appearance.
Two guesses, and the first don’t count.
“What are you doing here?” The moment the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back and crawl under the nearest rock.
“Blake?”
His shock finally dissipated and anger began to seep in. “I asked you what you’re doing here.” He’d never wanted her to feel pity for him.
“I—”
“Go home. There’s nothing for us to say to each other.” Blake had started to push the door closed when he saw her expression turn from wretched to livid in a matter of seconds.
Jennifer moved forward and wedged her foot against the door to stop him from closing it on her. “Trent was wrong about you. He kept telling me what a nice person you were, how helpful. Not only have you ignored me, ignored losing Trent, but you’re also rude.”
“I don’t care what I am. You’re not welcome here. Go home, Jennifer.”
His words must’ve struck a chord because Jennifer took a step back without saying another word and turned away, but not before he saw tears trickle down her cheeks.
I’m sor—no! No turning back. It has to be this way.
Blake slammed the door behind him and stormed back to the patio when he heard her car drive off. He plopped onto the patio chair with unrestrained anger.
How in the hell did she find me? She’s better off thinking I’m a prick.
With a grunt of self-reproach, he buried his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, Trent. I can’t do it, buddy.”
Chapter 6
Blake lay on his bed tossing, turning, and staring into the darkness while replaying Jennifer’s unannounced visit. He cursed his inexcusable rudeness and felt remorse upon remembering her hurt expression. His actions were unforgivable, and he wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to him again.
Groaning, he reached for the bottle of sleeping pills on his nightstand. Tonight he needed the help. He crushed the pill with his teeth, turned on the lamp, picked up the Playboy from the floor, and started ruffling through the pages.
“ ‘What must a man do these days to get laid?’ Okay, not the article I should be reading right now.” He groaned and flipped past several bunnies gracing the pages in their cuddly pompom tails and adorable headpieces, and he was reminded of his vow of celibacy. He’d be a hypocrite to say missing that aspect in his life didn’t bother him, but with his injuries, his bum eye, and patches of shit over his entire left side . . .
Not even if I paid ’em.
His heart lurched and his stomach tightened at the memory of Katrina.
Jennifer awoke with a start. She heard the tail end of her scream and struggled to sit up. Somehow, nightmares had spared her, even in the months immediately following Trent’s death.
Why now? And why Blake?
She scrambled out of bed and hurried to the bathroom to wash her face and clear the remnants of the godforsaken dream.
Wiping her face dry, she glanced at her reflection. Mottled cheeks, puffy eyes, and an unhappy expression stared back at her. “You’re crazy, Jen.”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tried to push the haunting thoughts away. She’d dreamt of Blake coming home from the war, his uniform tattered, his face burned beyond recognition, yet she’d welcomed him with open arms. Instead of stepping into her embrace, he had turned away and walked back to a burning car. He had pulled out a body from the fiery wreckage and brought a dead soldier back to her.
“No . . .”
“I’m so sorry. I tried. I was hoping it was me instead of him.” Tears trickled from his eyes but fizzled as soon as they touched his burning cheeks.
“Blake . . . no, not you.”
“It was either Trent or me. He gave up. His heart gave out.” His broken sobs had ripped through her in the dream. “I’m sorry, Jennifer.”
She closed her eyes and covered her ears, trying to block out the images and the remains of her dream from her mind. A cry rose in her throat and a new breed of pain gripped her.
Two guesses, and the first don’t count.
“What are you doing here?” The moment the words left his mouth, he wished he could take them back and crawl under the nearest rock.
“Blake?”
His shock finally dissipated and anger began to seep in. “I asked you what you’re doing here.” He’d never wanted her to feel pity for him.
“I—”
“Go home. There’s nothing for us to say to each other.” Blake had started to push the door closed when he saw her expression turn from wretched to livid in a matter of seconds.
Jennifer moved forward and wedged her foot against the door to stop him from closing it on her. “Trent was wrong about you. He kept telling me what a nice person you were, how helpful. Not only have you ignored me, ignored losing Trent, but you’re also rude.”
“I don’t care what I am. You’re not welcome here. Go home, Jennifer.”
His words must’ve struck a chord because Jennifer took a step back without saying another word and turned away, but not before he saw tears trickle down her cheeks.
I’m sor—no! No turning back. It has to be this way.
Blake slammed the door behind him and stormed back to the patio when he heard her car drive off. He plopped onto the patio chair with unrestrained anger.
How in the hell did she find me? She’s better off thinking I’m a prick.
With a grunt of self-reproach, he buried his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry, Trent. I can’t do it, buddy.”
Chapter 6
Blake lay on his bed tossing, turning, and staring into the darkness while replaying Jennifer’s unannounced visit. He cursed his inexcusable rudeness and felt remorse upon remembering her hurt expression. His actions were unforgivable, and he wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to him again.
Groaning, he reached for the bottle of sleeping pills on his nightstand. Tonight he needed the help. He crushed the pill with his teeth, turned on the lamp, picked up the Playboy from the floor, and started ruffling through the pages.
“ ‘What must a man do these days to get laid?’ Okay, not the article I should be reading right now.” He groaned and flipped past several bunnies gracing the pages in their cuddly pompom tails and adorable headpieces, and he was reminded of his vow of celibacy. He’d be a hypocrite to say missing that aspect in his life didn’t bother him, but with his injuries, his bum eye, and patches of shit over his entire left side . . .
Not even if I paid ’em.
His heart lurched and his stomach tightened at the memory of Katrina.
Jennifer awoke with a start. She heard the tail end of her scream and struggled to sit up. Somehow, nightmares had spared her, even in the months immediately following Trent’s death.
Why now? And why Blake?
She scrambled out of bed and hurried to the bathroom to wash her face and clear the remnants of the godforsaken dream.
Wiping her face dry, she glanced at her reflection. Mottled cheeks, puffy eyes, and an unhappy expression stared back at her. “You’re crazy, Jen.”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tried to push the haunting thoughts away. She’d dreamt of Blake coming home from the war, his uniform tattered, his face burned beyond recognition, yet she’d welcomed him with open arms. Instead of stepping into her embrace, he had turned away and walked back to a burning car. He had pulled out a body from the fiery wreckage and brought a dead soldier back to her.
“No . . .”
“I’m so sorry. I tried. I was hoping it was me instead of him.” Tears trickled from his eyes but fizzled as soon as they touched his burning cheeks.
“Blake . . . no, not you.”
“It was either Trent or me. He gave up. His heart gave out.” His broken sobs had ripped through her in the dream. “I’m sorry, Jennifer.”
She closed her eyes and covered her ears, trying to block out the images and the remains of her dream from her mind. A cry rose in her throat and a new breed of pain gripped her.
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