Where You Least Expect (19 page)

“‘Take advantage…’ Verna, don’t be silly. You know that—”

“Look, Joe.” She cut him off, unable to listen to him any longer while keeping her emotions in check. “I think we’ve said what needs to be said.”

She walked over to him, hand extended.

“Thank you,” she said.

He looked down at her proffered hand and then back up at her face, his expression far too close to anguish for her comfort.

“Please, don’t do this, Verna. I know I hurt you, but I will make it up to you. Just don’t quit on us.”

The sincerity in his eyes and in his voice had her resolve weakening, and she let herself think of what it would be like to just move forward, to pretend that nothing had happened. She wanted to, so very badly, but the memory of last night, of his blank expression, of how insignificant he’d made her feel, wouldn’t let her.

“Have a nice day,” she said, extending her hand again.

She looked away and jumped when his hand touched hers. He curved his fingers around hers, held her lightly, like he was afraid she might fall apart. And she would, later, when she was alone, but for now, she simply kept her gaze averted and stood still and silent.

“I’m not giving up, Verna,” he finally said and then he left.

Chapter Seventeen

Thud. Thud.

The pound of fist against bag rang in Joe’s ears, the rhythmic sound almost hypnotic. He’d already gone for his daily run, but clearly hadn’t burned enough energy. He was still keyed up, and truth be told, he didn’t want to go home. He hadn’t run into Verna in the last week, and it had taken every scintilla of the discipline he’d nurtured over the years not to walk across that patch of lawn that separated their houses, bang on her door, and stay until they were back to normal. But he couldn’t; she was still angry or hurt or probably both. And he had no idea how to fix it.

“I never thought I’d see the day when somebody got the drop on Joe MacDermid,” Poole said.

Joe glanced up, noticing that the other man had indeed gotten within striking distance without Joe even noticing. He was way more fucked-up than he’d thought. That, or in addition to being a total asshole, he really had lost a step. Neither option appealed.

“I’m guessing you haven’t made things right with your lady friend,” he said.

“She’s not my ‘lady friend,’” Joe replied automatically, and then he cringed.

“Yeah, right. So that’s why you look like someone stole your truck.”

“Is this my psych eval?” Joe said, looking at the other man, whose expression gave away nothing.

“Does it need to be?” he asked in that infuriating shrink way.

“Fuck you, Poole.”

“First denial, now anger. Maybe you do need to schedule a session.”

“Dude…” Joe said, letting an edge bleed into his voice.

“What? Am I upsetting you? Maybe hurting your feelings?” Poole responded, standing a bit straighter.

“Fuck off, Poole. And don’t tell me you came to give me shit about what happened at Mason’s?”

“No, not intentionally, but when I saw you there I couldn’t resist. And you’ve earned anything you get,” he said nonchalantly.

Poole was right, and Joe knew it, but he couldn’t help but resent the other man’s intrusion. Still, it might be useful to talk to someone else about his predicament.

“Come on, let’s hit the track,” Matt said. “You can tell me about it while I get my PT.”

Joe nodded and they set off, the other man setting a fast pace, especially for Joe’s post-run legs, but one comfortable enough to talk. When he didn’t say anything, Joe figured he was waiting for him.

They made it about halfway around the track before Joe blurted, “I fucked up bad, man.”

Poole tossed a quick glance at him, but didn’t speak, so Joe continued.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her, and I certainly wasn’t thinking, but when I saw her standing there, I just froze.”

He looked over at Matt, but the guy’s face didn’t give any hint as to what he was thinking.

“Don’t look at me like that. I know I shouldn’t have done that, and I have no idea why I did.”

“Trying to impress the higher-ups?” Poole finally asked.

“Fuck no. Westmore’s a dick, and I couldn’t give two shits what that idiot thinks of me.”

“Then…” his friend said, letting his voice trail off.

“Maybe I’m just an asshole,” Joe said.

“Well, last week proved that much, but that doesn’t sound like a full explanation, at least not to me,” he said around a couple of deep breaths.

“So, what’s your professional opinion, then?” Joe asked.

“This isn’t a session, so I’ll keep my professional opinion to myself, but personally, if you’re interested”—he paused and Joe indicated he should continue—“you were being a pussy, and poor Verna got the short end of it.”

Joe should have been upset at the accusation, but he found himself remaining silent as Poole went on.

“You’re hanging out with the old crowd, getting to pretend like you’re still twenty—which you’re not—and Verna walks up, the living embodiment of the crossroads you’re at.” Poole looked over at him and then continued. “And if I had to guess, I’d also say she got a little too close, you figured out you liked her being a little too close but it also freaked you out at the same time, so you ice her out, pretend that she doesn’t exist so that she leaves. If I could use a little lingo, it’s what we call self-sabotaging behavior.”

Joe let the words rattle around in his mind, considering them. He wanted to reject them outright, but there was an uncomfortable ring of truth to what Poole said. It had seemed so simple. After their bumpy start, and even during it, he’d enjoyed Verna, found her a rejuvenating, if sometimes irritating, breath of fresh air. And then making love with her and later, seeing, piece by piece, those bits of her that she kept from everyone else, realizing that there was something special shared only between them…

Holy fuck.

He’d fallen in love with Verna, and before he’d even realized it, he’d pushed her away.

Poole slowed to a stop and Joe followed, body mostly on automatic pilot as his brain tried to reconcile what he’d just discovered.

“I didn’t even know you liked the girl, certainly didn’t think you were involved.”

Joe cut him a glare, and Matt raised his hands in placation.

“I don’t mean anything, but if I recall, the last time I saw the two of you in a room together, you were bickering about something or other. Didn’t seem like the beginnings of a love connection, at least not from the outside,” Poole said.

“It’s complicated.”

“Seems so,” he responded. “How do you plan to fix it?”

“I apologized, tried to talk to her…”

“Do you want to make it right?”

“Of course,” Joe said. And he said more forcefully this time, “Of course.”

“Well, then, try again,” Poole said.

And after a rough pat to Joe’s back, he ran off.

Chapter Eighteen

“So you haven’t made up with that neighbor of yours, I take it?” Blakely said out of the blue.

Verna had come over to do a final fitting on the jackets she’d ordered after she realized she loved the pants, and after springing that trap of a question, she now stared at Verna, her gaze piercing and probing. Blakely was tough, but Verna wasn’t even going to open that door, so she went with a tried and true defense: denial.

“What are you talking about? What neighbor?”

Blakely was utterly unconvinced, and Verna sighed and walked over to slump on her friend’s couch.

“Shit. Why didn’t you buy that?” she finally asked.

“‘What neighbor?’ was an oversell. You could have maybe pulled off pretending that you’re absolutely fine, but denying the man’s existence altogether? A step too far.”

“How did you even know about us? We never even went out.”

Blakely shrugged out of the jacket—Verna took a moment to be pleased at how perfect the fit and finish were—and sat down next to her.

“My God in heaven, you can’t be that clueless.”

Verna slid what she knew was a telling glance at her newfound friend and said, “I’m that fuckin’ clueless, Blake.”

“Well, I’m not. Every time I came over, he was watching your house like a hawk. I’m not into that sort of thing personally, and it had the potential to be all kinds of creepy, but it was actually kinda sweet.”

“What do you mean? If Joe was looking at my house, it was probably to make sure I wasn’t doing something foolish.”

“I disagree. He seemed genuinely concerned, like he cared.”

“He doesn’t,” Verna said.

“So then why couldn’t you two keep your eyes off each other at Mason’s?”

Verna’s mouth dropped with shock. “Of course we could. We weren’t even—”

“Yes, you were. It was almost sickening; him looking over at you, trying to be cool, you doing the same. I had half a mind to just go over there.”

“Thank God you didn’t,” Verna said, her heart sinking further than it already had at the mention of that night.

“What is he to you?” Blakely asked, brows drawn tight.

“He could have been everything,” Verna said, the words slicing through her with a biting sting.

“And what are you to him?” she asked.

“Nothing. Well, I used to be a convenient hole to occasionally wet his dick in, but I’m not even that anymore.”

Blakely gave her a stern glare that had Verna flushing with shame.

“Don’t lower yourself like that. You’re more than that and this Joe fella seems to agree.”

“How’d you know his name?” Verna asked.

“You only mentioned him in every other sentence, Verna. ‘Joe did this,’ and ‘Can you believe Joe said that?’” Blakely said.

Realization swept through her, leaving her horrified. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it, but looking back, she knew Blakely was right. The tears sprang up hot and fast and before Verna could stop them, they spilled over. Blakely’s eyes went wide, and Verna saw fear in the other woman’s expression. That made her smile.

“Sorry,” she said, though the tears still flowed.

Blakely stared at her, still looking as if she wanted to find the nearest exit, even though this was her house. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t do tears, most emotions really, so I have to pretend I don’t see those.” She gestured at the tears freely flowing down Verna’s face. “But I’ll listen.”

“Deal,” Verna said, emotion making her voice waver.

“So…” Blakely looked at her expectantly.

“Long story short: we hated each other; then we hated each other less; he did something nice; we started fucking even though he was ashamed of me; we stopped fucking when I found out because I may be pathetic, but I’m not that pathetic, although I still miss him despite what he did.”

“Okay,” Blakely exhaled, “that’s a lot to unpack.” She squared her shoulders and leveled a no-nonsense look at Verna. “What did he do to make you think he’s ashamed of you?”

Just thinking about it had the power to inspire a fresh wave of tears, to make no mention of the stinging tug in her chest, which was sad given that she’d replayed the image on a loop for what now felt like forever. The impact hadn’t lessened a bit.

“Oh God, I don’t know if I can do this.” She looked away from Blakely, the tug in her chest morphing into a full-blown ache, and the rush of shame and hurt intensifying until it was almost unbearable. Talking about this out loud seemed like a huge step, gave the whole thing a finality that she’d wanted to avoid. But best to stop avoiding it; maybe once she did, the pain would fade and she’d be able to move on. She glanced over at Blakely, who stayed silent, waiting expectantly.

“This probably has never happened to you, but has someone ever made you feel invisible, like you don’t matter at all?”

“I know that situation well,” she said with a confirming nod.

Verna was a little surprised. The other woman was still slightly terrifying, and though she considered her a friend, she couldn’t imagine anyone being brave enough to give her less than the utmost respect.

“When I went to the bathroom, some stupid something made me go over and say hello, and he…” She trailed off and took a deep breath. “He ignored me, acted like I wasn’t even there.”

Verna’s voice cracked on that last word, and her tears intensified again when she saw the look of utter horror, followed by sympathy, cross Blakely’s face.

“Hmm. That’s unfortunate…” she said. “Is it possible you misinterpreted? Maybe he didn’t know you were there?” she asked, her voice not even slightly hopeful.

She shook her head.

“Didn’t think so. How positively assholeish.”

“We gotta hang out more, Blake, so I can teach you how to swear,” Verna said, laughing through her tears.

“And what did he have to say for himself?” she asked.

“He apologized, sort of…”

Blakely looked at her like she’d sprouted two heads.

“Is this your roundabout way of defending him?”