Rock Me Deeper (Licks of Leather #5) - Jenna Jacob Page 0,31
cheek—“that I saw stars. He landed another blow under my chin that knocked me out cold.”
“Oh, that nasty brute,” Betty tsked. “What happened next?”
“When I woke up, I was in the emergency room of a hospital. They told me a policeman who’d been doing his nightly patrol found me in the alley next to a dumpster. He called an ambulance and they took me to the ER.”
“And you were out that whole time?” Herb didn’t bother trying to hide his disbelief.
“Yep. The doctor said I had a bad concussion, so they kept me under observation for three days.”
“You’re going to be paying those hefty hospital bills for decades, young lady,” Herb scoffed.
“No. I told them I didn’t have insurance. They kept me, anyway.”
“And that’s the trouble with our health-care system,” Herb bit out before spewing a tirade about the high price of health care, our piss-poor economy, and a rant about electronics taking over the planet.
More than happy to crawl out from under the microscope, I nodded in agreement as the old man prattled on. Every time Betty tried to calm him or change the subject, Herb told her to hush and kept right on going.
He was still verbally ripping both sides of the political arena to shreds when we pulled into Diamond City. While our little tourist town was but a spec on the map, it was home to me. The peace and serenity I’d yearned for since waking up tied to Zattman’s bed finally started wending through me.
When Herb pulled into my narrow gravel driveway and stopped in front of my tiny rental, I nearly wept with joy. Instead, I thanked them profusely and promised to treat them to dinner at Café Trudy—provided I still had a job.
As they pulled away, I retrieved my extra house key from the fake rock beside the porch and unlocked the door. As I stepped inside, the familiar scent of apple spice candles and the sight of my things sent relief slamming through me like a wrecking ball.
Finally, inside my safe haven, a powerful sob tore from my throat as I closed and locked the door. After striding to the sofa, I curled up on the thick padded cushions, clutched the plush blanket to my face, and purged all the emotions I’d tried so hard to keep locked inside the past five days.
I cried for the helplessness and victimization I’d endured from Zattman’s abuse.
Purged my anger over Monica’s desertion.
And wailed from the soul-stripping agony of losing Syd all over again.
Banding my arms around me, I could almost feel him holding me. Almost taste the passion of his kiss. Almost hear his deep, rich laughter echo in my ears. Almost see that sexy crooked smile spread across his talented lips.
“Stop!” I screamed at my masochistic psyche before dissolving in a howl of grief.
I didn’t remember how many hours I spent wallowing in weakness. All I knew was that my heart was still breaking long after my tears dried.
Numbly pushing myself off the couch, I trudged to my bedroom and stripped off my clothes. After removing all the bandages, I climbed into a steaming-hot shower and tried not to remember the last one that I had taken. The one I’d shared in the posh LA hotel suite with Syd. But memories were too strong, too fresh. And as I replayed every second of splendor I’d shared with Syd, I could feel pieces of my heart being peeled away to swirl down the drain.
When I woke the next morning, sunlight was streaming through the pale peach curtains in my room. All I wanted to do was pull the covers over my head and stay there forever. But self-pity wasn’t in my vocabulary, and replaying my time with Syd in LA was fruitless, hopeless, and a waste of time. While he and the guys were traveling the country, bringing joy to millions of screaming fans, I had to reclaim and find comfort in my simple, ordinary life.
Determined to reestablish my normal routine, I rolled out of bed, pulled on my robe, and padded to the kitchen. As I reached for the coffee carafe, the sunlight pouring in from window above the sink acted like a spotlight against the jagged red scab on my wrist. I’d have to wear a sweater to hide those marks when I went to see Trudy. I hoped that once I repeated my fictitious story, she’d take pity on me—Pity. Grrrr—and either let me go back to work immediately or rehire me.