Page 10

I should have said no. Should have told Jacob I didn’t need him. I’ll be fine. I’m always fine. I knew from a very early age that I was despised by my family. I’ve never had a true explanation as to why, but they’ve treated me like shit for as long as I can remember. My therapist has some thoughts. I have the quietest personality of the four of us, but also the one who exudes the most peace. She thinks my mother hates me because I’m young and beautiful. I hold myself regally, whereas my older brother is only one inch taller than me, and has about one hundred pounds of extra weight on his frame. I don’t ever remember my father treating me with anything resembling kindness, but my lack of interest in the family business sealed the deal there.

It’s dumb, really. My brother has been groomed to take over from my dad since he was a teenager. What did it matter what I wanted to do with my life? Was I expected to take some kind of secretarial job, or another job with no responsibility? I know they wanted me under their thumb, where they’d pick out my husband, and then I’d be popping children out left and right. No thank you. I’m not sure if I even want kids. They’re fun, but I like my independence.

So when my mother looks at me and loudly sighs, I roll my eyes. “What, Mother? How have I offended you this time?”

Margaret Atwood Stephens sits up straighter as my brother stalks into the room. Taking a good look at him, I notice how far his hairline has receded. Rodney Stephens, Junior glares at me as his nostrils flare, and I realize his nose is quite a bit bigger than when I last saw him.

“You watch your mouth, you little bitch,” he snarls.

My eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You are in our house. You will not speak to Mother that way.”

“You still live here?” I screech. “You’re thirty-six years old!”

I don’t see the hand coming, and I don’t register the pain until a few seconds after my head flings to the side. Rodney viciously grabs my chin, forcing me to look up at him. A metallic taste hits my tongue as I realize my lip is bleeding.

“I live here because I run this town. I will bury you, Rebecca. Just try me. You are only here to save face with our investors. After the funeral, we’ll discuss how you’ll be helping the future of this family.” His eyes are full of hatred as he stares at me. I can see my mom out of the corner of my eye looking away, as if she can act like this isn’t happening. Rodney squeezes my chin harshly, and I cry out in pain. “Such a waste of space. Do you understand? You’re worthless. You mean nothing. They should have gotten rid of you when they had the chance, you spineless piece of shit.”

Rodney slaps me again, harder this time, and I scream. “Stop it!”

He grabs my hair and yanks me out of the chair. “Get the fuck out of here. Make yourself presentable, Rebecca. You’re such an embarrassment. People will arrive in an hour.”

Grabbing my bag, I blindly lunge toward the front door. Tears block my vision, and I throw open the door with gusto. I’m unprepared to hit a wall when I step outside, but the familiar feeling is reminiscent of a handful of weeks ago when I ran into Jacob.

“Woah! What’s the rush, darlin’?” Jacob drawls as he holds onto my shoulders. “You okay?”

“Do you have a car?” I whisper.

“I do.”

“Can we leave? Just go anywhere. Please,” I plead, my head bowed. I have a feeling if Jacob sees my face, he’ll rush into the house and beat the hell out of my brother. As much as I’d love to see that, I know my brother well enough to know he’ll press charges immediately. I can’t be the reason why Jacob’s career ends.

“Sure, Spitfire. You wanna help me get settled into my room? Apparently only the honeymoon suite at the Paradise Point Hotel was available, but the lady I spoke to promised to give me all the rose petals and a bottle of champagne, so I think I’m getting the better end of the deal.” Jacob gently takes my elbow, leading me to a small sedan parked in the driveway.

“How did you get in here?” I wonder aloud. “The guards at this gated community barely let me in here, and I grew up in this house.”

“Played the celebrity card and gave a couple autographs. I hate doing it, but it works,” Jacob admits. He opens the passenger door for me, waiting until I’m safely inside before shutting the door and trotting around the car. “You alright if we head to the hotel?”

“Wait. Why are you staying here? Don’t you have to go to Cleveland?” I ask suddenly, but Jacob shrugs.

“I explained the situation to my coach. I got a flight tomorrow at two that gets me into Cleveland by five. The game doesn’t start until seven thirty. It isn’t ideal, but I’m relieved he was so accommodating. I may have told him you’re my girlfriend, but since you already asked me to be your fake boyfriend, I guess it wasn’t a complete lie,” he confesses sheepishly.

I let out an awkward giggle. “You don’t have to stay. Your actual job is important.”

“I know. But I also know you’re hurting, and I’m not about to leave you alone around these vultures when you don’t have anyone to back you up.”

I feel a warmth in my belly. It’s an odd sensation, but I’m not accustomed to having people ready to support me. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he says quietly, reaching over and grabbing my hand. We’re quiet for the few minutes it takes to cross town, with only the navigation directions breaking up the silence. As we pull up to the hotel, I realize I’m about to go into a hotel with a man who is pretty famous, and I possibly look like I’ve been beaten up. Dragging my hair over my shoulders, I push it to cover my cheeks. He doesn’t even know I’m staying at the same hotel.

Jacob grabs a bag from the trunk, then waits for me to walk beside him. He again grabs my hand, and the feel of his hand against mine grounds me. He’s the strength I need right now.

As he registers with the front desk associate, I keep my head turned and look at a wall of advertisements. Some are still the same from when I lived here over fifteen years ago. New ones include people I went to high school with selling various multi-level marketing schemes, or moms opening up at-home daycare slots. Why on earth would someone advertise a daycare at a hotel?

“You ready, baby?” Jacob calls out, and the butterflies erupt in my stomach. I don’t know which one I like better: Spitfire or baby. Either of them said with Jacob’s slow, southern drawl are like honey being poured over my skin. And boy, I sure would love it if he licked that honey right off.

Jacob takes my hand again as he leads me to the elevator. Heading up to the third floor, we walk silently to the end of the hallway. “It sure is quiet for a hotel that claims they only had the honeymoon suite available.”

“I overheard my mother say that most of the hotels were completely booked because of the funeral tomorrow.”

“Oh. I guess that makes sense. Your dad was a popular guy then.”

I shrug. “No. He just schmoozed with a ton of people.”

“How did he die?” Jacob asks quietly as we reach the door to the suite.

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “Anytime I’ve asked, I’ve been shut down. My guess is a heart attack. He never took good care of himself when I lived here, so I can only assume that continued.”

Opening the door, Jacob gestures for me to walk into the suite, but I stop a few feet in, completely taken aback at the sight before me.

“Holy shit,” Jacob breathes. “No wonder this was still available.”

A circular bed with a heart shaped headboard sits in the middle of the room. Red rose petals cover a white bedspread, cascading over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. The petals lead to the corner of the room, where a large jacuzzi tub resides.

“Red rose petals were a bold choice,” Jacob comments. “You’d think they’d go white or pink to match the walls.”

“Uh-huh,” I murmur, unable to formulate any other coherent thoughts. It’s like a Pepto Bismol party in here. Every shade of pink imaginable. Pale pink carpet, which clashes horribly with the red rose petals. Textured wallpaper with what appear to be dark pink clouds with lightning bolts of white zinging through. I love the weather aspect of the wallpaper, but the colors are so bright it’s giving me a headache. I’m about to comment that I want to put sunglasses on, when I hear Jacob loudly swear.

“What the fuck!” I automatically turn toward him, thinking he’s found some other horrifying shade of bubblegum bullshit, but find his eyes wide as he stares at me. “What the fuck happened to your face?”

Shit. I completely forgot about Rodney. I try to duck my head, but Jacob is faster, carefully taking both of my cheeks in his hands.

“Who. Did. This. To. You?” he growls, but his touch is unexpectedly gentle. “Are you okay?”

I’m surprised at the tenderness in his voice. How his thumb gently swipes over my skin. “Tell me the truth, Spitfire. You don’t have to put on a brave face around me. Just be you, and let me take care of you. Please.”

A whirlwind of emotion overtakes me, and the dam breaks as I crumble. Jacob’s arms encircle me, picking me up as I cry in earnest. He turns us, sitting on the bed before scooting toward the headboard. He leans back against the pillows, and I allow myself to rest my head on his chest. As I continue to cry, he patiently strokes up and down my spine. He doesn’t rush me or push for me to stop crying. He just waits. And as the feel of his steady heartbeat against my cheek calms me, I finally speak.

“My brother hit me,” I admit, my voice quivering. “Twice.”

I feel Jacob tense under my head, but he doesn’t respond, so I continue. “He’s never hit me before. He’s talked down to me. My therapist says he’s the epitome of a narcissist who uses emotional abuse to belittle and break down women. With our father gone, he’s now the head of the family company, and maybe that’s made him feel a little too powerful. I really don’t care that he hit me, you know? I don’t want anything to do with him. I get to go back to Denver and continue living my life, and hopefully I’ll never see him again. But my mom … she was right there. And she didn’t say a word. Not even when he hit me the second time.”

“I’m so sorry, baby. So fucking sorry,” Jacob whispers as he places a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“I shouldn’t have come,” I whisper sorrowfully.

“Why did you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

I sigh. “Closure, I guess. I wasn’t close with my dad by any means, but he wasn’t as mean as my mom or brother. Slightly more apathetic, but he wasn’t vicious as them. His insults didn’t seem to hurt as much. I guess I wanted to say goodbye. But my brother … I wish I knew why he hated me. Why they all hate me.”

“If you knew, do you think it would help?” Jacob asks.

I think about the question for a few moments. “Maybe it would give me some peace. I’ve wracked my brain for years trying to come up with their reasoning. I’d like to think I was a well-behaved kid. I didn’t bring any big scandals to the family. I got good grades. I didn’t party, stay out all night, or do anything that would explain their coldness and callousness.”

“It wasn’t you,” Jacob says sternly, his hand pushing my chin up until our eyes meet. “I barely know you, Spitfire, and I can guarantee it has nothing to do with you. You’re fucking perfect, and it’s their loss. You hear me, darlin’? It is their loss. Say the words.”

“It’s their loss,” I whisper, captivated by how his bright blue eyes glitter with a steadfast resolve I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. He believes in me. It’s been so long since I’ve had a man support me this way, and this man isn’t even my man.

“Louder. I need to know you believe it yourself.”

“I — it’s their loss,” I state, my voice clearly showing I’m not there yet, and Jacob chuckles.

“Nice try. Do it again.”

I huff a breath, aggravated. I clear my throat and belt out, “It’s their loss!”

A beautiful grin breaks across Jacob’s face. “You’re damn right it is. You’re brilliant, talented, and beautiful. You’re the light, not them.”

“I’m the light?” I ask softly, and he gives me a one-shoulder shrug.

“Yeah. I guarantee they don’t light up a room like you do, Spitfire. You’re a beacon, they’re the storm. Of course they want you to snuff out your light.”

No one has ever talked about me this way. Ever. Even Kevin, my boyfriend of one year while I lived in Cincinnati, and we’d actually talked about marriage. All my life, I’ve gotten so used to the constant repeating record of disappointment from the men in my life that hearing a man speak so positively about me is throwing me for a loop. Does he really mean all of this? Is Jacob Mitchell actually a good guy, and not the playboy hockey player that I assumed he’d be?

Looking deep into his eyes, I can’t find one iota of falseness. Nothing hidden. He’s looking at me so intently, so resolutely, that I’m taken aback.

Which is probably why I lose my head for a moment.

I push up and kiss him.