SKIPPING TIME

Chapter 20

Jess turned his head carefully one way, and then the other. When he'd awoken earlier, he would've sworn someone was pressing a hot poker against his forehead. On top of that, he'd been almost too weak to move. Now, his head no longer hurt and he wasn't as sluggish. The scent of tomatoes and oregano wafted to him, making his stomach growl.

He heard voices and tilted his head, listening. Cacee and Ray.

He kept his eyes closed as they walked closer, then opened them to slits in time to see Cacee put something on his headboard and hug Ray. He stifled a curse.

He wanted to be happy that she found her dad, or rather, her dad found her. He felt like an asshole for making it harder for her. But he also wanted to kill Ray for putting her at risk. Idiot. Was Ray blind? He must be. Because anyone with eyes would've thought to hire one of the bazillion taxis that clogged the city streets. Hell, anyone with a single working brain cell would pay for a cab before they'd take a two mile walk, knowing all the while that they were in imminent danger of being attacked.

Besides, Ray ditched for sixteen years and almost got Cace killed when he bothered to show up. Clearly, she shouldn't be depending on Ray. And, where the idea of Cace coming to any kind of harm would have always been painful, now it seemed different. His confrontations with actual threats to her—potentially lethal ones—made it impossible to keep running from the truth.

He refused put a name to his feelings. He didn't believe in soul-mates or true love or any of that bullshit. All the evidence in his life pointed to one thing. People "loved" as long as it was easy and convenient.

He realized it was possible that even Cacee might believe she "loved" him (in the way teenage girls "loved" this guy or that). He also realized she would stop the instant she discovered the truth. That was okay though. One, he didn't blame her. Two, it didn't keep him from finally admitting to himself that he cared about her more than he'd cared about anyone in years, more than he'd thought it possible to care. Even the idea of her being hurt killed him.

He was no longer capable of losing her. And not just through death. Through anything. So screw going home and ending this cleanly—no way in Hell would he be the one to end their relationship. If he needed to serve his time to keep her in his life, he would man up and do the goddamn time. His mom would be able to change the return address on his letters and send them to Cacee. It no longer mattered that a year of claustrophobia and terror were waiting because, at the end of that year, she might still want to be with him.

The bed creaked as Cacee perched on the side of it. His breath immediately came easier. That would be another difference now. He was much more aware of how his lungs seemed too tight or something when he and Cacee weren't together. The closer she got to him, the easier he breathed. When he held her, it seemed like the difference between inhaling smog and breathing crisp mountain air. He figured he must still be freaked out. Or crap like this might happened to everyone when they first got together, like a rush of hormones or something.

He laid his head closer to hers and sighed when Cacee ran her hand over his face. He pretended to still be asleep as she trailed her fingers down his cheek. Her touch left a winding path of heat behind it.

She bent and whispered, "Jess, time to wake up."

He whispered back, "Keep doing that."

Instead of pulling away she spoke in his ear again, sending a ripple of heat through him. "I brought you some dinner."

His eyes popped open as his stomach rumbled. As nice as she felt tucked up against him, the promise of food won out. He sat up, and she reached behind him and propped his pillow against the headboard.