by Ava Claire
Irrational (Underneath it All Series: Book Two)
Ava Claire
Copyright © 2016 Ava Claire
Cover by RBA Designs
The Underneath it All Series
Irresistible (Underneath It All: Book One)
Irrational (Underneath it All: Book Two)
Irreplaceable (Underneath it All: Book Three)
E-book License Edition Notes
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Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Chapter Five: Jackson
Chapter Six: Sadie
Chapter Seven: Jackson
Chapter Eight: Sadie
About The Author
Chapter Five: Jackson
I strapped myself in tight, adrenaline turning my spine into jelly.
No one knew about the butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I even gripped the walkie-talkie extra tight so my hands wouldn’t rattle.
I was the captain of this ship. Lives were in my hands. Joe’s life was in my hands. And just to remind me of that fact, he nudged me with his elbow.
“Are you sure about this, Cap’n?” His green eyes locked on mine uneasily. The sweat that he wiped away with his t-shirt wasn’t because the sun was blaring down on us. We were attempting the impossible. The ’S.S. Badass’ was headed on a mission to the outskirts of space, to find planets and aliens and lands that we’d only seen on TV.
We were getting as far from 1124 Brook Street, and Mrs. Ludlow, as possible.
I pressed the Sharpie created ‘GO’ button on the dashboard made out of cereal boxes we’d snuck out of the trash. We weren’t allowed to have toys, and any we found by accident were quickly claimed by Tommy, Mrs. Ludlow’s jerk-face son. Her ‘real’ son, as she reminded us all the time, patting him on the head and scowling at the rest of us.
She had five kids that weren’t her ‘real’ kids. Five kids she demanded were to be seen and not heard, because she had the kindness to take us unwanted, ungrateful worms in. Her words. Words she spat at us, when she wasn’t throwing things at us for getting on her nerves. When she wasn't complaining that the measly checks she got weren’t nearly enough to deal with our sticky hands and ugly faces.
I pushed Mrs. Ludlow from my mind. She was gone all afternoon and would come back with her salt and pepper hair perfectly curled and her nails done.
I pushed my dark hair out of my eyes. It was longer than it had ever been, so long that the kids at school called me ‘Jackie.’ A haircut was out of the question though. Mrs. Ludlow told me I hadn’t earned it.
Another poke from Joe snatched me out of my anger.
Right! The countdown!
I gripped the imaginary steering wheel. “10...9...8-”
“NO!”
The shriek came from the shed and it brought our space mission to a grinding halt. Joe and I leapt from the grass immediately. Our shuttle, made of newspaper, aluminum foil, toilet paper rolls, and soup cans crashed all around us.
The other two fosters were inside, dutifully sitting on the couch like Mrs. Ludlow had ordered us to. Me and Joe had wanted a real adventure, not another re-run of some judge show. Channel 9 was one of a handful of channels on TV that we were allowed to watch, if Mrs. Ludlow wasn’t watching her stories, of course. Hope had peevishly followed us outside with her teddy bear, drawn to her secret garden. Her imagination was as big as ours because her garden was really an overgrown bed of weeds and broken flower pots. She’d only been at Mrs. Ludlow’s for a week. Not long enough to know that her smile would just make Mrs. Ludlow more cruel and vicious, until Hope forgot how to smile altogether.
That screech was the sound of someone who was in pain. Who was getting a dose of what it felt like to be a unwanted, ungrateful worm.
“PLEASE...NO!!”
Joe grabbed one of the soup cans and tossed me one of my own. I knew Mrs. Ludlow wasn’t back yet, so she wasn’t on the warpath.
That left Tommy.
Clutching our weapons, hearts in our throats, we weaved through the tires, beer bottles, and trash that littered the backyard, heading toward the back corner where we saw Tommy stood. The numbers on his basketball jersey glittered in the sun.
I frowned, scanning what used to be the garden for Hope, but there was just Tommy. His foot was perched on something. A bundle of clothes.
“He’s stomping on Hope!” Joe hollered, the terror of what was happening channeled in his voice.
Even though reality was becoming more clear the closer we got, I put aside my fear of what could happen. I didn’t care that Tommy was older. Bigger. Stronger. That he was Mrs. Ludlow’s ‘real’ son. The only thing I cared about was Hope. I only saw her white blonde hair being tangled up in the dirt. Her tiny face that reminded me of the porcelain dolls that lined the mantle in the living room. Her squeals that reminded me of the cat me and Joe found caught in the gate a few months ago. We’d nursed it back to health, but when Mrs. Ludlow found the stray, she snatched it up like it was trash and called Animal Control.
Tommy was the animal now, with his brand new Nikes pressed against Hope’s chest. Hurting her. Hurting a little girl like she was nothing at all.
Me and Joe flew at him in unison. He was twice our size. Taller. Fatter. And we didn’t give a flip.
We tackled him, arms flailing, missing more blows than we landed. Pain exploded all over my body as Tommy’s massive fists collided with my stomach. My cheek. My side. Joe was whooping like a warrior, every cuss word he knew flying from his bloodied lips.
“She’s just a little kid, you fucking asshole!”
“Stay away from Hope!” I screeched, like Tommy would listen.
“You’re a piece of shit!” Joe threw in for good measure.
I took Tommy’s jersey in my teeth when he jabbed me in the ribs and I didn’t let go until I felt the fabric rip. That made him stop clobbering me for a minute, his oversized nostrils flaring as he inspected the damage.
“This is an authentic jersey, you little-OUCH!”
Joe was wrapped around Tommy’s ankle and I glanced back and saw Hope. She’d scrambled over to a tree stump, her cheeks wet with tears. While her blue eyes were swollen and red, at least she wasn’t bleeding like us.
I turned back to the bully, ready to take the fist he hauled back. I knew I’d feel it for weeks, but it would be worth it...as long as he didn’t hurt Hope anymore. Didn’t turn her into one of the scared zombies that were cowering inside the house. I knew they could hear us, could hear Hope, but they probably just turned the volume up, too terrified to stand up to Tommy.
“What the hell is going on out here?!”
Tommy’s fist dropped immediately and he whirled towards the high pitched scream.
Mrs. Ludlow’s scream.
I laid on the ground a few more seconds, catching my breath. I’d never been so happy to be an adult, even if it was Mrs. Ludlow, in my whole life.
“Mom, I-” Tommy blustered, wiping his nose with the sleeve of the t-shirt he wore beneath his precious jersey.
I smirked to myself. It was a little less precious now. I focused on the taste of his jersey over the taste of blood.
Mrs. Ludlow was sc
rambling toward us in her wedge flip flops. I couldn’t play possum, though I had a feeling I was about to wish I could.
I accepted Joe’s hand up with a wince that he copied. I saw wounds all over his face. His left eye was already starting to swell shut and my right one was throbbing something fierce.
I held my jaw and faced off with Mrs. Ludlow. “He was hurting Hope-”
“Shut your filthy mouth!” She scowled, snapping her hand back like she wanted to strike him.
She didn’t even look at Hope. Hope hadn’t even moved from the stump, like she was afraid to. I couldn’t see her eyes anymore, but Mrs. Ludlow’s new toes were the same happy blue as Hope’s eyes. Well, the same color Hope’s eyes had been. When I brought my eyes from her feet to Mrs. Ludlow’s face, I realized that Mrs. Ludlow’s eyes were brighter than I’d ever noticed because they always seemed so cold when they were focused on me. Now, they were focused on her son and round with something that was even more unfamiliar to me: worry.
Mrs. Ludlow cradled her son’s barely touched face in her hands. Hitting him was like hitting a cement wall and I knew that even with Joe and I combined, we hadn’t left a dent.
“What did you rascals do to my baby?!” Mrs. Ludlow wailed.
I glanced at my best friend, but his eyes were too busy bulging from his skull.
“What did we do to him? He was beating up Hope! We just-”
“Shut your filthy mouth!” Mrs. Ludlow repeated. It stung as much as the first time she said it. “Tommy would never!” She snatched Tommy to her, stroking his back in a way that made me want to vomit. The tiniest bit of jealousy flared in my chest too.
She held Tommy at arm’s length and narrowed her eyes. “Did you hurt Hope? Or did these miscreants hurt her?”
Was she serious? “We didn’t hurt Hope!”
“I would never hurt Hope!” Tommy lied, shaking his head from left to right. “I came out here to stop them. Isn’t that right, Hope?”
My heart dropped to the dirt. Joe was pleading with Hope to tell Mrs. Ludlow what really happened, but I knew she was too afraid. Hope didn’t stop crying, scared of all of us. I knew that ultimately, she was way more scared of Tommy.
“Hope, did Tommy hurt you?” Mrs. Ludlow snapped. “Tell me the truth.”
Hope didn’t stop shaking, her voice shuddering. “I...he...they...” Her blue eyes shot from us to Tommy. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head no.
“Hope, how could-”
“Joe, don’t.” I put a hand on Joe’s shoulder and he stopped, letting out a ‘Fuck!’ before he angrily kicked a piece of broken glass.
“That temper is probably why no one wants you,” Mrs. Ludlow said vehemently, bringing her son back in and pressing a kiss on the top of his stupid head.
Joe shrugged off my hand, but I knew who he was really angry at. I knew that like me, this was not his first foster home and wouldn’t be the last, and being reminded of that sucked harder than any punch we got from Tommy.
Mrs. Ludlow gave her son one last peck on the top of the head and sent him inside. “Take Hope. I don’t want her to see this.”
She conveniently missed the way Hope shrank from Tommy’s touch and the apology in her big, blue eyes for us before she scurried back to the house.
Mrs. Ludlow’s face turned into shadows, like her anger ate up the sun. She pulled out her pack of Virginia Slims. She withdrew a cigarette and perched it between her red lips. With a flick of her thumb, she lit it.
“You two. Thick as thieves.” She inhaled and made the tip glow and blew out a cloud of smoke. “You hurt Hope. Hurt my son.” Her eyes were icicles and they cut me down to the bone. “Who else is going to teach you that life has consequences, if not me?”
*
I reclined in my chair, the movement completely silent and seamless. I wish I could say the same about my mind. The thoughts that rattled through my head were out to get me. I couldn't focus. I couldn't carry on like it meant nothing. I couldn't pretend that it was just a simple, business transaction between two adults, and now the business was done.
And it was all her fault.
All her fault, huh? No blame is yours? Never let anyone close enough to hurt you? Congratulations! You pushed her away.
The numbers on the page all seemed to be her number. Every digit lead back to that damn number. A number I'd texted more times than I was comfortable admitting.
In the past, when a woman approached the danger zone, i.e. started asking questions beyond when I was free to hook up again, I shut it down real quick. It's why The Tower was a godsend and my preference as opposed to what Joe did, which was finding someone beautiful and ambitious, dying for hashtags and snapchats with someone rich and famous. Models and socialites eventually got clingy and wanted something more. The proof was in the string of broken hearts and restraining orders Joe left in his wake. Escorts didn't care about where I came from. They didn't whine when I didn't text them. They didn't expect anything more than their fee.
I was the one that was asking Sadie for more. Who was masking my need to see her again with jokey texts and emojis. Who felt remorse for everything that I'd walked away from when I booked it out of that room like a bat out of hell.
I was the clingy woman.
Shit.
I absentmindedly stroked my right bicep, my fingertips skating over the spot that time had turned into a tiny bump. I'd explained it away in the past as a mole. The man who knew the truth cleared his throat.
"I know the numbers are boring, Jax, but they are important," he sighed, flipping his folder shut with an irritated snap.
Even in his two piece suit, ever the picture of calm and class, I still saw every feather I'd ruffled in his glare. That was the difference between the two of us. I acted like I could check my personal shit at the door but Joe actually tagged his and when he walked into the office, his game face didn't falter from 9am until the market closed.
"Sorry, it's been a long night," I lied. It could have been a long night. I could have gone to The Tower, anywhere, and fucked anything female that moved until Sadie became, Sadie Who? When my third text went read and summarily unanswered, I'd considered it. A worse thought kept me in my loft: what if hooking up with someone else just confirmed the obvious? That everything and anyone would be just a little off and unsatisfying because they weren't who I wanted? Because they weren't her?
I cleared my throat and tried to clear my head. "Let's get back on track, okay?"
"I've been on track," Joe huffed. "I've been right here. You're MIA. You've been MIA. Maybe we should have gone with that overpriced smart conference room table so I could hold your attention. Or I could bring in some hot chick in a business suit that can hold your attention." I must have made a face because he rolled his eyes. "Okay, hold the hot chick, you'll just have to settle for me, doing the job you hired me to do. I can't steer the damn ship all by my damn self though."
"Whoa," I held up both hands. "Is it your time of the month? Should I have brought chocolate and a heating pad instead of your ridiculously complicated latte?"
His anger defused immediately, but it didn't mean I was out of the woods. If it wasn't for my cat-like reflexes, the Colt Enterprises pen he hurled in my direction would have hit me squarely in the face.
"There ain't nothing complicated about a grande double shot soy mocha, extra wet, with a drizzle of caramel." He puffed out his chest like he'd just scored a three pointer and didn't even wait to watch it go in. "In fact, that drink is sexy as hell. I'll tell you what's not sexy: you pining over one woman when you could have a different one every night of the week." He went from champion to the losing team before my very eyes, hanging his head in shame. "I don't know who this dude in front of me is, but maybe I should buy you some Tampax."
For once, I didn't have a witty comeback, dropping my eyes to the table. “So, about the quarterly earnings for CyberSol Industries..."
"Ah, so now you wanna get back to work." He let out a whistle that he held
for several more seconds than necessary. "What's going on? I refuse to believe that Jackson Colt is all out of sorts over some woman."
"Well, for starters, she's not some woman," I growled. I took a finger, and not the finger I wanted to fly, and pointed at the stack of shit we had to go through. "I thought you wanted to get back on track. If I wanted to talk about it, and I don't, the last man I'd turn to would be a dude that hasn't had a girlfriend since middle school."
My shoutout to the past officially derailed the work meeting as he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. "Misty Carr," he sighed dreamily. "Blonde, big lips, and legs that went on and on and on..." He trailed off and closed his eyes like he was doing more than conjuring memories. He was back at Westwood Middle School, clutching Misty's trapper keeper and doing the very thing he was giving me crap about now. Reminiscing about what could have been. "That girl could have told me that up was down and down was up and I would have believed her." He caught a glimpse of my bemused smile and drummed his fingers impatiently on the conference room table. "But we aren't talking about me and the girl who got away. We're talking about why you let the girl get away when you clearly care about her."
"Clearly, the meeting is over," I groaned, massaging my temple. "Are you TMZ now? Since when do you care about my romantic endeavors?"
"Since you half listen at meetings and spend more time checking your phone for texts than the spreadsheets in front of you," he answered without missing a beat.
His face held no mercy. It was why he was at my right hand. Fearless. Some would say heartless, but that couldn't be further from the truth. He seemed hard to the outside world, but it was because we'd started from the bottom and sold pieces of our soul to get here. Joe Wright didn't fuck around when it came to the bottom line and our profits. Business always came first. A few days ago, that philosophy was one we shared. Sadie showed me that there could be more. That I wanted more than making lists and acquiring wealth and solidifying the name I'd made for myself. What good was an empire if you had no one to go home to at the end of the day?
That was a question I never thought I'd ask myself. Fortunately, the sappy, philosophical musings that had haunted me were leaps and bounds away from the question at hand. It paled in comparison to the smoldering glare that was about to melt my face of.