Take that, hot Marine.
I packed them up into Tupperware containers that I was surprised he had at all, and then I froze the unfrosted ones so my revenge could just keep on keepin’ on long after Spence and I had returned home. I usually didn’t get the chance to bake this much. The salon kept me busy, and I tried to keep Spencer’s diet as preservative and sugar-free as possible because it tempered the number of meltdowns we experienced on a weekly basis, but I figured these were extenuating circumstances, so a little sugar wouldn’t hurt him just this once.
He’d had fun helping me in the kitchen, and I reminded myself to take time to do this more often. It was a chance to teach him how to be a little more independent, and it was good for him on a sensory level. He hated getting his hands dirty, and working the flour into the butter had been a challenge for him. After our creations were complete, I’d let him choose the most perfect cookie, and he’d actually hugged me for more than three seconds, telling me I was “the best” around a mouthful of cookie. To any other parent that might seem like nothing at all or be something they hear every day, but those two little words and those three seconds were as good as my child telling me he loved me.
I know he does—of course I know. We don’t have it easy, and he might not ever be able to express the way he feels with words or affection, but he expresses it in other ways: smiles when I understand all he can’t put into words, a wide-eyed shriek of happiness when I borrow a war history book from the library for him, or even more rare, when I purchase one he can keep. And sometimes at night he comes and climbs into my bed because he needs the comfort that only a mother can provide. He stays on the opposite side of the mattress, mind, but for an ASD kid like Spence, it’s huge. And those nights make me feel as if I’m bridging the divide he’s put in place between us.
Now, fed and bathed and clothed in his new PJs, he is sound asleep in the spare room, and I’m about tearing my hair out with boredom. I’ve scrubbed every inch of this house; there isn’t anything left to bake; I’ve showered, and done laundry, and flicked through a million different shows on Netflix that couldn’t hold my attention. Even Nuke is starting to get jumpy. Jake said he’d left him here to keep Spence company, but I think he really did it just to ease his nerves about leaving us here alone while Jimmy is still out there.
Nuke gives an excited little yip and bolts to the door. I follow, because what the hell else is there to do? And when I peer through the stained glass on the front door and see Jake coming up the walk, I breathe a sigh of relief. I also tell my heart to quit skipping like a schoolgirl and my stomach to stop flutterin’ at the sight of him.
I open the door. He stands there on the front porch, key in hand, blinking at me as though he’s surprised to see me. I probably look like a mad woman. I’m clothed not in my new pajamas, but in the new jeans and one of the T-shirts he bought. My hair is wet and my face free of makeup, but I wish I’d looked in the bathroom mirror before I left it because I probably have food in my teeth or something on my face.
I lean against the door frame. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He looks exhausted, and a pang of guilt moves through me. “Mind if I come in?”
I laugh nervously and step back from the doorway, allowing him to enter his own house. Nice one, Ellie. Jake closes the door behind him and greets his dog with a nice long ear scratch before heading for the kitchen.
“Boots, mister. I just cleaned those floors.”
He turns and gives me a wry smile. Doubling back to the door, he removes his boots and lines them up neatly by mine and Spencer’s. This may be his house, but my sweat went into that sparkle, and I’ll not have him tracking dirt all over those shiny floors.
“It smells incredible in here,” he says, making his way to the kitchen. I follow close behind.
“I knew you probably hadn’t eaten, so I took the liberty of—”
“Baking so much we could construct a new house out of cookies for you and Spence to live in?” He halts in the entryway to the kitchen and turns to look at me.
I roll my eyes. “You’d need a bigger oven for that.”
Jake strides toward the bench and leans over, breathing in the scent. “I’m not gonna lie, I’ve got half a mind to stall those repairs so I can come home to this again.”
“Sit down. I’ll get you some dinner.”
I clear the last tray of cooling cookies from the table, this time pulling out a few little plastic Ziploc baggies so I can store them inside and still keep them fresh. I’ve used every spare container he had in the house.
“You don’t have to cook for me.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
He snags one of the cookies from the bag I’m about to seal and takes a bite, moaning as he chews. “I take it back; you have to cook for me.”
I swat his hands away before he can grab another and place the bag in the freezer along with the others.
He sits at the kitchen table. “Spence in bed?”
“Yeah. He tried waiting up, but he fell asleep after the third run through of that military book you gave him.”
I take Jake’s plate from the warm oven and set it down in front of him. Fried chicken with southern green beans and taters. He devours the meal in about eight seconds flat, and I serve him up some more without even asking. I may be clueless when it comes to men and all they want, but I know a hungry man when I see one, and though feminists everywhere would all be shakin’ their heads if they could see me waiting on Jake Tucker the way I am, it makes me happy to know that he’s enjoying something I made, and it eases some of my guilt over the endless list of things this man has done for me since we met. The feminists can go jump.
Jake gets up and pours himself a tall glass of milk. He picks up one of the trays of cookies that I haven’t packed away and sets it down on the table. I take the seat opposite his as he sits and he pours me a glass.
I smile. “What, no nightcap?”
“Well, you may have already noticed this, but I’m not me when I drink.” He pins me with a look that has me both wanting to run for the hills and climb on into his lap. “I really need to be me right now.”
I frown, not really knowing what that means. Leaning over, I attempt to wipe away the adorable milk moustache that’s been left on his upper lip. He pulls out of reach. “Sorry.”
“What are you doin’?” he says with hard eyes, his warm voice turned ice-cold.
“You had a milk moustache.” I glance down at my hands to avoid the look he’s giving me. “I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. I just . . .”
“You can’t touch me like that, Elle.”
I lean back in my chair as if he just slapped me, and the silence stretches out between us until it feels as if it’s sinking into my skin and I can’t sit still with it no longer. I nod calmly and push up from the table, walking to the door. “It won’t happen again.”
“Elle.”
The desperate edge to his tone makes me turn around.
His hands grip his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” I swallow hard and leave the room, climbing the stairs two at a time in order to get away before he can see my tears fall.
***
I’m woken twice during the night by the screams coming from Jake’s room. I lie awake and listen to him at the end of the hall. I can’t do nothin’ for him. In fact, I seem to only make things worse, so I squeeze my eyes closed and will myself to go back to sleep. It doesn’t work, of course. How can I sleep when he’s in so much pain?
I lie there for an eternity, staring up at the ceiling, listening to Spencer snoring, the house creaking, and Nuke whining. Against my better judgement, I creep out of bed and close the door so as not to wake Spence. Jake’s door is open, but he’s not there. I pad quietly down the stairs and through the house in my pajamas. I hadn’t bothered to grab my robe, and as I open the patio door and the tepid air from outside collides with the AC and hits me, I wish I had because my nipples are peeking out throug
h the thin fabric to say hello. Nuke bolts outside, and I follow.
“Jake?” I call. No answer.
Cold dew stings my bare feet as I walk through the yard. The garden is lit up by fireflies. The moon overhead is high and shimmers on the waxy leaves of the Red Buckeye trees that sway with the breeze as I pick a path through the overgrown shrubbery at the edge of the cliff. The lights are off in the pier house, but Nuke scurries down the stairs toward the pier and as the sounds of splintering wood and breaking bottles echo up to me, panic seizes my chest. I take off, running as fast as I can over rocky stairs carved into the hillside and along the salt-worn wooden pier.
The closer I get, the louder the din becomes, and it seems Jake isn’t limiting the destruction to just the furniture. A window in the pier house shatters as he throws a bottle through it, the loud screech piercing the quiet bay as glass falls into the water below.
The door is wide open and Nuke dives into the fray, jumping up at Jake’s back, and the Marine turns with a vehement growl, “Go back to the house.” The dog whines and sits back on its haunches as Jake’s eyes meet mine. He takes in a sharp breath. “Go back inside, Ellie.”
“No,” I say, stepping closer. I don’t dare reach out and touch him, but I do notice the sheen of sweat covering his body. It glistens in the half-light against his naked skin. I can see the dark outline of what looks like scars on his torso. I inhale sharply. “What did they do to you?”
“They ruined me,” he growls, taking a step towards me. I can smell the whiskey on his breath, and fear grips my insides the closer he comes. “They carved me up like I was a fucking animal.”
I take a step back but meet the wall. Nowhere to go. He grabs me, seizing my wrists and laying my palms flat against his body. He runs them roughly over puckered skin and scars. “This is what they did to me. This is why you can’t just casually touch me.”
“Jake, please,” I beg. Beside us, Nuke jumps at him, trying to calm him down, but Jake Tucker is no longer here. He’s gone again and in his place is the broken man I’ve faced off with before. The one who likes to drink and lash out with hurtful words. The one who wears his anger like a crown of thorns upon his head, and a cloak of sharp spines all bristling to draw first blood.
“Disgusting, isn’t it?” he sneers.
“No,” I whisper.
“No? No!” His voice is too loud against the quiet night. He slams his fist against the wall beside my head. I flinch. Nuke barks. “Don’t you dare lie to me, Ellie. I don’t need your pity. I’m a fucking US Marine.”
“Your scars aren’t disgusting, Jake, but you drinkin’ until you can barely stand and picking a fight with a woman half your size because there’s no one else to lay the blame on for how miserable you are inside? That’s ugly.” I shove at his chest, causing him to take a staggering step back. He careens into the end table and falls to the floor with a grunt. “You brought us here to keep us safe, but right now, you’re no different from the man I married.”
I turn and flee through the open door before he can stop me. On shaking legs, I hurry along the pier, up the stairs, and into the house where I shut myself in the guest room and lock the door with trembling fingers.
Jake’s likely out cold by now, but I move the chair beneath the door knob just to be safe, and I climb into bed beside my boy and wish for just once that someone would hold me and chase all the bad dreams away.
Chapter Twenty
Jake
My head pounds like a jackhammer to a freshly tarred road. Nuke licks at my face. I push him away and come up on my knees. Big mistake. Everything aches from lying on the floor. The pier house is a wreck, the furniture that my granddaddy restored in pieces around me. So is a cheap bottle of whiskey, I notice, as I cut my hand on the shattered glass. I groan and sit back against the couch, watching my blood pool and pour out of me the way I have a million times before. What’s one more scar? One more drop? If I had the balls, I’d make that cut a little deeper, nick a vein, and just bleed out all over this floor. It’d be a lot damn easier on everyone.
Up at the house, Spencer yells, but I can’t make out the words. My front door slams and he hollers at his mamma. I get to my feet and take several labored steps toward the door. Outside, it becomes a little clearer. “No. I ain’t going.”
Elle. Fuck. She’s leaving. Not that I blame her. As usual, I went and screwed it all up. After she turned in last night, I took a couple of sleeping pills because I didn’t want to wake her and Spence. The nightmares were bad, so I left Nuke inside and wandered down to the pier house for a drink to take the edge off. But it never ends with just one.
As I climb the stairs up to the yard, flashes of what I did slam into me so hard I stop and catch my breath. I scared her. I made her feel unsafe. I forced her to put her hands on me. Shit. I brought her here to protect her, and I fucked it all up.
“Spencer Mason, get in the car,” Ellie demands, her back to me as she faces off with her son.
“I ain’t goin’,” he shouts. “I wanna stay. I wanna live here with Jake Tucker.”
“You can’t,” she says, her voice thick with sadness. “You belong with me.”
“I hate you!” Spencer screams, startling a flock of birds from an old live oak bordering the yard.
“Would you just get in the car please?”
Spencer darts around her and runs right to me, slamming into my body with all the force of a hurricane. I grunt as he wraps his arms tighter and holds on for dear life. He sobs. It’s too much. I wanna break away and comfort him all at once, and I don’t know which is the right thing to do here. Every nerve in my body screams at me to run, and every heartbeat tells me to stay, to fix this. To mend what I broke.
“Don’t let her take me, Jake Tucker.”
“She’s your mamma, Spence. There ain’t a man alive that could keep her from gettin’ to you. She loves you, and it’s her job to protect you.”
“I don’t want her. I wanna stay here with you and Nuke.”
“Can you do me a favor? Can you wait in the car while I talk to your mamma a minute?”
He glances up at me with wide eyes, fat tears spilling over blond lashes, his little face turned down in a frown. He nods and Ellie steps away from the door as I usher him inside.
“Buckle up for me, okay?” I say, and I tell Nuke to climb on in and sit with him.
Ellie folds her arms across her chest and steps back. Tears stream down her cheeks, and I want nothin’ more than to lay my ruined fingers against her soft skin and wipe them away, but I know I don’t deserve to touch her, so I keep my hands firmly at my sides.
“You’re bleedin’,” she says, glancing down at my hand. I nod and make a fist in an attempt to stem the blood.
“Stay.” I lean against the car, pennin’ her in between me and the side mirror. “I’m sorry about last night. It won’t happen again, angel.”
She laughs, but there’s no humor to it. “If I had a penny for every time I heard that . . .”
“I know what I did was unforgiveable, puttin’ my hands on you like that. I don’t have a good reason; there’s never a good reason.” I shake my head and run my good hand through my hair. “I screwed up. I reached for that bottle, and I can’t tell you I won’t ever do it again. I got demons chasin’ me from every angle, and the only way to shut them up is to drown ‘em out with drink, but you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. Elle, I need you—”
“What am I supposed to do with that?” she shouts. I reach out and grab her elbow, tryin’ to draw her closer, but she wrenches out of my grasp and shoves me, hard. I stumble back a step. “Tell me what to do, Jake. What am I supposed to do?”
“Stay,” I whisper, “You’re supposed to stay.”
“I can’t. I already loved one man that was no good for me. I can’t go through that again.” She looks up at me with tears glistening in her eyes. “Jimmy was full of empty promises. He lied through his teeth, he stole, he beat me, but he always came
back with that silver tongue, whisperin’ in my ear, tellin’ me he’d changed, he’d given up drinking, and he wanted us to be a family. And I was so stupid that I believed him every time.”
“No, that wasn’t your fault. None of that is on you,” I say, shaking my head. “And I’d never hurt you like that.”
“You already have.” She sniffs and wipes her tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “You’re every bit as dangerous as he was. With him, I knew what to expect. With you, I don’t. I never know from one moment to the next which Jake I’m going to get—the broken Marine or the man who’s left.”
I swallow hard. She’s right. In my heart I know everything she’s sayin’ is true, and yet I still can’t let her walk away. “I am who I am—Marine, man, it makes no difference. War turned me into somethin’ different. You can’t separate the two.”
“You’re right, I can’t,” she whispers, turning from me. “All I can do is walk away.”
“Ellie, don’t leave,” I beg, desperate for a way to make her stay. She reaches for the door handle and yanks it open. I could lean against it. I could take her keys and force her back inside, force her to stay forever, but she’d only resent me for that so I step away. She climbs in, and I close her door. “You and that boy are the only good things in my life.”
“Then you need to work out a way to fix this, because I can’t.” A sob escapes her, and it takes everything in me not to pull that damn door from its hinges to get to her and pull her into my arms. “I can’t fix you, Jake. I wish I could.”
Ellie jams her keys in the lock, starting the engine as Spencer screams and scrambles to unfasten his belt, but Nuke is sitting on the buckle so he can’t get a grasp through all the fur.
“Nuke, come,” I say and my dog jumps off the seat and sits by me on the grass. “You be good for your mamma.”
Toward the Sound of Chaos Page 12