by Nikki Chase
“Well, I don’t see a crystal ball anywhere,” he says.
“Ha-ha. I know what happens when people know I’m a stripper, okay? They treat me different.”
I’m glad I prepared a plan in case something like this happens. I’ve been hoarding cash and moving supplies, and now all that hard work is paying off. Moving is going to be a piece of cake.
“Were. You were a stripper. You're not one anymore.”
“You think that matters to the people I’m talking about? That shows just how much you know.” I roll my eyes. “You know that thing that happens when people learn you were in the military, and they thank you for your service and treat you extra nice? You were a Navy SEAL in the past, but people still do that, don't they?”
The lines on Jacob’s forehead deepen and his muscles become tense, but he says nothing. How dare he tell me how people are going to react when he obviously has no clue what he's talking about?
“You know I’m right. It doesn't matter if it's all in the past to you. People are still going to judge you for it.” I tear my gaze away from my books and cardboard boxes to look Jacob in the eyes.
I’m just being honest. I’m just being real. Surely, he can see that. I'm not trying to start an argument.
Jacob crouches down on the floor and starts moving my stuff out of the way.
“Hey! Don't do that!” I swat Jacob's hands away. “I know it doesn't look like it, but I have a system, okay?”
Jacob rests his elbows on his thighs and sighs.”You're being rash. You're in shock. Give it a couple of days, a couple of weeks. You’ll see.”
“You still don't get it, do you? I’ve given this a lot of thought. I started building my whole life here in Ashbourne under the assumption that I’d have to move sooner or later--probably sooner. I thought about what I’d do if something like this was to happen.”
“Really?” Jacob cocks his head and raises his eyebrow.
He levels his piercing gaze at me, making my heart jump in my chest. The corners of his lips curl up to form a cocky smirk. Jesus, I wish I could tell him to stop looking at me like that. It'll only make it hard for me to stick to my original plan and leave him behind.
“You're telling me,” Jacob says, “you're telling me that you've thought about what you’d do if your neighbor turned out to be crazy and tried to peel off your face just because you used to be a stripper? Somehow I doubt that.”
“Don't be such a smart-ass. You know what I mean. I’ve always had a plan for when people would inevitably find out about my past.” My voice is soft, but that's only because I'm trying to suppress the anger that's threatening to boil over.
“I just think you're being rash,” he says. “You weren't talking like that this morning.”
“I was also drugged out of my mind this morning.”
Again, Jacob sweeps my things away to make space for himself right in front of me.
“I said don't do that!” I shout. I can't keep my anger at a simmer anymore. Jacob's pushed me far enough.
“It doesn't matter because you're not moving,” he says calmly, his voice deep and decisive. He really thinks he can order me around about something this important. We're not in the middle of one of our bedroom games right now.
“Do you think it's about you? Is that it?” I almost can't recognize the voice that comes out of my mouth. It's shaky, high-pitched, and uncontrollably rushed.
A little voice warns me I’m about to say something I’d regret, but it's too late. I'm past the point of no return.I'm not going to mince my words. This is going to get ugly.
“It's not you, it's me. Is that what you need to hear? This is not about you. This is about me. My life, my career,” I say.
“It's not that I want to ghost you again. Oh yeah. I know how much of a big deal it still is to you that I left without saying goodbye three fucking years ago, because my mom had a terminal illness.
“Well, Jacob, I’m sorry for hurting your delicate feelings. That wasn't my intention. I had no idea it was going to cause anything like that, because what I did was totally normal for one-night stands. You're the abnormal one for getting so obsessed with it.
“Maybe that's why you're such a manly man during sex. Not because you're actually into that kind of stuff, but because you need to regain some kind of control to balance things out, to make yourself feel like the man again.”
I’m almost panting from the effort of getting all those words out. I feel sick immediately. My hands turn cold.
What have I done? Jacob has been nothing but a reliable rock to me. All he did was disagree with my decision to leave town.
Jacob stares at me like he can see right into my soul. He's frowning and gritting his teeth. He takes a deep breath, then another, keeping his gaze firmly locked on mine.
It feels almost physically painful. I continue to hold Jacob's gaze out of sheer stubbornness, but I wince for a split second and I know he sees it. The moment feels like it lasts forever, but it's probably just a few seconds in reality.
“You know, I say fucking ugly things too sometimes when I’m pissed off. And then I’m too proud to admit it once I’ve gotten all that anger out of my system,” Jacob says.
“If you think you know me—”
“Listen to me,” Jacob cuts me off, his tone telling me he means business. “I let you speak before, so now it's my turn.”
I raise my eyebrows and stare at him in open defiance. Sure, I’ll be quiet and listen, but I don't have to like it.
“We're both stressed out—you more than me, understandably. I'm going to forget you ever said any of those things. If you still feel that way tomorrow, you can tell me again what you really think about me. You’ll still be here tomorrow at least, right?”
“Yeah.”
“When are you leaving?”
“As soon as Max recovers. I'm still waiting to hear from the vet.”
“Okay, so I have at least one day and one night to make you stay. I know I can fix this. I found out about Steve and Caine all on my own, remember? I have my ways.”
“Stop trying to change—”
“That's assuming you prefer to stay here. I just think you may miss Tony and Bertha and your students if you were to leave.”
I give Jacob an annoyed look for cutting me off again, but he's right.
I’ve been struggling with the fact that I keep having to reinvent my life, building my social circle from scratch each time. It gets lonely. So lonely it makes my chest hurt sometimes.
To be honest, I was just starting to forget what that crippling loneliness feels like, now that I have a busy life here in Ashbourne. Having Jacob with me helps big time, although I don't feel like admitting that to him.
What's the point, when I'm probably never going to see him again?
“If you prefer to leave Ashbourne, then I’m coming with you,” Jacob says.
I glare at him. “What game are you playing? I thought you had some business in town.”
“Yeah, well, the business may be moving elsewhere.” Jacob smiles and gives me a meaningful look. He reaches for my fingers, pulls them close, and kisses the back of my hand. He says, “I love you. I’ll talk to you tomorrow when I’m done working on things.”
As Jacob stands up to leave, I stay still as a statue. I sit on the floor with my mouth agape, my things scattered all around me. I rack my brain for something to say, but nothing comes up.
My first thought is to tell him he doesn't have to say that just because he feels bad for me, but that feels like the wrong thing to say.
My second thought is his bare back looks damn hot. I can see the swell of his shoulder blades, the vertical line of his spine, the two little depression in his lower back. I have to stop myself from going after him and tracing the lines of his body with my fingers.
Then I remind myself of the wound on the other side of his torso. I’ve already caused Jacob enough trouble. People are always going to figure out who I really am, so trouble is always going to
follow me. Jacob doesn't have to deal with that.
I’m not going to lie and say that Jacob's just wasting his feelings on me. When he said those three little words, I felt it right in my heart, a mixture of so many different emotions I couldn't even begin to sort them out.
Damn it. I’ve caught feelings, haven't I?
40
Jacob
“Dude, you really need to start telling me what you're up to. I’ve been running around doing all this stuff for you. I’ll admit it's more exciting than my usual work. But if I’m not getting any money out of it, you need to pay me with stories.” The little image of Matt on the video call window is grumbling, but I can hear him typing and clicking around, already working on the task I just gave him.
“I would if I had the time, but I don't. Right now is the time to be doing things. I’ll tell you everything as soon as I can,” I say. “Thanks a lot, man. You're like the brother I never had.”
“I hate you. But your case is like ten times more interesting than my other stuff, so it's useful for procrastination purposes.”
“As long as you keep working on it.” I take another big gulp of coffee. I’ll need the extra fuel if I’m going to finish this by tomorrow.
“Okay, some good news. I can't find anything with the name Jessica Lake on it that links her to the Pussy Cat. It seems she used her stage name exclusively. That was smart of her,” Matt says.
Pride spreads through my chest. That's my girl. She's a genius. I ask, “Really? No personnel file or something like that?”
“No.”
“Payroll?”
Matt shoots me a look. Obviously, I’ve just said something stupid, although I have no idea what.
“Strippers don't get paid by the club, Jacob,” he says, as if that's just common sense. “They pay the club a fee to perform there and make money from tips. In cash.”
“Oh.” I guess that makes sense. Having been a stripper obviously carries a lot of stigma and, like Jessica, the average stripper probably doesn't want that following her around her whole life.
“Your girlfriend used to be a stripper and you don't know this? What do you even talk about?”
“Like you said, we have exciting lives.”
“So you’re admitting she's a girlfriend then?” Matt grins into the camera with victory.
“Sure.” I shrug.
After everything I’ve gone through with Jessica, calling her a girlfriend doesn't seem like a big deal.
If anything, the word ‘girlfriend’ doesn't seem adequate to convey the way I feel about her. It feels juvenile. High school. What I feel for Jessica is deeper, stronger, more grown-up.
“Jacob has a girlfriend,” Matt sings. “I honestly think this is a rare occasion worth celebrating. And to think it's the stripper you were obsessed with for years. Seriously, what's the story here?”
“I told you I don't have time for that right now.” I blink a few times. My eyes are getting tired from staring at the laptop screen, but I need to keep going.
I know Jessica would much rather stay here than leave.
Sure, there’s nothing anchoring her to Ashbourne anymore now that Bertha is safe. I know that must've been the only wrench in her escape plan, before her meeting with Caine.
Jessica has worked so hard to get her dream job and surround herself with new friends. I just know that wherever the next town is, she won't be as motivated to make it her home. She'd be too afraid of having it all snatched away again.
It pisses me off that she's resigned to the life of a fugitive, when she has done nothing wrong. The police have failed her big time.
There’s nothing I want more than to walk over to Jessica’s house, hold her tight, and tell her she doesn’t have to worry anymore. But I know I can do more for her from here.
I could bring my laptop next door and work there, but I have all my stuff here so I’ll get everything done quicker. We don’t have much time after all.
Besides, I don’t want to alarm her with the knowledge that Matt, who’s a stranger to her, knows things about her that she wants hidden from everyone.
“The news articles about the stripper who died don't mention Jessica's name either,” Matt says, pulling me away from my thoughts. “There are two with her pictures, though. She's just in the background, but I can tell it's her. She can probably argue that it's just someone who looks like her, but I can get rid of the pictures if you want.”
“Yeah, that would be best.”
“Okay, just give me some time.”
“One thing I’m worried about is if someone were to call the Pussy Cat and ask about her. Even without a real name, they can probably ID her just by her pictures, or even just a physical description of her.”
“Yeah, that's always possible. The hardest details to tamper with are the ones that don't depend on technology. It's just like how talking face to face is safer than a phone conversation. Or a video call like the one we’re having,” Matt says. Sensing my alarm, he adds, “Just for the record, I’m sure nobody's listening to this conversation. I'm overly careful about my privacy. You would be too if you knew what people could do with your information.”
“Okay, enough with the PSA on Internet security. Anything we can do about people who’d call the Pussy Cat?”
“It's unlikely that someone would go to that extent. Sometimes you just have to weigh the benefit against the cost.”
“But there is something we can do?” I don't care how much it would cost. I need to present a solid case to Jessica so she’d stay. I know that's what she really wants and I’ll be damned if I don't try my best to make it happen.
“You’ve talked to the police like I told you to?”
“Yeah. I did that as soon as we hung up this morning.”
“They agreed to withhold the name of the victim and her personal details?”
“Yeah, and the press hadn't been there to ask questions. I guess they work more slowly in a small town like this.”
“Good. Honestly, that's like eighty percent of your work done. The crazy woman's words are the only thing that would give people the slightest idea about Jessica's past. I understand her paranoia, considering she had the threat of a convicted murderer hanging over her for so long. I'm sure that fear has helped her survive in the past. But if that guy is no longer a threat, then she doesn't have to live in constant fear anymore.”
“I know what you're saying, but I need to make sure I’ve covered all the bases.”
“And I’m just saying you can drive yourself crazy trying to follow every little trail. There's no end to it.”
“Just this one, and then I’m done.”
Matt inhales deeply, then lets out a big sigh. He says, “You were always a stubborn motherfucker.”
“That's me.” I smile. “So we’re going to do this or what?”
“Okay, fine. I can make it so whenever there's a call from Ashbourne to the Pussy Cat, you get a notification. The town is far enough from the club that you can assume any call would have something to do with Jessica. Like if the principal were to confirm the details of her employment, for example.”
I nod my head as I follow Matt’s explanation.
“When you get a notification about a call, you can do two things. One, if you're quick enough, you can pick up the call and pretend you're a staff member at the club. Otherwise, you can listen in on the conversation and decide what to do if there's a leak.”
“Good. Can you do this by tomorrow?”
“It's going to take me all night, but it can be done. I have to warn you, though, this is not a hundred percent legal.”
“Thanks, man. You're the best. I owe you one. Tell me what I can do to make your job easier.”
As Matt lists the simpler tasks for me to do, I think about what other things Jessica may be worried about.
She doesn't need to worry about the local cops or journalists, and nobody's going to believe Christine once they know what went down in Bertha's house.
&nb
sp; Aside from me, the only people who know about Jessica's past are Bertha and Tony.
I just hope that Bertha hasn't told many other people, but if those people have kept quiet so far, there's no reason to worry about them blabbing in the future. It's probably still a good idea to talk to Bertha to find out who else knows, though. And Tony, too.
Nobody at the Pussy Club knows Jessica's real name, and I’ll be able to redirect any local phone calls.
I know Caine told Jessica that Stan won't be looking for her anymore, but I’ve also got my eyes on the guy just in case. I’ll know the second Stan steps out of prison.
I have all the bases covered. I just hope Jessica can see that.
It doesn't matter even if she decides to bail, though. I don't have any attachments to this town. I don't care if I have to follow her to another random small town. They're all the same to me. She's the one who will take it hard.
Either way, Jessica’s not going to shake me off this time. She's stuck with me, whether she likes it or not.
41
Jessica
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jacob leans into the open window, resting his strong forearm on top of my car. He squints from the morning sunlight that’s getting in his eyes.
“To the vet. She told me to pick Max up today,” I say. I’m kind of in a rush because I miss Max so much, but I’m glad I get the chance to see Jacob. I may not see him again and I want to properly say goodbye this time.
“How’s the little guy doing?”
“The vet says he’ll recover. I’ll have to give him some medication and keep an eye on him, but he’ll be fine.”
“Why do you have so many boxes in there?” Jacob frowns, his expression a blend of confusion and anger.
“Err… Because I’m moving? We talked about this yesterday, remember?”
“Yeah. And I told you you’re not moving.” Jacob walks around the car, yanks the passenger door open, and takes a seat beside me.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m coming with you,” he says confidently, as if that’s his own decision to make.