Page 3 of Fighting For You
But that’s where they’d stay. I wasn’t going to open up our history and let those memories suck me in, even if they did try nightly these days. I huffed audibly, out of words or the ability to express myself.
Maybe I should try grunting.
He dropped one of his gigantic hands and gestured like I was welcome to move past him, but there was sarcasm in the movement, impossible though it might sound.
I’d never know what he meant by it, and such was the problem with grunting as a first line of communication. Not that I actually wanted to know what he thought or would say when he deigned to open his mouth. Though there’d been a time…
No.
Today, now, I didn’t want anything from him.
I slipped past him without touching, breathing through the overwhelming urge to scream into a pillow.
Back in my office, I shut the door and leaned against it, closing my eyes against the world. The smooth wood panel met my shoulder blades. My grapefruit candle I neverburned still gave off the fresh scent. The beat of my heart pulsed in my ears.
I can handle Jude Rawlins, grunts and all.
I would prove it to myself and everyone here.
Beast though he may be, at his heart, he was just another man.
CHAPTER TWO
Jude
The afternoon lull at Diner mirrored my thoughts—largely empty.
Catherine bussed a table that’d just emptied out. She’d already brought my coffee and pie. I hadn’t taken a bite yet.
I shouldn’t have come today, maybe, but I always came here on Mondays and had afternoon coffee. I brought Omi—my grandma—when she was up for it. They had a sugar-free banana cream she loved. She’d smile and act like it was the best part of her week sitting here with me. She always made me feel like I was right where I should be when I sat with her. The sense maybe I didn’t belong never once crept in when I sat across from her.
I nudged the sugar-filled version of the same pie in front of me. I loved pie, but my appetite had flagged so much lately, I only ever managed to eat what would literally sustain me. Taking pleasure in food felt like a memory.
Pleasure in almost anything felt distant lately, but memory had provided some sanctuary. And showing up here, reliving the time I spent in this place with someone who simply loved me… it ached, but like a bruise I couldn’t stop pressing on.
Catherine sank into the booth across from me and heaved a sigh before gazing at me through her long, dark lashes. She had fair, freckled skin and a kind face. She was hardworking and endlessly helpful. And she’d never been scared of me, so that was something.
The first time we’d ever spoken to each other outside of a morning breakfast order was at Tristan’s wedding, when we were paired together to walk down the aisle as part of the bridal party and later for pictures. An oddly intimate thing I’d never thought much about since I’d never been in a wedding until that day. Despite my reputation for being a jerk, she hadn’t shied away, only greeted me with a softness and gentle grace I hadn’t expected or deserved.
Certainly a treatment I’d never received from… some people. But maybe I’d brought their way of dealing with me on myself. Either way, Catherine’s gentleness had, on occasion, made me wish for more of the same from… people.
“How are you, my friend?” she asked, glancing at the uneaten pie.
That it’d sat there for five full minutes and hadn’t diminished, let alone vanished in seconds, was sign enough of my state.
“Fine.”
She raised a brow. “I can see.”
I shrugged a shoulder—or, if I didn’t, I thought about it. Sometimes, I felt like I expressed myself overtly when really, things stayed internal. Locked up in this head and heart with no outlet. More lately.
“Anything interesting going on at work?” she asked, knowing full well there was only so much I could tell her about any given assignment anyway.
I grunted. More was simply too much.
“Whoa, whoa. Give me a minute to breathe here, friend. That’s far too much at one time.” She winked.
“Ha.”
