Jack looked up from his cup of coffee as Pacey walked into the room. Without speaking, he pushed another cup across the table.
“Thank you.”
He nodded and looked back at his own cup. Grabbing a spoon off the table, he stirred the dark liquid. “So...you’re going?”
“Yeah. I don’t think that it’s going to be good for either of us if I stay here.”
“Where are you going to go?”
“Home.” Pacey sat down across from Jack and took a drink.
Jack’s eyes jerked up to Pacey’s, and he held the other man’s gaze. “Home?”
“Not…not home. Capeside.” His voice was quiet. “Your parents are buried there, I figured that Andie would…” He stopped, overwhelmed by thought but not emotion. “She’d probably want to be buried there.”
Jack nodded and picked up his cup. “And you don’t feel comfortable here.”
“I think you’ve got a lot of stuff on your mind, Jack. And I don’t think I’m helping you, or myself, by hanging around here.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because at some point both of us are going to break, Jack. And I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure that I’m the last person you’re going to want as support. Besides, I think you need something more than I can give you.”
“And you think that, why?” Jack’s face hardened with anger. “Because you woke up this morning and we were lying in the same bed? What’s the matter, Pacey? Are you afraid that I’m going to be unable to control myself around you?”
“Fuck you, Jack.” Pacey stood up.
“You want to?” Jack’s voice was soft and seductive, laced with innuendo. “Is that what you want?” He stood up and walked toward his brother-in-law, the subtle movements of his body telegraphing his intentions. Pacey stood still as he approached, his face set. “You think that’s what I want, right? You think I want to defile my little sister’s memory by sliding my dick up your ass?”
Pacey’s fist connected before either of them knew he’d swung. Jack just stared at him with a mixture of disbelief and remorse. Without a word, Pacey grabbed his duffel bag from the floor and headed for the front door, leaving Jack alone in the silence.
Jen stared at herself in her bathroom mirror, hating what she saw. Her blonde hair was in complete disarray, her skirt still wrapped around her hips where Daniel’s hands had shoved it up her body. There were teeth marks on her neck, dark red and deep. “You’re a bigger fucking nutcase than any of your clients,” she told herself as she smoothed her skirt down.
Running a brush through her hair, she refused to let the tears that stood in her eyes fall. She wanted nothing more than to walk away from her marriage; from the very twisted reality she’d let herself sink into.
“Jen?”
“In here, Beth.” She grabbed a scarf from the hook behind the door and tied it around her neck, fashionably hiding the marks. “What?”
“He’s gone. But Jack McPhee is on the line.”
“Jack?” She half whispered the word, guilt rushing through her. “I’ll take it.”
“And I rescheduled that talk with Henderson for you. And John Simpson is coming in later this afternoon? He said something about lunch?”
“Order Chinese take out right after he gets here.”
“Sure thing.” Beth walked out of the office as Jen headed for the phone.
Settling in her chair, she took a deep breath before picking it up. “Jennifer Lindley.”
“Hey, Jen.”
“Jack.” Her voice was soft as she smiled. “I’m so very sorry about Andie.”
“Can I see you?”
Her heart jumped, pounding in her chest. “Here? At the office? Or personally? I mean…”
“Tonight. I just need…I need a friend, Jen.” His voice broke. “I get off work at seven. Dinner?”
“Mario’s?”
“Of course.” He cleared his throat, trying to get his voice back to normal. “Thanks, Jen.”
She nodded as she heard him hang up. She felt the tears gathering in her eyes as she forced herself to hang up the receiver.
Pacey stared at the house in front of him, willing himself to get out of the car, to go inside. It was his house, his home. But the lingering scent of blood just seemed to permeate the air.
Swallowing hard, he turned the key, bringing the engine to life. Whatever he needed in Capeside, he could buy or borrow. If he walked inside those walls now, he’d never leave. He backed slowly down the driveway, not looking back.
He’d go home. Home before college and Andie and marriage and everything. Home before he’d moved to Washington DC and made a life for himself. Back home to memories that haunted him, and memories that he cherished.
The buzz of the radio kept him company as he headed for the train station, trying not to glance in his rear view mirror.
Jack stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, not seeing the planes of his face, his tanned skin or the dark stubble that hid the slight discoloration that was beginning to form where Pacey had punched him. He didn’t see anything except a pair of tortured, gray eyes looking for answers.
He didn’t know why. His own mind had never provided him with answers before. Never once in his life had he ever accepted the responsibility for any emotion. It had always been easy for him to be the sane one in his family, just revert into himself and pretend that nothing got to him. Easy when your mother and sister are falling apart at the seams and your father is a cold, emotionless bastard. Easy.
And when you want to admit something and can’t find the words, you manage to create a situation that you know will bring around the same end result. He’d used Pacey that day so many years ago in English class and, even worse, let Pacey take the blame for it. He hadn’t really had to admit anything, simply let the rest of the world assume from the poem, from the rumor. Even the confrontation with his father had been easy. The word was out, it was simply denying the denial.
Easy.
But nothing about this was easy. Everyone expected him to hurt, to feel. Everyone expected him to lose control, break down, be overcome by some threat of emotion. Staring into his eyes in the bathroom mirror, he saw nothing. No hurt, no pain, no anger.
Nothing.
| Chapter Six |
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