Page 95 of Forbidden Forward

No, I really don’t, but I have a feeling I’m not going to escape it. My body is rigid as a board, my heart is in pieces, and my brother rails on. “He tells everyone who’ll listen that he never spends a night alone. Different girl every night. That’s why the guys in the locker room don’t like him. Besides being an arrogant prick, he’s a total manwhore! Fucking hell, Jack, you could date a serial killer and you’d be doing better than Chase. That’s quite a talent you’ve got for picking partners, big sister.”

Pointing my finger at him, I grit out, “The guy you’re describing sounds like you.”

The arrow hits its mark, and the pain shows all over my brother’s startled expression. As quickly as he lets the hurt show, he covers it by firming his mouth into a thin line. His eyes don’t hide his disgust. “I’ve had enough. I’m out.” He jerks his keys from his jeans pocket. “I’ll give you thirty days to find your own place. In the meantime, stay out of my way. I don’t want to see you.”

The door frame rattles as he yanks it closed behind him. I sink into the couch and dissolve in a puddle of devastation.

Chapter 42

Return of the Chameleon

Jackie

A half hour later, I stand in front of the mirror and pat at the cold water I’ve splashed on my face. Red, puffy eyes stare back at me in the mirror. Also red is my stuffed nose, and I’m as big a mess inside as I am on the outside.

Donovan’s words—worse, his expression—left me bruised and bloody. He accused me of having bad judgment, and he’s right—about Randy Grubbs. Letting that man in was the most colossal mistake of my life. He’s like a box jellyfish, relentlessly wrapping his venomous tentacles around me, choking me, poisoning me.

As for Colby, I don’t believe Donovan’s accusations. He will say anything to drive a wedge between him and everyone else. Maybe I’m fooling myself, but when images of Colby working patiently with the kids recirculate in my brain, I can’t fathom this other persona Donovan describes.

But I need to find out for myself. Then I have to find someplace to live—and a new job if nothing is resolved. I have a feeling Randy’s behind the letter, but I can only solve one problem at a time, and right now my priority is seven floors below me.

Slipping into fresh clothes, I brush my teeth and hair, pulling it back into a ponytail. I pause to eye the scrunchie, and fresh tears well as I recall Colby asking for my other scrunchie in a trade for his shirt. I vaguely consider that I might have to return that shirt.

Without calling or texting, I ride the elevator down to the twenty-first floor and take hesitant steps toward Colby’s door. I stop a few times, tempted to turn and run in the opposite direction. What if Colby’s not alone?

I shore up my determination. Running won’t solve a damn thing.

In front of his door, I pull in a cleansing breath and knock softly. When I get no answer, I rap harder and wait. My heart slams against my rib cage, and my breastbone aches. I twine and untwine my clammy fingers.

I’m almost relieved when he doesn’t come to the door. Taking a step back, I begin a pivot with a plan to return later. The door swings open, and I spin back to face the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.

“Hey,” I near-gasp.

His generous lips part in surprise, and his forehead furrows. Not the reaction I was hoping for. No, I need his arms to open wide and welcome me in so I can collapse against his strength. But they don’t, and I wobble in place and will my knees not to give out. “Can I come in?”

He bobs his head and opens the door, closing it when I’m inside. He makes no move to leave the entryway. I’m flummoxed by the chill radiating from him. Then I remind myself he started freezing me out days ago after my snarky remarks.

“I n-need to talk to you,” I say.

Wordlessly, he heads down the hallway to the kitchen. I follow on unsteady feet. He plucks a water bottle from the fridge and holds it up to me. What, he can’t talk anymore?

Tempted to shake my head, I instead say, “No, thank you.” It’s more out of stubbornness than it is to hear someone say something in the echoing space.

He uncaps the bottle and takes a swig. “What do you need to talk to me about?” His voice is as chilly as his vibe. Okay, maybe my words were harsher than I remember.

“First, I wanted to apologize for what I said the other night about … about lightening your burden.”

Another infuriatingly noncommittal nod.

“I also wanted to tell you about a little run-in on the street a while ago between my ex, my brother, and me.”

He blinks, and his eyebrows lift. He hasn’t invited me to sit, so I brace the heels of my hands on his counter and summarize what went down, minus the part where my brother detonated and told me to move out.

Colby’s gorgeous gray eyes dart to the side before coming back to rest on mine. “How did your ex know that was Donovan with you?”

Now there’s an irrelevant question if I ever heard one. “He probably saw him on the team roster. The more important question is how did he find out about you and me? And how did he know that you and my brother don’t get along?”

“Don’t get along?” Colby chuffs. “You mean ‘can’t stand each other,’ right?”