The Pawn (Shattered Series Book 1) (27 page)

        “W-what is it?” she whispered, struggling to ignore her torpedoing heartbeat. “Is something wrong?”

        “No,” he rasped unsteadily, and for a fleeting second, his guard was down. “Unfortunately, everything is
so
right- so right about you
. When I look at you, and see everything that---”

As his words ended, she sensed his private struggle, and then, his next words were curt and short. “It’s been a long journey. Think it’s time to just call it a night.”

       “Jarrod, I don’t understand. It seems like we were making headway, and then you just pulled back,” she said, laying a hand against his knee. “What’s wrong?”

       Releasing a frustrated sigh, he stood abruptly. “I have to go.”

       She nearly dropped the glass as she struggled to stand. “Where are you going?”

       “There are a few things that I didn’t discuss with Father Santos earlier, and it can’t wait until morning,” he said gruffly, avoiding her gaze. “I want you to stay here---”

        “At this hour?” she frowned, slapping the goblet onto the table, and was rewarded with a fresh bathing of alcohol along her hand. “Well, if that’s the case, I’m going with you.”

        “The hell you are. Does it seem like I’m in the mood for any company?” Cursing under his breath, he crossed to the bar, and then, keeping his back to her, he lifted the bottle of bourbon. Throwing his head back, he took a fast swig before placing it down. “Rosa will get the other bedroom ready for you. Get some rest. We have an early start tomorrow.”

         In a few strides, she’d crossed the room to him. “Again, why are you being so selfish about this? Look at me,” she demanded angrily, whirling him around to face her. “What are the rules now? Have they changed again? I get too close---you pull back. Is that the timeless game that we’re set to play?” She released an exasperated sigh. “For weeks, I’ve danced to your beat, taking what little attention or affection that you wanted to give. This solo rendition act that you have going, it’s not fair. Because guess what---this is about the both of us.”

          “Simplistic and limited---a world shrouded in only black and white---that’s your entire perspective of things, isn’t it, Olivia? I hate to disappoint you, sweetheart. But in my world, I only exist within the shadows, and nothing is ever really certain. Don’t ever make the mistake of placing labels on me or thinking that I fit into a perfect mold. What about you, sweetness?” he taunted, and the fire leapt in his green eyes. Reaching out, he grasped the back of her nape in a sensual hold, and as he did, she lost her very breath. “What is it that you want?”

           “You have it all figured out, don’t you?” she challenged, bracing shaky hands against his chest, and pure heat seared her at the touch. “A few harsh words and short-tempered outbursts---am I supposed to be impressed by that? Or cower in fear from the big bad wolf? Maybe we both have it wrong. Perhaps it’s not me, but you struggling to find some worth or acceptance.” Her laugh was breathless. “I have to ask this again. When will I ever be exposed to the real Jarrod Sabatino, not this closed-off stranger who’s afraid to open up to anyone! But, guess what? I’ve always been able to see past the façade. And that’s what you’re afraid of---that I’m getting too close to you.”

            A dangerous glint flared in his eyes. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. And don’t even take the stance to think that you even know me at all---”

            “But, isn’t that the point?” she asked with a hint of desperation, digging her fingers into his hard chest. “
I’m supposed to know you
.
You
are the man that I’m desperately in love with----”

At his stunned expression, she fell silent.

While he did, the boldness took over her, and even she didn’t know where that part of her was coming from. “And you asked me what I wanted---and that’s you.
I want you
. I want you to tell me something,” she whispered tearfully. “And please, whatever you do, don’t lie to me.”

His tortured gaze met hers. “What?”

“Why did you lie to Javier? Why didn’t you mention our engagement? In fact, you were rather formal when you made the introductions.”

“What do you mean? I didn’t fucking lie---I just didn’t mention it,” he muttered, turning away. “There’s no point in making a huge ordeal----”

“What?” She stayed him with a hand. “Why wouldn’t I make it one?” she asked again, and the hurt played through her. “How can we be on the verge of sharing a life together, and you won’t even share the news with your closest friends?”

“It’s complicated, damn it,” he said, blowing a frustrated breath. “And I’ve told you that countless times before---”

She shook her head. “No, there’s more to it than that, and I want to know why.” Then, the realization dawned. “Is it because of what I’ve done to hurt you in the past? My betrayal---is that why you won’t let me get close to you?”

A tense silence filled the room.

He wouldn’t even look at her.

Her words were a tearful whisper. “It’s the truth, isn’t it? You really don’t want us to get close again,” she accused him. “But, you’re too late, Jarrod. In my deepest heart, I know you.
I know you, even the part that you’re trying to hide from me.
” She stared across the room. “For so long, I’ve been chasing the parts of myself that I don’t remember. Now, I’m realizing that I’ve been chasing you as well. Just when I think that we’re getting somewhere, you pull back.” Sucking in a deep breath, she turned away from him, and then crossed her arms defensively along her chest. “It hurts like hell when you push me away. But, still, I can’t help wanting or needing you. When you get close to me, all I want you to do is take me in your arms, and there’s a bond---a connection between us. I sense it…
feel it
. It’s the only thing that’s real to me.” A tear slipped free. “I don’t understand why you won’t let me in.”

“Olivia,” he rasped unsteadily.

Voice trembling, her words were barely audible. “And you---you feel our connection, too. That’s why for months, there’s been this push and pull between us. You are so afraid of it---
us
. And that’s what I don’t understand. We’re together---engaged to be married. So, why are things this way between us? Are you afraid to place that high level of trust in me again? If so, I’m sorry. But, you have to give me the opportunity to make it right---no matter what it is that I’ve done.”

        As she turned to him, a poignant pause stretched.

        In his tortured gaze, she sensed his inner demons.

        She grew teary-eyed again. “And today, you wanted to make love to me---I wanted to make love to you. Please don’t lie and say that you didn’t.”

       “Olivia, if only I could---”

        “If only you could what, Jarrod?” she whispered, stopping before him again. “Pretend that you’re not afraid? Pretend that you’re not affected by our closeness when you really are?” Crying freely now, she grasped her head with shaky hands. “I wish that I could remember what happened before the accident. I’d give anything for things to be different. B-but, while things are so uncertain, clarity exists. And that clarity is you.”

       “Then, God help you, Olivia Lange, because I’m the last one that you should be your guiding compass.” Blowing a fast breath, he raked a hand through his hair. “I have to get out of here.”

      “Jarrod, wait,” she sobbed, grasping his hand. “We’ll never have a breakthrough---”

      “Damn it, Olivia!” he muttered angrily, pulling free. “I just want to be left alone.”  In a few quick strides, he reached the door. “Whatever you do, don’t wait up for me.”

       As he slammed the door behind him, she fell apart.       “Oh God,” she cried, sinking down onto the sofa again. “Why is this happening? Why?”

       “Is everything okay?”

       Startled, she jumped around, only to find a concerned Rosa standing by the sofa.

        “Rosa, I don’t think that things will ever be okay,” she sobbed, hugging a pillow close to her body. “And I’m just trying to understand him.”

         Rosa sighed. “Unfortunately, Jarrod is a hard man to understand.” Then, she took the seat beside her on the sofa. “And while that may be so, you shouldn’t give up. He needs you just as much as you need him.” The woman patted her hand. “Listen to me. I’ve known Jarrod a long time, and sometimes, it’s just hard for him to relate to other people.”

         “Why?” she sniffed, brushing the tears with the back of her hand. “Has he always been this hardened?”

          “Life,” Rosa said, shaking her head before blowing a fast breath. “Forgive me for saying this, and I’m a woman of faith, but it’s been so unfair to Jarrod in so many ways---cruel and debasing at times. It’s been difficult for him to hold onto the beauty of grace because of it.”  

          “But, why is he blaming me?” she asked, turning to the woman. “It’s as if he’s holding me responsible for the bad that’s taking place in his life.”

           Shaking her head, Rosa frowned. “No, it goes deeper than that. Jarrod’s troubles aren’t that transparent, and certainly, I have no right to divulge the private things that are troubling him.” Firming her lips, the woman stared at her straight. “You’re good for that boy, and he’s good for you. While it may not be my place to say this, I want you to fight with everything in you to make this thing work between you.” Sighing, the woman stood again. “Now, I’m going to get the other bedroom ready. Meghan’s down for the night and probably won’t be up until morning. I’ll be sleeping at the church, so if there’s anything that you need beforehand, let me know, alright?”

        With those words, the woman left the room.

         Leaving the sofa, she crossed the room before stopping before the fireplace. “Fight for us?” she whispered, staring into the dying flames. “How can I fight for us if he won’t let me in?”

Chapter 13

       The pale moon hung in the dark sky.

        At different angles, the tiny stars sparkled like jewels, but not a single cloud waltzed through. A splash of white light bathed the ground, and in the darkness, his misshapen figure resembled the inner monsters within him.

        As he walked, his shadow led the way, taking him along the broken cobble-stone path leading to the church. No water cascaded from the angel fountain that rested on the right side of the path, and that’d be the next minor fixing on the roster, he mulled, giving it a fast perusal. But, the wildflowers that he and the clergy had planted months before, they sprung from the grass in all their beautiful colorful glory, and lined the edges of the path with perfect precision.

        Though the jaunt was short, with each breath, it seemed that it was difficult to breathe as he drew closer. The air constricted in his lungs, and finally, realizing that he was holding it, he forced himself to take a calming breath.

        The path ended.

        With all it grandiose wonder, the church stood before him.

        Before his riddled nerves could stop him, he took the short steps.

        When reached the church’s door, he hesitated.

        The rust-colored awning cast a shadow along the door, and from the looks of the badly peeling white paint, it was way overdue of a fresh coating.

        And just how long he stood there….

        Was it seconds…minutes?

        Taking a shaky hand, he grasped the knob, but still didn’t turn it.

        How long had it been since he’d actually stood before a church, needing it for his own personal redemption? For the longest time, hadn’t he lost the connection to it? “What am I doing here?” he whispered in the darkness, dropping his hand. “This is crazy.”

       Then, by miraculous design, the door opened and he found himself facing Father Santos.

        “Jarrod,” the sixtyish clergy said patiently, giving him a kind smile, and already, his light brown eyes held a knowing look. “What brings you here?”

        “Earlier when we talked, things were a bit hectic, especially with me trying to get Meghan settled in and everything else,” he said hastily, almost stumbling over the words. Even he wasn’t enough of a cad to lie to a man of the cloth. “Just wanted to touch base and make sure that there wasn’t anything more we needed to discuss in regard to further renovations.”

        “Again, Jarrod, I can’t thank you enough for your personal contributions, and without you, I doubt that this place would be operable let alone standing. Perhaps you’re right,” Father Santos replied, opening the door wider. “Our conversation, coupled with our ramblings with Javier, it was rather short. And we didn’t catch up on a lot of things. Come in, won’t you?”

        He stared past the priest and onto the interior of the semi-darkened church.

        The stained glass windows hang high within the tall 10’feet ceilings, colorful yet serene, boasting a beautiful richness that was indescribable. In synchronized rows, the pews stretched, positioned in straight angles from the front to the back of the church.   

        A narrow aisle led to the pulpit, and he spied another clergy sitting at the first pew. The lights were dimmed low, casting a calming spirit amidst the surroundings.

        Though he didn’t realize it, he gave an unconscious tug at his neckline. But, it did little to alleviate the suffocating feeling.

        “Father, I shouldn’t have bothered you at such a late hour,” he said with an embarrassed flush, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I’m sure that we can talk about renovations and such things tomorrow.”

        “Something tells me that you’re here for more than that,” Father Santos said encouragingly. Then, he eyed him with a thoughtful expression. “Often times, admitting that we have a need for understanding---that’s the first hurdle that we have to jump over. I sense that’s the place where you are now.”

       He stared at a fixed point past the priest’s head.

        Wasn’t he right?
        Hadn’t he come here seeking solace for the madness that he’d created on his own? Or was it to chase away the personal demons that’d haunted him since----

        Disturbed by the thought, he inhaled a shuddering breath.

        Father Santos grasped his shoulder in a reassuring grip. “Jarrod, it’s okay. No one is going to judge you here. That’s the first thing that I want you to understand. This is about the answers that
you
seek, and I fear if you don’t face these burdens, they’ll only create further unbalance. But, you must come on your own terms when you’re ready.”

        After brief hesitation, without a further word, he stepped into the church past the priest.

        When the door closed behind him, he nearly jumped.

        “Meghan, she’s sprouting like a timeless root, isn’t she?” Father Santos smiled, leading the way as he ambled down the narrow aisle. “But, it seems that she was quite exhausted from the ride, wasn’t she, or else she’d have been plying me with questions about the flowers that are springing up everywhere.”

        As they neared the front pew, the other clergyman smiled before making a quiet departure. Gulping hard, barely listening to the father’s lingering words, Jarrod watched as the other man departed, much to his relief.   There was no point in everyone knowing that he was a miserable excuse for a human being, he frowned, taking a seat alongside the father at the middle pew.

        “Forgive me for saying this, but I sense that you’re troubled,” Father Santos began. “Whatever you tell me, I’ll hold it in full confidence.”

        With tear glistened eyes, he stared back at the priest.

        Did he actually have the strength to open up to someone else?

        Or would he lose the battle against himself?

        And that hollow ache…

        At this very moment, wasn’t it drumming through his tortured soul?

        “Jarrod, you’re safe here. No one is going to judge you. Talk to me.”

        Finally, he found the courage to take the lead.

        “Why do I destroy everything that gets close to me?” he asked roughly, looking away from the priest, and to his shame, a single tear slipped free. With a trembling hand, he wiped it away. “I have no right to anything good in my life. Meghan, my precious baby girl, she deserves better than me, a better father. What kind of values could I possibly instill in her, especially since I apparently have none at all?”

        “How do you see yourself, Jarrod?” Father Santos asked, eyeing him with steady patience. “Self-impressions can often times be stumbling blocks to the problems that we’re attempting to solve. Again, how do you see yourself?”

        “I’m ashamed of what I am, what I’ve become. I’m nothing more than a walking disaster,” he said, defeated, staring fixedly at the floor. “But, it’s
who I am
,
what I am
, and if my focus strays from the situation that I’m facing….” His words cut off as he struggled to find the words. “That part of me---
I desperately need it
. It’s the only thing that reminds me that I’m still alive.”

        “What part is that, Jarrod?”

        “This rage---this burning need for vengeance,” he bit out, feeling the stir of anger, even within the safe confines of the church. “If I don’t let it bleed out, I’ll hemorrhage from its nastiness.”

        “And while knowing that this rage is so volatile that it’s upsetting your very nature, you hold onto it. Why?”

        His anguished gaze fell on the priest. “It’s the only thing that I have left. Without it, I just have this hollowness,” he whispered, tearing his eyes away, and stared unseeingly across the room. “Even in the darkness hours, when the night sleeps, I have no solace. The only small light burning within my soul is the love that I have for my daughter.”

       
And the love that he had for Olivia----

        Before it could set seed, he cut the tortured thought off.

        “Doesn’t that alone prove that you’re not a monster, a self-imposed label that you’ve placed upon yourself?”

        “Then, why can’t I stop inflicting pain upon innocent people?” he raged, not realizing that he was shouting, and he couldn’t see past the blinding anger. “Those that have no real position in this struggle that I’m having with myself?”

        “And how are you inflicting pain?” Father Santos inquired, listening close with a thoughtful expression. “In what ways are you doing that?”

        Again, the guilt smothered his conscience.

        “Trust me, father, I’ve been involved in acts of treachery that you won’t believe.” His laughter was cold and detached. “The kind of man that I am---countless sermons are delivered against my kind in pulpits from coast to coast. I’m cold, ruthless, unfeeling, and I don’t let anything stand in my way, not when it comes to getting what I want.” Leaning forward, he tented his hands together, and his knees touched the back of the pew within the confined space. “Up until recently, I’d given up on myself, but, after the longest time, I’m finally seeing the threads of humanity.”

        “Have you delved deeper into your conscience?” Father Santos questioned. “Taken a close introspection into what’s bringing about this latest epiphany?”

        “I don’t want to hurt her,” he rasped, looking away with tear-glazed eyes. “She doesn’t deserve what I’m doing to her.”

        “There’s a woman involved?” Father Santos questioned, keeping his expression blank. “Is she responsible for this sudden enlightenment or this shift in attitude that you have towards yourself?”

        “I suppose you could say that,” Jarrod hedged uncomfortably. “She makes me feel that I can be whole again. With her, I believe that I can go on---”

        Was he truly ready to explore further thoughts about her, those that he’d cut off and was unwilling to face---the forbidden feelings that hadn’t stirred within him in years?

        “I can see that you care for this woman very deeply, and maybe love her in fact. That scares you, doesn’t it?”

        There it was, he thought, staring blindly ahead.

        The aching truth---

         Living and breathing within the walls of the church. But, rather than acknowledging or denying the priest’s words, he said nothing.

         “And you say that you don’t want to hurt her, and I admit that those words are troubling,” the priest treaded cautiously. “In what ways do you fear that you’ll do so?”

        “Relax father,” he snapped. “While I’m many things, I’d never physically or sexually abuse a woman.”

        “And certainly, I’m not implying that you would, nor had the thought even crossed my mind,” Father Santos soothed. “I’m just trying to better understand the situation at hand, and judging by your reaction, it’s rather volatile.”

        He sat in muted silence, fixating his gaze at a point past the pulpit, and within moments, he was able to make out an angelic figure within the stained glass. “I’m not proud of what I’m doing, but in the beginning, I thought that I had little choice.”

        “Choices are the only things that guide us, the wrong and right ones, unfortunately,” Father Santos said with a sad smile, regarding him thoughtfully. “And you do have a choice. The question is this. Can you live with the one that you’ve made? Are you truly willing to accept the consequences that follow?”

        And those last words plagued him, moments later, as he closed the door behind him and stepped within the safe confines of the cabin.

        Could he live with his disastrous actions?

        “Where have you been? I was worried.”

        Startled, he jumped, only to find Olivia standing a few feet away from him.

        The faint light from the night lamp glowed in the room, and it surrounded her small form like an aura.    A concerned look pinched her face, and he heard her breathless gasp as she stared at him. Like an undercurrent, their intense physical attraction flared. Only a fool wouldn’t notice their reaction to another, he mulled, watching as she wrapped her arms around her body defensively. Subconsciously, perhaps she sensed that he was a danger to her very being.

        But, still, he sensed her fascination with him.

        Wasn’t it as potent as his?

        Shaken by the unsettling thought, he turned away from her abruptly. “What do you want? I told you not to wait up.”

       “Do not order me about like a child,” she replied, having recovered herself, and followed behind him. “You want to know what your problem is?”

      “And what’s that?” Jarrod asked, whirling around to face her, struggling to hold onto his anger, and found that he couldn’t.

        “You are so accustomed to getting your way, and how dare anyone question your motives, right?” she asked, stopping before him. A sad smile played along her beautiful features. “Please, can’t we call a truce, at least for the rest of the night?”