and the hot girls who wanted to grind on me in the club.”
Marie smiles. “You wanted to be free for a night.”
“Yeah,” I say. “And I did all the prep work—I got her set up with food and a night nurse, spent time with her that afternoon because she always said I was too busy for her.” I feel my throat grow tight again and pause to breathe. Marie doesn’t push, just gives me the time to find the next words. “She called, and I stepped outside to answer—she didn’t like the nurse, said she was mean. I spent some time mediating that and went back inside.” A deep breath. “But she called again, and it was the same shit. So, when she called a third time and a fourth and”—my eyes burn—“a tenth, I didn’t pick up the calls. I sent them to voicemail, ordered another drink, and I had my night.”
Marie’s fingers are wrapped tightly around mine, and she seems to be barely breathing.
I’m doing the same.
Because ripping this out of me is taking all the air in my lungs, all the strength in my body.
“I don’t remember the last thing I said to her—I was too drunk. But the words were sharp and impatient and…I didn’t fucking pick up the phone.”
She slips her hand free from mine, but before I can mourn the loss of contact, she’s wrapping her arms around me and hugging me tight. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
“It’s my fault. I should have done more, should have been more patient, should?—”
“You were a kid.” A squeeze of her arms. “You were put in an untenable situation and did the best you could.”
I touch her cheek. “So my therapist says.” My mouth curves up. “You asked my deepest darkest secret, and that’s it, cookie. I have regrets, big ones that seem to swell up and try to take over. But I’ve made good things happen out of those regrets and we’re not stopping with clots. We’re putting more research into women’s health, because it’s chronically underfunded and studies are few and far between. That’s the penance I need to pay.”
“But—”
“For myself,” I tell her. “To soothe those regrets. To fulfill the promise I made when I found her the next morning, already gone. I won’t sit in guilt, won’t allow it to make me impotent. I’ll do something about it, and I’ll make the world better for women like her.”
“That’s beautiful.”
“That’s the lesson I learned from my mom.” I settle my forehead against hers. “When everything else is too heavy, when the fears creep in that I’m not doing enough in my work or I should keep my distance from a certain stubborn brunette before I get too attached and risk ruining what’s between us, that’s what I can cling to.”
“Jace,” she whispers.
“And it helps that I have a best friend who kicks my ass when necessary.”
“Brooks?”
I nod. “He had to walk away from a relationship, and it cost him almost everything. Not living with the regrets he has meant— means —that I know what’s between us is worth fighting for.”
“Dammit,” she whispers.
I push back her hair. “What?”
“You’re far too charming for your own good.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“It is when we have to play it cool in front of Jean-Michel. I want to get this stuff straightened out with the FBI and Duarte before I have to run the gauntlet of my interfering, protective boss.”
“You know that I know, Jean-Michel, right?”
“Of course you do.” A shake of her head, her curls bouncing. “Just not like I do. Trust me when I say that we need to proceed with baby steps.” Her mouth kicks up. “Otherwise you may be the one who ends up living in Iowa.”
“I hear Iowa’s great,” I tease then add when I see the protest growing on her face, “I’m not in any hurry to share you with the rest of the world, gorgeous. So long as you’re in my arms every night, I’ll wait as long as you want before we take on Dubois.”