Getting Real
“I’d prefer you had a backbone, Jake. I’d prefer you weren’t so weak. Didn’t have such a heart of straw.” She stood up and stepped around him. “But I guess that’s too much to ask.”
“Sit down.”
It wasn’t a request. He hadn’t moved off his knees but his tone made her pause—it was unguarded and hard. She sat, looked down at him, saw the tension in his jaw and the determination in his eyes.
“I said possible replacements. I didn’t say I was walking away. But if you’re about to fly off the handle and bounce me then you need a fall back first.”
“I’m not about to—”
“Shut up, Rielle. Let me see your neck. We can talk about what you’re going to do after we’ve made sure you’re not going to bleed to death.”
Cool, this was new. Jake showing his anger without being drug addled. She liked it. Enough to do what he asked. She removed her hand and turned her head so he could see where she was bleeding. He grunted in annoyance. “You’re got a bunch of nicks and scratches and one nasty cut.” His fingers went tentatively to the area around her tattoo. “It’s not deep but it’s bleeding still. Does it hurt?”
“No. It’s nothing.”
He held a wad of gauze against her neck. “It’s not nothing. You’re hurt and it’s my fault. It’s only luck it’s not much worse.”
“It’s okay Jake, I’m not hurt. I’ve had worse.”
“You could have been.” He pulled the cloth away and got to his feet, leaned over her, his fingers gentle, smoothing her hair away. Was it weird that it felt nice? She was bleeding onto her t-shirt—yeah it was weird to like the way he was all tense and serious and fussing over her.
“It’s a clean cut, no glass. Antiseptic is going to sting. I’m sorry.”
When he met her eyes she said, “Quit apologising. I’m not angry with you. I’m pissed off with Jonas and with myself for not fighting Rand harder on my issue with him. But I’m not angry with you.”
He grunted. “You’d have every right.”
“Yeah, I would.” She sighed. She wanted him to understand. He didn’t need to feel threatened by this. She wasn’t about to bounce his ass for Jonas’s cock up. “Everything that happens on your watch is your responsibility.”
He pulled the cloth away, but the bleeding started again so he pressed it back. She didn’t flinch when the antiseptic hit the cuts. It was really a nothing injury, she’d had worse blisters.
“At least we agree on that.”
No, he still didn’t get it. “Yeah, yeah—everything is your fault.” He frowned; she went on.
“Missing parts, stuck motors, rogue roadies, drugged out EPs. My miscues, turbulence, the weather. Me not wanting to be here.”
He pulled back to look at her. “What?”
“I’m just saying, while you’re responsible, it’s not all your fault. This wasn’t your fault, Jake.”
The look he gave her was full of mistrust. Rielle sighed, pushed his hand away, taking hold of the gauze herself. “You hate me don’t you?”
He shifted away. “I don’t hate you. I don’t get you, but I don’t hate you.”
“I don’t want you to hate me.” She paused. She sounded like a school kid. She was never like this at school. Never cared what anyone thought. Why did she care what Jake Reed thought? She dropped her eyes. “Bad enough you think I’m a fake.”
He sighed. “Look, I never should’ve said that stuff. It was inappropriate. I was angry with you for calling me on the heights thing. I don’t need anyone to remind me how crippling it is.”
“I’m sorry. I—”
“You have no need to apologise. I think we’re square.”
She looked up. “Yeah—you think I’m a nasty fake and I think you’re piss weak. Some square.”
Jake plucked fresh gauze from the first aid kit and made a bandage with plaster. “At least we know where we stand.”
15. Relapse