There's Wild, Then There's You

by M. Leighton

  With that, I turn and walk to the door. When I look back, Violet is standing, watching me.

  “What about your car?”

  “I have a friend that lives near here. I’ll get him to take me to Tia’s. It’s not far.”

  She says nothing as I open the door and step out into the night, and I’m glad. I don’t want her excuses. Or her sympathy. And I sure as hell don’t want her pity.

  I take deep, calming breaths as I strike out down the street. I have no intention of stopping by anyone’s house. I’ll walk the whole damn way.

  I don’t know what pisses me off more—that she has such a shitty opinion of me, or that I give a rat’s ass.

  I remind myself why I’m even in this. I bet she wouldn’t think so little of me if she knew what kind of an asshole I really am. She’d probably hate me, but she sure as hell wouldn’t think I’m weak.

  Not that I care what she thinks of me. I can do this no matter what her personal thoughts and feelings toward me are.

  And I remind myself of that all the way to Tia’s house. Every time I see that look of disgust on Violet’s face.

  TWENTY-FIVE: Violet

  After the world’s worst night’s sleep, all I can think about is Jet. Just like he was all I thought about last night.

  Growing up surrounded by addiction in one form or another has made me a little bit jaded about both the addiction and the addict. Jet’s bitter words made me realize that I do see people with weakness as weak. Maybe because I’ve watched them hurt themselves and others without being able to stop, or maybe because they just can’t stop period. I don’t know, but Jet is right. And the way I feel is wrong.

  And Jet makes me see that.

  There is nothing weak about him. Although he has some issues with self-control, not once has he given me the impression that he is anything but strong. Maybe a little hedonistic, but not weak. Never weak.

  I don’t consider myself weak, but as much trouble as I’ve had staying detached from Jet, as much difficulty as I’ve had keeping my rational thought processes intact, I can see how weakness might come about. And how it doesn’t make you weak. It just makes you vulnerable. And there is a difference.

  I roll off the couch, ignoring the creak of my muscles. I sit up and determine that, even though Jet probably doesn’t want me around tonight, I’m going to go and watch him, I’m going to support him anyway. I need him to see that I don’t think he’s weak. I need him to see that I’m not going anywhere, that I want to help him.

  Even though a big part of it now is that I just want to be with him.

  Period.

  After fixing Dad breakfast, heading home for a shower, cleaning my house like I’m expecting the Queen of England, and then taking another shower, I find that waiting might not be the easiest thing. So I call. Not because I’m weak, but because I need him to know how I see him.

  “Yeah,” Jet answers abruptly after four rings.

  “Hi, Jet. It’s Violet. Do you have a minute?”

  There’s a long pause, during which I manage to convince myself that he will never want to see me or talk to me again.

  But he does.

  “Actually, I was just heading out.”

  Or maybe he doesn’t.

  “Oh. Okay. Well, I . . . uh . . . I’ll—”

  “Are you busy right now?”

  “No, I just . . . no.”

  “I’ll be by to get you in ten minutes. Okay?”

  I should probably ask why or where we’re going. But I don’t. Because I don’t care.

  “Okay.”

  With a click, he’s gone and my nerves are at fever pitch.

  Not knowing how to dress, I choose jeans and a cap-sleeved peasant shirt in sage green. According to Tia, it makes my eyes look smoky and sexy. Why I should care whether I look sexy is not something I dwell on. I just know that I’m pleased with my reflection when I shut off the bathroom light to head for the living room to await Jet.

  When I hear the engine of his car come to a purring stop at the curb, I lock up and leave, walking to meet him before he can come to me. I smile shyly. He returns it in a casual and polite way before he opens the passenger door to help me into his car.

  He doesn’t say much, so I’m forced to ask him, “So, where are we going?”

  “To my mother’s house.”

  I feel like doing a double take. “What?”

  Jet looks over at me and grins. A real grin. And it makes me feel much better about things. Just like that. Just that easily. I didn’t realize how much I would’ve missed it if I’d never gotten to see it again.

  But I would’ve. I would’ve missed it a lot. I would’ve missed him a lot.

  “She called. Right out of the blue. She needs to go to Summerton and doesn’t want to leave the boys by themselves.”

  “I thought the oldest was fourteen.”

  “He is. She’s just crazy overprotective—thinks they’ll get into trouble if she leaves them alone for ten seconds. But I don’t really care what her reasons are. I’m just happy she called me. That she’ll trust me at least this much. It’s been a while since she would.”

  I can feel his pleasure like a tangible thing, flavoring even the air in the car. And it makes my heart ache for him. “Then that’s good enough for me.”

  We fall silent again. Part of me is hesitant to bring up last night, just in case it damages the fragile peace that we’ve struck for the moment. But it’s too important for me not to mention it.

  “Jet, about last night . . .” I pause to gauge his reaction. I see his jaw flex as though he’s gritting his teeth, but it’s too late for me to stop now. “After thinking about it for quite a while, I realized that you were right. Well, at least partially.”

  I see one dark brow arch. His voice is droll when he says, “Partially, huh?”

  “Yes, partially. I think that I do view many people in my life as weak because of their weakness. And although I can appreciate that you do have some . . . issues to work through, I can honestly say that I’ve never once considered you or thought of you as weak.”

  He says nothing, just nods.

  I turn in my seat to more fully face him, desperate to make him see my view. “Jet, whatever kinds of habits or addictions you have, for whatever kinds of reasons you do what you do, there is nothing weak about you. You are strong. In every way. But even strong people have chinks in their armor. That doesn’t make you weak. It only makes you human.”

  This time, Jet glances over at me, his eyes narrowing on mine, searching them. “And what makes you human?” he asks quietly.

  Even I am surprised by the words that spill out. I’m surprised by the truth in them. “My aversion to weakness. I think that, in and of itself, makes me human. It’s like a phobia almost. I’ve seen it destroy the happy parts of so many of my loved ones that I despise it. I avoid it at all costs. But it’s for that reason that I think weakness is my weakness. Not wanting to feel it. Avoiding it. I’ve always considered it a strength, but I’m beginning to think I’ve hidden from it for so long, looked down on it for so long, that when I come across something that tempts me . . .” I can’t help but think of Jet as I speak. “It will turn my world upside down. And I won’t be prepared for that at all.”

  “You mean when you find something else that tempts you.”

  It takes me several puzzled seconds to figure out what Jet is referring to. Once again, I’m forced to acknowledge how little he knows of me. And how much of what he thinks he knows is a lie. He’s referring to my supposed sex addiction.

  “Right. Something else.”

  Even saying the words feels treacherous. Maintaining the lie, even though I’m trying to convince myself it’s for good reason—to help him, to help Tia—still feels . . . wretched.

  “Well, if my opinion matters, I don’t see you as weak either. I think you’re probably one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. I guess that’s why I don’t want you thinking that I’m weak. I would hate to disap
point you.”

  Jet turns his eyes back to the road. I see his brow wrinkle as though his own words hurt him, a testament to the veracity of them.

  “I could never be disappointed in you,” I tell Jet softly.

  He doesn’t look at me when he answers. “Don’t be too sure of that.”

  Before I can think of the best way to respond, Jet is pulling into the driveway of a nice brick split-level house in an upper-middle-class neighborhood. Although it’s nice—far nicer than the one I grew up in—it’s a ghetto compared to where his father lives now. It’s already easy for me to sympathize with his mother’s bitterness.

  Jet cuts the engine and comes around to open my door. He doesn’t hold my hand going up the walk. Not that he’s supposed to. Or that I expected him to. But I am certainly noticing (and missing) that he’s not. It seems he’s held it more often than not lately. Until today.

  When we reach the front door, he surprises me by knocking. Within seconds, the door is wrenched open and an exuberant little boy is flinging himself into Jet’s arms.

  I watch as Jet gently roughhouses with the boy, flinging him around like a rag doll, something both of them seem to enjoy. Then, with the child squealing and giggling, Jet announces “Back breaker!” and turns the kid belly-up and pretends to bend him over his knee.

  Then, breathing heavily, Jet rights him and squats to introduce us. “Todd, this is my friend, Violet.”

  Shyly, Todd looks up at me with eyes that are the exact shade as his older brother’s and says a short, “Hi.” And then he disappears back into the house.

  When Jet glances over at me, his eyes are shiny and happy. I’m relieved and equally happy when he reaches for my hand and nods toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go get mauled.”

  I don’t ask what he means by that. Because I don’t care. I’m game as long as I get to be with Jet.

  TWENTY-SIX: Jet

  The living room is empty when we walk in, so Violet and I follow Todd to the kitchen. Chad is sitting at the small table that’s pushed into one corner and Mom is standing by the stove, leaning against the counter. Her arms are crossed over her chest defensively and she’s facing the doorway like she was just waiting for me. To pounce.

  Her eyes are sparkling and her chin is lifted, which makes me brace for a fight. That’s the look she gets when she’s ready to tear into somebody. Like me.

  She straightens, and I think to myself, Here it comes! But then she surprises me. She stops, mouth open like she’s going to speak, but she says nothing when her eyes settle on Violet.

  Stunned, she asks in a small voice, “You brought a girl?”

  “No, I brought Violet. She’s my friend.”

  “Friend, huh?”

  It hadn’t occurred to me that she might not want Violet here, but now that I see her, I realize that it was a huge mistake on my part to bring her.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m Violet Wilson. I live on the other side of town. I went to school right here in Greenfield. Graduated a few years after Jet. Now I’m a social worker,” Violet blurts, stepping forward to offer her hand to my mother.

  I’m a little shocked by her forwardness. She’s normally so shy, even around me sometimes. Still. But not now. It seems that my mother has brought out the professional side of Violet, a side I’ve never seen before. She appears friendly, down to earth, and competent. Nothing like the women I normally consort with. Not that my mother has met any of them since I was a teenager. But still, she has to know. It’s a small town.

  I see the frown flicker between my mother’s eyebrows. “Gail. Gail Blevins. It’s nice to meet you, Violet.”

  Violet’s smile is wide and genuine. “You have a beautiful home. And a beautiful family, too,” she says, glancing over at Chad. “You must be Chad.” I watch as she walks over and bends just enough to put her closer to Chad’s level where he’s sitting. She offers her hand to him as well. “I’m Violet.”

  Chad gives her a small smile and shakes her hand, but when she walks away, he looks at me and gives me a real smile. Like any other hot-blooded teenage boy would give when a gorgeous woman pays him some attention.

  Mom is still frowning as her eyes dart from Chad to Violet to me, then back to Chad. “Homework first, you hear me, young man?”

  “I know,” Chad answers, rolling his eyes.

  Mom looks to me. “Make sure his homework is done before you leave, Jet.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  I know she wants to say more, but she doesn’t want to do it in front of Violet, which is unlike her. Normally she doesn’t hold her tongue in front of anyone.

  “I’ll be back by eight at the latest,” she says as she walks past me to grab her purse from the table near the door. I follow her, leaving Violet and the boys in the kitchen.

  “Take your time.”

  “Don’t you have plans tonight?”

  Shit. I hope this doesn’t start a fight.

  “I do, but I can have them stall if I need to. I’m here until you get back. Don’t worry.”

  She eyes me warily. “I’m trusting you . . .”

  “I know, Mom. And I appreciate it. Really. I do.”

  “I thought maybe you could come over here and sit with the boys for a while rather than sneaking around to see them at the park.”

  Busted!

  “You know about that?”

  “Of course I know about that.” I brace for what I thought was coming the second I walked in. But it still doesn’t come, which surprises the shit out of me. “Let’s try it this way and see how it goes.”

  “I won’t disappoint you. I promise.”

  She grunts, glancing over my shoulder toward the kitchen. “I like her. Where’d you find her?”

  “At the very bottom, Mom,” I tell her meaningfully.

  Her eyes lock on mine and I see her looking for more. But she doesn’t find it. She finds the truth. Because it is the truth. I don’t think I realized how low I’d gotten until this very minute. How low I’d gotten until I found Violet.

  “See that you stay on top then, son.”

  “I’m trying.”

  With a ghost of a smile, Mom pats my arm and grabs her car keys.

  “You boys be good. I’ll be back soon,” she calls, looking over my shoulder at my brothers, and then she’s gone.

  TWENTY-SEVEN: Violet

  Watching Jet with his brothers is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never felt so overcome with so many emotions. It’s like seeing a totally different side of Jet. It’s a side I like very much. And I didn’t need anything else to like about him.

  I played chess with Todd while Jet helped Chad with his algebra homework. Just listening to them, it was easy to ascertain that Jet is very intelligent. Even the way he explained it to his brother was brilliant.

  After they finished, Jet made popcorn with the intention of the four of us watching a movie, but the boys then insisted on a wrestling match. Everyone had to wrestle each other at least once. The two who won the most matches would then have a face-off for the illustrious title of winner.

  I was skeptical at first, but it didn’t take me long to see the fun in it, especially when it came time for me to wrestle Jet.

  As all previous matches had, we started the bout on our knees, facing one another. Jet had a sexy, playful curve to his lips and a gleam in his eye that made my stomach flutter.

  “You’d better not hurt me,” I said, trying not to grin as I edge away from him.

  “I promise not to do anything you won’t like,” he replied suggestively, one brow rising the tiniest bit.

  And then he lunged for me. With a squeal, I tried to get away, but he was far too big, too strong and too long of limb. Within a few seconds, he had me half on my side, half on my belly, and he was stretched out on top of me, holding me down.

  “Oh, wait! My hip,” I complained primly. Immediately, Jet rolled slightly, moving most of his weight off me. I took advantage of his momentary lapse and levered myself
up onto my elbows and rolled over on top of him instead.

  I pinned his arms above his head and leaned down into his face. “Hah! Gotcha.”

  Jet was looking up at me, his eyes as intense as I’d ever seen them, and he murmured, “Maybe you do.”

  His voice was low and silky. His belly was hard and warm. My heart leapt, my stomach clenched, and every place his body touched mine went up in flames.

  But then, so fast I could barely react, he flipped me over to pin me beneath him. His body was stretched full length along mine. I could feel every prominence and hollow. And, like I had done to him, he held my arms above my head, leaving me helpless against him.

  “Or maybe I’ve got you.”

  For a moment, I’d forgotten we weren’t alone. All I could think about was how much I wanted Jet to kiss me, how much I wanted him to run his hands down my arms, down my sides. How much I wanted him to touch me everywhere, all at once.

  But then his rambunctious brother interrupted, reminding me that we did, in fact, have an audience.

  “Get a room,” Chad snickered.

  With his eyes fixed on mine, Jet bent his head forward just enough to bite my chin. I felt the brush of his tongue for just a second before he leaned away and then rolled off me.

  He didn’t take his eyes off me, though. And I could see that he was as . . . bothered by the encounter as I was. And that it was a good thing we weren’t alone.

  We finally settled down to at least start the movie before Jet’s mom got home, but even that did nothing to alleviate the tension between us. Every second that his side is pressed against mine on the sofa feels like a special kind of torture. I’ve ached the entire twenty-two minutes that I’ve been feigning interest in the show.

  I’m both relieved and nervous when I hear the door open. All heads turn to find Gail dragging some bags through the door. The boys get up and run to see what she’s got.

  “Ah, ah, ah! You just stay right there. This is birthday stuff. Nothing you need to be nosing around in,” she declares, holding the bags behind her and out of sight.