Page 9 of The Other Room

The defeat in his voice plucked away at the tiny threads of empathy residing somewhere deep inside me. But I waged a war to stop their resonating before they grew too loud to ignore. Matt was a betrayer. Matt didn’t deserve my forgiveness or my mercy. Nope. I wouldn’t lose one second of sleep over where Matt would lay his two-faced head.

Then why do I feel so guilty saying no?

Shaking off the nagging guilt brewing inside me, I lifted my chin and tried to change the subject. “Who’s up for another round of bar dice.”

“I’m in.” Aaron grabbed the cup.

“I lost. I go first.” Matt reached across me to confiscate it. When his hand brushed across mine, I yanked it back, startled by the sensation from the touch that used to be so familiar. So natural. His wide eyes locked onto mine for a moment before darting away.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“And I’m sorry those guys are trying to force you to take me in. I don’t blame you for saying no. It’s fine,” he said, chuckling to hide the desperation lingering just below the surface.

I didn’t answer. A flurry of memories and ghosts from the past swirled inside me, demanding to be acknowledged. Instead of surrendering, I tapped my toe on the barstool.

“Although, if you happen to change your mind,” he said, then raised his hands in submission, “though I don’t expect you to, I am super handy and can help you fix up the cabin. Bob Vila ain’t got nothing on me.”

The cabin did need a lot of work. A new roof, new flooring, work on the plumbing, new appliances... the to-do list was longer than my arm. Having grown up as a tomboy, I was pretty handy with tools, but complex projects were a little out of my skill set. But Matt possessed that skill set in spades.

Ever since we were kids, he could fix any problem that came up and build anything he dreamed of creating. Since my father wasn’t around while we were growing up, he’d even helped out around my house when my mom needed work done. He’d repaired broken faucets, retiled our bathroom, installed new flooring, and offered to help her with any handyman projects that popped up. He’d always refused to be paid even when she insisted, knowing our money was tight. But to quell her guilt over all the free work, he’d always accept a batch of his favorite cookies.

For a moment I contemplated his offer, thinking having Matt and his extensive skill set with construction and building would be a smart move. Hiring out all the work was going to be a lot of money, and it was all work that Matt could do with ease. Considering his offer for a heartbeat, I shook my head.

“I can’t. Sorry.” My heart stumbled. “After what you... you know... I just can’t.”

“I get it. It was unforgiveable. Hell, I’ll never forgive myself for falling for Nikki’s temptations and betraying Jake.” He looked up, those dark eyes meeting mine. “But, I did. And there’s nothing I can do to take it back. But I really am sorry, Jo. I miss you. So much.”

I missed him, too. More than I would ever admit to anyone, and it would seem even myself, because sitting next to him after spending a year apart was like torture. I missed how hard he could make me laugh, how comforting his hugs were after a bad day, and how easy it was to be with him. He got me. He always had, and I missed the best friend who’d been at my side since the day I could walk.

But he is a liar. A cheat and a liar. And that violates the friend code. More importantly, it violates the Jo code.

That realization stung the worst. The man I would have trusted with my life had morphed into the lowest of the low, and finding out the person I thought I’d known better than anyone in the world was an untrustworthy piece of crap had shaken my world to the core.

Fighting to keep the words I miss you, too lodged inside my mouth where they belonged, I took a sip of my margarita to keep it busy.

“Hopefully someday you’ll forgive me. But until then, I’m not going to stop trying. And you know how persistent I am, so eventually I’ll wear you down. I’ll be peeling your cold, unforgiving layers off one at a time. Like you’re a stinky, grudge-holding, irrationally angry onion.”

With a cocky smile that almost inspired one in me, he shook his bar dice and spilled them out onto the bar.

“Fifty-six in one. Beat that, Jo.” He smiled and pushed the cup my way.

The softness of his smile, and the warmth he radiated with it, assaulted the icy wall I’d built around myself whenever he came near. Fighting to resist the heat threatening to turn it into a puddle at my feet, I glared at him and took the dice cup.

“You’re on.”

CHAPTER THREE

JO

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“Ugh,” I groaned into my pillow. Six hours of running at break-neck speed behind the bar last night, and the four winning rounds of bar dice I’d played that ended with Bernie shots, had taken a toll on my body. Every muscle screamed for relief and jockeyed for position in the pain department, competing for first place with the throbbing in my head no doubt caused by too much tequila.

With a desperate need for a giant glass of water forcing me to move my aching bones, I pushed off the covers and sat up in bed. Petunia, my new cat, sat at the end of the bed, her green eyes penetrating me while she stared, her silent demands for breakfast well understood.

“Morning, Petunia,” I said as I stretched. “Don’t ever drink tequila. Tequila is bad. Very bad.”