9. Stop! #3
But he’d also been sixteen when Dad remarried. He only had to endure two years before he escaped to college. He also had friends and a car and football. He had diversions.
I didn’t have any of those things.
I only had Blythe’s version of events…and no voice.
When she and Derek would argue, he was just “acting out.” Vanessa had always gotten along with Blythe and never got into trouble or “copped any attitude.” So, anytime issues would arise with me, clearly, I was the guilty party.
I was just “insecure” and “resentful” over the relationship she had with my sister.
I just wasn’t “putting in the effort” to be more sociable. I just wasn’t good enough.
I make a beeline for the liquor cabinet and grab a bottle of single malt Scotch.
The only other time I’d ever drank Scotch was when I was sixteen.
Derek really likes it, and I’d asked if I could try a sip.
If memory serves me right, it was like trying to swallow watered-down kerosene, but maybe my taste buds have changed since then.
I pour some into the glass and knock back the drink in one shot.
I’m right. It doesn’t taste the same…
It’s worse!
My throat burns on what tastes like straight-up gasoline scorching its way down my esophagus.
Holy hell!
I cough—or at least try—but it only makes it worse.
To add insult to injury, the voice that ignites behind me sends goosebumps up the length of my spine. “I see nothing’s changed.”
Yes, I know exactly what Jase sees.
Pathetic, little baby Birdie is still being pushed around, and—as always—she can’t do shit to stop it because she’s too fucking weak.
I don’t bother to even acknowledge his existence, heading to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of Heineken.
It seems Jase is part-ninja, because I don’t hear so much as a footstep in my direction. Yet, when I close the refrigerator door, he’s right beside me, leaning against the counter with the kind of smirk that makes me want to smack it off his face. “You might want to take it a bit easy there.”
My fist curls, but I thankfully demonstrate enough composure to not punch him. But trust me, the desire is there. Oh, is it ever. Instead, I settle for the simple, yet elegant message of, “Fuck off.”
I try to step around the douche nozzle, but he pushes off the counter and straightens to his full height, cutting right into my path.
“Well, now, that’s quite a turnaround. I seem to remember you being far more amicable last night.” He damn near croons those last two little words, all the while smirking like the Cheshire Cat.
“You mean when I didn’t realize who you were because you lied about your name?” I fire back.
Jase has the nerve to laugh, as if there’s anything remotely funny about this, but his laughter fades the longer he stares at me, replaced by a look of complete bewilderment. “You’re joking, right? You knew it was me.”
But he doesn’t sound so sure.
“That’s why you were so pissed when you first saw me, right?”
“I was pissed because you accused me of wanting to commit suicide . And seeing as how plenty of horrible people have recommended I do that very thing, it’s a bit of a touchy subject for me,” I hiss.
“If I knew who you were last night, the only interest I’d have with your mouth would be slamming my fist into it.
And let’s not forget how you looked at me when your sister introduced us earlier.
You’d think Pennywise the Clown showed up. ”
“No, it was because you looked fit to murder me,” he counters. “Besides, you called yourself Lexi .”
“Not sure if you forgot, but my name’s Alexandria , jackass. Shortening it to something you’re not familiar with isn’t lying.”
He holds up his hands, as if trying to actually placate me. “My point is that last night, we more than proved that we can get along just fine without any of the drama. And seeing as how you’re my soon-to-be brother-in-law’s sister, I thought maybe we could, you know…bury the hatchet.”
What the fuck?
No, seriously. What the fuck?
Bury the hatchet?
The only place that hatchet will wind up is in one of our backs. Considering the bullshit he just pulled in the dining room, siccing Sienna on me, it’s not exactly like he’s proven he can act in good faith.
I settle for giving him the bird with one hand as I tip back my bottle with the other.
All I want is a buzz to numb the anger and hurt brewing within me, and having to endure Jase right now is only fueling the need. I wind up downing at least half the bottle before he comes over and literally pries the beer from my hands.
“I suggest slowing down there, pilgrim,” he says lowly, holding the bottle back out of arm’s reach. “For your own good.”
I laugh, but it’s devoid of any amusement. “Like you’ve ever given a fuck about what’s good for me.”
I turn around and open the fridge again to grab another beer when the door swiftly shuts on me. Looking up, I find Jase’s hand pressed into the top of it, and the damn thing doesn’t budge as I yank futilely on the handle.
“Fuck off,” I snarl.
His weight doesn’t give, even after I try shoving him back.
Damn, the guy’s built like a brick wall.
He’s close enough now for me to reclaim the stolen beer in his hands, but he seems to sense my next move before I can act on it.
I lunge for the bottle, and he promptly dodges the attempt while also managing to cut in front of me and the refrigerator.
Jase haughtily leans back against the door, placing the open bottle on top of the appliance, well out of my reach.
“Stop being such a dick and just give me back my beer,” I demand.
He smirks. “It’s not yours .”
“Excuse me?”
“Did you buy it?” His grin spreads further across his cheeks, and I want nothing more than to slap it off his face.
“No, but this is my house, ergo—”
“This isn’t your house either. You don’t pay the mortgage. You simply live under the roof, ergo you don’t have any claim of ownership.” He reaches up and retrieves the beer, taking a healthy swig of his own.
“I live here, meaning I at least have more entitlement than you do,” I shoot back.
Jase slowly lowers the bottle from his lips, seeming to contemplate the statement.
He runs his pointer finger down the bridge of my nose before I slap it away. “Let’s see how we can remedy that, shall we?”
He chuckles under his breath as he pushes off the fridge, heading back over to his spaghetti-piled plate before his gaze suddenly draws down toward my chest.
“Excuse me.” I snap my fingers at his face. “There’s nothing down there for you.”
My breath catches in my throat as Jase actually has the gall to reach out.
I try to back up, but my ass hits the end of the kitchen island.
To my surprise and relief, he takes hold of the chain to my necklace.
The bottom of it is hidden beneath my neckline, and he pulls up the chain until it reveals the skeleton key pendant dangling at the end.
A gift from Reed.
Jase’s grin falters for a moment as he thumbs the ornament. “Suits you.”
And just like that, his smug demeanor returns as he snatches up a bread roll and takes a happy helping.
He cocks his head back over to the door to the dining room as he grabs his plate. “See you in there.”
I can’t help but remain stock-still by the encounter. What is he planning on remedying , and what the hell is with that shit-eating grin?
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’d eaten a cage full of canaries than a freaking bread roll.