Five Stolen Rings

Chapter 7

STELLA

As a matter of fact, I do not want the glass to stay in my foot forever.

I saw an episode of a show once with bizarre medical stories, and this lady tried to give herself a pedicure, but she had an ingrown toenail that got infected, and she ended up getting really sick and having to go to the hospital. The pictures were disgusting.

It is this disgusting ingrown-toenail lady that I force myself to think about when I stick my foot out into Jack’s waiting hand.

I startle at the contact, because his hand is warm and surprisingly gentle; he grips the back of my ankle and then shines his phone light onto my heel, a detached, businesslike expression falling over his face.

“Yeah,” he says with a little frown. “There’s glass. Let’s get that out.” He pauses, glancing up at me. “We need to clean the wound first. It might hurt a little. ”

“It’s fine,” I say, wondering if I can mentally raise my pain tolerance in the space of two seconds.

As it turns out, and to nobody’s surprise, I cannot. The disinfectant spray Jack spritzes over my heel stings, but I try my best to maintain a neutral, I-do-this-all-the-time facial expression. My wince is just a touch too obvious, though, and Jack doesn’t try to hide his eye roll at all.

“Big baby,” he mutters, setting the spray bottle aside and grabbing a little paper packet. He only has one free hand, since he’s still holding my foot up, but that doesn’t slow him down; he rips the top of the package off with his teeth—why is that attractive? Why? —and pulls out a fresh pair of plastic tweezers.

“You’re a doctor,” I say, my voice faint. I don’t know this for sure, but he clearly knows his way around a first aid kit, and he’s working with easy, practiced hands. An EMT, maybe?

“Of course I’m not,” he says in a low voice. His dark eyes swing up to me. “I became a thief, right? Even worse than you expected. Isn’t that what you said?”

I don’t have to touch my cheeks to know that they’re burning. “I didn’t mean that, and I apologized for saying it,” I say, my jaw clenching. “It was uncalled for.” I pause. “Although…you’re still breaking and entering, which is still against the law, so…”

He shakes his head but doesn’t reply, instead turning his attention back to my foot. I remain still and silent as he removes the tiny piece of glass that’s worked itself into my heel, my hands clenched tightly together in my lap.

I am such a wimp.

But Jack’s not; that same businesslike look is still on his face, his eyes narrowed in concentration, his hands steady, and sure, and so unnecessarily gentle.

“There,” he finally says several minutes later, pressing a large bandage over the cut. He leans back and lets go of my foot, looking up at me. “That okay?”

And something about the words sparks a memory—years old but vivid in my mind. My pulse jumps like a flame, a flicker of recognition and excitement.

“It was you,” I say before I’ve even thought it through.

Jack raises his brow at me, looking nonplussed. “Sorry?”

“The phone call,” I say as my gaze catalogs his reaction, searching for any hint of the truth. “Two years ago. I got a phone call.” It was after the earthquake that hit my little California city, a panicked voice down the line—a man who wouldn’t identify himself.

But Jack just shakes his head and snorts. “You think I have nothing better to do than call you, Princess?” Then he gets to his feet and looks down at me. “Must be nice to have such a high opinion of yourself.”

“I—you—” I break off, my heart falling. “It really wasn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says with a roll of his eyes, “but I haven’t tried to get in touch with you, no.”

Duh. Of course he hasn’t. That wouldn’t have been him—I’m being stupid.

But then who was it?

“Yeah,” I say quickly. “Of course. Uh”—I point to my foot—“thanks.”

He grunts and gathers up the first aid kit, heading toward the kitchen without a backward glance.

“What are you looking for here?” I call to him .

“I’ll tell you that,” he says, returning to the room a moment later, “if you tell me why you moved back to Lucky.”

“Not in a million years,” I find myself saying.

And this was always the problem with Jack: I had no filter. I had nowhere to hide; he always saw me for exactly who I was, and he never let me forget it.

Even when I wanted to forget.

He was right, of course. My stupid teenage self was ashamed of her small house, her family’s market, her hand-me-down clothes. She was scared of being an outsider. And so she hid herself, pretending to be someone she wasn’t.

This isn’t the same, is it?

That thought sends a little jolt of anxiety through me. I was miserable in high school, trying to fit in, lying to be liked—even though I was successful. I don’t want to be like that again, ever. Especially not to Jack, who—despite his utter disdain at my attempts to fit in then, and despite his clear dislike of me now—was one of the only ones who ever truly knew me.

“I don’t want to tell you,” I say, swallowing thickly. It’s the only concession I can make, the only truth I’m ready to offer. “Because it’s embarrassing and I’m ashamed.”

I don’t miss the surprised, curious look Jack gives me, his black eyes darting over my face, but he just shrugs.

“Fine,” he says. “I won’t tell you either, then. You should go home if you’re done here.”

I clear my throat. “I’m decorating for Christmas.”

“No, you’re not,” he says. He points to my foot. “You’re going home and keeping your weight off of that, hopefully well enough that it will heal without splitting open.”

I frown at him, and he sighs .

“It’s late. Go home and get your beauty sleep,” he says, his voice faintly mocking. Then he spins on his heel.

“You said I was beautiful,” I say to his retreating back.

Jack stills, his whole body freezing mid-stride as he’s on his way out of the room. Slowly, sinuously, he turns to face me again.

“So?” he says in a soft voice, his eyes sparkling with something like challenge as he approaches. “What about it?”

“So if I’m already beautiful, I don’t need my beauty sleep.” I fold my arms, tilting my chin up to look at him as he steps closer. “I can just stay here and watch you all night instead.”

A wicked grin flickers over his lips. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Princess.”

I grab a pillow from the sofa and throw it at him as hard as I can; he catches it easily and lets out a bark of laughter.

“Such a temper,” he murmurs. “Go home.” He pauses, his smile fading into something less pleasant. “Maude took something of mine. I’m taking it back. That’s all.”

I straighten up at this, my mind whirring. “What did she take?”

He lets his body sag against the doorframe, tossing the pillow aside and folding his arms. “Do you care?” he says, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Of course.”

When he continues to look at me with skepticism, I sigh. Then I stand up and hobble over to him, holding my hand out. I take a deep breath and speak.

“Hello,” I say. “My name is Stella. I care what your strange stepmother took from you. Let’s speak kindly to each other like the mature adults we are. ”

He shakes his head slowly, his eyes on my extended hand. “Don’t try to be nice to me, Stella.”

I swallow. “Why not?”

“Because.” A muscle jumps in his jaw as he looks back up at my face and says, his voice flippant, “Maybe I don’t want to be nice to you.”

A million questions spring to my lips, but I know he won’t answer any of them. “I think that might be a little dramatic.”

His shoulders jerk into a shrug, as though to say You can think what you want.

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” I go on, swallowing my hurt. “But I’m still going to treat you this way.” Because I should. Because we’re not in high school anymore, for heavens’ sake.

Jack changed shortly after I got to Windsor, when he was a sophomore, and I know, deep down, it was because of me. I hurt him. I don’t know when, exactly, or how, but it happened. But…

“You can’t hold onto the past forever,” I say quietly. “I’m back in Lucky. So I’d like to be friends with you again, at some point. If you ever get there. Just…let me know.”

His gaze is inscrutable as it bores into me. I let my words hover, give him a minute to think about what I’m offering.

And finally, incredibly, he nods—it’s little more than a jerk of his head, but I definitely see it.

I give him a tentative smile and a nod of my own. Then I turn to hobble out of the room; my head is still throbbing, my foot still hurts, and I know better than to push my luck here. I’m almost to the front door when I remember one last thing I want to say .

“You’re sure the phone call wasn’t you?” I say over my shoulder.

“I never called you, Princess,” he says, sounding exhausted himself.

I nod. “Please don’t take anything,” I say. “I really need the money Maude is paying me.”

This time, he doesn’t respond.

JACK

My heart races as I hear the front door slam shut, the sound echoing through Maude’s dreary house. I collapse onto the couch, breathing deeply, trying to push the rush of memories out of my mind.

Stella can never ever ever find out I was the one who made that frantic phone call. She can never find out I was the one who said those things. Because what would she think?

It’s a stupid question. I know exactly what she would think. So I will continue to lie.

I will take that secret to my grave.

And in the meantime…I don’t know. I guess I just agreed to be friends with her?

“It’s fine,” I mutter to myself. “I can be friendly.”

And it’s true; I can. What’s the worst that could happen? I fall in love with her all over again, spiraling head-first into that intense, all-consuming longing I once felt?

I snort, the tightness in my chest easing a bit.

I developed an immunity to this woman all the way back in high school. So I’ll never let her find out about that phone call—and I’ll definitely never fall in love with her again.

Those feelings died a long time ago.