“I’ve known you a long time,” he says, “and we both needed each other a lot when this started, but you were always going to move on. You know that.”
“So why did I come here at all?” I ask him. “Why keep me around?”
I could ask myself the same questions. We were both weak, hanging on to the only good thing we each had. And we ignored how by staying together we were ruining it.
I love him. He’s my friend. How could he humiliate me like this?
“You weren’t supposed to be like him,” I told him, tears pooling again.
He looks up, knowing exactly who I’m talking about. Jay was a piece of shit. Not Cole. Cole knew what I went through. Was he trying to hurt me?
“You were my friend first,” I go on. A friend is supposed to be good to you.
But he doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. It’s not his fault it ended. It’s just his fault it ended so badly.
“In our bed, too?” I ask him. “On the nights I was working?”
His silence tells me I’m right, and a wave of anger suddenly hits me. Did Pike know that Cole had her over? Or maybe other girls over?
But no—I stop myself, the knots in my stomach unwinding a little. He seemed as shocked as me just now.
I nod, also realizing Cole didn’t meet Elena out alone, either. He met up with her at parties, no doubt. “And all your friends knew,” I say, the betrayal becoming perfectly clear.
I’m on my own now. Aside from Cam and the ladies at the bar, I’d lost my last friend.
He approaches, stopping in front of me. “I’m going to stay with Elena for a while,” he says. “You stay here until you can—”
“Fuck you.” I raise my eyes, saying it with the same indifference as “you’re welcome.”
Heading back into the house, I don’t stop to see if Elena is gone or if she’s waiting out by Cole’s car. I pick up my bag and head to the bedroom, pulling out my cell phone and sliding down to the floor against the closed door.
I dial, the line picks up on the fourth ring, and I swipe away a silent tear as I harden my voice. “Hey, Dad.”
The next day, I stare at Cole’s and my bedroom, his stuff discarded where he left it and every last item of mine finally packed up and in the car.
I guess I’m glad I didn’t bring much. Most of my clothes fit in the two suitcases I have—one belonging to Cam that I brought when I thought I was going to leave a couple weeks ago.
But then Pike Lawson built me a garden, and it just goes to show, no man has had to do much to get me to come running back.
I laugh at myself under my breath. I will miss the garden, though.
I carry the last box through the living room, resisting the urge to take a last look at the garden through the kitchen window, and walk out the front door, seeing Pike’s truck pulling in from work.
My heart starts thumping harder. Dammit. I wish I could’ve gotten out of here before he got home. It’s not even five yet. I cut out of the lunch shift early, so I could get packed up and out of here in time, too. What’s he doing home already?
“What are you doing?” He follows me around the truck.
I shove the box into my backseat, on top of another one, and the car is just big enough to hold everything I came with. It all fits in two suitcases and three boxes. Everything else is in storage. And I don’t see me getting it out anytime soon, either. My father’s “house” doesn’t have room for a drafting table any more than my bedroom here.
“Thank you for everything,” I tell him, knowing he knows exactly what I’m doing. “You’ve been really amazing.”
“You’re leaving?” He looks confused.
I close the car door and turn to him, my stomach rolling as I swallow the lump in my throat.
“With Cole gone, and us broken up, it’s not right for me to stay,” I say. “You never had any obligation to help me, but you did, and I can’t thank you enough. I really do appreciate everything.” And then I can’t help but force a little smile for both our sakes. “Especially my cassette tapes.”
I stare at his troubled eyes, the green in the irises seeming to grow darker, and an ache hits my chest. I turn away, pretending to make sure the door’s closed to have a second to collect myself.
“My dad is letting me come home for a while.” I turn and tell him. “I’ll be okay.”
“But…”
“Oh, I forgot my purse.” I run my fingers through the top of my hair and bolt for the house, not letting him finish as I rush away.
I don’t want to argue with him, and I’m afraid if he says anything else, I’ll start crying.
I don’t want to leave, but I know I have no right to be here anymore, and maybe he’ll come into the bar from time to time to visit, right? Maybe I’ll see him around more now that I know him, and I’d recognize him.
Of course, I’m upset about Cole, too. I’ve spoken to him practically every day for the last three years.
But I want to be away from him. I don’t really like leaving Pike.
Who’s going to make him converse with people, and who’s going to sneak in the vanilla extract and cinnamon he doesn’t realize he likes in his coffee now?
I blink away the sting in my eyes, growling at myself. He’ll be fine. He survived thirty-eight years without me, didn’t he?
Plucking my purse off the couch, I open it, doing a visual inventory: cards, keys, wallet, phone…. And I close it, doing a mental check and making sure I grabbed my phone charger, my razor and shampoo from the shower, and any remaining laundry in the washer and dryer.
Shit. I forgot to replace his loofah, didn’t I? Oh, well…
I finally take a deep breath, realizing I have everything, I guess.
Walking back outside, I fix a half-smile on my face and straighten my spine. To the left, Kyle Cramer trails inside his house with a couple kids who I assume are his, but I don’t make eye contact. I don’t want the neighbors getting nosy.
“Jordan…” Pike starts in one me.
But I cut him off. “Thank you so much again. For everything.”
I head to the driver’s side and open the door, my stomach knotting into a thousand little balls, each one getting tighter and tighter.
“Jordan,” he calls again. “That car’s not ready to go. It’ll stall every time you stop.”
I give him a shaky smile. “I’ll deal with it. Really, I’m all panicked out. I don’t think much will upset me anymore. I’ll be fine.”
Pulling out my keys, I climb in. “Thanks for all the work you did on it already. You definitely didn’t need to do all that.”
“Wait,” he blurts out, sounding urgent.
I stop, unable to look at him, but I feel him take a step forward. He hesitates like he’s searching for words.
I glance up.
“Just…” He shakes his head, looking exasperated. “Move the stuff into the back of my truck. I’ll take you.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he cuts me off.
“I need to finish the VW,” he says. “It needs to stay here for a couple more days. And don’t give me attitude about it. Can you all of a sudden afford a mechanic?”
Pike
Meadow Lakes. I want to laugh. There’s no meadows or lakes, and there’s certainly no lake on a meadow. It’s a sixty-year-old trailer park full of dumps propped up on cinder blocks.
Did she actually grow up here?
I’m starting to think Cole didn’t have it so bad, after all. I look around, taking in the ancient silver Airstreams mixed in with some double-wides from the 80s, broken blinds barely visible behind muddy windows, and termite-rotted exteriors, green with mildew and exposed insulation. This whole fucking place is a fire hazard waiting to happen. I don’t want her here. She doesn’t have to stay at my house, but just…not here.
Jordan sits in the seat next to me, slowly running her palms across each other and staring down blankly, lost in thought. I can’t shake the feeling that she’s trying to put o
ff looking out the window as long as possible.
It’s not dark yet, but the sun has set, and a couple kids race out from between two mobile homes, chasing a ball. I slow down in case they run into the street.
“Right there,” Jordan says.
I glance over, seeing her gesture to my left and follow her gaze to a trailer with filthy, lime green siding, and I clench my teeth.
An AC unit protrudes from the front window, a rickety, old wooden fence wraps around the bottom, parts of it laying broken on the ground or sections just plain missing, and the porch is crowded with random junk, clothes, and a couple of loaded trash bags. Three young guys stand on the porch, smoking and talking.
“Here?” I turn and ask her.
But she just unfastens her seatbelt, preparing to get out.
“Who are those guys?” I say.
She glances up for only a moment before averting her eyes again, taking her bag. “It’s probably my stepbrother and a couple of his friends.”
I pull up in front of the trailer, since the small driveway is full, and turn off the engine.
“You have a stepbrother?” She hasn’t mentioned him.
She just shrugs. “In the technical sense,” she says, quirking a smile. “I don’t talk to him much.”
“But he lives here,” I say, trying to get clarification.
She nods and before I can say anything else, she climbs out of the truck, taking her purse with her.
Well, how many rooms can this place have if there’s another kid living here? Does she even have a bed?
She pulls a suitcase out of the back, swings her bag over her head, and leads the way. I grab a box and follow, grinding my teeth to keep my fucking mouth in check. I don’t know if I’m angry or worried or what, and I don’t know if I have a right to feel those things or if any concern is justified. She’ll probably be fine. This is her family. I just…
I feel like I’m going to explode at any second.
We walk up the few steps to the front door, and Jordan barely looks at her stepbrother and his friends as she opens the door.
“Ryan, this is Cole’s dad,” she mumbles. “Pike, this is my stepbrother, Ryan.”
I turn to the kid, and he straightens, holding out his hand. “Hey, man.”
I shift the box in my arms and manage to shake his hand. “Hi.”
He’s stocky and short for a guy, about Jordan’s height, but he tries to make up for it with a neck tattoo and a black leather jacket.
In summer.
“So, you home now?” he says to her, taking a swig from his beer.
“Yeah.”
One of Ryan’s buddies nudges him. “Is this the one who’s a stripper?”
I tighten my fingers around the box.
He snorts, nearly spitting up his beer. “Nah, man. That’s the other one.” But then his eyes take Jordan in, moving up and down her with a smirk. “This one can dance a little, too, though.”
They all laugh, and I feel a lump push up my throat like a growl. Steeling myself, I turn and push the door open for Jordan, forcing her inside.
I should be more forgiving. It’s not like I wasn’t the occasional little prick from time to time growing up.
How the hell does he know how she dances?
I give myself a mental shake and take a deep breath. Drop off her shit and go home. She’s not my concern. This is her choice. And if I were her, I’d do the same thing.
I’m actually proud of myself. She’s no stranger to my outbursts or pushy demands, and I’m keeping amazingly quiet given the fact that I hate this neighborhood, and this entire situation is grinding my gears. I can hang on for five more minutes, right?
And if I do, then maybe I’ll treat myself to Dairy Queen on the way home for keeping my mouth shut for once.
Her father, Chip, is passed out on a recliner to the left, the TV playing some sitcom at a dulled volume, while a couple of ladies sit at the kitchen table to the right. They smoke cigarettes with cans of beer in front of them. A car stereo blares in the distance, and a few firecrackers go off around us outside.
“Need any help?” a lady with dark hair asks from the table. She lifts up her beer, taking a drink and barely giving me any notice.
Jordan shakes her head and veers into the kitchen, around the ladies at the table. She doesn’t introduce us, and I certainly don’t care if this lady doesn’t. Your daughter—or stepdaughter—comes home with a guy you’ve never seen, and it doesn’t prompt a question, at least?
I assume it’s her stepmom, anyway, since she has the same small brown eyes as the guy outside.
I inhale the smell of Lysol mixed with a tinge of burritos and wet soil, like something got rained on or there’s rot somewhere. We make our way down the hallway, our footfalls creating a hollow thud as we come to the first door on the left.
“There might be some laundry we tossed in there,” the lady at the table calls back. “Gather it up and toss it in the washer, would ya?”
I take another deep breath. She’ll be fine.
She pushes the bedroom door open, and I look into her old bedroom. My jaw flexes.
“Where’s my bed?” Jordan calls out, sighing.
But no one answers her.
The room is littered with fucking junk. She has a dresser that’s missing drawers, a beach towel hanging over her window, and cobwebs in the corner of the ceiling. I can smell the pile of dirty laundry that her room now houses and narrow my eyes at the hole in the wall.
No.
Jordan sets down her suitcase and turns to me, grabbing at the box. “Don’t worry,” she says, smiling at whatever look I have on my face. “I’ll be fine. You know me. I’ll have this place spic and span by tomorrow.”
But I won’t let her have the box, keeping it secure in my arms.
I tear my eyes away from the mouse trap sitting next to the heating vent with no grate over it to keep rodents out and jerk my hard stare down to her. “Hell, no,” I growl. “I’m done with this conversation. We’re leaving now.”
Holding the box in the crook of one arm, I reach down and grab her suitcase with the other hand and immediately turn, barreling back out of the house.
“Excuse me?” she burst out behind me, dumbfounded.
But I’m already gone. I ignore the women in the kitchen and don’t even turn to see if her father has woken up before I push through the front door and past the guys still loitering on the porch.
“Pike!” she yells after me.
I ignore her. I know she’ll follow me. I have all of her stuff.
Dropping the box and suitcase back into the bed of the truck, I dig out my keys and climb into the driver’s seat. She charges around the front of the truck and opens the passenger-side door.
She glares at me. “What the hell are you doing?”
“You’re not staying here.” I start the engine.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” she blurts out.
I glance through my window, seeing the guys on the porch looking at us curiously. “Has that stepbrother tried anything with you?” I ask her.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“And his friends?”
She inhales a breath, and I can tell she’s trying to stay calm. She’s impatient with my concerns. “I’ll be okay,” she maintains. “I’m not your kid. My dad is here.”
“Your dad isn’t…” I bark but stop.
Insulting her won’t get us anywhere.
I press my back into the seat and grind my fist over the wheel.
Her father isn’t a bad guy. From what I know of him anyway. We’ve even talked a few times in passing.
But he’s weak.
He’s a drunk, and he’s a loser. He’s the type who does the bare minimum in life and puts up with scraps, because he’s too lazy to fight for better. He can’t be there for her.
“This is stupid,” I say. “You’re not trading in a perfectly good home, in a nice, safe neighborhood, for this. Swallow your prid
e, Jordan.”
“I don’t belong at your house!” Fury burns in her eyes. “And this is where I come from, thank you. Cole is going to be back, eventually, and he’s your son. How do you think that’s going to work out with both of us there? I have no right.”
“We’ll deal with it.”
“No,” she fires back. “This isn’t any of your business. This is my home.”
“It’s not a home! You don’t…”
I open my mouth to finish, but my heart is pounding so hard, and I’m afraid of what I was going to say.
I breathe shallow and fast, turning my eyes forward again and away from her. I lower my voice. “You don’t have anyone who cares about you in this shithole.”
“And I do at your house?”
I shoot my eyes to her, the answer to that question coming so easily and so heavy on the tip of my tongue that I want to tell her.
But I don’t.
And she stares at me, my unsaid reply hanging between us. She falters, realization softening her eyes.
“Just get in the truck,” I grit out, “and let’s go home.”
“But—”
“Now, Jordan!” I slam the steering wheel with my palm.
She sucks in a breath, her eyes flaring. I don’t know if I scared her, or if she’s worried about making a scene, but she quickly pulls herself into the truck and slams her door. She’s tense and pissed and probably thinks she’ll deal with me away from prying eyes later, but I don’t care. I’ve got her, and we’re out of here.
I shift the truck into gear and pull ahead, swinging around and then reversing to do a U-turn. Finally facing back the way I came, I lay on the gas and get us out of there, driving back down the lane and pulling onto the road leading back into town.
I have no idea what her stepbrother or stepmother were probably thinking, and I really don’t care about that either. Let them think what they want for the next five minutes, because that’s exactly how long it will take them to forget she exists again.
No wonder she moved out there in the first place. I don’t think she was abused or anything—I never heard talk like that about her father—but she was definitely neglected. She deserves better.
The trees loom on both sides of the dark highway, and I roll my window down for some much-needed fresh air.
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