by Chloe Walsh
Lowering my sunglasses to cover my red-rimmed eyes, I inhaled deeply, collected my suitcase from Luggage, and, with my worse-for-wear brother in tow, headed outside to the drop off area.
Colton and I both looked like shit, having slept less than three hours between us, but at least we were together.
"Not so fast," Colt grumbled, as he wobbled beside me. "The ground is still spinning."
"That would be the Jaeger Bombs," I chuckled, as I walked through the revolving glass doors of the airport. "You'll survive."
"I might," Colt agreed, grabbing my arm quickly in a bid to stay upright. "But I can't say the same for Teagan. Noah looked mad as hell when I swung by to pick you up …"
"I'm too hung over to worry about those two, Colt." I wrapped my arm around his shoulder to stop him from falling on his ass.
Baby brother was a lightweight …
"Do a shot, Colton," he groused, as he attempted to steady himself. "It'll be fine, Colton. You forgot to warn me about the possibility of losing my fucking balance."
The retort I was about to make died on the tip of my tongue as my eyes locked on the shiny, black Range Rover pulling up on the curb in front of us. The driver's door flew open and a pair of piercing blue eyes greeted me.
"Angel."
My face broke out in a huge smile the second my eyes fastened on my father, leaning against the hood of his car, dressed in a finely-cut black suit, with his arms folded across his chest and his head tilted to one side.
I hadn’t realized I'd missed him so much.
I couldn’t help myself. I squealed "Daddy," and ran towards him. He caught me easily and enveloped me in one of those nothing-can-harm-me-he's-got-me hugs.
"Jesus, I've missed you," Dad husked, setting me back on my feet. He locked his blindingly-blue eyes on my face. "You doing okay?"
"Everything's fine," I said, patting his shoulder. "Well, apart from the douche you sent me."
"Daddy," Colt cried out in a mocking tone, shoving me out of the way and grabbing our father in a bear hug. "I've missed you so much."
Dad laughed, and I was sure he enjoyed Colt's playful nature. "We've talked about this, Colt," Dad taunted. "Five second delay."
"Have we time to go home and change before going to the hotel?" I asked my father when we were sitting in his truck on the way back towards The Hill. I was dressed in jeans and a hoodie – hardly formal party attire.
Dad took a quick glance at his wristwatch before letting out a sigh.
"You got a dress in your case?" he asked, as he ran a hand through his thick dark hair and used the other to steer, eyes locked on the windshield.
"Yeah," I started to say. "But …"
"Then you can get dressed in one of the suites at the hotel," Dad replied. "Your mother will have my balls if I don’t get you there on time," he added in a petulant tone, before pulling at his tie. "That woman can be bossy as hell when she wants to be."
"Sure she can," I responded dryly, barely refraining from rolling my eyes to heaven.
****
Jordan
"Are you excited to see your family tonight?" Annabelle asked me and I smiled.
I smiled and lied through my teeth.
"Sure I am," I told her, pressing a kiss to her brow.
Coming back here was a mistake. I knew it. I just couldn’t do a damn thing to change it. My hands were tied, damn it.
Every instinct in my body was demanding I get the hell out of this place – to fucking run.
But I had been running for seven years and being on the road was tiring.
Besides, I owed this to Lee.
I just had to suck it up and make it through the next three hours.
****
Hope
He was here.
With a woman.
He came to my parents' anniversary party with a fucking woman.
A beautiful woman.
I couldn’t breathe.
I didn’t want to.
The tension in the room was palpable and I had to admit the only reason I wasn’t running for the hills was because of the six-inch stilettos on my feet and the firm hold Colton had on my arm.
"Ignore him," Colt whispered gently, guiding me further away from the pair. "She's barely a three."
I closed my eyes and fought back my tears, allowing my brother to lead me away. "A three?"
"Yeah, and that's out of one hundred." Colton sighed heavily and threw his arm over my shoulder, tucking me under his arm. "Don't sweat it, Hope, you've got the edge on her plastic ass."
"Gee, thanks," I muttered, allowing Colton to lead me over to where our other brothers were lounging near the bar, surrounded by a flock of beautiful women.
I was tall for a woman at 5'9", but my brothers were huge. Clocking in at 6'2", all three boys towered over me. We all shared the same dark hair and blue eyes, except for Logan, who got Mom's gray eyes.
"Well, look what the horse dragged in," Cam mused.
Colt was the horse; I was the 'what'.
"Looking shit, sis," Cam said with a smirk. "And wider," he added.
I merely raised my middle finger at Cam in response, but my stupid damn eyes kept filling with tears.
"What the fuck, Cam," Logan said in a weary tone. "Put a filter on it, douchebag."
Cam sobered his features quickly when he noticed my tears, and jumped off the bar stool he was sitting on.
"You're not wide," he rambled, clearly flustered. "You're skinny. I'm wide. And stupid. You know I didn’t mean that. I was talking shit … you know I have a problem with my mouth. Shit, I'm an asshole," he said, stopping in front of me.
"Jesus, Hope," Cameron groaned, lifting my chin with his hand. "Don’t waste your tears on an asshole like me."
In a rare act of tenderness, Cameron pulled me into his arms and squeezed me tightly. "Be sure that the man who makes you cry is worth the pain," he said quietly. "I'm not."
"She's not crying over you," Logan hissed as he flanked me, his eyes locked on the opposite side of the room. "Our sister is crying because of that ignorant piece of shit over there groping that mediocre-looking blonde."
"I'll fucking kill him," Cam snarled, before turning on his heel and storming off in the direction of my worst nightmare.
With my shoulders slumped, I trudged over to barstool Cam had vacated and hoisted myself onto it, watching in horror as my brother stalked across the foyer towards where Jordan was mingling.
"I see he's still as bad-tempered," I grumbled, watching Cameron having a heated discussion with Jordan across the room. "What an idiot."
Colt stared at me like I'd grown an extra head. "Cam's trying to defend you," he said slowly.
"He needs to feel like he's doing something," Logan interrupted calmly, leaning against the bar beside me. "You know how Cam gets."
Shaking his head, Logan ran his hand through his thick dark hair and exhaled slowly. "Things have been … hard for Cameron," he said quietly and in a weirdly serious tone. "Shit's been going down like you wouldn’t believe."
"Low," Colt snapped, clearing his throat, eyes locked on Logan. "Are you gonna stop him or am I?"
"Give him a few minutes," Logan replied calmly, nodding towards where Jordan and Cameron were most definitely having words. "He needs the release."
"I need to get out of here," I told my brothers. This was all too much for me. Hell, I should have never come back for this stupid party.
Climbing off the barstool, I pushed my way through the throngs of people celebrating my parents' relationship and I could have cried out in relief when I reached the elevators.
"Hope."
The deep gravelly timbre of his voice shook my resolve. I had to force down the emotions that came from hearing that name on his lips.
"Jordan," I acknowledged, as I continued pressing the button on the wall beside the elevator. Thankfully, the doors slid open and I hurried inside.
The strong hand that clamped my arm halted my escape and shook me to my ver
y core.
"Let go," I said in a quiet, but no-nonsense tone of voice. My teeth were threatening to chatter so I bit down hard on my lips and tried to tug my arm free.
"Now."
Jordan didn’t let go. Instead, he stepped into the elevator, the scent of him overpowering me, making me drunk. "Give me five minutes," he said, as he the elevator doors closed, trapping me inside with the man who broke my goddamn heart. "And then I'll let you go."
"You let me go years ago," I shot back stiffly, pulling free, my hackles standing. The elevator descended quickly, causing my stomach to flip. "But I'll hear you out."
"Not here," was all Jordan said, and the next thing I knew the elevator doors had opened and I was being dragged through the basement floor of my father's hotel. Of course, I didn’t need to ask Jordan where we were going. I already knew.
The pool.
"This must be a new thing for you," I said cattily, as Jordan switched on the lights in the pool room and gestured me in. "Having to force a girl to go somewhere with you."
"I didn’t force you, Hope," he replied quietly from behind me – too close behind me. "And this was long overdue."
"I'm not interested in hearing what you have to say," I shot back, as I stood at the edge of the pool, looking down at the stillness of the water.
Sitting down on the floor, I removed my sandals, before sinking my toes into the water, feeling desperately drawn to Jordan as always. I knew he was bad for me, the bastard basically broke me seven years ago, but I sure as hell was a glutton for punishment because a part of me wanted to be here with him … How messed up was that?
"I know you're not interested," I heard Jordan say. His footsteps echoed to my left moments before he sat next to me.
"And I know why. I'm sorry."
"Fine," I replied coldly. "You're sorry. Good for you. Is that it?"
"Is it not enough?" he asked softly.
Damn it, I could never understand what he was thinking – what he meant with these short sentences.
"Who's the girl?" I said, mentally cringing, and feeling furious with myself for asking the one question I'd swore I wouldn’t ask him.
"Her name's Annabelle," he replied. "She's my girlfriend," he added after a long pause.
Ouch … cut me fucking to the bone.
"That's nice," I managed to say, though I had no idea how. "Annabelle and Jordan. Cute."
Jordan flinched. "Don't, Keychain."
"When's the wedding?" I snapped. "Sure looked like a dazzler of a ring on her finger."
"It's not …" He stopped, pinched the bridge of his nose, and shrugged his shoulders.
"I need to cool down."
Standing up, he peeled off his dress shirt and pants, kicked off his shoes and socks before diving into the pool.
I remained frozen, riveted to the spot, as I watched him flex muscles on his body as he swam to the surface that hadn’t been there seven years ago.
"May," he said finally, as he pushed his wet hair off his face and waded towards me. "The tenth."
Son of a bitch …
He looked at me apologetically as if he knew it would upset me to find out he was planning to get married on my birthday.
"Next year," he added quietly.
Rub salt in my wounds, asshole …
"Huh," I growled in a fake-as-fuck voice.
Pulling myself to my feet, I glared down at him.
"Getting married on my birthday. That's pretty tasteless, Jordan," I said, my voice laced with anger as I backed away from him, before turning around and stalking off towards the door.
I heard the sound of water splashing seconds before the words, "I'm sorry," penetrated my eardrums.
"You should be," I hissed, swinging around to face him. Jordan was already staring down at me, his green eyes locked on my face.
"I suppose I should leave my forwarding address with you."
Jordan stared blankly at me, and I shook my head in disgust. "You know, for my invitation," I told him sweetly. "Oh, and the divorce papers you'll need me to sign."
Jordan paled, and I swallowed the huge lump in my throat.
"The annulment papers," he said slowly. "I signed them. You were supposed to …"
"Our marriage was consummated, Jordan," I spat, interrupting his denial, hurting all over to think being married to me made him feel so sick. "If you want a new Mrs. Porter you're going to have to get rid of the old one first."
****
It was four days later, when I was soaking in my bathtub back home in Cork, and reading through my text messages that I realized I hadn't left a forwarding address for Jordan.
* We need to talk. *
* Pick up the phone. *
* Hope, don't ignore me. You can't drop a bomb like that and run away. *
* I know I've done some things that are unforgivable, but we need to talk about this. If you won't call me, then text me. *
* Hope, it's been three days. I can't sleep. I can't fucking think about anything. I feel like my life's been put on pause. Call me. We need to resolve this. *
* Come on, Keychain. Answer me. *
I didn’t answer him.
Instead, I chose to let Jordan Porter wallow in his misery. He had so easily forgotten about me back then, so why should I run to him and wag my tail like a dog?
I wouldn’t.
It simply wasn’t my style. I wasn’t the roll-over-and-beg–for-attention type of girl and Jordan Porter could go fuck himself for all I cared.
I was done.
I would sign his stupid papers, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to make it easy for him – and Annabelle.
I scoffed loudly and laid my head back, allowing the bubbles and water to encase me. God, I loved the bathtub in this place.
I planned on ignoring the asshole hammering on my apartment door, but then I thought of Mrs. Crowley next door. Teagan wasn’t home and Mrs. Crowley was frail and elderly. Loud noises terrified the poor woman.
Grumbling to myself, I hauled myself out of the tub, wrapped the only clean towel I had left – a thin, ratty blue one that had seen better days – before trudging out to the kitchen/lounge and opening our shiny new apartment door.
The angry retort I had on the tip of my tongue died the moment my eyes locked on his intense green ones.
"What are you …?" My voice trailed off, my tongue felt like sandpaper, and I licked my lips to moisten them before readjusting my scanty towel.
"Doing here?" Jordan added coldly, never taking his eyes off my face. "What else did you expect me to do?"
Go away …
Leave me alone …
Never contact me again ...
All of my silent answers must have shown in my eyes or something because Jordan nodded stiffly and shifted around. "You dropped one hell of a bombshell on me, Keychain," he mused.
Dropping a duffel bag on the floor at his feet, he lowered a guitar case to rest at his side. "Are you going to invite me in, or do you want to have this conversation in the hallway – dressed like that?"
"I'm fine here," I shot back, refusing to feel embarrassed. Screw it. I wasn’t embarrassed. I was, however, furious, and having Jordan here caused that irritation to soar. "It shouldn’t take long."
"Suit yourself," he countered evenly, as his gaze slowly drifted downwards, resting on my barely covered chest. Jordan's eyes darkened, but I refused to cover myself. Let him look. That's all he would be doing. "Where would you like to start?"
"Hmm." I pretended to think about it for a second before raising my hand and smacking his cheek with the palm of my hand. "That's as good a place as any," I replied as my chest heaved. My palm stung, but the relief I felt was huge.
"I deserved that one," Jordan said gruffly, eyes locked on mine.
"No," I hissed. "You deserve two thousand, five hundred and sixty more where that came from – one for every day you've been a complete asshole to me – but I happen to need the use of my hand for work, so you'll have to settle with one.
"
"You're still my wife," he said eventually.
"Yep," I said sarcastically. "And I'm really sorry, honey, but I forgot to put the pot-roast in the oven. Shall I grab your slippers, or run you a bath instead?"
He glared at me. "Don't joke, Hope."
I glared back at him. "Don't tell me what to do, Jordan."
"I wouldn’t dare," he chuckled softly. "You're still as stubborn as ever."
"What can I say," I snapped, clutching the opening of my towel with a death grip. "It's a defense mechanism I got from my mother."
"You get it from your father, Keychain," Jordan mused. "You're nothing like your mom."
"I could say the same about you," I muttered, letting the door swing inwards.
He was right.
This wasn’t the kind of conversation I wanted to have in a hallway. I was freezing and Jordan was unsettling me. "And please refrain from calling me that," I added as I turned around and headed straight for my bedroom, not bothering to check and see if he was following.
Jordan could do as he pleased.
Meanwhile, I was layering myself up. I felt too exposed around him, but I doubted any amount of clothing could change that. He simply had that effect on me.
Grabbing a T-shirt and sweats from my wardrobe, I dressed quickly and went into the bathroom to let the water out of my bath before heading back to the lounge.
Jordan was standing in my lounge. When he saw me his brow creased. "You still have that shirt?"
I looked down at myself and cringed.
Years ago, during my pop music phase, I had forced Jordan to drive eighty miles out of State to a 1D concert. He had been disgusted with me, but I hadn’t cared and had even persuaded him to dance with me that night.
