There was a long pause, and then she heard her grandmother’s screen door open and close. He must’ve gone outside.
“Sweetheart, I don’t know what you think you heard, but that never happened.” His assertive, soothing tone lapped through the phone line.
“I heard you. You told him that he could cheat with whoever he wanted after we were married, but that he better not screw up this deal for you.” She wished she sounded as confident as he had. That was what she’d heard. Right?
“Luanne, honey, what kind of father would say that? Certainly not one who took you in after your mother died, who paid for your excellent college education, and who set you up with your own law practice right out of law school. You simply misinterpreted what I meant.”
“But…” She rubbed at her forehead. Her head dictated what she knew to be true, but her stupid heart wanted to believe she had misunderstood. He always confused her. And despite everything, she loved him.
“Truth be told, I’m glad you ran out on Doug. That boy needs to be taught a lesson, and I think he’s learned it. So you can come on home to the people who love you, so we can work this out.”
The caress of his words chased her anger away, and all she wanted to do was please him.
“You’re right—”
“Besides, your grandmother depends on you so much. You’re our one true connection.”
“Dad, I’ll get Jack to take me to the bus station tomorrow. I should be home in the afternoon, but we need to talk.”
“No. No daughter of mine is going to ride the bus. I have someone on the way to Mr. Avery’s parents’ home as we speak. They’ll see you safely home, doodlebug.”
That melty feeling in her chest was her heart going all gooey over the nickname. “Okay, but I’m not marrying Doug. Maybe I don’t understand what I heard, but I know what I saw. I’m not anyone’s sloppy seconds.”
“That’s my girl. He’s already gotten rid of that bimbo, and I’ve had a come-to-Jesus meeting with the boy. We’ll take it one day at a time. I only want you home where I can take care of you. See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow.”
She disconnected the call with joy in her heart. A warm glow snuggled around her. Her father did care about her.
Jack’s room was like a cozy cocoon around her moment of contentment. She flopped back on the bed. Her father’s conversation rewound in her brain, and she sifted through the words to find every morsel of affection. Each one soothed the desperate places in her heart that longed for his approval.
She relished his concern for her, but with every replay, the sour notes behind his sweet tone broke through her happy haze. She wanted to ignore them. She was being too sensitive, too needy. That’s what he’d always told her.
Stop your crying, Luanne. Why do you have to be so sensitive? You’re too needy, just like your mother.
Never mind that she’d just lost her mother, or that he hadn’t shown up for Christmas, even though he’d promised. Never mind the million other promises he’d made and broken. Never mind, never mind.
Unease prickled the underside of her skin. She flipped to her side to try to get more comfortable. But no matter how she lay, the unease in her belly wouldn’t go away.
Clarity fought its way to the surface.
And truth kicked down the friggin’ door to her mind.
“Son of a bitch.” One of the pillows from Jack’s bed sailed across the room.
He’d done it again. Totally sweet-talked her into believing something that wasn’t true. When would she ever be able to see through his bullshit? It didn’t matter that she was a grown woman, the little girl heart inside her was destined to believe every corrupt word out of his mouth.
Nausea roiled in her belly. He’d used all the things he’d ever done for her against her. Again. She grabbed the remaining pillow to muffle the frustrated scream that clawed its way out of her throat.
Played.
She’d been played.
The images on the far wall blurred as she tried to wrap her mind around what had just happened. People would be shocked to see badass Luanne Price reduced to a blubbering fool, a mass of ignorant devotion, with only a few words from the last man in the world she should ever trust.
He’d said he sent someone to get her. He would find her. She had no doubt. What to do? What to do? Her overwrought brain chased for solutions that all led to one place.
Jack.
The old cypress floorboards creaked as she approached the lump on the floral sofa. Jack was sprawled with an empty Jack Daniels bottle dangling from the fingers of one hand and a half-full bottle of the same poison in the other.
“Hey, Jack.” She kept her voice down, not wanting to disturb the older Avery.
Jack didn’t say anything, only rolled his head to meet her gaze. His eyes were red and glassy.
“You alright, Jack?” She could tell he wasn’t but she needed to give him an out if he didn’t want to confide anything to her.
“I’m dandy. How are you, Thumbaweena?” He cracked up laughing. “Thumbaweena. Get it? Cause you’re a wee, little thing.”
Indecision froze her. She’d never seen Jack so undone. Most of the time he seemed to skate through life as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “Yeah, I get it. Good one.”
“I know, right? You never laugh at my jokes. Why is that, Lulu? Are you missin’ your funny bone? Want me to help you find it?” He waggled his eyebrows and then snorted.
She sat on the coffee table in front of him. “Hey, buddy, why don’t you give me that? I think you’ve had enough.” She reached for the bottle, but he clutched it to his chest.
“I’m not done yet.” His words were slurring more by the minute. “It still hurts.”
Alarmed by the pain in his voice, she placed her hand on his knee. “What hurts, Jack?”
Had he and his father physically fought? She did a quick search for injuries. He looked fine, except for his flushed face and red eyes.
“My heart hurts.” He took a big swig and then made a face like it was the worst thing he’d ever tasted.
“Why does your heart hurt?” Seeing him in this much pain made did something unfamiliar to her chest.
He dropped the empty bottle, then picked up a piece of paper and shoved it at her. “Here.”
It was a letter addressed to his mother. She skimmed the page and her breath caught. Her gaze jerked up to him. “Jack,” she whispered.
“She lied. She lied to me my whole life.” Another swig. Another scowl.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked at her like he’d forgotten she was there, then let his head fall back on the sofa. “Fuuuuuck.”
“Is this why your father was drinking? Did he know?”
“Yes. No.” He shook his head. “I mean yes, this is why he was drinking, great idea by the way. And no, he didn’t know.” He took another long pull from the bottle and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “He wants me gone, told me not to be here in the morning. He can’t stand to even look at me.” The pauses in his speech lengthened. His lids kept dropping and staying closed, then he’d try and blink them open, only to close them again.
Taking her life into her own hands, she again tried to pry the bottle from his grip. This time she was able to take it with no problem. He slumped to the side so that his head was resting on the arm of the sofa. She pulled an afghan from a nearby chair and covered him. “Rest, Jack. We’ll sort this out in the morning.”
When she stood to leave he grabbed her hand. “I’m glad you’re here, Luanne.”
She pushed his hair from his forehead. “I’m glad I’m here too, Jack.” She could admit that to him now, because judging by the amount of alcohol missing from those bottles he wouldn’t remember this conversation in the morning.
Long minutes passed as she stood there making sure he fell asleep and didn’t try to go for the whiskey again. So much for Counselor Avery coming up with a plan. He was in no condition to do anything
and his problems were as big as hers. Apparently, the combo of alcohol and heartbreak caused snoring. Jack was done. She’d have to figure something out in the morning.
But she knew the morning would be too late. Her father’s man was probably only hours away already. Jack’s car keys on a small table just inside the room caught her eye.
Her gaze went to Jack.
To the keys.
Back to Jack.
How mad would he be? Did she care? His father said he didn’t want Jack here in the morning, and what kind of friend would she be if she didn’t try to help him? Right?
She snatched up the keys and looked back at the sleeping man on the sofa. “We’re going on a road trip, Jack. I hear Vermont’s nice this time of year.”
Chapter Eight
Luanne rubbed her dry, scratchy eyes as she paced around the concrete picnic table. Exhaustion seeped through her pores. She’d driven all night and only stopped now to call Scarlett to give her an update.
The pink and golden rays of sunrise danced through the branches of the trees surrounding the roadside rest stop, and birds sang their morning song. Jack’s phone pressed to her ear repeatedly vibrated with incoming texts. She ignored them and waited for Scarlett to answer.
“Hello.”
Crap, it was too early for any decent person to be calling. “Hey. I’m so sorry to wake you, but I have cell service now and don’t know if I’ll have it later today. We’ve had a change of plans.”
“We’ve?”
“Jack and I.”
“You and Jack?” Instantly, Scarlett sounded way more awake.
Luanne ran her fingers through her hair. “Yes. It’s a long story and not entirely mine to tell. But what I can tell you is that my father pulled his sweet-talkin’ routine on me last night, and I nearly fell for it.”
“You called your dad?” Scarlett’s shock pierced her eardrum.
“He was at Gigi’s. When I called her he highjacked the phone. He said…it doesn’t matter. The point is I can’t see him yet, and he said he was sending someone to pick me up. Which would’ve meant a Justice of the Peace wedding for me and Doug when I got back to Zachsville.”
“He said that?”
“Not in so many words, but I know that’s what he wants.”
“He’s really not letting this go, is he?”
Luanne used the seat of the picnic table as a step and climbed up on the concrete slab to sit cross-legged. “No. He must be up to his neck with this business deal.”
“So now what’s your plan?”
“That’s part of what I can’t talk about, but we’ll stop tonight and I’ll call and let you know what I can.”
“Okay, tell me where to send the money when you can. I don’t like the thought of you going cross-country without any resources.”
She glanced over at the car containing her lifeline. “I’m not alone. Jack’s with me.”
Scarlett snorted. “Yeah, that makes me feel better.”
She didn’t want to talk about Jack. Her feelings toward him were very confused. On the one hand he was Jack, the annoying yet gorgeous thorn in her side. On the other hand, he was Jack who’d just found out his mother had lied to him his whole life, and she couldn’t help but feel bad for him. “I’ll call you later then. Oh, wait. When are you leaving for your trip?”
“Our flight’s at noon.”
“Okay, if you’re not available when I call later I’ll leave a message. Thanks.”
“You don’t have to thank me. Take care of yourself.”
“Love you, bye.”
She placed the phone on the table, leaned back on her hands, and enjoyed the morning rays on her face. What was she going to tell Jack? He wasn’t going to be happy. She’d made the decision to leave his father’s house, she’d driven his precious car, and she’d put him in danger without his consent. Yep. He was going to be pissed.
The staccato beat of her pulse was a direct result of guilt.
Guilt and anxiety.
But didn’t he deserve to meet his father? And his father’s family. She’d found the second page of the letter underneath Jack when she’d manhandled him up and maneuvered him to the car. Had he even seen it?
Not only did he have a father he didn’t know about, but he also had a grandmother and aunt who were anxious to meet him. So much family. Wanting him. The broken, lonely little girl inside her ached for a long-lost family to want her too.
Stupid, Luanne. This is about Jack, not you.
Still, if he did this to her, she’d be furious. She chewed on her thumbnail. Yep, this could get ugly. Indecision pulsed through every mental argument and a bead of hot sweat rolled down her temple. Enough. Time to brazen it out.
When in doubt, grow a pair of balls.
The incessant pounding of the bass drum shattering Jack’s head would not stop. He might have been able to ignore it if it weren’t accompanied by a piercing pain in his neck and shoulder. Slowly, he peeked one eye open, but all he could see was black leather. His attempts to get into a better position were met with resistance in the form of something long and round shoved against his ass.
What the hell?
He moved his hand behind him to investigate the object in question, but stopped short when pain shot through his shoulder. Gingerly, he turned his body and saw the stick shift from his Porsche. How had he gotten into his car? Oh, God. He hadn’t tried to drive somewhere, had he? Panic gripped his gut. He never drove drunk.
Relief washed over him when he realized he was in the passenger seat. But how had he gotten in the car? Maybe he’d decided sleeping in the car was preferable to sleeping in a house with a father who wanted him gone.
The events of the night before scrolled through his head like a movie on an old projector, yellowed and harsh. The alcohol, the letter, his father telling him to be gone in the morning, and the alcohol…so much alcohol. He tried to swallow down the fiery bile chugging up his throat, but his mouth was so dry.
An eighteen-wheeler’s horn blasted nearby. His head exploded in agony, followed by a pitiful groan. Hangovers were a young man’s game. He was definitely too old for this shit.
The driver’s side door opened and Luanne slid into the driver’s seat. “Oh. You’re awake.”
Even the slight dip her small body caused made his insides bubble and roil. Why did she look so guilty? “Where are we?”
“How are you feeling?
“Like hell. Where are we?”
“I bought some water. Would you like a bottle?”
“No…yes. Where are we?”
“I know I get terrible cotton mouth when I drink too much.” She turned and began rummaging through a plastic bag on the floor behind his seat.
“Luanne.” Damn, it hurt to speak above a whisper.
She sat up abruptly with a water bottle in one hand, a pill bottle in the other and an innocent expression so fake she looked like a mannequin. “Yes?”
He eased himself into a sitting position. The alcohol still present in his brain sloshed back and forth like one of those tubes full of liquid. The slightest movement caused a tsunami wave to roll around in his head. “Tell me,” he swallowed down some seriously nasty stuff, “Where are we?”
“Not far from Verna.”
“Verna?”
She glanced out the driver’s side window and bit her bottom lip. “Verna, Mississippi.”
“Luanne, I’m hung over, my head is pounding, and I might puke at any moment, so could you kindly tell me why the hell we aren’t far from Verna, Mississippi when last I checked we were in Beauchamp, Louisiana?”
“You don’t have to yell. I’m sitting right here.”
“And yet you aren’t giving me any answers.” He gripped his forehead with the hand of the arm resting on the door. “Just tell me, please.”
She opened the console between them and retrieved a piece of paper. He immediately recognized it. “Where’d you get that?”
“You gave me the first page and I found
the second page underneath you when I got you up off the sofa. You’re heavy as hell, by the way.” Her attempt at levity did nothing for his mood. He gave her a flat-eyed stare that had her looking down at her hands. “Anyway, you told me about you and your dad—”
“My dad!” He started patting his pockets and searching on the floor.
“What are you looking for?”
“My phone. I need to call my dad.”
“I have your phone, and I left your father a note.”
“You left a note? Who gave you the authority to leave my dad a note? Or drive my car? Or kidnap me and take me to fucking Verna, Mississippi?”
She whipped around to face him. Flames sizzled in her baby blues. “You did, when you got so drunk you couldn’t sit up straight, let alone hold a pen to scribble out a note. You put me in the position of coming up with a solution for getting us out of there, especially since you told me your father wanted you gone by morning.”
Jack flinched at the words. Fresh heartbreak blasted through his chest. “He didn’t mean it.” But even he didn’t believe his own words.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. And I’m sorry for what happened with your dad.”
He picked up the papers. Even though there was no way in hell he could focus on the words. Didn’t matter. He knew what it said. “Did you read it?”
“I sort of had to. You shoved it in my face and told me to.”
“Sorry.” He massaged his temples.
“Take these.” She handed him the water and shook out two white pills for him to take.
He gratefully took the tablets and threw them back, then chased them with the water.
She unwrapped a packet of gum and gave him a piece. “Here.”
“Thanks.” He took another pull of water, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Sweat broke out on his upper lip and the churning in his stomach worried him. In situations like this concentration was the name of the game. Breath, swallow, will it away, repeat. “Could you turn on the air?”
Running with a Sweet Talker Page 6