Jenna is right. I’m where I need to be, but I’m not where she needs me to be. I just want to put my arms around her and tell her how sorry I am for that, and everything else that I’ve put her through.
Then the door opens, and there she is. Beautiful as always, in a long off-the-shoulder purple shirt, belted over black leggings, and heeled boots. Her dark, red-streaked hair spills over her shoulder. She smiles tremulously as our eyes meet, and though the makeup covers it well, I think she’s been crying. She takes one step toward me and I wrap my arms around her and we both cling to each other like we haven’t seen each other in months.
We lean back against the door and it snaps closed. I shut my eyes and hold her so tight, just soaking up the feel of her in my arms, breathing in the scent of her. She holds me back just as tightly, though she’s clearly avoiding my injury, which is probably good.
“I missed you,” I say, feeling how deeply true that is, even though it’s only been one night, mere hours.
“I missed you, too,” Jenna says. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you in the way that you need.”
I pull back and look her in the eye. “Are you kidding?” I say. “That’s my line.”
Jenna looks like she’s either going to laugh or cry and can’t decide which. We sink onto the visiting room couch, which is cheap lobby furniture and not particularly comfortable, but I’m with Jenna, and right now that’s all that matters.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” I say. “I don’t want you to have to deal with my addiction if it makes you uncomfortable.”
Jenna takes a deep breath, and leans into me. “It’s not that I’m uncomfortable,” she says softly. “It’s just—I’m afraid.”
I tighten my arms around her.
“I’m afraid you’ll go back,” she says. “I’ve been so scared that you’ll relapse under all the stress, but I didn’t want to tell you because I don’t want you to feel like I don’t trust you. I do, but—”
“Jenna,” I say. “Of course you’re scared. I’m scared I’ll go back. I know you trust me, or you’d never let me be in your life, be around Ty. You wouldn’t have married me if you didn’t trust me. It’s okay if you’re scared. This is fucking scary.”
Jenna rests her head on my shoulder. “It’s just, your sobriety is so important. And I feel like I’ll say the wrong thing, and then I do. There’s so much at stake and I’m messing it up.”
I shake my head. “There’s not, though. I’m not going to leave you or stop loving you for doing the wrong thing.”
“But if you need my support, and I’m not there, and you relapse—”
“No,” I say, looking down at her, waiting until she meets my eyes. “There is nothing you can do or not do that could make me do heroin. I’m either going to do it or I’m not, and there is nothing in the world you can do that will affect my decision either way. I’m the only one who can do that. So you don’t ever need to feel the weight of that choice. It’s mine.”
“I know,” she says, even though I’m not entirely sure that she does. “I just want to help you carry that, you know?”
I can’t believe she doesn’t already know. “Jenna, you do. Just by being with me, you do.”
She puts her arms around my neck, and for a minute we just hold each other. I feel like we’re finally communicating, for the first time in a while, and that, too, is lifting a significant burden.
“I might be scared,” Jenna says, “but I do want to talk to you about how you feel, about how your recovery is going.”
“It’s okay if you’re scared,” I tell her, but she shakes her head.
“You said I won’t even look at you, and I didn’t even realize I was doing that. I’ve been hurting you.”
I think about that for a moment. I meant what I said, even though I wish I’d said it kinder, better. “Yeah, okay,” I say. It’s just . . . when we talk about this stuff, you put physical distance between us. You don’t look at me, or touch me. Honestly, the best thing you could do for me when I’m struggling is put your arms around me and tell me you love me. I just need to feel that, you know? When you pull away . . . it feels like you have one foot out the door.”
Jenna looks horrified, and I hate that I’m putting this on her, but she reaches up and strokes my cheek. “Okay,” she says. “I love you. I can do that.”
I believe her, because she’s doing it now. “Only if you want to,” I can’t help but add.
Jenna pulls me closer. “Of course I want to.”
Her arm brushes my bandage, and I grimace. Jenna winces and pulls back, but not far. Just enough that she won’t put too much pressure on my wound.
We’re both quiet for a few moments, and then she tugs her lower lip between her teeth.
“Am I even worth all this?” she asks quietly.
“What?” I ask, but I know what she means. I know she still blames herself for what Grant did, and I don’t know how to convince her otherwise. “Of course you’re worth it,” I say. “God, am I worth all this? I’m back in rehab, Jenna. I abandoned you.”
Jenna looks up at me, with the same look of confusion I’m sure I’m mirroring back at her. “Of course you are. How could you ask that?”
I laugh. “That’s exactly how I feel about you. I didn’t exactly enjoy being stabbed, but I’d go through a thousand times worse to be with you.” I shake my head. I don’t want to fight again, but I can’t just let it go unsaid. “And Jenna, none of this is your fault.”
Jenna tenses. “I know you think that, but it’s me Grant wanted. I just keep thinking that if I hadn’t been with him all those years ago, if I hadn’t stayed with him—”
“You know that stuff wasn’t your fault either, don’t you? Think about it, Jenna,” I say, all but pleading. Desperate for her to hear me. “Deep down, you have to know.”
Jenna hesitates, but she doesn’t argue. She doesn’t pull away. She doesn’t brush me off.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I say. “I know you don’t like it, but can I say the words now?”
Jenna wilts a bit, and she won’t meet my eyes, but she leans against me. “Yes,” she says, her voice almost a whisper.
I take a deep breath. “You were raped, Jenna. Every time you were underage at those college parties. Every time you were unconscious. Any time you were coerced into doing something that made you afraid.”
Jenna’s eyes are filling with tears. “What if that’s not true? What if you just need to think about it like that so you can still love me?”
I tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear, stroke my thumb along her temple. “No. I’d love you either way, but think about it. What if it was someone else in that situation? Would you think it was their fault?”
Jenna squeezes her eyes closed. A tear escapes, and I brush it away. “I don’t want that to be true,” she says, “because that means I wasn’t in control. I always told myself I wanted it, because then I could make it okay.”
I hold her against me. I hate what I have to say. It feels like victimizing her all over again, but she has to let go of the blame she puts on herself. “You weren’t in control,” I say. “But it’s okay. They can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe now.”
And while that’s probably a stupid thing to say when one of her ex-boyfriends just came crawling out of the past and tried to kidnap her, Jenna doesn’t argue. Her face crumbles, and she starts to sob, and for the next while, all I can do is hold her while she cries. My heart breaks open. I love her, god, I love her so much, and I never want her to suffer.
But this particular piece of suffering feels like it’s long overdue, and I hope that somehow, eventually, she’ll be able to let herself heal. She’s got a long way to go, and I know first-hand how hard recovery can be, especially for damage you feel like you’ve done to yourself. But I’m here with her at the beginning, and I’ll be here with her a
ll the way through. Always.
Eventually her sobs die down into sniffles, and then into her soft breath against my neck, with only the occasional hitch. I keep stroking her hair, and look down at her, wondering for a moment if she fell asleep. But her gray eyes are open, and meet mine. “Thank you,” she says softly.
I press my lips to her forehead, feeling pretty damn grateful myself—that she lets me be there for her like this, that she and Ty are in my life.
I wrap her hand in mine. “Do you think Ty will ever forgive me for missing Halloween?”
“Ha,” Jenna says, with a smile. “The adoption paperwork arrived. He’s been dancing in literal circles around it. Be excited about that, and he’ll forgive you for anything.”
I smile. “I love you both so much.”
Jenna looks up at me. “You do,” she says softly. “Even when things are hard.”
I nod. “Yeah. I wouldn’t trade even the hard moments. Not for anything.”
Jenna leans up and kisses me, and even though our lives are still in chaos, I know that I mean it.
I wouldn’t trade away one single moment with her.
It’s three days before I feel stable enough to go home. I miss both Jenna and Ty so fiercely that I almost leave several times before that, but I’m trying to make sure I get what I need before I go back to my life, so I don’t have to walk out on them again.
When I arrive home, Jenna opens the door for me and puts her arms around me. I try to lift her off the floor, but stop at the pain in my gut—though that’s healing up nicely—and then look around. “Where’s Ty?”
“He’s up in his room,” Jenna says. “You better go see.”
She smiles, which gives me hope he’s not upstairs to avoid me. But if he is, it’s no less than I deserve. I owe the kid, big time.
I climb the stairs and find Ty’s door closed. There’s an Ash Ketchum hat on the floor outside his door, and a plastic trick-or-treat bag hanging from his doorknob.
I knock. “Hey, Ty?”
He opens the door, like he’s been standing there waiting, and stares up at me. He’s dressed like Hagrid, in a big heavy coat and thick belt over a pillow stuffed under his shirt. The extra-scraggly beard on his face looks like it’s seen better days.
“Hey,” I say. “I’m home.”
He shakes his head at me. “You were supposed to put on the costume. And you’re supposed to say ‘Trick or treat.’”
Oh. Of course. It’s Halloween, and only a couple days late, instead of months early. “Sorry,” I say.
He shuts the door again and I put on the hat and take the bag. I knock, and when he opens the door I say, “Trick or treat.”
Ty grins and pulls out a large Butterfinger bar and slips it into my bag. “I saved that for you,” he says. And even though he’s just given it to me at his door, he adds, “You can have some of it.”
I laugh, and kneel down and put my arms around him. He hugs me back. “I’m sorry I missed Halloween, kid,” I say.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t. I wanted to be there for you. You deserve the best dad, and I mess it up sometimes, and I’m sorry.”
“You are the best dad,” Ty says. “You know why?”
I shake my head.
“Because you’re mine,” he says. I squeeze him tight, ignoring the itchiness and hint of old-yogurt smell of the fake beard. Behind us in the hall, I hear Jenna making a soft whimpering noise, like we couldn’t be more adorable, and I have to admit I agree. She comes into the room and joins our hug.
And I close my eyes and let myself get lost in my overpowering love for my family—scars, wounds, and all.
Acknowledgments
There are so many people we’d like to thank for helping make this book a reality. First, our families, especially our incredibly supportive husbands Glen and Drew, and our amazing kids. Thanks also to our writing group, Accidental Erotica, for all the feedback, and particularly to Heather, our first genuine superfan.
Thanks to Michelle of Melissa Williams Design for the fabulous cover, and to our agent extraordinaire, Hannah Ekren, for her love and enthusiasm for these books. Thanks to Dantzel Cherry and Amy Carlin for being proofreading goddesses, and thanks to everyone who read and gave us notes throughout the many drafts of this project—your feedback was invaluable and greatly appreciated.
And a special thanks to you, our readers. We hope you love these characters as much as we do.
Janci Patterson got her start writing contemporary and science fiction young adult novels, and couldn’t be happier to now be writing adult romance. She has an MA in creative writing, and lives in Utah with her husband and two adorable kids. When she’s not writing she can be found surrounded by dolls, games, and her border collie. She has written collaborative novels with several partners, and is honored to be working on this series with Megan.
Megan Walker lives in Utah with her husband, two kids, and two dogs–all of whom are incredibly supportive of the time she spends writing about romance and crazy Hollywood hijinks. She loves making Barbie dioramas and reading trashy gossip magazines (and, okay, lots of other books and magazines, as well.) She’s so excited to be collaborating on this series with Janci. Megan has also written several published fantasy and science-fiction stories under the name Megan Grey.
Find Megan and Janci at www.extraseriesbooks.com
Other Books in the Extra Series
The Extra
The Girlfriend Stage
Everything We Are
The Jenna Rollins Real Love Tour
Starving with the Stars
My Faire Lady
You are the Story
Beauty and the Bassist
Su-Lin’s Super-Awesome Casual Dating Plan
Exes, Lies, and Videotape
Turn the page to read the beginning of Starving with the Stars, in which Alec goes on a reality show in a desperate attempt to get his career back, and finds love along the way.
One
Alec
I’m stuck in traffic on my way home from a label meeting when my manager calls. I answer the phone over Bluetooth.
“Alec!” Bobbi says. “How’d the meeting go?”
“Badly. But you already knew that.”
“Yeah,” she says. “I told you they weren’t ready to sign you for a new album. Not at this point, anyway.”
“They said it wasn’t developed enough. But they hadn’t even listened to the recordings I sent them.” I slam on the brakes in tandem with the car in front of me. Now we’re just sitting here on the freeway, going nowhere.
Just like my dying career.
“It’s not the album,” Bobbi says.
I hired her because she tells it like it is, none of the bullshit the other people I met with were trying to give me. I get that the public is pissed at me because Jenna and I lied about the end of our relationship to keep our band going. It was a peril of headlining a band with my girlfriend that I wish I’d considered when we started out. “It’s me, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Bobbi says. “It’s definitely you.”
The car in front of me still hasn’t budged. I hit the top of the steering wheel with the heel of my hand. “Damn it. I am the only thing I can’t change. If it was the music they didn’t like—”
“I know,” Bobbi says. “But I think if you want to get back into pop music, you’re going to have to do something drastic.”
I know this. I’ve been doing everything I can think of over the last year, but because Jenna and her new boyfriend—now husband—are so damn cute, I got cast as the villain. Jenna and Felix even tried to play that off for me by inviting me on their tour. I wore wearing actual devil horns to show we were all in on the joke.
Still, the image persists. “I’m open to suggestions.”
“Are you?” Bobbi asks. “Because in the past you’ve been less than receptive.”
The car in front of me starts moving. Slowly. “Yeah, okay,” I say. “But I really thought that single was going to work. Especially after Felix and Jenna more or less exonerated me.”
“Yeah. And ‘Two Sides to Every Story’ was a good song. But I don’t think people were ready to consider your side of the story, even before that douchebag politician quoted it to exonerate himself from that sexual harassment scandal.”
Yeah. That wasn’t my finest moment. Or his, for that matter.
“But I didn’t harass anyone. And Felix shoved me off a stage and I landed on Kanye West—”
“Yeah, I heard Yeezy’s got a song on his new album about it. I don’t think that’s going to help you any.”
Shit.
“Okay,” I say. “I know I’ve been less receptive in the past, but I swear. I’m ready to listen.”
“All right,” Bobbi says. “We have an interesting offer.”
“Really? You should have led with that.”
“I think you’ll see why I didn’t. It’s not for music. It’s for TV.”
TV. I can work with that. “Like, an American Idol type thing? Or late night?”
“No. But you’re getting closer. It’s a new reality show called Starving with the Stars.”
I groan. She was right not to lead with that. “What is that? Some Biggest Loser clone with a bunch of has-beens?”
“No,” Bobbi says. “It’s a Survivor clone with some fellow celebrities.”
“Has-beens,” I say. “Are you saying I’m a has-been who should be desperate enough to go starve on an island for public attention?”
“No,” Bobbi says. “I’m saying you are at the tail end of a crucial window of time in which you’re either going to turn this around or become a has-been. And that this show would give you a lot of screen time to show the public you’re likable, and convince them to give you another chance.”
The Jenna Rollins Real Love Tour Page 11