Page 52 of Not Over You
“Same as always. Passive, out of touch, and afraid of their own shadows. So, the same Yanna and Royce they’ve always been.” Her words were clipped and dripped with resentment. He knew that no matter how much shesaidshe forgave her parents for shipping her off to Pasha when she was seventeen when she got mixed up with the wrong crowd in Baltimore, she would never truly forgive them completely. They gave up on her when she got too difficult. When she challenged their rule and went against their parenting. Rather than adjust their parenting ways and adapt to better raise their child for the unique individual that she was, they threw their hands up in the air and shipped her off to her sister, so Pasha could “fix” her.
As Rayma put it, because she was baby number five, and six years younger than kid number four, her parents were just tired of raising kids. She and Oona had both been oopsie pregnancies, and growing up Rayma felt more like a mistake than a happy accident.
The one time Jordan met Royce and Yanna, he’d been pleasant enough, but he’d struggled to connect with them. Hell, he’d struggled towantto connect with them. Anybody who gave up on their kid when they acted out a little—which was essentially just a cry for help—wasn’t somebody he really wanted to spend any time with.
“I guess you haven’t been home in a while, then?”
She craned her neck over to look at him, a sarcastic expression on her face. “What do you think?”
“I think you’re partaking in self-care and not inflicting that toxic environment on yourself.”
“Ding, ding, ding.Lassie got something right.”
She turned back to the turkey and a tense and awkward silence fell between them.
He hated this.
He loved this woman. Had never stopped, and yet he knew if he stepped up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her neck, she’d probably take that carving knife and ram it into his ribs.
The sliding glass door opened and Heath appeared, his shoulder-length blond hair nearly as wild as his eyes. “Do you guys think the clouds are real?” he asked.
“Pardon?” Jordan asked. Did he just hear Heath correctly?
“The clouds,” Heath repeated. “What if they’re just giant balls of cotton super-glued to the tips of drones, so that wethinkthey’re clouds, but they’re actually just covers for the Russians and North Koreans who are spying on us. I mean, it makes sense, right?” He scratched his head and blinked dark blue eyes that were slightly bloodshot. “Especially since all those clouds are right over this house. With all ofushere. We’re not exactly innocent, you know? I’ve killed people. Lots of people. Like over a hundred. Add up the body count of all the people here and we’re tipping close to five hundred dead bodies.”
“Dude…” Jordan said slowly.
“All bad guys,” Rayma said quickly. “You’re one of the good guys, Heath. You all are. Navy, special ops. You’ve single-handedly taken down human trafficking rings. I’m sure the Russians and North Koreans aren’t spying on you.”
Heath shook his head. “I don’t know. I mean, one guy’s good guy is another guy’s bad guy, right?”
Rayma and Jordan exchanged glances.
“He’s in his own head,” Rayma said. “He’s really fucking high. Starting to get paranoid.”
Heath was rummaging around in a drawer of a small table against the wall beside the sliding door and pulled out a blank piece of white paper. Then he grabbed scissors and cut three holes into the paper.
Jordan watched with worried fascination. “What are you—”
Heath answered that question when he set the scissors down and put the paper over his face so that his eyes and mouth showed through the holes like a creepy mask. “There. Now they won’t be able to see me, right?”
“Right,” Rayma said with a nod. “You’re safe from the Russians and North Koreans now.”
Heath’s head bobbed, then he disappeared back outside.
“Oh dear God,” Rayma said, shaking her head. “This is bad.”
“I know they’re all former special forces, but do you think the body count isthathigh?” Jordan asked.
“Oh yeah. Easily. And Heath’s is probably the highest since he was in active duty the longest. It only makes sense that he’s in his head thinking about those kills now that he’s making friends with Mary Jane.”
“Got a littletoofriendly with her, if you ask me.” He sucked in a sharp breath when a painful slice shot up from his finger. He glanced down to see blood dripping into the sink all over the potato peels and the half-peeled potato in his hand. He’d gone and peeled his fucking knuckle.
“What the hell, Lassie?” Rayma was beside him, wrapping a big wad of paper towel around his finger and pushing his hand above his head. “You’re supposed to be helping me, not rendering yourself an invalid so I have to do it all myself.”
They were face to face now. Her breasts brushed his arm, her breath hit his upper lip, and the genuine concern rather than anger in her brown eyes flooded him with hope.
“I was blinded by your beauty,” he said teasingly. “Forgot what I was doing, I peeled my own knuckle nearly down to the bone. But I assure you, I feel no pain.” He cast her a big, cheesy grin. “Kiss it better?”