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Goddamn!
I was being forced to swallow my fucking pride. It tasted like battery acid. “I’m sorry for torturing you.” I took a step toward her, my eyes narrowing. My voice went soft.
Trace growled next to me.
I ignored him. “I’m sorry for doing it for hours.”
I was challenging her right back, but I’d already apologized. I’d already had my ass beaten and put in the hospital because of it, by my best friend, and how many times did I need to apologize?
“You are such a fucking dick.” Jess was shaking her head, but some blood drained from her face, leaving her looking ashen.
Guilt moved into my chest.
I lowered my head. “I am sorry.” I looked up because I was. I truly was, but it was hard to take back damage that you inflicted.
Jess shook her head again, and a hollow laugh came from her. “The thing is—you’re not sorry you hurt me. You’re sorry you hurt someone Trace loves, and that I wasn’t the traitor. That’s what you’re sorry about. There’s a difference, and this, you and me—we’ll never get along until you’re actually sorry that you hurt me.”
She started to leave, but I blocked her. Or I started to, until Trace growled. “Think about that, brother.”
I threw him a look, but I didn’t move. Not when he just called me brother again.
She started to leave again.
“Jess,” I called after her.
She reached for the doorknob, but she didn’t pull the door open. Her hand on it, she looked back at me. Some of the fight had left her. “Do not hurt my friend. You do, I will shoot you.” She let out a soft breath of air. “And you know Trace will let me.”
I threw him a sideways look. He only smirked at me before finishing his drink.
She left, and we heard the elevator arriving not long after.
I watched Trace as he went to the windowed wall and looked down. We both knew who he was watching.
“You’re not going to say anything?” I asked, moving to stand alongside him.
“About what?”
I looked down, seeing what he was seeing.
Molly was laughing with her friends. The bartender seemed infatuated with her.
I wasn’t liking the bartender and made a mental note to see if he really needed to have his job or not.
Trace shook his head. “I’ve said enough on the matter of you and Jess. It’ll get worked out. I’m seeing that now. It’s just a matter of time.”
I frowned as he went back to the bar, pouring himself another drink.
Jess had been one of our last bartenders up here, and since then, neither he nor I had let anyone else take her place behind the bar. Him, because he didn’t want anyone else up here. Me, it wasn’t for sentimental reasons like him. I just liked the extra privacy. I began enjoying making my own drinks when I came here.
“You’re seeing what now?”
Trace just grinned, holding up a bottle of vodka. “You’ll see. Want another one?”
I looked at my drink. I had half in there but tossed it back.
Life was crazy right now, but if my brother was offering to make me a drink, I was going to take him up on it. Jess wasn’t the only one I was still trying to make things right with.
I handed him my empty glass. “I am sorry for what I did.”
He took it, somber, before he nodded. “I know.”
Then, he made us both drinks.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MOLLY
My cousin texted just as I was letting myself into my apartment.
Glen: All good. Had a good night. You need me tomorrow?
I paused in the open door, putting my purse on the floor.
Me: No. I’ll be good tomorrow. Thank you so much.
Glen: Rest. Hope you feel better.
I stepped all the way in, letting the door swing shut behind me, and I was reaching up to lock it when my brain clicked on. I’d stepped into the space my purse had been. Meaning, it wasn’t there anymore. Sheer panic exploded in me at the same time—a body was in my space. I was upended, hanging over someone’s shoulder in the next second, and that’s when the scream left me.
The guy grunted as he shut the door the rest of the way and hit the locks on. “It’s me.”
I froze. Me?! As in, I tried to twist around to see him. “Ashton?”
He’d already been inside my apartment. How? What?
He walked a few more feet back into the living room before he tossed me on the couch. He followed me down, almost landing on top of me, but as I was sprawled out, he was holding himself just above me. One hand to the couch’s arm behind my head and the other on the back of the couch. It was an impressive plank, and he didn’t seem winded.
Then I clued in on how angry his eyes were. His jaw was clenched. His eyes seared into mine. “I told you to stay put. Why was I then told that you’d left?”
