The Dating Charade

by Melissa Ferguson

  It didn’t matter that he only had about five minutes to spare before having to jump into his truck for work. The woman—the poor, sweet woman—had made herself available too many times. Had twisted his arm with her baked goods and kid expertise and willingness to throw away her perfectly good evenings to watch the Bentley circus. It was time.

  There was absolutely nothing wrong with Sarah. Just that, even after these two long months she’d helped him break in his new life, he still found he’d rather spend the evenings alone than muster up the energy to walk across the hall for a night of kabobs and wine.

  Sarah deserved a man who’d walk across the hall for kabobs and wine.

  Shoot. Sarah deserved a man who would make the kabobs and pour the wine.

  She picked the hat up from his hands and reached for his head with a wry smile. “You, too, Jett. Don’t scoot out the door before we get to see how it looks.”

  He gently took the hat from her hands and dropped his overnight bag to the ground. “Actually, can I talk with you for a second?” His eyes shifted to Sunny. “Privately?”

  “Um.” Her eyes skirted to Sunny and back to him, looking as awkward and uncomfortable as he was. “Sure.”

  Still hip-holding Timothy, she followed Jett into his bedroom.

  “Don’t worry, guys,” Sunny called out, the twins now busy coloring the five o’clock shadow on Sunny’s chin, their new canvas. “I’ll hold the fort down here.”

  Jett quietly shut the door. Rubbed his hands.

  “Sarah,” he began slowly. This was going to be painful. There was no getting around the guilt he would inevitably feel after this. There was no getting around the hollow disappointment she’d feel after too. But he could try to minimize the damage. He just needed to cake on as many compliments as he could before throwing the knife. “You are just so special.”

  Sarah’s soft blue eyes widened.

  He hated that he was about to break her heart.

  “These past months,” he continued. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. Honestly, you’ve been a lifesaver to all of us. Me especially.”

  She shuffled Timothy to the other hip. “Well, thank you, Jett. That means a lot to me.”

  Not enough. After this long of her sacrificial kindness, he needed to truly emphasize, deeply, how great of a human being she was.

  He took a step closer. “Really. I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re sweet. You’re giving. You’re the kids’ favorite person by far.” He laughed. “You beat me by a landslide.” C’mon, man. Don’t limit the compliments to what she has done for you. She’s more than a maid. He threw out a hand. “And you look absolutely beautiful—stunning—in that dress.”

  She pressed her free hand against the waist of the fitted pink satin. “Oh. Well. Thank you.”

  “I can’t thank you enough for everything. You’ve been like—” He paused, searching for the right words. “—like a mother to them. I only wish they could be so lucky.”

  Was it enough? Were those enough compliments to compensate for all the money she had spent, all the socks she’d knitted, all the evenings she had devoted her time?

  Whether it was or not, she spoke. “Jett. I—I don’t know what to say. You’ve never given me any indication you felt this way—”

  “How could I possibly not feel this way? I admire you deeply. You’re as good a human being as they come.” He hung his head briefly. “I’m just so sorry that it can’t go any further.”

  She looked uncertain, and he continued. “I sort of know . . . about your feelings.”

  The dresser rattled as she stepped back into it. Her voice held utter mortification. “You do?”

  He hesitated. “Well . . . I’d have to be blind not to.” Jett smiled, one side of his mouth lifting gently. “Who crochets a hat for a grown man? It’s so thoughtful—and practical,” he added swiftly. “But it does give a pretty big hint.”

  There was silence for a moment, and he kicked the floor. “Anyway, I understand if you don’t want to watch the kids today—”

  “No, of course I do.” Her hand went protectively to Timothy, rubbing his bald head lying against her chest. She hesitated. “I mean, you are special to me, too, Jett. I’d do anything for you guys. But—” She looked to the door. “—I just felt like there was a connection between us all this time. It seemed obvious to you, too, right? This wasn’t just one-sided?”

  Poor thing. He thought she might have a hard time letting it sink in. Jett put his hand on her shoulder, squeezed softly. “I’m afraid in this case it was. But believe me, any guy who doesn’t treat you like a queen isn’t worth it. You are, truly, one in a million, and you deserve someone who recognizes that.”

  Sarah lowered her eyes. Huffed a little at the floor.

  But just as his hand started to let go of her shoulder, she reached out and captured it in hers.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I must admit I didn’t feel this way toward you before, but if you can just give me some time, let me think all of this over . . .”

  She paused again, her eyes darting back and forth from the door to him as if making a hasty decision. She shut her mouth. Lifted her chin, then squeezed his hand as she took a tiny, confident step closer. “Yes, Jett. I would absolutely love to go out with you sometime.”

  Jett’s brows furrowed. “Wait. Uh.”

  She laughed, turning her head as Timothy suddenly cooed. “Seems Timmy approves.”

  In a flash he mentally thumbed back through their conversation, trying to find the missing link. He’d complimented her, told her that their relationship couldn’t go further, that he knew of her feelings for him . . .

  She ticked her head. “Really, though, I can’t believe Sunny would do this to me. I feel like he’s been leading me on for months.”

  Eureka.

  “Sunnnnnny.” He said the name entirely too long. He pulled his hand away and tapped his temple twice. Waggled his finger at her. “Sunnnny. You like Sunny. You thought he liked you.”

  “The man’s been eating dinner over at my place for weeks. He always claimed he was avoiding you guys, but I thought, surely—” She shrugged, blinked twice, and smiled up at him with an expression that made him uneasy. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. What’s important is what’s happening now, between us . . .”

  Now it was Jett’s turn to step back, into the wall, the picture frame behind him pressing into his shoulder blades. “No, no. The thing is . . . you were right about the original plan. Sunny’s a great plan. A terrific plan. Who am I to get in your way?”

  “But you just said he’s not interested—”

  He shook his head, brain reeling like a wheel of fortune, waiting desperately for the ball to land on something worthwhile.

  “My admiration.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Then he slapped the wall. “My stupid, stupid admiration. I let it get in the way of two people I cared about most. Of course he’s attracted to you, Sarah.” Jett waved an arm out at her, circling her. “Who couldn’t be? It’s just . . . I knew, if I lied to you, told you he didn’t care for you, maybe I’d have a chance.”

  He looked at her imploringly. “But I can’t do that to you. To him. It’s just not right to get in between two people so perfect for each other.”

  She took a step toward him, and with nowhere to go, he stood pinned to the wall as she rested a tender hand on his arm.

  “That’s so thoughtful,” she whispered.

  Jett nodded, uncomfortable by just how doe-like her eyes were as they gazed up at him.

  “And yet,” he whispered back, “not thoughtful enough. You deserve to be with the one who would never try to deceive you . . .” He paused before whispering the word momentously. “Sunny.”

  Frankly, he had no idea if Sunny was attracted to Sarah.

  Frankly, he didn’t care.

  Before Sarah’s affections could bounce back into his court he squeezed around her and opened the door. He held both hands
up to her. “Please, don’t follow me. Don’t make this harder on me than it already is.”

  She bit her lip. Then nodded as though accepting his valiant offer to sacrifice his life for hers.

  “Thank you,” he said, and flew out of the apartment as fast as he could.

  * * *

  Two hours into his shift, he was still vowing never to communicate with a woman ever, ever again.

  “There we go, Donna Gene. Good as new.” With Sunny at home either frying in Sarah’s frying pan or melting in her crocheting arms, Jett tossed the tablet to the new guy and helped Donna to her recliner. As he did so, realization caught his eye. “Say. This place is looking pretty sharp.”

  Nick, the most recent member of the station, looked up from typing the medical details and glanced around the room as if he was not seeing the same thing Jett was.

  The living room was still overcrowded with furniture. The house still smelled of old fried chicken. Several new cats lined the windowsill, rapping it with their tails.

  But the number of soda cans on the table was down from pyramid-worthy piles to three. There were actually streaks in the carpet, as though it had been recently vacuumed. The sun shone nicely through their window.

  Donna beamed. “I was wondering when you’d notice. Your sweetheart’s girls have been coming up every couple of weeks, helping us spruce up the place.” She lifted her gaze meaningfully. “You know, I haven’t heard you talk about her in some time.”

  Some time. More like forty-four days, not that he was counting.

  “Well, that’s probably because I never spoke about her, Donna Gene.”

  “The girls tell me they are throwing a nice event for the seniors on Valentine’s Day.” Donna crossed her hands across her lap. “Will you be saving me a dance?”

  His smile widened as he shook his head, just imagining the woman who couldn’t even pick herself up off the kitchen floor doing the Charleston. “Wish I could, but I believe I’ll be working that day.”

  “Oh, just give us a little hint.” Edie clasped her arthritic fingers together, her posture straight as a board on the couch. “Tell us you two’s status, and we won’t bother you anymore.”

  Jett smiled politely, but felt it fading despite himself as he opened the door. “Sorry, ladies. In the end, we realized we just didn’t see eye to eye. Wish I had better news.”

  The women frowned.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Donna Gene said.

  “And after all that hemming,” Edie added mournfully.

  Quietly he moved to the Medic 2–10 and turned on the ignition.

  Forty-four days had passed since that terrible night when his hopes with Cassie were shattered and his future with the kids was made more or less certain. Something about defending his niece and nephews before Cassie’s callous judgments, something about being forced to defend them when his sister wanted to take them back into a hazardous home, threw down the last shreds of his resistance and put him completely on board. Parenthood? He’d bought the ticket. Set sail.

  He’d thought about calling Cassie that first week, when his nerves settled. Then after New Year’s, when the holiday havoc had simmered down. But every time, he heard the tone in her voice when she’d so vehemently made her opinions on small children clear. Every time he lifted the phone he felt the guilt creep in, asking him why he would start a relationship with someone who wouldn’t love his kids as much as they deserved. It was about them first, now.

  That was when he knew, he guessed. He was really a parent.

  * * *

  “Bentley. You got a second?” Captain Ferraro pulled up beside him two days later, lunch plate in hand.

  Up to his elbows in soapy water, Jett swiftly rinsed a sudsy cup and laid it in the drying rack. “Got nothing but time right now, sir. What’s up?”

  He took the captain’s plate and dunked it in the sink half full of water. Captain Ferraro dropped his crumpled napkin in the trash can.

  “I wanted to talk with you about the Skyline Drive situation. Again.”

  Jett started to shake his head. “I know, sir. I’ve tried talking to them—”

  All conversations stopped at the alarm.

  “Medic 2–10, Ladder 2–0–2, med 3 response . . . US 321 adjacent to Cliff Branch and Quality Inn Suites. Tractor trailer down. Multiple cars . . .”

  The plate dropped out of Jett’s hands, splashing into the tub of water.

  “Move it, Loguercio!” Ferraro roared as he got caught behind Kevin and several chairs. Jett followed on the heels of the men, each running for the pole. Though they were fast every time, they were quieter now, more focused as they swung on their jackets and jumped into their boots. The garage door roared open as Jarod peeled the truck out of the station.

  Multiple cars. Tractor trailer down.

  A big one.

  “Who’s on jaws?” Ferraro said, casting a glance back, his grip firm on the roof while the engine swung around a set of cars.

  “I will.” Jett pulled on his gloves, hands still damp with soap water.

  The pileup was considerable on both sides of the highway, cars jammed together as the engine made a slow turn onto 321. Brakes creaked on and off as the truck inched forward, the road so congested cars had but feet to turn.

  “Come on,” Jarod grumbled, laying his hand on the horn. He threw his head out the window. Laid on the horn again.

  Smoke rose from the tractor trailer on its side, as giant and foreign on its side as a dead dinosaur. The bright-blue cab of the semi lay across another car, though too many vehicles blocked their way to see its condition.

  Still, it didn’t look good.

  “Come on!” Jarod laid on the horn unceasingly now, while the crisscrossed maze of cars kept pulling forward and backward to get out of his way.

  “Male in semi. Possible companion,” the dispatcher updated as Jett’s eyes searched the road for a way through. But wedged between the mountain on one side and the creek on the other, cars were pulling up onto what little sidewalk was available as they moved forward what felt like a foot a minute. “Honda Civic. Female. Multiple children.”

  “Honda Civic.”

  Jett squinted, trying to recognize what little of the car was visible. He jerked off his seatbelt. Pushed his head out the window.

  “Multiple children.”

  Jett pushed himself higher out the window. Over a couple of SUVs he saw the top of the toppled blue cab of the semi. A battered, dust-ridden Honda as its pillow. Duct tape stretched across what was left of the bumper.

  Jett jerked the door open and stumbled to the asphalt, breath caught in his throat.

  “Jett!” Ferraro called. “What are you doing?”

  “That’s my family!”

  They said you gave your all, every day, for this job. Until now, he had lain to rest easy every night, believing in all good conscience he had. But his legs didn’t know the speed at which they could travel until this day, until this moment. His chest didn’t know the capacity it could fill of car exhaust, smoke, and the crisp scent of creek, until this second.

  He didn’t feel his muscles throw his body forward, just felt the whip of wind in his face as he maneuvered through the maze of cars. He wedged himself through two cars spaced half a foot apart. Dodged around a driver stepping out of his car. The tractor loomed as he jumped over the front of the SUVs crushed against each other.

  Suddenly the tractor let out a loud creak, and the cab dropped another few inches onto the car below.

  Please, God. Please, oh, please.

  Jett ran around to the side of the car. He took in the spiderwebbed windshield, glanced momentarily to the driver: the body leaning over the airbag, hair the color of Trina’s splayed across the steering wheel. His stomach dropped as he turned to the mangled back door. Took in the leering cab directly overhead.

  Bent down.

  Stopped breathing.

  One yank on the locked door and he whipped off his helmet. There was no choice. Ther
e was no time.

  He smashed it once, twice into the window. Reached inside and unlocked the door, then yanked.

  The mangled door resisted, and another deep creak ran through the cab overhead.

  Jett reached through the window.

  Sirens got louder as he bent inside, fumbled with a car-seat buckle. Face soaked in tears and blood, Drew wailed, reaching desperately for Jett. The buckles were flimsy but Jett reached the lock, pressed hard, and felt the release. Drew’s head scraped against the quickly crumbling roof. His scream pierced inhumanely high as Jett pulled him through the window.

  He started to set Drew on the ground, but suddenly there was Captain Ferraro, a firm hand on his shoulder. Kevin and Nick followed shortly behind.

  “Give ’im over,” Ferraro commanded, and Jett pushed Drew into his arms.

  “Someone get Trina,” Jett began to say, but Kevin was already taking off his helmet, was smashing her window.

  Jett began to press his body through the small window opening, but his coat pulled against him, his shoulders fighting to get through the rapidly declining hole. Swifter than he’d ever done in his life, he stripped off the coat. Shards of glass pressed against his waist as he levered half his body into the hole. Within the car’s confines, everything felt eerily silent as he pressed his shaking hands against Dakota’s buckles. Blood covered her blond curls, her head pressed forward against the weight of the crushing roof.

  Another creak overhead as he pulled her limp body into him, the roof crackling like an empty plastic water bottle.

  He fell to his knees with her in his arms, ripping one glove off with his teeth. He wiped away the blood-soaked curls. Wiped. Wiped. There was no movement.

  Oh, God. Please.

  The door pushed open in the cab overhead, and one arm of the truck driver reached over the edge.

  “Don’t move!” Ferraro yelled to the man above, now working with Nick to pull Trina out of the car. Kevin held tightly onto Drew while he screamed.

  No time.

  Jett’s face turned to the crumpling inside of the vehicle, and he yanked Nick’s ankles. “Help her,” he said, his voice hoarse.