Toward the Sound of Chaos

by Carmen Jenner

  “Yeah,” I say, though my tears clearly betray me. Jake reaches out and smooths a calloused hand over my cheek. I feel the urge to move away from his touch so it won’t burn me, but I don’t, because after everything that happened today it’s nice to have someone in my corner offering me comfort when I feel like my entire world just exploded. He removes his hand and shuts the door, and then he walks around his side of the car and hops in. Starting up the engine, he peels the truck out of the parking lot and onto the road.

  I’m exhausted, and the warmth of the cab lulls me to sleep, and then I’m lifted in the air. I blink several times and snuggle into his warmth. “I can walk.”

  “I know.” His arms are tight around me and he carries me to my door and sets me on my feet. I glance briefly at Mr. Williams’s place. Police tape cordons off the front porch. It’s quiet now, but I imagine the entire street was buzzing with officials and lookiloos earlier. Damn vultures.

  I remember the letter he sent. Now I’m taking care of the rest.

  And he had. He must have confessed to killing Jimmy over the phone, because I can’t see why else the police would have been racing toward his house. Mr. Williams killed Jimmy. Mr. Williams shot himself in front of me. I can’t even begin to process that.

  Jake asks me for the keys and judging by the way he’s looking at me, I don’t think it’s the first time he’s said it. “It’s unlocked.”

  “Stay here,” he says, and I don’t argue that he’s being paranoid as he and Nuke push past me into the dark house.

  “Nuke, seek it,” Jake says, switching on the light as he enters. The dog takes off and Jake follows close behind. I don’t. I stay put. I don’t think I could handle any more trouble tonight.

  Nuke begins barking and I hear Jake’s quiet laughter come from another room at the end of the small house.

  “Good boy,” he says, emerging a moment later not with a robber or squatter in tow, but holding something tiny within his enclosed hand.

  “What is it?” I mumble, and even I can hear how exhausted I am.

  “Nuke found a lightning bug in Spencer’s room.” He unfolds his hands; a tiny brown beetle opens his wings and flies away into the dark. I smile at Nuke and stroke his fur. His tongue lolls out, and he closes his eyes as he tilts his head up at me.

  “Thank you,” I say to Jake. “For everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you tonight.”

  “You want me to stay?”

  Oh boy, was that the loaded question of the century? I should say no, but I don’t want to. It’s downright selfish, but I need him.

  As if sensing my hesitation, he says, “On the couch, of course.”

  “Would you mind?”

  “Not ever when it comes to you, angel. Come on, you’re dead on your feet.” He takes my hand and leads me into the house, locking the door behind us. Nuke skitters about like he just got in on the ground floor of some super-special doggy mission. As if he knows he shouldn’t be in here, but he’s breaking all the rules.

  Sorry, Mr. Williams.

  I sigh. I don’t know what this all means—Williams dying. I don’t know how long Spence and I will have before they come to evict us, but I can’t worry about that now. I have to come up with a way to pay for Spencer’s costly hospital bills, because I don’t have insurance. I may have to take a second job as a candy striper girl in the post-op ward.

  I don’t want to think about any of that right now, though. I just want my bed, and though I know I shouldn’t, I want this man’s arms around me. I don’t say as much, because it’s a line I can’t afford to cross at the moment.

  “I’d offer you Spencer’s bed, but I’m not entirely sure you’d fit,” I say sheepishly.

  “I’m fine with the couch.”

  “I’ll grab you a pillow and a blanket. There’s towels in the linen press if you want to take a shower?”

  “I’m fine.” He follows me down the hall. I retrieve the bedding from the cupboard and close it, turning to face him. He’s close. Too close, and tears prick my eyes again as a lump forms in the back of my throat. He reaches out a hand to cup my face. “Go get some rest, angel. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  I nod and hand him the blanket and pillow, and then I push past him down the hall and quietly close the bedroom door behind me. I shower, wash my hair, and brush my teeth, and as I slip on the pale pink negligee that I know Jake liked so much, I climb into bed and hope like hell that Spence is okay and sleeps through the night.

  When I switch out the light and pull the covers over me, I break down again. I cry for my little boy, for the man sleeping on my couch, for the man I married whose body was shipped back to his mother in Charleston after the autopsy was carried out, and for Mr. Williams, who sacrificed however many years he had left to make sure Spencer and I were safe. And just when I think my tears should run dry, I cry for me, because I’m so damn tired of being strong, of rolling with the punches and picking myself up when I fall. I cry because the only man I ever loved who was worthy of it can’t be the one to pick me up. He’s too busy fitting the broken pieces of himself back together.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Jake

  As Elle showers, I listen from the hall. I’d give anything to go to her now, to climb into that too small shower recess with her and take care of her, before putting her to bed. Instead, I walk back to the couch and stretch out on it. I’m too big to be comfortable, of course. My legs hang over the edge and when Nuke growls and jumps up on top of me, burrowing in between me and the back of the sofa, I wonder whether it wouldn’t just be easier to sleep on the floor.

  Not that I think I’ll be gettin’ much sleeping done. For one, I don’t want Elle waking in the middle of the night to my screams; she’s been through enough today. It’s part of the reason I wanted to be here for her. Death is one thing—seeing a man blow his own head off in front of you is entirely another. That shit stays with you. Not to mention the fact that not two seconds afterward she saw her son get tossed across the pavement like a hackey sack.

  I stare up at the ceiling and make a mental note to reseal those corner architraves for her before winter sets in, otherwise this room will be too drafty. Though I try not to, I do doze a little, and then I get up and find my feet, walking the hall to her room. I tell myself it’s just to check on the house, but that logic flies right out the window when I turn the knob and find the door unlocked.

  Entering the room as silently as I can, I watch her for a beat. Her face is turned away from me. Moonlight spills in through the lace curtains, drenching the end of the bed and silhouetting her body in a slither of pale silver light. My fingers ache to touch her.

  I sit down on the floor, my back against the door, and I watch her sleep. Before long she rolls over, facing me. In my mind I trace the curve of her breast and her cheekbone, and run my fingers through her long golden hair. I miss the way it smells. I miss the drape of it across my chest as she lay with me. I miss pancakes and sticky kisses and the way her fucking perfect body had moved beneath me when I’d buried myself balls deep. I miss her lips pressed to my scars, and the way she made a broken man feel complete.

  I sigh softly, and she jolts. I can’t see her face properly but I think she’s awake, which means I just got sprung. I close my eyes, waiting for the onslaught, waiting for her to tell me I’m a freak and a pervert and I should leave and never come back.

  “Jake?” she says softly.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “What are you doing in here?”

  I shrug, though I know she probably can’t see it from the bed. “Couldn’t sleep.”

  It’s her turn to sigh. “How long have you been here?”

  “You know the only time I ever found any peace was when I was lying next to you.” I get to my feet. “I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep, angel.”

  She pulls the sheet back, exposing her soft, milky white thighs in the moonlight. From here it lo
oks as if she’s wearing my favorite little pink negligee. My dick could have done without this discovery because it hardens in my jeans. I stare at the bed and think too much about whether to accept the boon she’s offering me.

  “Are you waitin’ on a written invitation, Jake?” she teases.

  I cross the distance between the door and the bed with two quick strides, climbing in beside her. We face one another, and she places her hand against my chest. A part of me wants to strip off my clothes, shed them like skin in order to be closer, but I’m already walkin’ a fine line as it is. She traces a pattern over my covered torso, up my shoulder and down my arm, and it’s as if every line she draws with her fingertip is a burn, another scar laid upon my mutilated flesh. I’ve never felt so complete, yet so tortured.

  Her hand snakes under my T-shirt, circling the brand on my side and then gliding up to the scars on my chest. I angle my head back so that her fingers can follow the line the whole way. She rolls on top of me, pushing up the hem of my shirt. I help her pull it over my head, and she releases a heavy breath as she settles in my lap.

  My cock strains against her softness. I slide my hands along her thighs and under her negligee. She’s not wearing any panties, and I groan when my hands are met with no resistance and instead glide over smooth, slick flesh.

  Ellie rocks into my touch. I stroke faster, knowing what she needs without her having to verbalize it, and within just a few moments she comes against my hand. With her head thrown back and her body bowed, she rides out the sensation and I sit up, my free hand going into her hair to draw her mouth down on mine. I’m already covered in sweat, and every part of me is rock hard and longing to get closer, to push into her softness. I roll us so that I’m on top and I spread her legs apart, wanting to taste the sweetness between them. I skim my lips along her thighs, over the mound of her pubic bone and down the other leg, avoiding the place I know she wants me most. Even though she just came, she’s already greedy and panting for more. She squirms against my wandering mouth until I come back to her center.

  “Please, Jake,” she whispers, and I can’t help it, I give in to her because in my thirty-two years I’ve never heard a sweeter sound than her begging for my mouth.

  I close my lips over her. Elle’s hands grip my hair as I coat my fingers in her wetness and ease inside so slowly she writhes and pushes her hips up impatiently.

  “Be still, angel.”

  I’ve always been gentle with her, letting her set the pace because I thought she needed that. Hell, I needed that. Both times she saw me naked I was certain she’d go running in the opposite direction, so while a part of me longed to take her and fuck her hard and be the kind of man I’d always been with a woman before war changed me, I’d hesitated because I was still waiting for the universe to sweep the rug out from underneath me and take her away. To dangle her like bait on a hook and then tell me I couldn’t bite.

  Tonight, I want to bite. I need to. I pull my fingers out all the way and slam back inside. Ellie’s breath catches in her throat so I do it again. Then I lower my head and take her in my mouth, licking and sucking all that rosy pink flesh until she comes against my tongue and her walls squeeze my fingers like a vice.

  As she bathes in the afterglow, I lift up off the bed and remove my jeans, and then I climb over her and slide the head of my cock through her slickness. We should use a condom. I know she hasn’t slept with anyone in a long time, and I’m clean, but we shouldn’t tempt fate like this. We’ve done it twice already.

  “Elle, we should use—”

  “I know,” she pants, raising herself up to kiss me feverishly. “I know . . . I know and I don’t care. Please, Jake, I need to feel you inside me.”

  Her hand takes hold of my cock and strokes the base as she rubs the head against her smooth flesh. I groan and push her back on the bed, and then I plunge inside and fuck her the way I’ve fantasized about. I take every inch of her as mine, because she belongs to me, and I’m not ever gonna let her forget it. I’m not ever gonna let her go again.

  I’ve fallen in love with this woman, in spite of her smart mouth and wicked temper, or maybe because of them. Ellie Mason is the first woman I’ve ever loved, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let her slip through my fingers again.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Ellie

  I’d woken to what felt like the mother of all hangovers, and God do I wish I’d actually been drinking, because I sure could use a good excuse for letting Jake Tucker back in my bed. Memaw used to say, “Never make important decisions when you’re drunk or emotionally distraught.” I wish I’d taken heed of that particular piece of advice last night because it’d been tough trying to sneak out from under Jake’s arms without waking him this morning.

  Yes, I know. I shouldn’t have invited him into my bed in the first place, but I make bad decision after bad decision where this man is concerned, and I can’t seem to help myself. I’d been vulnerable, and I’d felt scared and alone, and Jake had filled the void that had been yawning wider and wider inside me since the day I’d left my husband. Maybe even before that, if I’m being honest with myself.

  So, this morning I did what any adult wanting to escape bad decisions from the night before would have. I ran. Right to the dresser to pick out clothes, and then to the bathroom to brush my teeth, and then out the door and into my car, which led me to the hospital to see my son.

  Spence is awake when I walk in, but he isn’t afraid as I feared he’d be. The nurse said he hadn’t even asked for me, which is both baffling and a little hurtful, but when I see that the television above his bed is on and his mesmerized little eyes are glued to the early-morning cartoons, I understand why.

  “Hi, baby.”

  “I’m not a baby.”

  “No you aren’t.” I sigh, almost wishing I could go back to that time, when he was too little to fuss when I touched him. “How are you feeling?”

  He shrugs. Taking the seat beside him, I pull the plastic cover off his untouched breakfast, pick up the spoon, and feed him bites of Cheerios. To my surprise he lets me, but I think it’s more to do with the fact that he’s really focused on SpongeBob SquarePants. I barely even garnered a look before his eyes swung right back to the TV.

  When he’s finished, and he’s had a little juice to wash it down, I stare longingly at his hand lying on the bed. I don’t dare grab it, because I know he wouldn’t like that. Instead, I sit back in my seat and close my eyes, smiling at his tinkly little laugh.

  “Mamma?”

  I open my eyes to find a serious expression on his face. “Yeah, Spence?”

  “Mr. Williams shot himself, didn’t he?”

  I pause, not ready for this conversation, but knowing we have to have it all the same. Williams’s slumped body bleeding all over the floor comes unbidden into my mind, and I squeeze my eyes tightly closed in order to shake the vision from my head.

  I nod, open my eyes and try to not be somewhere else right now because my son needs me. “He did.”

  His eyes fill with tears, and my heart breaks all over again. “Why would he do that?”

  Oh boy. Leave it to my son to pose the difficult questions. “Mr. Williams did something very wrong. He did it for the right reasons, but that choice wasn’t up to him to make.”

  “I read his letter. Did he kill my daddy?”

  Tears fall from my eyes. “Yes, Mr. Williams did a bad thing to keep you and I safe.”

  “Mamma, I’m gonna miss him, but I’m glad I don’t have to see you hurt no more.” With those words from his mouth, everything just deflates within me and I stand up, unable to deal with sobbing in front of my son. “Mamma, you think Jake can be my daddy now?”

  “No, Spencer, I don’t.” I’m too raw, too exposed, and I can’t answer these questions without feeling like my heart has been ripped right out of my chest, because I let my son down. I let Jake Tucker into our lives. I got Spencer’s hopes up that Jake could be something to us that he doesn’t know how to be,
and I haven’t just broken my heart in the process—I’ve broken my son’s, too.

  Spencer turns back to his cartoons and I slowly walk to the bathroom. Once there, I try to keep it together, but it all comes flooding out anyway. I swear I must cry for a good ten minutes, and then I spend far too long trying to calm my blotchy skin so Spence won’t know I’ve been upset. I take an extra moment away to run down to the cafeteria and grab myself a coffee, and by the time I get back, Spence has a visitor.

  “Are you gonna marry my mamma?” Spence says, as usual having no tact or awareness of social interaction whatsoever.

  “Er . . .” Jake exhales loudly.

  “Do you love her?”

  “Spencer,” I admonish as I walk into the room, not willing to hear any more because I’m terrified of the answer. Last night was a mistake. I can’t fix Jake. Maybe the lesson here is that I was never meant to. We collided at a time when we needed one another most, but that don’t mean it was right. I already loved one man who destroyed me. I’m afraid if I let someone in again, if I give Jake my whole heart, he’ll break what’s left of it.

  “There you are.” Jake gives me a stern look. “You left this morning without waking me.”

  Spencer frowns. “Jake had a sleepover without me?”

  “Someone had to keep your mamma company,” Jake says. “She was worried sick about you.”

  My son’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree as he asks, “Can Jake have a sleepover when I get better?”

  “I don’t know, Spence.” I glare at Jake and say through my teeth, “Can I talk to you?”

  He nods, and turns to Spencer. “Be right back.”

  I storm out of the room and down the hall, not stopping until we’re both inside the area they reserve for parents to take time out, shower, and make a coffee, or to sit and eat breakfast. I reel on him the second the door closes behind us. “What are you doing?”

  Jake looks behind me. I turn and find a man at the table, sipping coffee from a paper cup and reading a newspaper. We both stare at him and he says, “I’ll just . . . go.”