The only thing rising faster than her temper was her sense of humiliation. She knew what he saw when he looked around the room. Maybe her kitchen refrigerator made a strange grinding noise. And two of her cabinet doors swung crooked and wouldn’t close. And all the dishes weren’t washed yet. So what?
With a shrug, he grinned. “Well now, this looks like a win-win to me, Sprite. You clearly need a handyman, and, well… I need a place to stay.”
God, she hated that nickname. She had abandoned it when he had abandoned her. Even more, she hated how the very sound of it coming from his lips tried to pull her back into someone softer. Like some eager puppy who waited by the front door, hoping some asshole of a former Daddy would write to her. Well, that wasn’t going to happen.
“In case you didn’t get the message at the coffee shop, you’re not welcome here.” The nerve of him.
He reached up and swung the broken door open with raised eyebrows. “I’ll take care of this tomorrow.”
“I can fix all those things myself,” she lied. She couldn’t, but she’d rather hold her house together with duct tape and baling wire than give him the satisfaction of helping her. Not that it mattered, because there was no way in hell he would be here tomorrow.
“Better watch out, babygirl. Telling lies can get you put over someone’s knee. Now, about your extra room…”
Her spine snapped rigid. The words were bad enough, but that tone. That edge of control he always used to make her melt and behave. No, not anymore.
Not ever again.
Tazzy blinked at him, feeling the room tilt. She’d been preparing for the person her roommate had sublet her room to, one of her many pen pals. And yes, she’d known the person had just been released from prison.
But she’d thought it would be some harmless accountant who’d been guilty of tax fraud or something. Probably boring, definitely safer than this. Honestly, she’d thought it’d be another woman. Not in a million years had she expected Jaxon Ruick.
Not the one man who had dumped her. Who didn’t write. Who had ignored every request for her to visit him at the prison. And unfortunately, who could still unravel her with a look.
Still, no problem. She’d already planned to reject anyone who showed up. She wasn’t going to let a complete stranger, who was a former criminal, live with her. But that was months ago. When nobody ever showed up, she assumed they’d found another place.
She’d moved forward with her life, thinking she’d gotten lucky. Knowing eventually, she’d find the right person to share the expenses if needed. Clearly, the universe was correcting that mistake.
She had never imagined this. This was like some cruel April Fools’ Day prank. It was still April 1, right? And this had to be the worst prank of all time.
“There’s been some mistake here, Y-you’ve got the wrong?—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Jaxon held up a stack of letters. They were well-worn and creased, clearly ones he kept during his time in prison. “Nope. These are the letters your roommate sent me. Hold on.” He rifled through them and pulled one out. One with different handwriting. Jaxon’s handwriting. “Here it is. She sent me a copy of the contract I signed when I accepted her offer to rent her room while she was gone and…”
She froze. Staring at the dozens and dozens of letters in his hand, she tried to breathe, to hold in the pain and hurt.
Every letter she’d ever sent him had been unanswered, but he’d accepted letters from herroommate? Her heart, soul, and tears had been poured into every word she had written, only to be ignored.
Like her love and pain were worthless. The woman he’d whispered to about marriage… her letters were not good enough.
But he’d accepted her roommate’s letters. And answered them. Answered. Them. Evidently, he treasured them so much that he kept them.
Now he stood there, smiling. Didn’t he even notice the deathblow he’d dealt her? No, he’d just kept talking as if it were nothing at all. Like she was nothing at all.
“… so when I realized who his pen pal was, I swapped with him.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Wait. You… swapped pen pals to get Elodie’s letters?” Apparently, she needed to have a little talk with her former roommate.
He nodded. “Yep.” He said the word with pride, as if he’d accomplished something brilliant.
“You complete and total ass!” Anger surged through her fast and hot and sharp, cutting through the pain like a hot knife through butter.
The scowl that Jaxon gave her was familiar and made her traitorous girlie bits tingle. “Language, little girl.”
There it was again. The pull of his command. And damn it, some stubborn part of her still wanted to listen.
“You can’t correct anything about my language, Jaxon. Not anymore. How can you stand there like that? I wrote you every week for years, and you didn’t open a single letter. And yet you not only opened hers, but you also wrote back?”
She glanced around the kitchen, searching for something to throw at him. How could he be so cruel? And why, for God’s sake, did it still matter so much to her?