by M. Leighton
I grab a washcloth and wet it before I kneel beside her, pulling back her hair and wiping her mouth when she turns her head to the side. Her eyes are closed and her breath smells like vomit when she says, “I love you, Vi.”
“I love you, too, Tia.”
To make sure she’s not going to get sick again, I wait for several minutes before I suggest going back to bed. By that point, she’s ready.
“Okay,” she agrees, turning to crawl back into her bedroom. When she reaches the bed, she pulls herself up into it and rolls onto her side, starting to snore almost immediately.
I take the wet washcloth back into the bathroom and wash it out before flushing the toilet, spraying air freshener and closing the door behind me. I head for the living room, stopping when I see Jet leaning against the doorjamb, arms and ankles crossed.
I put my finger over my lips. “Shhh,” I whisper, stepping out of the bedroom and closing the door behind me. “She’ll be fine now, but just to be safe, I think I’ll stay here tonight.”
Jet says nothing. He just watches me, a strange expression on his shadowed face. Finally, an uncomfortable amount of time later, he says, “She doesn’t deserve you.”
“Yes, she does. She’s a good person. A good friend. She just has some . . . problems.”
“Are you always around to bail her out? To keep her out of trouble?”
“Oh, no. She gets in plenty that I don’t know about until after the fact.”
“I bet you patch her up even then, don’t you?”
I frown up at Jet. “Of course I do. She’s my best friend and I love her. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because some people are beyond help.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Yet, some part of you has to realize that what I’m saying is true. How long has this been going on between you two?”
Too long, I feel like saying. But I don’t.
“It doesn’t matter. I won’t give up on her.”
One corner of Jet’s mouth turns up in a wry smile. “Until the bitter end, is that it?”
I get the feeling he doesn’t approve. I raise my chin defiantly. Jet’s opinion of me doesn’t matter. I can’t let it.
“Always.”
He makes a noise in the back of his throat as he shakes his head, stepping closer to me. I stand my ground and hold his gaze.
When he stops in front of me, he stares down into my face for the longest time before he raises his hand and brushes the backs of his fingers down my cheek.
“Violet, the soft, delicate flower that is stronger than steel. Strong enough to support everyone around her. But are you strong enough to fix the whole world, beautiful?”
Something in his voice sounds . . . pensive. And doubtful. It gives me chills.
“I don’t need to fix the world,” I reply quietly, not knowing what else to say.
“Then can you fix me?” he asks, his eyes burning into mine.
I see him glance down at my mouth. My lips tingle in response and I hold my breath. I know he’s going to kiss me. And that I’m going to let him.
Jet lowers his head, tilting his face just enough to graze my cheek with his lips.
“Goodnight, Violet. Sleep well.”
And then he turns around and walks out the door, closing it tightly behind him.
* * *
The ring of my phone wakes me. My first thought, which is both bothersome and ridiculous, is that it might be Jet. I try to get to it before it stops ringing. I scramble to untangle myself from the blanket that somehow twisted itself around my body and one of Tia’s couch cushions, binding us together. By the time I get to my phone to answer it, I’m out of breath and very much awake. I let out a sigh of disappointment when I look down and see my father’s number on the lighted screen.
With a complete and utter lack of enthusiasm, I slide my finger across the green square to unlock the phone, hearing a cheerful, “Good morning, sunshine” as my father greets me. I feel like growling, not answering in kind.
“Hey, Dad,” is my tepid reply.
“Could I swap you a hot cup of coffee for a quick ride to Summerton?”
I’m grouchy, and this was not how I’d hoped my day might start. My mouth falls open. Summerton is not a quick ride. Twenty minutes is not a quick ride. I bite back my knee-jerk complaint in favor of, “Has something happened to your truck?”
“Nothing extensive, I don’t think. I’m pretty sure it’s only the spark plugs. I just don’t have time to fix them this morning before I have to be at my new account.”
This brightens my mood. “You got it?”
I can hear the pride and pleasure in his voice. “Yep. Sure did. Aren’t you proud of your old man this morning?”
“I was proud of you yesterday morning, Dad, but I’m really, really happy for you.”
“I knew you would be. And I’m sorry to call and be such a bother on your day off, but I’m kind of in a pinch.”
I smother my sigh and add as much chipper to my voice as I can muster. “I’m at Tia’s. Can you give me fifteen minutes?”
There’s a hissing sound as he draws air through his teeth. “Wellll . . .”
“Okay, I’ll be there in ten then.”
“See you in ten.”
Luckily Tia lives closer to Dad than I do, so although I’m a little more rushed at ten minutes, I still have time to dig out my toothbrush from the cosmetics bag I keep under her bathroom sink. A clean mouth and brushed hair is as much as I can manage, however, before I have to leave. Last night’s makeup held up pretty well, and that’s fortunate because it’ll have to do. This is as good as it’s gonna get.
Tia’s still snoring, face buried in her pillow, when I slip quietly out her front door and hurry to my car.
Twenty-five minutes later, I’ve got a backseat full of lawn tools, a Weed eater in my trunk and I’m following Dad’s directions to get to the home for which he’s been contracted to do the landscaping. At my father’s suggestion, rather than driving all the way around the smooth, cement circle that sweeps in front of the beautiful three-story Mediterranean-style house, I simply pull up at the curb along the street to let him out.
“Wow, this place is gonna take you forever to maintain,” I tell Dad as I survey the expanse of lawn and all the elaborately planted beds.
“Thank God someone had already mowed it just before I got the contract, so I just have to do the trim work and some weeding in the beds this week.”
“Just. You say that like this is a cottage, not a mansion.”
My father turns a happy smile on me. “Lucky for me, I love what I do.”
I feel his pleasure reflect on my face. “I know you do, Dad. And I’m glad. Otherwise, this would be one seriously crappy Saturday.”
He shrugs. “Well, it would’ve been just the one. Normally, I’ll come on Tuesdays, but since he’d already had some work done, this is more of an in-between visit.” My father lowers his voice and speaks in a conspiratorial tone. “Honestly, I think he’s testing me.”
“Why would he do that?”
Dad frowns. “I don’t know. This one’s pretty shrewd, I’d say. Cold even.”
“Money does that to some people.”
“Nah. What is it they say? Having money just allows some people to be the assholes that they were always meant to be.”
“Da-ad!” He gives me a chuckle and a cute grin when I slap his arm playfully. “Come on. I’ll help you unload.”
I put the car in park and get out to unload some of the tools and Dad’s gloves while he gets the Weed eater and the gas can out of the back. I can only imagine how long it will take me to get that oil-and-gas smell out of my car. “So, how long do you want me to wait before I come back to get you?” I ask, dusting the pieces of grass off my hands, afraid to even think about trying to clean out my backseat.
He glances around the grounds and bobbles his head back and forth. “Ehhh, how about two hours?”
“Is that all? This is an a
wful lot of yard, Dad.”
“It’s in good shape, though. I think I can get everything done by then.”
“Do you want me to stay and help? I mean, that’s not very long. It would probably be easier for me to help than to go all the way back to Greenfield.”
“Dressed like that?”
I glance down at my clothes from last night. My black jeans and boots, and my white, off-the-shoulder shirt. “Okay, so it’s not ideal, but I don’t mind if you don’t mind.”
Dad shakes his head. “No, sweetheart, you go on home. I don’t want you out here working in the dirt and ruining your clothes. I’ll have this done in no time. I appreciate you chauffeuring me around.”
“I’m not chauffeuring you, Dad. I’m always happy to help. You know that.”
His smile is sweet and loving. “I know that, Vi. You’re a jewel.”
“Or a flower,” I tease, backing toward my car.
“Violet?” a different voice calls.
My heart stops. I don’t have to turn around to know who’s behind me, who just spoke my name. It’s likely I’ll never forget the sound of that voice.
I turn to find Jet sitting at the end of the driveway, in what looks like the little black car he followed me to Tia’s in last night. My brain is firing off in a hundred different directions—the way I look, the fact that I’m wearing last night’s clothes, the fact that my father is standing right behind me, why Jet is here, the way I look, the way I look, the way I look.
“Jet. What are you doing here?”
One side of his mouth pulls up into an unhappy smirk. “My, uh, my father lives here.”
My mouth drops open. I snap it shut as quickly as I can, but I’m certain Jet saw it.
“Your father? Lives here?”
“Yep, ’fraid so.”
“Who’s your friend?” my dad asks, moving in behind me.
My heart starts to race as I think of all the ways this simple interaction could go so terribly wrong. For one thing, Dad can never know where I met Jet. Explaining that to my father would be the most humiliating nightmare known to man. Secondly, there’s the fact that the most important thing Jet knows about me is nothing but a lie.
Yeah, there’s that . . .
My heart races for a whole different reason when Jet puts his car in park and gets out and comes around to where my father and I are standing. His dark, shaggy hair is still damp from his shower, and his black tank top under a leather jacket makes him look more dangerous than ever. All he needs is a motorcycle to round out the picture of the quintessential bad boy.
“Jet Blevins,” he says when he reaches us, nodding to my father and extending his hand.
My father returns the gesture. “Royce Wilson, Violet’s father.”
“Nice to meet you, sir.”
After a few seconds of unnerving silence, my father speaks again, letting me off the hook. “Well, I’d better get to work, hon. Two hours?”
I smile, my body flooded with relief. “Two hours.”
Dad kisses me on the cheek, grabs his pruners, and walks away, leaving me and Jet standing side by side, watching him go.
“So, what’s two hours?”
“He had some car trouble this morning. I’m gonna give him a ride back home in two hours.”
“What will you be doing in the meantime?”
I shrug. “Heading back to Greenfield, I guess.”
“Big plans for the day?”
I shrug a second time. “Not really.”
“Why don’t you save yourself some gas, then, and let me buy you a cup of coffee?”
I want to say yes. I can’t think of anything I’d like better than to spend the morning with Jet. But my biggest concern is that I shouldn’t want to, but even that’s not as compelling a reason as the one that brings a burst of heat to my cheeks.
“Um, I’d love to, but . . . ummm, I uh . . .”
“Yesss . . .” Jet prompts.
“Well, it’s just that I . . . I mean, I didn’t have time to . . .” I feel my face get hotter.
How embarrassing.
Jet smiles. “Wow, this must be really good.” He crosses his arms like he’s settling in for a great story.
“What do you mean?”
“It must be a really good excuse in the making.”
“Oh, it’s nothing like that. I assure you. It’ll be very . . . obvious that it’s true.”
“If you tell me, that is.”
I give him a sassy grin. “You want it? Fine. I haven’t showered yet this morning. Dad called and woke me up at Tia’s and I had to leave straightaway and get him. This is last night’s hair and makeup, and I’m sure you’ve already recognized the clothes.”
Jet’s smile widens. “Is that what you’re worried about?” He waves me off, reaching for my hand. “Come on. You look better in day-old makeup than most women do after a day at the salon.”
I resist, tugging on his hand. “Seriously, I’m a mess. I can’t go out in public like this!”
Jet doesn’t even pause; he just keeps dragging me toward the curb, toward my car. “We’ll hide in a corner then.”
I hate to admit, even to myself, how appealing that sounds. How appealing and how . . . intimate.
“Jet, I really don’t—”
He reaches in to cut off the engine and pull my keys from the ignition. He grabs my purse from the back floorboard, locks the door, and slams it shut.
He finally stops to look at me and give me his full attention as he hands me my purse. “I can tell by looking at you that the only thing you need right now is coffee.”
“And a shower,” I add.
Jet’s voice is low and his eyes are warm. “I’m trying not to think too much about you in the shower. Mind taking it easy on a guy?”
I feel hot and breathless at his insinuation, and it’s all I can do not to let it show on my face. “Sorry,” I mutter.
“God,” he whispers, taking my hand and turning away. “We gotta get out of here.”
I don’t argue anymore. There’s no point, and I don’t really want to anyway.
Jet opens the passenger side door for me, closing it snugly behind me once I’m inside. As I buckle up, I watch Jet through the windshield. I try not to pay attention to the smooth way he walks as he rounds the hood, or to the way his low-riding jeans sit on his lean hips, but it’s impossible not to notice.
When he slides in behind the steering wheel, he gives me a mischievous grin. “There’s no escaping me now,” he says, shifting into gear and easing out into the road. “For the next two hours, you’re all mine.”
As we speed off down the street, I can’t help thinking that I don’t mind the sound of that. Not one bit.
SIXTEEN: Jet
I know I made the right decision the instant I sit down across from Violet in the back corner booth of the little locally owned coffee shop I picked. It’s not nearly as busy as the bigger-name ones, and it’s twice as intimate. The coffee’s not bad either.
I watch Violet as she takes a hesitant sip of her frothy drink. She smacks her lips a few times, tasting the blend, and then looks up at me with wide, pleased eyes. “This is really good.”
I smile, feeling it all the way into my balls when she drags her tongue along her upper lip to lap up the sweet foam residue there.
“I’m glad you like it,” I finally say.
She taps the end of the tiny straw sticking up from the other side of her cup. “Wanna taste?”
I lean forward, narrowing my eyes on her. “Do you do that on purpose?”
She frowns. “Do what?”
“Ask me things like that? Knowing that I’d love nothing more than to have a taste?”
Nervously, Violet tucks her hair behind one ear and takes another sip of her coffee. “Sorry. That sounded bad.”
“I wouldn’t say that. At least not bad in a bad way. It sounded bad in a good way. A very good way.” Her cheeks turn pink, something I’m quickly becoming incredibly fond of. “There
it is.”
“There what is?”
“That blush. I love it when you blush.”
“Why? I hate it.”
“It reminds me of other things I like about you. Things that are different from other women.”
“Like what? A crippling social ineptitude?”
“That might seem like the case, but I happen to know differently.”
“You do? And how is that?”
“You forget, I know your secret. I know what you’re hiding behind that blush.”
“Maybe I’m not hiding anything.”
“I doubt it. Everyone’s hiding something.”
“That’s an awfully jaded viewpoint, don’t you think?”
I shrug. “Maybe. But it’s true, jaded or not.”
“And just what are you hiding?”
I don’t respond. I just watch her. Obviously, I can’t tell her my biggest secret. She’d be out the door in two seconds flat. “Ask me anything,” I respond.
“I just did.”
I grin, nodding at her quick mind. “Ask me anything specific.”
She narrows her eyes on me like she’s debating how ruthless to be. I’m not sure what to think of where she starts. I don’t know what that says about her, but I like the fact that she seems to want to get to know me. Even though I shouldn’t, I like it a lot.
“What’s it like living in that big, beautiful house?”
“I wouldn’t know. My father lives there. I don’t.”
“You didn’t grow up there?”
“Hell no! My father and his new wife moved in there a few years ago.”
“Ohhh. You don’t sound too happy about that.”
“I’m not. He cheated on my mom at least a dozen times. But this last one had money, so he decided he’d keep her around. Instead of his real family, of course.”
Violet’s eyes are full of sympathy when she reaches across the table to wind her fingers around mine. “I’m sorry I brought it up. We can talk about something else.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m more mad about it than anything.”
“I don’t suppose I need to ask why.”
“Probably not. I’d say half the country can relate to the whole thing. He married the perfect woman, one who worshipped the ground he walked on, gave him three healthy kids, took care of his house, cooked his meals, and treated him like a king. But it was just never enough. He couldn’t seem to stop his wandering eye. Just couldn’t say no.”