Wild Jaden

by Shayne Ford

  Slowly, I lean with her back in my chair, my cheeks warm with a blush.

  “I love Anna...” Emma says, turning me soft inside.

  Jaden’s lips crease into a knowing smile.

  Trailing my collarbones with her tiny fingers, Emma tilts her head up to get a glimpse of my face.

  She studies me the same way he does, her eyes shifting gray like his. I put on a brave smile as Jaden winks at me.

  “You’re a natural,” he says, amused.

  “Am I?”

  Emma’s hands migrate from my neck to my face and my lips.

  “Emma wants to play,” she says.

  “Who do you want to play with?” I ask.

  “Anna,” she mutters, tangling her fingers in my hair.

  I glance at Jaden.

  Grinning, he shrugs.

  “It’s her call.”

  “Okay,” I mutter.

  I push out of my chair, lay her on the sand and kneel in front of her. She picks her tools, and I begin to organize them before we start building a sand castle.

  Jaden’s eyes burn holes in my face. I glance in his direction. He barely contains his laughter.

  “Do I look a bit panicky?” I toss at him jokingly.

  He softly nods.

  “I’m sure you can do it. Emma will help you,” he says, sprawling into his chair, and leaning back.

  He closes his eyes. I pick the smallest plastic shovel and throw it at him.

  Laughing, he peels his eyes open.

  “Did you just set me up?” I ask.

  First, he sways his head side to side, and then he nods a yes, utterly entertained.

  “I’ve never built a sand castle,” I say.

  He spreads his legs and gives me a cocky smile.

  “You’ve built a multi-million dollar business. I’m sure you can build a sand castle.”

  “You’re such a smart ass,” I mumble under my breath, shifting my attention to Emma who watches me attentively.

  “Ass...” she mutters, echoing my word.

  “Jazz...” I reply, trying to distract her.

  Jaden barely suppresses his laughter.

  I throw him a glare, and then I roll my eyes. He starts laughing like an ass.

  “Smart jazz...” I say to Emma, trying to keep my voice even.

  She looks at me confused. Swiftly, she makes up her mind and starts clapping her hands, singsonging.

  “Jazz... Jazz... Jazz.”

  Jaden straightens in his chair, and opens his mouth, ready to give me a piece of advice. I flick my hand up, and he keeps it shut, quietly chuckling.

  For a good half an hour or so, we build a sand castle that doesn’t look half decent. Seemingly, I’m the only one concerned with the esthetics. Emma has a lot of fun.

  Sara shows up around noon.

  She fashions a sleeveless, white dress with tailored top, flared bottom and strawberries embroidered pockets that add a splash of color to her full skirt.

  Her hair is tied in a ponytail.

  “Has she behaved?” she asks as she sets her beach bag next to a lounge chair.

  “Yes, she has. She is a good girl,” I say, shifting my gaze to Emma.

  Just as I finish saying that, Emma pokes her sand glazed fingers into my mouth.

  “Emma. That is not food,” Sara says, rushing to pick her up. “I’m sorry,” she mutters, apologetic.

  “I’m fine,” I say, grains of sand stuck between my teeth.

  “It’s time for your nap, little lady,” she says as Emma loops her arms around her mother’s neck.

  They pull away a moment later, Emma’s little hands waving at us.

  I sink back into my chair.

  “Afraid of kids?” Jaden asks, a faint smile sitting on his lips.

  I run a towel over my legs, brushing off the sand.

  “No,” I say softly. “It’s just that I’m not used to them. But I like her. She’s a cool kid.”

  “Yes, she is,” he says, flicking his gaze to the ocean.

  We spend a few moments in silence, both looking at the ocean.

  The water is calm and clear, cooler this time of year.

  “You’re an unusual man,” I murmur, voicing a random thought.

  “Why do you say that?”

  He swings his gaze to me, a questioning look rolling over his face.

  I shrug.

  “You’re so... I don’t know...” I say, briefly lowering my eyes.

  My lips curl into a smile as I register his scrutinizing gaze.

  “Dirty?” I mutter jokingly.

  He laughs quietly.

  “Hmmm. Dirty you say...”

  “Yes, in a good way.”

  “Good to know,” he says, clasping his hands behind his neck.

  A grin crawls up his lips.

  “And what else?” he asks, shooting me a side glance.

  My smile begins to fade away.

  “And different than other men.”

  The seriousness of my voice draws his gaze to me again.

  “You’re thoughtful, and kind,” I say with a mellow voice. “At least to them, you are.”

  He doesn’t comment this time.

  “Two people live inside you,” I mutter.

  “I could say the same thing about you.”

  I slowly shake my head in disagreement.

  “My good side is not that strong.”

  “Perhaps you haven’t had the chance to use it.”

  “Maybe... I don’t know.”

  “I’m not that special,” he says after he ponders for a moment.

  “You are to me.”

  He looks at me, intrigued. Unable to hold his eyes, I rove my gaze over his torso.

  “What’s the story of your scars?” I ask, tipping my chin and softly pointing at his chest. “Each tattoo sits next to a scar.”

  He looks down and studies them as if he sees them for the first time. I read sadness in his eyes.

  He traces a few of them with his fingers.

  “Every scar has a story,” he adds, lifting his gaze and locking my eyes.

  He lets his gaze roam over his body again, his fingers trailing the ragged lines.

  “This one was a flame lick...” he says, pointing at the small area on his flank just above the waistband of his swim trunks.

  He glances back at me.

  “Jacob’s accident,” he says, his eyes darkening as the memory comes back to him. “He was on his bike, and I was in my car, following him closely. We were going home. At an intersection, he turns right. A car sped through a red light and snagged him... Threw him off. He slid onto the ground. The bike spun and crashed into him. He lost his conscience, and the motorcycle caught on fire, the flames spreading all over him. I jumped out of the car and pulled him away from his bike, but it was too late. He never regained his conscience. That’s how I got burned,” he says, his fingertips resting on a small, satin-like patch of scar tissue.

  I lift my gaze.

  “What about the one on your chest?” I ask, pointing at the mark between his pecs.

  He lets out a sigh and looks in the distance.

  “That’s a long story,” he says with a quiet voice, his blue-gray eyes shifting back to me as he slowly runs his fingers through his hair, suddenly rueful.

  Silence stays with us for a few more moments before he speaks again.

  “Sara and I had a good childhood...” he says, weighing his words. “My family wasn’t rich by any stretch of the imagination, but we had everything we wanted. My parents loved each other, and us. And they did the best they could for us. My father had a well-paying job that required him to work a lot and travel extensively. Sixty hour work week was the norm for him. He never had a health problem, yet one day he collapsed in his office and never made it home. The last time I talked to him was that very morning. Proud, he hugged me and patted me on my back, congratulating me for a story I had written and given him to read the night before. I never thought he’d have the time to skim throug
h it, let alone read it, but he did it somehow.”

  He trains his eyes on the small waves quietly breaking against the shore.

  “I was so happy that day,” he says.”It was one of the best days of my life before it turned out to be the worst,” he mutters, his voice almost breaking.

  He flicks his eyes to me and puts on a brave face and a faint smile, and yet he can’t hide the soft quiver of his lips.

  “It was one of those special moments when you know–– even if you’re only a kid, that the memory of that day will stay with you forever. I had never written anything before, and it was only a simplistic story, but the fact that he praised me meant the world to me.”

  His smile withers away.

  “It was not much, but it was everything to me.”

  He pauses for a few seconds, fighting his emotions back.

  “He was gone by the end of the day,” he says with a cold voice.

  My eyes dip as he scraps his lip with his teeth, deepened into his thoughts.

  “That’s why I’m always saying... You can never tell. There is no perfect anything. Life is all you can grab at any given moment no matter how imperfect it is. People like to plan and wait and pick and choose.” He lets out a soft chuckle while shaking his head. “And while they’re doing all that, life slips through their fingers and never comes back. Then one day, regret is all they have. All the things they didn’t do or didn’t love, come back to them to haunt them. Whether is someone they could’ve loved, or work they could’ve put their heart into. A kid, a pet, or even an adventure. All those things are gone. Life is fluid. It comes and goes. There are no guarantees. There is no fairness.”

  With trembling fingers, he pulls a cigarette out of the pack. He tucks it between his lips and lights it up. His fingers rake through his hair, a long breath filling his lungs before he lets the smoke out.

  “It all went downhill from there,” he says, his voice ringing out cold, simply stating a fact. “My mom’s job couldn’t cover the bills. We cut back as much as we could, and she got a second job but it was still not enough. We struggled. She wouldn’t talk to us, but I knew what was happening to us... And her. After my dad died, she slipped into depression. She never asked for help, and she made a few bad choices... One of them was a man she hooked up with. Up to this day, I don’t know if she was looking for a rebound man or she was just too scared to face life alone. His money helped for a little while, but he wasn’t our father, and he wasn’t a good man, to begin with. From that point on, things started to crumble. He began to abuse her verbally. Soon, their fights became violent. This...” he says, running his hand across his chest, “is a blade I caught as I jumped between the two of them one Sunday afternoon.”

  He lets the silence grow as he takes a drag on his cigarette. I watch the smoke softly flowing from his lips.

  “What happened to her?” I ask.

  A bitter smile creases his lips.

  “I saved her life that day, but he got to her eventually. She broke up with him, and things seemed to settle for a while, but he came back for her. One weekend, Sara and I went away. Sunday evening, when we returned home, we found her dead in the kitchen.”

  My heart stops for a moment.

  “He got sentenced to life without parole. I was seventeen and Sara was fifteen. Within a year we lost both our parents and shortly after, we almost ended up on the streets.”

  He takes a few long drags, the silence thickening around us.

  “I’m not...” he says, and then he pauses, his lips curving into a sad smile, “as dirty as you think I am. Sex was nothing more than a way to escape the harsh reality. It wasn’t romance, and that’s exactly why it did the trick. It kept me out of my head, and away from my emotional turmoil. And it worked. It was the only thing going on for me when I had nothing, and I was nothing. I was drowning, caught between life and death, struggling to survive. There was nothing I could hold onto. I had no way to pull myself up. When you’re down, you’re down. That’s it. You’re only a shell without a life. You don’t live. You barely exist. At that point, I couldn’t afford to feel much. Nobody wants you, or needs you, let alone loves you when you are at your lowest point. That’s why sex was my turf and my only power.”

  He takes a short drag and breathes the smoke out before he puts his cigarette out.

  “Anyway, that’s my story,” he says, guarded.

  Without saying another word, he pushes out of his chair and strides to the ocean.

  My eyes linger on his scarred, inked body until his arms spread open and he cuts his way through the water, diving into the sparkling azure.

  SENNA

  “I can help you,” I say, following Sara into the small kitchen.

  Silent, I load the dishwasher as she hands me the plates.

  “Do you like living here?” I ask.

  Glancing around, I take in the cozy place.

  The beach house has two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen and a lovely patio. You can see the ocean from the porch.

  “Yes. It’s much better than the city. I’d rather live here if I had a choice.”

  “What’s stopping you?” I ask.

  “It’s not up to me. Emma and I depend on Jaden,” she says, locking my eyes briefly.

  “And?”

  “If something happens to his job, we’ll have to move back to the city,” she says, handing me another plate.

  “What could happen to his job?” I ask, a bit baffled.

  She smiles.

  “Perhaps, I should rephrase it. If anything changes between you two.”

  I slip the last plate into the dishwasher and carefully close the door.

  “What do you mean?”

  She starts wiping the kitchen table with a cloth as I lean against the counter and fold my arms across my chest.

  For a moment, my eyes follow the smooth motion of her hands.

  A soft blush colors her cheeks.

  “You said you are a friend of his, and he says the same thing, but I know you’re more than that. I see how you look at each other. And this sort of, um... thing leads to breakups all the time...” she says.

  I freeze.

  “I’m sorry if I’m blunt,” she continues. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I don’t have the luxury to sugarcoat it. It’s the reality.”

  “No, no. There are no hurt feelings,” I say, rushed and nervous, a soft tremor claiming my fingers. “I completely understand,” I say, my voice hinting something different.

  She stays quiet for a moment, righting the chairs.

  “Well... Even if it were to happen, it wouldn’t affect his job,” I mutter with a shaky voice.

  She straightens her back and folds the kitchen cloth before she sets it on the kitchen counter.

  Her eyes come to me.

  I sense more news coming my way.

  “Not if it’s him who wants to leave,” she says, and my stomach somersaults.

  My lips seal shut, tension clawing at my chest. I look at her, unable to speak.

  Her facial expression shifts and she quickly changes the subject as she registers my reaction.

  Minutes later, she takes a seat at the kitchen table and starts working on her laptop while I head to Emma’s room, still unable to shake off the bad feeling stirred up by the conversation I just had with her.

  I push the door open.

  Sprawled on the bed, Jaden reads Emma a story while she cuddles at his chest.

  He glances at me briefly.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah...” I say, nodding softly, and slipping into a chair not far from them.

  His voice is soft and gently, his eyes glinting–– pure like hers, as he reads to her. Her eyes follow the movement of his lips with unbridled interest before she shifts her gaze up and gapes at him, her hands touching his face with veneration.

  I observe them in silence.

  His words become a soft hum in the background as I examine his features, now streaming so much t
enderness.

  He’s not an easy man to love. He bears too many scars. His heart’s a graveyard. And yet, I’m falling hard for him.

  He flicks his eyes to me again, studying me as well while he keeps telling the story. Emma’s eyes get smaller and smaller, her eyelids heavy with sleep.

  A moment later, her soft breaths trail across his chest. He lets her slide onto her bed and tucks her in.

  Quietly, he motions to me, and we exit the room.

  7

  SENNA

  We say goodbye to Sara, climb into the car and head home. We spend a few minutes in silence.

  “So... What happened to you?”

  “Nothing,” I mumble, my forehead pressed against the window.

  “You were in a good mood before I went to Emma’s room.”

  I stay silent.

  “Did you talk to Sara?”

  I cut my eyes at him.

  “About what?”

  He flicks his hand up, gesturing in the air.

  “I don’t know. Girls shit.”

  “That sounds bad... No, I didn’t.”

  We lock eyes for a moment.

  “You’re lying,” he says.

  I look away.

  “She said she wouldn’t be able to live here if you lost your job.”

  I shift my eyes back to him.

  He smiles as if it’s a good joke.

  “Are you planning on firing me?”

  “No. She was afraid that we might, you know... split?”

  “Are we an item now?” he asks, amused.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “I think it is,” he says without looking at me. “We can’t split if we’re not an item, so why do we even have this conversation?” he asks, steering the car off the highway.

  “You’re probably right,” I say, suddenly in a bad mood.

  I keep my mouth shut for the rest of the trip, and as soon as we stop in front of my house, I climb out of the car and rush inside.

  I slither inside the bedroom, registering every sound of the house as he walks in. The main door shuts closed on the first floor. Then his footsteps travel across the living room, and up the stairs. The floor creaks beneath his boots as he nears the bedroom.

  The door slides open.

  “What the hell was that?” he thunders, his eyes spitting fire.