45. Day Five The Impossible Journey
Day Five: The Impossible Journey
The sound of a door closing startled Jase awake.
Where—?
The inventory was familiar. He was sprawled in what was left of a queen bed.
A lamp hung off the bedside table, held off the floor by the power cord still stuck in the wall.
He remembered her kicking the table, sending the lamp over the side.
She’d laughed and kissed him and began slowly riding up and down the length of his shaft that was rock-hard again at the memory.
Sundress. So that did happen.
He reached for her thigh, which wasn’t there, and fell back on the pillows with a grunt.
Aching body, throbbing temples, cotton mouth.
The common morning conditions brought him back to Monterey the morning of May 31, waking up in Chloe’s loft in every kind of pain a man could feel after the worst news and roughest, most savage sex of his life.
Chloe had been smoking beside the open bedroom window, her dark hair ratted from the fistfuls he grabbed as he railed her from behind.
He knew now he couldn’t bury the death of his father no matter how deeply he buried his dick or forget that instead of being at his father’s bedside for his dad’s last breath, Jase was on the other side of the country.
He made me promise.
“Morning, stranger,” Chloe had said, her voice raspy from all the screaming. She was never shy about receiving pleasure.
He didn’t know why the sound of her voice made him jump.
“Surprised to see me?” She puffed on her cigarette. “I’m a little surprised you’re still here. I figured you’d be up and out by now.”
He shut his eyes against the sunlight. The image of his father cold and dead flashed, as if he’d been there to see it. Graham probably left a dozen messages about the funeral by now.
“Want some eggs? It’s about the only thing I’ve got in the house. And whiskey.”
“Whiskey and eggs.” The idea of either turned his stomach. “Pass.”
He sat up and faced away from her, setting his feet on the floor.
“Wow, wish I could say I was sorry,” she said.
“About what?”
“My nails—your back. Just keep your shirt on around decent people for a while.”
The scrapes would have a few days to heal before he saw Denise. She never left so much as a mark on him.
A trail of clothes led out of the bedroom to the front door. He couldn’t get Chloe naked fast enough last night. He and Denise never said they were exclusive. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. He’d done what he needed to do to get through the night, and he’d do the same to get through the day.
Right now it was getting out of Chloe’s loft and back on the road. From the edge of the bed, Jase reached for his boxer shorts.
“So no breakfast then?”
“Naw, I’ve gotta get back.”
“You could stay.”
“I have the funeral.”
She snuffed out her cigarette and stood. “When will you be back?”
The hitch in her voice, the look in her eyes he recognized but had never seen in hers.
Shit. Not now, Chloe.
“I don’t know. A lot of things are happening.”
“What’s keeping you there, Jase? What reason could you possibly have to stay now?”
He realized she’d been waiting for this. She probably made up this argument months ago and saved it for the perfect moment.
Which wasn’t this moment. He stood and kicked around for his jeans. “I have to go, Chloe.”
“You have a job waiting for you, you know. A steady bartending gig. Regular cash. I already talked to Charlie—”
“Don’t talk to Charlie about me.” It came out harsher than he intended.
She was quiet while he finished dressing, finding his pants in her bedroom doorway and his shirt in the kitchen.
“I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.”
He kissed her on the head, a small, shitty gesture after what happened last night, and left her place for what he suspected was the last time.
Why couldn’t he just love her? Why wasn’t he wired like other men? How did you do it, Dad?
His throat stung knowing he would never ask his old man anything anymore.
Ever. Then defiance flared as he started his bike.
Why should he fall into the same trap as everyone else?
Why was he fighting his own nature to fit the mold other men created knowing he’d never be happy playing house with a woman—not even Chloe?
A couple hundred unanswered questions followed him back to Ohio, refusing to be outrun no matter how fast the pavement sped beneath his wheels.
In Austin, Jase figured Lindsey wasn’t coming out of the bathroom until he was gone. He picked his clothes up from where they were scattered around the bed. If he was a total dick—and if he had a pair to spare—he’d leave his boxers for Graham to find, when his brother finally showed his face.
He didn’t give two shits what Graham thought if he knew Jase had slept with Lindsey.
Over was ringing in his ears, along with tinnitus from last night’s music and the sound of Whitlock’s voice on the day of the will reading.
Something the old codger said had been knocking at Jase’s door all night at the bar, and he finally, in a flash of sobriety, realized what it was, and why over was so much worse than Lindsey going back to Ohio.
Your brother’s lady friend…he expressly requested that she accompany you on the trip.
What would happen, then, to Jase and Graham and their six million dollars, if she didn’t?