CHAPTER 17
JULIET
He squeezed the steering wheel and scowled at the road as Stone Sour’s “Tired” played on the stereo.
“Why won’t you look at me?” I whispered, staring at my lap.
He stayed frozen, not breaking pace as he drove us home and answered, “Because I should never have touched you.”
I quickly twisted my head, looking out the window to hide my tears. My jaw ached, my throat felt as if it were being pierced in a hundred different places, and I wanted to run.
Away. Far away.
Everything had been beautiful this afternoon. Hot, sticky, sweaty, dirty, and completely beautiful when I was in his arms. Now … now he acted as though he hated me, and I felt stupid.
Was it so bad that I wanted him safe? I didn’t know the details of what he did with computers, but I knew it wasn’t on the up-and-up. And I definitely wanted inside his head. But now his exterior was harder than ever, and he was pulling away from me.
K.C. would get upset. She was weak, and she would cry. Juliet would hold her fucking tears in front of assholes.
My body swayed to the left, and I grabbed the door handle as he barreled into Tate’s driveway.
Looking over at him, I watched as he yanked up the parking brake and turned off the ignition.
He sat there, and after a few moments of refusing to look at me, I was ready to scream.
“Jax,” I started, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I—”
“It’s fine, Juliet,” he shot out, his tone flat. “It was a mistake. You want ‘better’? Go find ‘better.’ ”
“What?” I asked, shocked. “Jax, I didn’t mean—”
I stopped, seeing his fist tighten around the steering wheel so hard that I could hear the leather twisting.
What the hell was wrong with him? I never meant that he wasn’t good enough.
But right now cool and calm Jaxon Trent was pissed, and he was barely tolerating me.
He opened the car door to get out, but I reached out and grabbed his arm. “Don’t bother,” I said, before he had a chance to throw me out of the car. “I can open my own door.”
I stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut.
I looked up, seeing a light was on in the downstairs of Tate’s house, but I didn’t remember leaving one on. I was about to turn around and say good-bye, hoping maybe I would see the Jax who had spoken to me on the bleachers before, but I decided not to. Without turning back, I started for the house.
“Juliet?” Jax called, and I stopped in the middle of the walkway up to the porch.
Turning around, I crossed my arms over my chest to keep from shivering.
He’d stepped out of the car, leaned over the hood, and studied me. He opened his mouth, looking as though he wanted to say something but then just closed it, steeling his jaw again.
I waited for a second longer than I should’ve, wishing he’d say the things he said to me in his car last week. Or in his office last night. Or the fun house today.
Tears pooled before I could stop them, and I turned around, walking as calmly as I could for the front door. Unlocking it, I slipped in and slammed it shut, sliding down to the floor.
“Hey, you,” I heard a familiar voice chirp.
My stomach lurched into my throat as if I were falling, and I looked up to see Tate standing between the dining room and foyer, holding a can of Coke in her hand with her little dog, Madman, hovering between her legs.
The tears instantly spilled over. “Tate?” I choked out.
Pushing off the floor, I launched myself at her, wrapping my arms around her and burying my face in her neck.
It was too late. The sobs couldn’t be stopped. I clutched her T-shirt, probably digging my nails into her skin, too, as my body shook with relief.
“Hey, hey,” she soothed. “What the hell happened?”
But I couldn’t speak. The shakes, the relief, the loss of the loneliness—everything overtook me, and I held her tight for a long time, thankful that she didn’t ask again.