I raised a brow. “I don’t tease about important issues. Though I do like your sass.”
She studied me as she had the day I blurted out my parentage—or at least my thoughts that the man who raised me wasn’t my biological father. I wondered again why I was here. Part of me wanted to turn tail and run, but the other part, the part that calmed when I saw her, the part where my brain clicked into quiet mode when I smelled her scent, wanted to get closer. As close as she’d let me for as long as she’d let me.
I placed the two bags of food on the counter. Thinking that Jenna was some kind of saving grace would probably bite us both in the ass.
“Quite the spread you got here,” I said.
“That’s my line. But for the food.” She waved her hand to encompass the containers I pulled from the bags. “Thank you for all this. If you hadn’t called, I probably would’ve skipped dinner.”
“Never a good idea to miss your squares.”
“I was pretty out of it. Not sure I would’ve noticed.”
She pulled down a couple of plates and topped them with the silverware she’d already gathered. Setting those on the counter near the food, she turned to the fridge and pulled out a couple of bottles, raising her eyebrows in question.
“Got me a gig at Shiner’s this weekend.”
Jenna smiled. “The bar here off Sixth Street? Congratulations.”
“Will you come and listen?” I asked. My palms sweat and my throat dried out faster than a puddle in the sun.
“Um.” She bowed her head. “I don’t really do live shows.”
“You should swing by,” I said. “You know, for research on my instrument and instrument.” Not why I wanted her there—I just did. Because I liked her. “And I’d feel better knowing someone there was watching over my sister.”
“When is it?” Jenna’s tone was hesitant but I counted myself lucky she was considering the option.
“Sunday.”
She sucked in a breath and balled up the plastic bags the food had come in, shoving them to the back of the counter.
“Can I think about it?”
“Yep. Hit me,” I said as I opened the first container. We groaned simultaneously as the spicy-sweet tang of sauce hit our noses.
“Can’t get stuff like this in Seattle,” Jenna said, as she used a fork to pile meat onto her plate. “At least not one I could find.”
“Definitely a Texas specialty.”
“I quit eating meat when I lived in Seattle. They just couldn’t cook it right.”
“You did your freshman and sophomore years there?”
Jenna nodded, handing me a plate. I started dishing food on to it.
“I’m still working on my degree here, but it’s slower going now that I have a full-time job and demanding clients.”
“You should tell those boys where to shove their extra requests,” I said with a smile.
“I would, but there’s only one guy who does it, and my Pop-pop likes him.”
I leaned my hip against the counter and laid my hand on her hip. “Is that the only reason I’m here, Jenna? Because your grandfather approves of me?”
Pink suffused her neck but she kept her gaze firm on mine. “No. I like you, too. And anyway, you’re my client. I have to please you.”
Please me. There were lots of ways she could do that and none of them forced her to use her hands. Though that could add to the mutual pleasure if she did.
I picked up my piled plate and carried it to the table, hoping the short space between us would help me regain some control over my raging thoughts.
“I liked your design. All of ‘em, really.”
“You did?” she asked, satisfaction lacing her tone.
“You’re mighty talented with those hands.”
She looked down, her cheeks even brighter. Yep, I liked teasing this woman. Teased myself, but in these moments, my mind wasn’t on how I should’ve done better during my last tour, how I should’ve fixed the mess I’d made of Kim’s life, or worse still, my brother’s continued radio silence.
I scowled but shoved the thought deep in my head and focused instead on the pretty, sweet-smelling lady in front of me.
“With the way you bolted, I assumed we were out the commission completely.” Her voice stayed quiet, her eyes glued to her plate.
I glared at the silverware next to my plate as guilt racked me. I hadn’t handled myself well last night. My past mistakes had nothing to do with Jenna, and she didn’t deserve my bad manners because of them.
“My guards hustled me out of your place quick-step. I called my people. Brenda, my PR rep, wasn’t too pleased with her late hours last night.”
“You were spooked.” She took a bite and chewed. She dragged her fork through the barbecue sauce pooling on her plate. “From me? My drama with Ben-the-giant-asshole?”
I shoved a bite of pulled pork in my mouth, buying some time before answering. Jenna hopped up and came back from the kitchen with the salt shaker. This time I noticed the bounce of her breasts under her tee. No bra. Noticing wasn’t going to help my growing interest. Hell, I’d been attracted to her from the first moment, but now, after how she handled herself last night—she elevated past interest into full-blown need.
Right. Might as well be honest. I was too old and too tired for anything less than interest in me, the man. Not Camden Grace, the performer.
“Both. Mostly from memories. They sneak up on me sometimes.”
Her eyes lifted to mine, the bite of potato halfway to her mouth. “I hate when they do that. Memories, emotions, whatever. You saw me that first morning. I take meds for anxiety. My psychiatrist added another for mood stabilization when I came back to Austin. I was a mess after…” She set her fork back on her plate, her lips thinning as she dropped her gaze. “I struggled with the fallout. From surviving.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, also setting my silverware aside.
Somehow this conversation turned heavy, the air thick with emotional pitfalls.
“Because I really should have died. I had a lot—I mean a lot—of GHB in my system. And I’m the one who made Abbi eat one of the drug-laced chocolates. She was hurt worse than me, really, so it’s just not right that I made it.”
“She’s fine now, though. Happy, even. I saw her and Clay at one of the festivals a couple of months ago.”
“You know them?” she asked, a delighted smile spreading across her face. I liked that level of happiness.
“Yep. Performing is a small world when you get into it. Clay’s talented. Abbi’s fun.”
“You’re right on both counts.”
Her mouth settled back in a grim line, and I clenched my fist around my silverware. I wanted that smile back on her face. She deserved it.
“I don’t handle those events well. Festivals, concerts.” She shrugged, but her shoulders and mouth remained taut. “Too much noise, people. I don’t do crowds well.”
She met my gaze.
“That’s why I’m not excited about your invitation to your gig on Sunday. I’m thrilled you invited me, but I’m not sure I can handle…” She looked back down. “I’m not sure I can handle you. What I’d need to be for you.”
Jenna’s bravery came from speaking her mind, admitting her weaknesses.
“No shame in that. Took me four months state-side not to want to drop to the ground at the first sound of yelling. My body was programmed to think it was a bomb or IED.”
Jenna smirked, picked up her fork. “Aren’t we a pair?”
I also picked up my fork and pointed it at her. “You’re almost as much of a mess as I am.”
“Different kind of traumatic stress,” she said with a shrug. “There’s no real comparison. An Army Ranger. That’s impressive.”
I shrugged. I didn’t enlist, or even push myself to make the Ranger cut, because I wanted to impress others. I did it for Kim—college didn’t work out for me, and I wanted to give her the financial stability a rancher or college drop-out rarely achi
eved.
“What were those memories that spooked you? Of the war?” Jenna asked.
“Sometimes, but that was a long time ago and I’ve gotten better at holding them back.” I shook my head. “The ones I can’t control are of my wife.”
Jenna’s fork clattered to her plate. “You’re married?”
The look of horror on her face was priceless, though the whiteness in her fingertips as she gripped the edge of the table worried me.
“I’ve been lusting after a married man,” she whispered.
Her words caused warmth to spread through my chest. She hadn’t Googled me or even pumped her grandfather for information. The elder Olsen collected most of the highlights from my sordid past, thanks to the hours I’d spent in his shop over the past few years.
“This is low, even for me,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
Aw, nuh uh. Jenna planned to beat herself up.
“No, I was married.” My words tripped out, over each other because she had to understand. I sighed as I rubbed the back of my neck. “Years ago. I’m not anymore.”
“Then you’re divorced?” The way she asked the question reminded me of someone trying to spin a Rubik’s cube the first time. None of the syllables or words fit together.
I twirled my fork, my mind revving up to that unhealthy speed for the first time since Jenna opened the door. I exhaled in a slow even stream from my nose, as I’d been taught during sharpshooter training. During those years, focus kept me alive. Now, focus kept the worst of the memories at bay.
Did I want to do this? No real choice, and Jenna had shared a painful bit of her past with me. The least I could do was return the favor. Not that I’d share the whole, sordid story. Only my family—and Kim’s—were privy to how disastrous our relationship became.
“She killed herself.”
If anything, Jenna’s face scrunched even further into horror. “Oh, I’m sorry. I wish you were divorced. I mean, I don’t, if you still loved her, but that’s better than—I’m so sorry.”
“So am I. But not for the reasons you think. Kim and I… We had a rough relationship. Her death was just the culmination of some bad years.”
There. That sounded like I’d closed that door—dealt with Kim’s betrayals and the much deeper, more bitter fallout with my family.
Jenna stared at me, her food once again forgotten. I didn’t like the shadows blooming in those eyes. “Will you…can you tell me what you mean? Cuz right now, my imagination’s working hard to build a picture.”
My neck tensed. I hated talking about Kim. Mainly because I hated how much her death affected me still. “About?”
She picked up her fork and fiddled with a chunk of potato, dragging it through a small puddle of sour cream. “What was rough?”
The way she asked the question, the forced nonchalance told me more than the words themselves would. Jenna’s grandfather said as much but I expected he meant emotionally—as in teen angst over a bad relationship flaming itself out. Ben seemed the type to dominate a woman.
Damn, now I needed more answers. Answers Jenna wanted to keep hidden, bottled up and repressed. We really were a pair.
“Kim was a free spirit. Too free.” I dug my fingernail into the edge of my beer label, peeling the damp paper down with ease. “She wanted me, but that didn’t mean she wanted to give up her other boyfriend.” I raised my gaze, gauged Jenna’s reaction. “Or her other one.”
This time Jenna’s face registered shock instead of horror. “She married you, but she still slept around?”
“Yeah.” I lifted the bottle to my mouth, letting the long pull of cold liquid wash the filthy taste from my mouth. This was the part I didn’t like to rehash, but Jenna needed the reassurance I wasn’t an abuser, and now that I’d started talking…well, I wanted to keep on doing so.
“Kim’s home life was hard. Her father was commandeering, not affectionate at all. She looked elsewhere. Lots of elsewheres. Especially after I shipped out. I was gone way more than I was home, so Kim moved onto the ranch.” And, more than likely, into my brother’s bed.
I refused to tell Jenna just how sordid the details were. She didn’t need to know, and I really didn’t want to tell her.
“No wonder you have nightmares.”
I shrugged. “I didn’t know. Not for a few years anyway.”
“You don’t have to tell me any more,” Jenna whispered. Her eyes remained wide and wary. Not much different from how I felt.
My lips curled up in a sardonic smile. “I don’t like talking about this so might as well do it once and be done. My sister called, gushing about Kim being pregnant though I’d been in Iraq for almost six months. Once my sister figured out that math… Kim was just two months along then. She lived at my parents’ house. They weren’t too happy harboring a cheat. My dad booted her soon as Katie Rose—my sister—spilled the beans.”
Starting the disintegration of that relationship. Not that my father and I were best buds before. But he spent the rest of his life wrestling with his part in Kim’s demise and blaming me for the guilt that ate at him. Worst part was, he pushed away my mama, my baby sister, and my brother, too.
We all broke because I brought Kim in our lives. Guilt dug its vicious talons deep into my chest, gripping and wringing my heart. We still hadn’t heard a peep from Carter since my dad’s death two weeks ago, much to my mother’s sadness. Katie Rose said Mom cried herself to sleep again last night.
Jenna made a sound of distress before she picked up her beer. Her sip was less liberal than mine.
“No one knows what happened, exactly, but Kim died less than a month later. An overdose.” I touched my fingertips to my elbow, giving Jenna the silent cue for the level of drugs Kim was into. “My dad and I rubbed each other wrong from the big fight we’d had at Kim’s funeral, and he up and died before we got around to talking it through.”
Jenna’s hand covered mine where it rested on my opposite arm. How her hand, the tools of her trade, were so soft and white, baffled me. Her palm warmed the back of my hand and we settled there for a long minute.
“Your guitar—the one you broke—you said something about your father’s death?” she asked.
“Yep. But wasn’t just that guitar.” I met her gaze. “I busted the whole trailer—every instrument. That’s how I dealt with the emotional overload.”
After a long, tense pause, she raised her gaze and met mine again. “I had a psychotic episode. That’s what the psychiatrist called it.”
“Like a breakdown?”
She nodded. “I was hospitalized after the anxiety got to be too much. I’d always been fine—never had anything like that happen before.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What triggered it?”
For whatever reason, I wanted to know more about Jenna—all her secrets, her quirks. Her heartache so I could hug it from her. My turn to drop my gaze and steady my breathing.
“The total cliché. Robbie screwed my best friend—not much of one if she fell into bed with my boyfriend.”
This time I picked up her hand and squeezed her fingers in sympathy. “Right. Not much of one. What happened?”
“Well, I found out later Fiona and Ben plotted the whole thing. They’d dated a while, but Fiona wanted Robbie. Ben wanted me. They set it up. And…it worked out just like they planned.” Goosebumps rose on her skin and she looked away.
Not a proud memory. Something I could understand, especially at that age. Hell, I was barely a year older when I married Kim—and caused my own family to disintegrate.
“Sort of. Fiona got pregnant.”
I raised my beer. “Not that different from most high school dramas, really. Too many hormones and not enough sense.”
Jenna shook her head as a tiny smirk uncurled on her lips. “There’s more to it, but I’d rather leave it there for now.”
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms over my chest. “You mean unfinished business between you and Robbie? Or you and Ben?”
“On my end? Neither.”
“You knew more than you told Officer Briggs.”
Jenna shrugged. “Seems like Ben needs to use me for something stupid and tied to his ego.”
“Must have a big one, that young’un.”
She giggled and I smiled in return, liking the sparkle in her eyes. Then she sighed and her eyes turned serious.
She leaned forward, placing her elbows on the table and dropped her chin between her fists. “Exes mean baggage.”
“Truckloads full of it. And about an even weight of regret.”
I picked up my last rib and tore off a bite of meat, chewing. I pointed at her plate. “Eat up.”
She looked down, her mouth firming closed. “All this sharing killed my appetite.”
“Find it again so I don’t have to worry about you wasting away to nothing, sweetheart.”
She picked up her fork and popped the now-cold potato in her mouth. We ate in silence for a few moments, each of us working over and through the other’s history.
“I don’t regret breaking up with Robbie.” She wrapped the napkin around her thumb and began picking at it. “Not anymore. I did for a long time because I worried I wouldn’t be popular or go to any of the good parties. Stupid things like that, but they meant the world to me at the time. So much so, I made myself sick with them. And I let myself believe I’d betrayed his trust somehow.”
“Sounds to me like that young man needs to learn more about how to treat a lady and less about how to manipulate one.”
I pushed my plate back and wiped my fingers on a napkin before it joined the rib bones. “I need to tell you something, sugar.”
“That you like pet names that start with ‘s’?”
“No, smartass.” I paused, waiting for her to give me her full attention. Didn’t wait long. Whatever was between us, it was mutual. And strong. “I like you.”
She raised an eyebrow as she picked up her beer. Most of it was still in the bottle. Not much of a drinker—good to know.
“Even after my sordid history?”
“Yep.”
“But…” Her eyebrows scrunched together. “Why?”
Deep in the Heart: An Austin After Dark Book Page 7