Yeah, since I met her, I can?
?t stop the smile spreading on my face at the thought of seeing her, or the knife twisting in my chest at the thought I’ll never be with her again.
So I deal with it the only way I know how—killing myself working my two jobs, training at the gym, taking over the others’ shifts to clean the shop. Making jokes, teasing, pretending nothing’s wrong.
Nothing’s fucking wrong. The world sucks. That’s the way it is. You know it, so take it like a man.
Right.
Not that I didn’t try talking to the guys at first. Monday after the wedding, down at Damage Control, when they showed up giving me the stink-eye. I gave them my version of the events.
They didn’t seem impressed.
In fact, Micah looked like he wanted to punch the living daylights out of me and held himself back with difficulty. When I tried explaining what went down, he called me a fucking douchebag and stalked away. He’s been avoiding me ever since. Fuck knows what Ev told him happened.
Shane’s glare could cut through metal. Now that I know he wants Cassie it makes sense. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.
And what can I tell him? Hey, sorry man, the girl you want sexually assaulted me because she has a crush on me instead of you?
Sure. That’d go down great.
As for Dylan, who comes by sometimes, and Rafe, they pretend I don’t exist. Unlike Zane, they haven’t tried talking to me.
Which is cool with me.
No, that’s a lie, it’s not. But who the hell cares? Even Seth who said he believed me isn’t defending me.
Screw them. I’ll be okay. Always landing back on my feet. Don’t trust, Helen used to say. Don’t open up. All they want is an opening to stick a hurt into you.
Helen…
I keep going through the motions, day after day, night after fucking night, thinking of Amber.
Until one day I see her.
***
She’s standing at the bus stop not far from Damage Control, dressed in a denim skirt and a white top that hugs her curves. Her dark hair is twisted into a messy bun, secured with a white-beaded stick.
Christ, I missed her. She’s never looked more beautiful.
My mouth goes dry. “Embers?”
She jumps, her blue eyes going round. “Jesse.”
Not JJ.
“I’ve been calling you and texting you.” I bite back the bitterness and paste on a smile. “How have you been?”
“I…” She glances at the street, as if hoping the bus will arrive soon and save her from this conversation. “I don’t want to talk right now.”
I clench my jaw. My hands are balled into fists and shaking. “Embers, about what happened at the wedding reception—”
“I said I don’t want to talk.” She takes a step away from me. Scared of me, dammit.
“She came on to me, Embers. I tried pushing her away.”
“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me Embers. It’s not my name.”