For the first time in months, I can breathe. And I feel safe here. But I meant what I said. Now there are two things I won’t do to keep a roof over my head: pimp out my body or my dysfunctional family history.
Jillian glances at her watch. “You know what? I think we need to save the rest of this conversation for later if I plan to get you to your doctor’s appointment on time.”
We move to leave the kitchen and she stops me. “I won’t make you tell me.”
I give her a crooked smile. “I know.”
Chapter 15
Jillian
I GLANCE AT RAINE in the rearview mirror as he follows me back to my house in his pickup. We stopped by the bar on the way home to pick up his wallet.
The doctor cleared him of any further head injuries and gave him enough painkillers for his ribs to last a couple of days. I popped up to see Vera quickly while Raine finished his appointment, but not before I shared my displeasure with the doctor about the hospital missing Raine’s broken ribs in the first place. Vera was awake, and I was thrilled to see that she was doing even better. She was drifting off to sleep when I left. I almost feel optimistic.
I dial Kitty.
She picks up on the first ring. “Hey, Kitty. Don’t kill me, but I need to cancel for later.” I have a standing invitation every Sunday for dinner, a family tradition for as long as I can remember.
“Why? What’s up?” my sister asks.
I take a deep breath and pray for minimal prying. “I have an unexpected house guest who’s not feeling well.”
“Who’s staying with you?”
My jaw tightens. “A new friend. Someone with some cracked ribs.”
“Jillian . . . Is it a man? I’m not sure I like the sound of this,” she says with an unmistakable note of disapproval.
“Kitty, I’m old enough to make my own decisions. He’s not an axe murderer, so please stop mothering me.”
“It’s not that young gigolo Jenny told me about, that cover model, is it?” she says in a low voice.
My hackles rise. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“Jillian. I think you need to stick to men your own age. It’s like you’re dating someone who could be your child, for Heaven’s sake!”
My face has to be beet-red because my cheeks are suddenly on fire. “I’m not dating him! He’s just a friend. Why the hell am I justifying myself to you? I can date or screw whomever I want as long as he’s over the age of eighteen. I’ll call you later.” I disconnect my Bluetooth, wishing I had something to throw at someone. Instead, I slam my hand on the steering wheel. Other than making my palm sting, it barely takes the edge off. How dare she make me feel like a pedophile! And for her to insult him? What the hell was that about? A gigolo? Hardly. I consider myself a pretty good judge of character, and he hasn’t given me that impression at all.
I pull into the garage and Raine pulls in front of the bay next to me, parking on the driveway. I make a mental note to dig up Robert’s opener for him.
“What’s the matter? You look pissed,” he says as we walk into the kitchen from the garage.
I give him a wan smile. “My sister said something that did just that—pissed me off. I hung up on her.”
His shoulders tense. “Jenny’s mother?”
“She’s the only sister I have. Why?”
He strolls over to the refrigerator and opens it. “I don’t think Jenny likes me.”
My eyes narrow at him. “Why do you say that?”
“Jillian, there’s no food in here.” He turns with a jar of mustard in his hand and arches his black-and-blue brow at me. “What do you do? Eat it on bread?”
I plant my hands on my hips. “Don’t try to deflect my question. Why do you think Jenny doesn’t like you?”
He straightens up and faces me, and then sweeps a hand over his bruised face. “She stopped me in the driveway after the photo shoot and shared her unflattering opinion of me. That I should stay away from you. What would someone like me possibly have to offer you beyond some eye candy to hang on your arm?” There’s no mistaking the hurt and anger laced in his words.
My blood slowly boils as anger toward my family rises. He leans on the island with slumped shoulders. “I thought about staying away, not coming back. But I couldn’t do it. I wanted to see you again. It’s true, financially, right now, she's right. I don’t have much to offer anyone. But I’m not interested in you because of your money, and hopefully the fact that I don’t have any won’t stop you. Money isn’t everything. Of all people, I should know. Those other things she said? They’re not true. That’s not me at all.”
He hangs his head, and asks quietly, “Do you want me to leave?”
My heart squeezes, and I want nothing more than to take away the layer of pain that seems to define him.
I walk around to meet him and pull him into my arms. “No. I definitely don’t want you to leave.” He wraps his arms tightly around me, rests his cheek on my hair, and lets out a deep breath. I melt into him, and the hard muscles of his chest feel good against me. His arms are strong and warm. I yearn to kiss him, and to comfort him—woman to man.
“Jillian?” he whispers.
“Yes?” I move my head from under his chin and look up.
His eyes are glassy blue marbles as he gazes down at me. He swallows. “Thanks for believing me.” I’m suddenly aware his lips are only inches from mine. My breath catches. A moment later, they come down and tenderly press to mine. He closes his eyes and the feel of his lips are soft yet firm. He squeezes me tighter in his arms, and his tongue parts my lips and enters my mouth, probing and caressing in the most gentle, sensuous dance. I follow his lead and relax into one of the finest kisses I ever remember experiencing. Raine’s hands travel my back as his mouth becomes more insistent, and my body reacts with a rush of warmth and a clenching need. My hands find his hair and twist into the tawny softness of it. They meet in the back of his neck, and I pull him closer, mindful of his injuries.
He moans and I join him until we break away, breathless. My hands shake. I just kissed a man young enough to be my . . . I stop myself from going there. Instead, I just admit that I loved it.
He rests his forehead next to mine. “Jillian . . .”
“Yes?”
“I’ll be back.”
“Huh?”
“There’s no food in this house. Unless we both want to starve to death, I need to go to the store if I plan on cooking anything. My only other option is throwing you down on the kitchen floor and making love to you until I’m blind. But I’m thinking we need to start slower since I’ll be staying here for a while, and I don’t want to screw this up.”
He releases me, and I stand there dumbstruck, rooted in place. His hand snatches his truck keys off the island and he heads for the door.
“Raine?” My head is swimming and I don’t even know why I’ve called out his name. Only that I feel giddy, and I want confirmation that I didn’t just imagine the last five minutes.
He turns. “Jillian?”
On impulse, as a display of trust, I rush to my purse, and take out the credit card I use just for groceries. “Here. You cook and I’ll pay for the food. Deal?”
A slow smile comes to his lips. He takes the card and stuffs it into the pocket of his jeans. “Deal.”
He turns to go.
“Raine?”
He spins on his heel. “Jillian, you’re making me dizzy.”
“Did you mean to kiss me?” I blurt.
A rakish smile forms on his lips like the one he used in the studio. “Yeah, and I plan on doing it again. Now let me go so I can get back and cook us a meal.”
Chapter 16
Raine
“WHERE DID YOU LEARN how to cook like this?” Jillian asks, wearing a look of disbelief as she dips her fork back into the chicken marsala.
I can’t help but smile. I finish chewing before I answer. “My mom,” I say and offer a silent prayer of thanks to her.
“Really?�
� Jillian’s brow wrinkles and she smiles back.
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“I’m just wondering how she managed it.”
I shrug. “She paid me to learn. Growing up, to earn my allowance, I had to cook three meals a week. She taught me everything I know. I never realized how valuable a skill it was until . . .” I let my voice trail off, clipping off the “she died” part, and look away. If I start to talk about my mom, it will unlock my whole sordid tale. One question will lead to another. I’m not ready to pop the top on my can of worms. Jillian’s already seen evidence of one of my largest secrets. I’m wearing the black and blues to prove it, and my dad’s nasty revelation last night just added to my dysfunctional family history.
Jillian reaches her hand out and covers mine. “Just tell me, Raine. I promise nothing you confess, short of having murdered someone, will change my opinion of you.” Her eyes are warm and encouraging. I find comfort there. Funny, it’s easier for me to share my desire for her than to talk about my past.
I just shake my head and find I can’t speak.
“Do you have any siblings?” Jillian asks gently before she takes another bite of her meal.
I’m comfortable enough answering that one. “I’m an only child.”
She props her elbow on the granite and gives me a contemplative look. “Hmm. That fits. I’m the youngest. It’s just my sister Kitty and me. She’s eleven years older than I am.”
I appreciate that she’s offered me something about herself in return.
“Have you always lived in Morristown?” she asks.
“No, Mendham. I moved to Morristown after high school.” I put down my fork. “Does it matter? Can we not do this?”
“People don’t normally have this much trouble talking about themselves. I just want you to know you that you can trust me. When you’re ready, for each story you trade with me, I’ll trade you one of mine. Okay?”
“Okay, but not tonight. I’ve been down this road before. There’s a lot I’m angry about, Jillian, and I want you to be ready for that.”
“Have you ever seen someone professionally?”
I look down and bite back my frustration. “That takes money I don’t have.”
“Fair enough.”
When we finish eating, she clears the dishes and I help her load the dishwasher. We share a comfortable silence. The stifling pain in my ribs surfaces again. I reach for the prescription I had filled while I was at Kings. Jillian brings over a glass of water before I even manage to get the cap off.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
She shrugs. “I was a wife for a long time, and old habits die hard.” She turns to put the remaining items on the counter away. I think about what she said and suddenly long for the thoughtfulness and kindness she gives to me. I’ll confess, in this way, she reminds me of my mother—the only other woman who had those qualities. But it’s new in this context, not something I’ve ever experienced in a potential relationship. Not that I’m an expert by any stretch.
I sneak up behind her and wrap her in my arms, inhaling the soft feminine smell that clings to her hair. She tenses at first and then relaxes. “Thank you. I appreciate the way you treat me.”
She turns in my arms to face me. Her hand brushes over the stubble on my cheek. “You deserve it. Don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.” Her lips touch mine briefly and she lets me go.
“I need to do some work tonight. Will you be all right?” she asks.
“Yeah, fine. I have a ton of reading and a new project for class.”
“Are you working tomorrow?”
My expression changes as I worry about my cash flow. “No. I can’t work with Mikey for at least a week until my ribs heal, and I don’t have any hours at the bar until this weekend.”
Her eyes take on a mischievous glint. “Classes are on Wednesdays and Thursdays, right?”
My lips turn up in a smile. “Where are you going with this?”
“How would you like to come to my shore house by Spring Lake for a few days while you heal? I’m on deadline and have to write, but there’s plenty to do there on your own. There’s only a couple weeks of good weather left, so it would be like the last hurrah for the season before it starts to get quiet.”
There’s a hopeful look in her eye, and God knows I’d enjoy some sun. “Yeah, let’s do it. But I’m not sure how much time I want to spend in public. I look like I’ve been hit by a train. I think I scared a few people when I was in the checkout line.” Before I forget, I dig my hands into the pockets of my jeans and pull out the credit card she gave me.
“I have a private deck facing the ocean. You don’t have to leave the premises if you don’t want to. The sea air will do you good.”
I place the card on the counter.
It catches her eye, and she slides it back at me. “Put it in a safe place for the next time. You doing the cooking would be the best trade for a room I could ever imagine. If you ever meet my family, you’ll quickly hear stories about my general aversion to kitchens and cooking anything more than eggs.”
I give her a genuine smile, and a lump forms in my throat as I take the card back. I’m happy to have a way to repay her. Her small act of trust touches me. So does her hint of inclusion. “I’d like that . . . to meet your family someday.” Although I’ll have to win Jenny over first.
From the direction of the conversation, it doesn’t sound like Jillian plans to kick me out anytime soon. Her earlier invitation seemed open-ended, but I don’t want to take that for granted. I’m hoping I can impose on her for at least the same month I had planned on staying with my fucked up father.
But being here could definitely change things, and I’m not sure whether it would be for better or worse. Then I realize there’s something I need to know and only one way to find out.
“Wait here for a minute. I’ll be back.”
Jillian gives me a puzzled look. “Okay.”
I walk back to the guest room, take the signed release out of the pocket in my duffel, and return to the kitchen. Jillian’s waiting for me on a stool next to the island.
Without a word I hand her the form.
She takes it between her fingers and frowns. Her golden eyes search mine. “Does this mean you’d rather not go to dinner?”
My heart suddenly aches—in a good way—and I smile. “Not at all. Does that mean you really want to go?”
A blush spreads across her cheeks. “Yes, I want to go.” She reaches for my hand. It’s small and soft inside my palm. For the first time, I’m embarrassed my hands are rough and calloused. But it doesn’t stop my heart from beating faster.
“Is it okay if we wait until after my face heals?” I ask.
“That would be fine.” She nods and slips off the stool. “Now I really have to go to work. Say goodnight later?”
“You got it.”
We head our separate ways. The aches and pains in my body don’t bother me as much now that Jillian has given me a ray of hope and something to look forward to.
Chapter 17
Jillian
TAP. TAP. TAP. My fingers glide over the keyboard and transport me into the world of Becca and Drew, who’ve been chattering away in my head since I sat down. Now that the synopsis is behind me, I’m back to working on the first draft of my novel. I’ve skipped backward in the plot—but not too far back—to work on a scene toward the beginning of the book. The part where Becca looks up in Boston’s South Street Station and spots a man who she believes is Drew—only he’s five years older than when he supposedly died.
The chill traversing my spine is Becca’s. But her emotion is fueled by the amplified feeling I had when I saw Raine planting trees. In my case, too much time had passed for me to believe, even for a second, that I was staring at my Drew—unless he’d stopped aging. In the book, Becca never sees Drew’s dead body. Part of me wishes I could say the same. Instead, I carry the unpleasant memory of Drew’s wax-like corpse in his casket and the def
initive knowledge he isn't ever coming back.
It’s been almost twenty-five years, and I still find it difficult to think back to that time, even to lend it to Becca’s past. I’m saving that part—the beginning of the book—for last, since it’s the most difficult part of my life to face, even in fiction. Here’s hoping that it doesn’t trip me up in the end.
I shudder and feel my breath hitch whenever I get too close to those memories. Especially the emotional numbness and the near catatonic state I lived in as I moved mechanically from the accident to the funeral, and then to the weeks that followed when I started college. The imprint of those weeks and months surrounded in a painful fog is ingrained on my soul. I still don’t remember how I made it through them. Therapy barely helped. Journaling and immersion in schoolwork proved marginally better, but in the end, there was no escape. Grief engulfed my entire freshman year, suffocating me. I don’t remember breathing again until the next summer.
The truth is I never fully recovered. Rather, I learned how to bury the pain enough to go on living and tried not to dwell too much on what I’d lost and why.
I caress a pair of girlish purple leather diaries sitting on my desk for inspiration. Every moment I spent with Drew up until the day he died is captured inside them—from the opening day bonfire where we met as camp counselors to the night before the accident and everything in between. Flower petals from my prom corsage, concert tickets, notes passed in class, and a dozen other things are all interspersed among the pages. I took them out of storage after Robert died and read them cover to cover at least twenty times, letting them take me back to that world. The one in which Drew was still alive.
Cracking open one of the diaries where an envelope is lodged between the pages, I reread the entry remembering the day . . .
I drop my cheerleading gear inside the door and race for the phone in the kitchen, picking it up on the third ring. “Hello?”
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