Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Jude
T he gala wound down and the internal clock that’d started ticking when Jess told me we’d talk after the event grew louder.
Tick.
Tick.
Maybe I was actually losing my mind because I could’ve sworn I was actually hearing the sound. My blood pressure had been high, focus had been a struggle, and any time I caught a glimpse of her in her black suit, my chest tightened.
For the most part, I hadn’t seen her. She’d been assigned to Jack McKean and had also done some building and event security. We were all working long hours and the fact that we both had an open window this evening felt as close to serendipitous as it possibly could be.
Tonight, we’d have it out. She was angry with me—still snapping whenever we interacted despite the apparently fleeting peace we’d struck at the cabin.
And evidently, she didn’t appreciate my admission of past feelings. Depending on what questions she asked tonight, she’d be even more unhappy.
But I’d said she could ask me anything she wanted, and I’d meant it. I didn’t want this useless hatred between us anymore. I wasn’t going to give it back to her if she continued to dole it out—if she needed to keep loathing me to protect herself. And there was no mistaking that part of the narrative she’d spun these last few years was exactly that—a way to protect herself.
“Hey, I’m going to sweep one time, then I’ll relieve you,” Kenny said, full of energy despite the late hour.
I nodded. Jess wouldn’t be relieved for another twenty minutes so I was in no rush.
“Damn, she can wear a suit, can’t she?”
Kurt’s voice cut into the far more pleasant live jazz band playing at the far end of the ballroom, his attention pinned on Jess, who’d just walked into my sightline with McKean.
I didn’t comment because yes, she could, but no, I wasn’t about to talk to him about it.
“I can see you haven’t learned to speak any better than you used to.” He chuckled like he was funny.
When I stayed quiet long enough, he walked away. In years gone by, he would’ve kept talking and trying to provoke me into responding, but maybe he sensed nothing he could say would do that now, or maybe he’d actually matured.
When I saw him cast a sly smile to a very young woman, I had the confirmation that no, he had not.
“Everything’s looking good. Have a good night, man. I’ll see you bright and early?” Kenny patted my back .
I dipped my chin.
He lowered his voice and his eyes shifted from side to side like he was checking we didn’t have an audience. “And it’s happening now?”
I nodded again.
With one more pat, he sent me off. “Be brave. Be all the beast we know and love but, like, for telling her how you feel.”
I cut him a scowl and made my way to the ballroom entrance. She’d likely be handing Jack off to whoever was replacing her—I couldn’t recall but I thought maybe Bruce was on him since they had worked together before.
After a moment in the bathroom to give myself a few seconds of quiet, I washed my hands, then entered the stylish lounge filled with polished wood and red leather club chairs and a stage where a man strummed a guitar and a woman sang.
My heart skipped when I saw Jess at the end of the bar, already seated. She’d taken off her jacket and wore a sparkly strapless black top that showed off her toned shoulders and a rattling amount of her back.
Damn, she’s gorgeous.
I’d always thought so. I’d forbidden myself from truly taking it in when she’d been sick—it’d felt wrong. But now she was well, and she was waiting for me…
If only that meant what I wanted it to mean. If only she were waiting for me to sit down and buy her a drink and talk softly to her until we couldn’t stand it anymore and left to find somewhere quiet, somewhere we could explore the decade of tension that’d been building between us.
I shook out my hands and slowed my breathing as I approached.
“Wait long? ”
She turned toward me, that stunning face sending my stomach to the floor. Dark lashes over darker eyes, a straight nose and full lips that made me want things. Minimal makeup I detected better now that I’d seen her bare-faced at the cabin. Soft-looking skin and despite her intensity, a kindness in the way her lips naturally tilted up and in the friendly arch of her dark, expressive brows.
“Only a minute.”
She nudged the tall bar chair next to her and I slipped into it. My knee brushed hers as I settled in.
“So… you said I could ask you anything.”
“No small talk then, huh?”
She shot me a look. “Why would we small talk? We’ve never done that before.”
“Fair enough.” I didn’t want to talk weather with her either. But I’d regret cutting this night short with saying the wrong thing, especially if this was all I’d ever get.
She reached for the glass in front of her—a delicate flute filled with something sparkling. “Drink?”
It shouldn’t have hit me like this, but it felt almost flirty. Like maybe she wanted to sit here and sip on cocktails and pretend we weren’t secretly watching each other’s lips when they touched the rims of our glasses.
The bartender arrived then with brows raised asking the same question.
“Whiskey neat. Your choice.”
Everything they served here was good, and I knew this kid, Brandon, wasn’t about to pour me one of Julian Grenier’s thousand dollar a bottle pours. He recognized me from around town, and the lounge had a reputation which they wouldn’t keep if their bartenders were pouring overpriced drinks.
“I tried getting into whiskey a while back but I just couldn’t. Bourbon, whiskey, gin… it’s just not my thing. I can do vodka if I can’t taste it and I love a good margarita, but that’s about it.” She raised her glass an inch. “But the bubbly?” She tipped the glass to her lips and closed her eyes as she took a drink.
“Pop.” It came out a little wistful, especially as I recalled learning her nickname.
All of us garnered nicknames during our assessment and selection. It came from any number of things—sometimes something funny, sometimes a character trait, sometimes a play on the person’s name. Wilder Saint’s nickname? Saint, originally enough, both because of his last name and because he had this compulsive need to do the right thing on a mission.
Bruce had Jaws because he gave shark eyes when he got intense. Kenny earned Barbie because his name is Ken and he looks like a Barbie doll, plus he’s plucky as all get out which fit the name. Cookie’s undying love for cookies meant Jean-Luc very rarely got called by his name—though when he did it was Luc. Someone had tried to float Picard for him, but apparently that got shot down when he admitted to never having seen Star Trek.
I’d been named Beast because I am a large man with a gruff personality, and Jess? Well, she loved champagne, her last name was that of a fairly well-known champagne maker in the US (reportedly no relation), and she had energy. She had this thrumming, bubbling need to get the job done, and her peers in assessment recognized it.
Her eyes fluttered opened. “Yeah. I guess it’s no secret.”
Brandon delivered my drink, and I sipped it, then held it up halfway between us. “To the truth.”
Her eyes hooked into mine. “To the truth.”
She drank, but the placid state of things between us slipped away and the edge returned as my sip of whiskey burned a hot, oaky trail down my throat.
“Go ahead.” I might as well get it over with and deal with the fallout. See where we landed.
“When did you know?”
I swallowed hard, pulse instantly a riot, though my fa?ade stayed calm. “Know about Kurt?”
She nodded.
“I didn’t know until I caught him in the act, and I reported it immediately. But… he used to be pretty aggressive. And the day we met you, he set his eyes on you just like he had others. When it turned into a relationship instead of a one and done, I thought it meant he’d changed.” Regret laced through me, followed by a familiar ache.
How often had I let my wishes draw me back to the moment I’d opted into assessing for EMU and he’d done the same? For days after they’d gotten engaged, I’d cursed the decision to encourage him to try for the unit, too, hated myself for helping him prep and train because maybe if I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been there the day she walked in. Maybe he wouldn’t have set his sights on her, and I would’ve eventually found the words to ask her out.
She shook her head and studied the bubbles in her glass, then spoke like they were listening. “I can’t even remember what switched in me. How I went from finding him to be too much to finally… thinking I wanted him.”
Thinking she wanted him. Interesting phrasing.
“I’m sorry he broke your heart.” With an exhale, I admitted, “Or, maybe I’m sorry I did.”
Damn, I hated the thought, but she’d blamed me all this time, so why did it feel new? Like a fresh wound only just beginning to heal?
She set her drained glass on the bar top in front of us so slowly, it might’ve been slow motion. Without glancing at me, she tossed two twenties into the space between our drinks and turned, grabbing her suit jacket off the back of the chair.
She was leaving.
Panic hit, my gut saying that if I let her leave, I’d never have another chance to clear the air. She’d never ever let me. She’d close herself off to anything more than what we’d been doing these last few years, the sniping and irritation and maybe even all the way back to the hatred.
“Jess, wait?—”
She spoke over her shoulder as she walked. “I take it back. I don’t want any of this.”