Awaken Me (The Jaded Series Book 4) (11 page)

I was happy to see Jaxon and Mac when they came by earlier. It meant they could take the redheaded sugar-smelling temptress away and things could go back to normal. Or my kind of normal anyway.

When Mac asked if we could talk outside and then mentioned the gun Jaxon and Chris found me sitting with, I got pissed. He asked me about it, and I told them it was none of their damn business. Neither took kindly to that, and they reminded me that it
was
their business because they cared about me and didn’t want to see me hurt. Then Jaxon and his big fucking mouth made me feel like shit when he told me Bailey still blames herself for what happened to Anna and told me it would kill her if something happened to me, especially by my own hands.

After that, I was done. I completely forgot about demanding they take Chris with them and walked off. She already knew I wanted her gone, so I figured it would be a foregone conclusion. I mean, who would want to stay with a total dick anyway?

I straighten up after replacing the two logs with a fresh one. Apparently Chris does, as she’s walking toward me.

I grip the handle of the ax until my knuckles cramp. I clamp my teeth together and try my damndest to hold in the anger I’m feeling. Jaxon’s voice from earlier warning me to be nice to Chris rings through my head.

Fuck! Why can’t this girl just leave me the fuck alone!

She watches me warily as she stops by the pile of split logs.

“I have chili on the stove. It should be ready in a few minutes,” she says in a small voice.

Unclenching my jaw, I tell her in a forced calm voice, “I’ll be in later.”

I turn my back to her and launch the ax through the wood again. I do this several more times while she stands there, watching me. It’s making me feel uncomfortable. I’m just about to turn around and demand she leave, when she speaks.

“Why are you cutting wood? You don’t have a fireplace.”

I drop the ax on the ground and pull in a lungful of air. I am so fucking tired. I swear, if I could just not have my nightly dreams, I would sleep for a week. Having Chris here isn’t helping matters. My body is wound tight around her and that’s wearing me down as well.

I grab my shirt out of my back pocket and wipe my face clean. When I pull the material away from my face, Chris is still watching me, except this time there’s something else in her eyes. She has them pinned on my chest and there’s blatant desire, heat, and want reflecting in them.

She lifts them to my face and she immediately flushes and looks down at her hands, which are twisting together. As with most redheads, her skin is pale, so the red creeping up her face is very noticeable. I don’t know if I like the fact that my body makes her react in such a way, or if it pisses me off because she feels she can look. Either way, I watch as she stands there fidgeting with the bottom of her shirt… a different shirt than what she was wearing this morning.

“You weren’t wearing that shirt this morning. Where did you get it?” I ask, and hope my suspicions are wrong.

She looks up, her knuckles turning white before she admits, “Umm… Jaxon dropped a bag off for me this morning.”

I tip my head up at the sky and grind my teeth together.
Why in the fuck are you making this so difficult? All I want is some peace, but instead you drop this stubborn-ass woman in my lap.

I try to calm my breathing before I speak again, because I know if I open my mouth, I’ll say something harsh and mean.

After several seconds of deep breathing, I bring my head back down.

“Why? I’ve told you I don’t want you here. What the fuck, Sugar?” That’s the third time I’ve called her that. Each time was on impulse. It’s that damn sugar smell on her skin that does it. Fuck, it smells good, but giving her pet names is stupid. Why in the fuck does it keep slipping out? It’s not like this chick means shit to me.

Her brows are pulled into a straight line, like she’s thinking of something to say, but isn’t sure if she should. Next, a look of resolve comes across her face. She’s like an open book. Almost every emotion that crosses her face, I recognize. She can’t hold anything in.

“I decided to stay and keep you company,” she says, her voice determined.

Her answer is so fucking ridiculous, a laugh bursts out before I can stop it. It only lasts for a second, but it’s enough to feel foreign to me. I can’t remember the last time I laughed, or even smiled.

Chris looks mesmerized or some shit, and it irritates the fuck out of me. All humor now gone, I glower at her. The look soon leaves her face and is replaced by apprehension, and fuck it all to hell, I want the awestruck look back.

Son of a bitch! I’m all over the fucking place!

One minute I want her fascinated with me and the next I want nothing to do with her. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Just stay the hell out of my way,” I demand in a harsh voice.

I turn my back to her, stuff the dirty shirt in my back pocket, and pick up my ax once again, rudely dismissing her. It takes a few moments, but then I hear the crackle of leaves, indicating she’s walking away. I can’t help myself and turn to watch. She has her head down dejectedly and remorse sweeps through me.

I used to never talk to women like I talk to Chris. I don’t know what it is about her that brings out the anger. Actually, yes I do; she reminds me of everything I could have had. The life I could have had. A life I wanted with Anna, but I’m now seeing glimpses of Chris in the mix. She’s starting to insert herself in little ways, has been for the last several months. I find myself at the oddest times thinking about her. I’m starting to see her in my dreams. The dream I had last night wasn’t the first time she’s invaded my thoughts while I slept.

I hate this because I don’t want her in my life. I don’t want her invading my space and thoughts. I don’t want her concern or sympathy. I don’t want her to take the sadness away that surrounds me. And I certainly don’t want my body to react to hers.

But no matter how much I push her away, it seems like it only draws her closer to me, and I don’t know what to do. I love Anna with every piece of my heart. I’ll always love her. There are no pieces left for anyone else to claim.

Even if I did want to be with someone else or learn to care for another woman, how could I when I know I would be secretly wishing she were someone else? Knowing I could never truly give myself to her fully?

I chop wood for another hour, exhausting myself, hoping I’ll get some undisturbed sleep tonight. Sweat dribbles down my back and face. The sun is starting to settle behind the trees and the temperature is dropping fast. I hate the time change this time of year. It takes away so many of the working daylight hours.

Deciding to stop for the evening, I slam the ax down on the stump until it stands on its own. My back aches from all the chopping I did today and my eyes feel like there’re ten-ton weights hanging from them. I walk sluggishly back to the house.

When I walk in the front door, all the lights are off, except for the lamp in the living room. I spy Chris’s head over the back of the couch. She lifts herself a little and sees me at the door. I close the door behind me, slip off my boots, and avoid her eyes.

My stomach protests as I walk away from the kitchen and the delicious smells and instead head toward my bedroom and the connecting bathroom. I’m hungry, but I need a shower first. I’m dirty and sticky from sweat, and I’m hoping the warm water will stop the headache I feel starting in my temples.

I’ve been getting a lot of headaches lately that just won’t go away. I know they’re from stress. I’ve been having problems with some of the contractors I hire out for odd jobs that my crew and I can’t do. Being home is also stressful. I know my friends mean well, but having them at my back all the time gets to be too much. I see the way they look at me and there are times I want nothing more than to snarl to whip the looks of pity from their faces. I hate myself when I feel that way because they love me and only want me happy again. But they just don’t understand that it’s not possible for me. It may never be possible for me. I am so far beyond fucked-up in the head that there may never be any going back for me. Losing Anna destroyed a piece of me I don’t feel I could ever get back. My life without her in it is bleak and empty. I don’t want happiness back if I can’t have it with her. She’s gone. Why should I be happy while she’s rotting away in a grave?

To top it off, I now have to deal with Chris being in my space and all the fucked-up and inconsistent feelings I’m having toward her. One minute I want to demand she stay the hell away from me and the next I want to snatch her to me and take whatever she wants to give. I’ve also seen the way she looks at me, and I know deep down for some reason she has feelings for me. I have no idea why, but it’s there in her eyes. That’s why I’m such a dick to her. She needs to learn now that I can’t give her anything. It’s better for her to know that before she gets too involved. It just seems harsher not to warn her.

I step out of my clothes and into the shower. There is a lot of work that still needs to be done on the house. I know I need to get it done—I own a fucking construction business for Christ’s sake—but finding the motivation for doing it without Anna beside me is the problem. I don’t
want
to do it without her. It was to be
our
project. However, I did change the showerhead in my shower. I installed a rain showerhead about a year ago. It may sound girly as shit, but it only sounds that way if you haven’t been under one. If you have, then you wouldn’t care if it spit out rainbows, as long as it beats down on your shoulders the same as the water does. It’s pure fucking heaven.

After ten minutes of the wonder spray, I step out, dry off, and head to my dresser naked. I slip on a pair of old worn jeans and a black thermal shirt and head out of my room on bare feet. Chris is still on the couch reading her book. Neither of us acknowledges the other as I walk by, but I feel her eyes on me as I go into the kitchen.

What does she see that makes her so interested in me? What am I to her?

Ignoring the questions rolling around in my head, I go straight to the pot on the stove. There’s a clean bowl on the counter beside it. She finished the chili over an hour ago, but the pot is still hot, indicating she must have kept it warm for me. I feel a pang of guilt in my stomach at the thought. All she’s ever done is be nice, and I repay her by being an asshole. It’s in her best interests, though.

After scooping a generous amount of food into the bowl, I take a taste and nearly burn my tongue off in the process. It’s good. Very good.

I grab a container and pour the rest of the chili into it to store in the fridge for later. It’s the least I can do, since she cooked.

I open the fridge to grab a beer and then scowl when I remember Chris poured them all down the drain. It’s times like these that I truly hate the damn woman. She has no right making decisions like that for me. If I want to drink myself into a drunken stupor, then I should be allowed to.

See? My emotions are all over the place when it comes to Chris.

Instead of my much-needed beer, I grab a glass and get some water from the sink. I take both my glass of godforsaken water and my chili and walk back into the living room. Chris is still in the same position on the couch; back against the armrest and knees drawn up with a blanket thrown over her legs.

I don’t say anything as I sit on the opposite end of the couch. She pauses in her reading and looks at me. I ignore her, pick up the remote, and switch on the TV. I flip it to football. She cranes her head around to look at the TV and then looks back down at her book. I eat and watch TV in silence, while she sits there and reads. I can tell she’s distracted though, because I haven’t seen her flip a page once.

After I finish my food, I set my bowl down on the coffee table and kick my feet up beside it with one arm propped up along the back of the couch.

“Chili was good,” I say quietly with my eyes still on the TV. “Thank you.”

My words surprise her. I can tell because she drops her book in her lap. I can see her shocked expression from the corner of my eye.

It takes her a few seconds, but she eventually responds with “You’re welcome.”

She doesn’t pick her book back up. Instead she sets it down on the couch between us and swings her legs around until they are on the floor. With the blanket still in her lap she turns to watch the game with me.

During a commercial break she faces me again and says, “You need food. I used the last meat in the freezer and all you have in the fridge is limp lettuce and a few condiments. Can we go to Evelyn’s for groceries tomorrow? Or take me to my car so I can go?”

I contemplate her question before answering. I know I need food. I’ve been living off microwavable dinners for too long, and I know I ate the last one the other night. But I really don’t want to spend time with her if I don’t have to.

Instead of answering, I ask a question of my own.

“How long you plan on staying? Don’t you have work?”

As stressful as it is to have her here, I can’t help but feel a tiny bit of pleasure. It’s fucked-up that I feel that way, but it is what it is. And I have no idea why. It’s not like I
want
her here.

“As long as it takes,” she says, shrugging. “And no, it’s a four-day weekend, and I can take off Wednesday as well if I want.”

“Don’t,” I tell her harshly.

Her body jerks at my hard tone. When I finally look at her, the concern is back in her eyes. Doesn’t she realize I don’t want or need her concern? Why won’t this girl just give up already?

“You’ve stayed long enough. You can go back and tell everyone I’m fine. Jaxon took my gun, so there’s no chance I’ll shoot myself.”

My words come out deeper than before, and I know my eyes show hatred. I’m a bastard, and I know it. I’m a bastard for feeling resentment toward the people who care about me. It would destroy them if I purposely hurt myself. But I can’t help but feel it. I hate living like this. I’m tired and just want the pain to go away. But then again, I deserve to feel it.