Nothing Feels Better (Better Love 3)

17

My plane doesn’t land in Indianapolis until 11:35 p.m. I text Joss, but she doesn’t answer, so I go to the condo and entertain Kelley and Ivy with tales of my weekend in Boston.

I’m up and out the door immediately the next morning. I’m itching to talk to Joss. To tell her my idea. I had a realization this weekend. An epiphany that happened between touring apartments and sending texts to Jocelyn. I’m not ready to let go of her and the kids. I don’t want to. I want them to be part of my life permanently, so I made a decision. One I’m hoping she embraces.

I’m buzzing with excitement from the possibilities. It’s early, but I know she’s off today, so the kids probably won’t be going to the YWCA. I’m going to try and convince her to let me take them all to the state park. The wildflower clearing must be an explosion of blooms by now, and I bet I could teach June how to skip rocks.

I’m lost in my head, making plans for the day, when I turn on the cul-de-sac. My face falls into a frown as soon as I see the big, black truck in the driveway.

What the fuck is Colonel Cunt Nugget doing here?

I pull up to the curb and cut the engine, then stride to the door. I knock twice, step back and wait. The door swings open, and on the other side, smiling a smarmy, skeezy, thin-lipped grin, is the fucking ex.

The first thing I notice, after the shit-eating grin, is that he’s shirtless. His hair is wet, like he just got out of the shower. Then I drop my eyes to find that he’s wearing a pair of my joggers. The one’s I let Joss borrow at the lake and never got back. My nostrils flare, fury sparking under my skin with accusations. Comes around a lot. Random times. Usually at night. My knee-jerk reaction is to assume the worst, to expect betrayal, but I pull back. My impulse control is shit, but I’m not self-destructive anymore.

This is Jocelyn. She wouldn’t do that. She doesn’t want him. I don’t know why Lieutenant Lame Ass is here, but I trust my girl. I force a smile and let myself find humor in the way he’s had to bunch my joggers up at the ankles. He’s too fucking short to wear my pants.

“Hey, man,” the ex says. “We don’t need a babysitter today.”

This dick.

I stand at my full height and make a show of looking down my nose at him.

“I came to talk to Joss.”

His lip curls on a snarl. “Lyn’s busy.”

“I can wait.” I force a grin, then point to his ankles. “Maybe you should roll those up, so you don’t trip on ‘em. Seems your little leggies aren’t quite long enough.”

I watch in amusement as his left eye twitches. I debate making a comment about it, but Jocelyn’s voice steals my attention.

“Is someone at—” She appears over the ex’s shoulder, and the color drains from her face when she sees me. “Jesse.”

“Can I talk to you?” I ask her, and she nods. She pushes roughly past the ex, then shuts the door behind her.

“What’s goin’ on?” I ask, and follow her as she walks off the porch and to the road. When she reaches my car, she leans on the hood and stares at the ground.

“Classic,” I say slowly, dread collecting like bile in my throat. “What’s going on?”

Finally, she looks at me, and her big eyes are hard. Emotionless. Exhausted.

“I’m being blackmailed,” she says, voice flat. I don’t know what I was expecting her to say, but it wasn’t that. I wait for more, but she doesn’t continue.

“By the ex?” I ask, and she nods.

“And by Sandra fucking Huntington.”

I choke. “What?” I croak out. I can hardly believe what she’s saying. It doesn’t make sense. “I don’t understand.”

She clamps her eyes shut and tightens her hands into fists.

“Patrick has pictures of us.” My skin starts to crawl. “I don’t know if he was having Sandra Huntington follow us, or if he just happened to capitalize on her stalking habits, but these pictures are bad, Jesse.”

I start running things through my head. Surely, she can’t mean what I think she means.

“What kind of pictures?” I ask, and Jocelyn sighs.

“Pictures of us, you and me, doing...stuff. And they’re graphic. In a few of them, I’m almost entirely naked.”

I’ll fucking kill him. I turn to head back to the townhouse, but she grabs my wrist.

“You can’t go in there, Jesse. Are you not listening to me? I’m being blackmailed.”

I whirl on her. “Blackmailed how?”

Her facial expression answers for her, but I let her speak.

“I have to play by his rules. I have to stop seeing you. If I don’t, he’ll send the pictures to the Dean and get you expelled, and—”

I bark out a laugh, cutting her off.

“Fuck him, Classic. Seriously. I told you, he can’t do shit to me.”

“You didn’t see these pictures, Jesse.”