False Start

by Barbara Valentin

  Jemma made the final trip down for the last of her clothes.

  Her mother pulled up, hastily parking with two wheels on the curb.

  "Sweetheart," her mother bellowed as she sprang from her vehicle and dashed toward her. Though small in stature, she was strong, in both body and spirit. She had to be to keep up with Jemma's father. The silver streaks in her mother's fire red hair glistened in the sun as she closed the gap between them. "I came as soon as I got out of my meeting." Her mom wrapped her in a warm bear hug, and Jemma returned it twofold. She breathed in the familiar, comforting combination of her mom's perfume and hairspray.

  "I thought Dad told you we had it covered?" Jemma mumbled into her shoulder, not wanting to let go of her happy place.

  Pushing her back to arms length, her mother tucked her hair behind her ear, and Jemma leaned into her palm. "He did. But, when have I ever listened to your father?"

  "True." Jemma nodded. "I'm actually glad you're here. Dad's good for the manual labor. Arranging things? Not so much."

  Alexis Keith grabbed her daughter's hand and exchanged a knowing glance with her, expressing much the same sentiments her father had earlier, only without words. Kind of an 'I-told-you-so-but-I-knew-you-had-to-learn-for-yourself-before-you-would-listen-to-me,' complete with pursed lips, cocked head, and high, crinkled brow.

  Jemma rolled her eyes. "Thanks for not saying it, at least."

  "I'd never do that." Sarcasm dripped from each word. "That's why I keep your father around." The girls giggled as they walked arm in arm, sharing the load of clothes on the trip back up.

  "I was beginning to think you'd left me to do all the unpacking," her dad grumbled as he dumped a box of framed pictures haphazardly onto the rug.

  Jemma's stomach clenched at the sight of her precious cargo scattered on the floor. She lunged to the pile, arranging them into neat stacks, while checking for cracks in the glass.

  Her father walked over and greeted his wife with a kiss that would make even newlyweds blush. To the best of her recollection, her parents had always enjoyed a marriage made in heaven. Sure, they fought, and yes, there were hard times, but it was always obvious they loved one another. They'd set the relationship bar so high, Jemma sometimes wondered if she'd ever even come close to pole vaulting high enough to clear it.

  Her parents' miniature love fest ended, and her mother walked over to her. She smoothed Jemma's bangs from her face. "You realize your brother is going to bust something when he finds out what happened. We can only pray the something he busts isn't attached to a person."

  "Unless it's attached to Dalton," her father seethed.

  The man was doomed if those two showed up on his doorstep, not that part of her wasn't on board with it. She grabbed her father's hand. "Please, let me handle this. I'm not a little girl anymore. You and Mikey don't need to fight my battles."

  He scowled, a huge vein popping at his temple. "I'm your father. That's what I do."

  "Daddy, we weren't married, there aren't any kids involved, he didn't beat me, and I'm leaving with everything I went in with." She paused, looking down, pretending to admire the old, wooden trim before turning her big doe eyes back toward him and continuing, "Minus my pride, of course."

  Her mother rubbed her dad's shoulders. "She's right, Michael. Let her at least try to handle it herself."

  Jemma rode the self-confidence roller-coaster up with her mother's first words, the last half flinging her back down. Flashing an evil eye at her mom, a wide-eyed stare of innocence was promptly returned.

  Focusing on the more pressing matter, she returned her attention to her father's pending meltdown. "If you want to go to Duke's Club at the corner, I'll call you if I have any problems. You'll be less than a block away. Deal?"

  Her father's jaw set, his face flushing red, deep in thought. Softening into a teddy bear demeanor, he said, "Anything for my little girl."

  Jemma raised a skeptical brow. "Promise?"

  Releasing a deep sigh, he conceded, "Promise."

  Mikey shoved the apartment door open. The door handle slammed into the wall, the resounding whomp echoing off her high ceilings. "What's the Jemma emergency?"

  Her mom quickly reached Jemma's side, grabbing her arm before she could protest or strangle someone. "I'd already called him, honey. I didn't tell him all the details on the phone, though. He has the same temper as your father, and I knew he would be dangerous without someone talking sense into him first."

  Jemma bobbed her head in agreement then switched to fervently shaking it. Mikey and sense weren't a likely combination no matter how much you talked to him.

  Collapsing onto the couch again, her apartment walls seemed to close in on her. Though, she could be standing in the Grand Canyon at that particular moment and still feel confined. Her family meant well, but they were making the whole situation worse. She wanted to fast forward through time, through the mess, to regain some semblance of a normal life. Starting over alone would be a challenge, but it was one she could handle. Her heart may have been broken, but seeing Dalton and Stacy firsthand had helped, leaving no room in her mind for lies or excuses. And then there was the intense anger, which always did assist the healing process.

  "That bastard! I'll kill him with my bare hands." Mikey's thunderous voice rattled her from her thoughts.

  Jemma turned to her parents. "I take it you told him the whole story, then?" Sighing in frustrated resignation, she slouched farther down within the cushions of her couch. "Did you also tell him what you promised me, Dad?"

  "Yes, dear, we're heading to Duke's now. I've called Guido, Freddy, and Axel, too. They're meeting us there."

  She groaned aloud, unafraid to share her increasing discontent with the growing situation.

  Leaning down, her dad kissed her forehead. "I promised to play nice." He paused, his gaze narrowing. "As long as Dumb Ass Dalton plays nice, too."

  Jemma rolled her eyes again, this time at the old nickname he'd given Dalton when they'd first started dating. "Thank you, Daddy."

  The soft tinkling of Dalton's assigned ringtone shot panic through her, culminating in her gut. She swallowed hard to keep from throwing up.

  Her mom plucked the phone from the coffee table and handed it to her. "It's time to face him, honey." She placed a gentle kiss on Jemma's forehead, followed the guys out of the door, and quietly closed it behind them.

  Jemma inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Hello." The single word was curt, coarse, and dry.

  "Hey, baby doll. I've been trying to call all afternoon. You okay?" Sugary sweet, his words held the same tone they always did, but they didn't sit well with her this time. No hint of remorse for the oral Stacy invasion. No regret from the bastard for breaking her heart.

  "No, not really. I went for a drive today and saw some very disturbing sights."

  "Okay." He drew out the word, confusion clouding his voice. "Should I bring home supper for my love-muffin?"

  Jemma's stomach lurched again, this time at his baby talk. "No thanks. I feel sick, now."

  "I'll come home and give you one of my world famous massages. I'm on my way."

  He really did expect her to be at home waiting for him. "I've moved back into my apartment, Dalton. I know about you and Stacy."

  With a snort of contempt, he fumed, "There's nothing to know about her and me." He paused to heave an annoyed sigh directly into the phone. "I never took you for a jealous person, Jemma. I'm actually kind of disappointed. For the hundredth time, I assure you, there's nothing more than a working relationship between us."

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off.

  "Bring your necessities back to my place, and we'll get the rest later," he barked.

  A violent shudder raged through her body at his blatant lies and master/dog attitude. She desperately tried to regain her composure, but her instincts shoved her more toward screaming out every awful, nasty name she could think of. Unable to breathe, let alone speak, she clenched her fist tightly
around her phone, desperately wishing it was his neck, and threw it across the room. It bounced against the kitchen wall, hit the floor, and splintered into several pieces. Tears trailed down her face, uncontrollable sobs echoing through her apartment.

  That was it. She was done.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Jemma, open up." Dalton's thunderous voice, along with the harsh pounding on the door, woke Jemma from a brief reprieve of heartache.

  Glancing at her watch, she was surprised to see she'd been asleep for two hours. More importantly, he'd obviously sat at his house during that time, expecting her to snap to his whim. Grinding her sore, swollen eyes with her fists, she stood staring at the vibrating door, pondering what his next round of lies would be once she opened it. Flipping the lock and turning the handle took all of her strength, both physically and mentally. She stood tall, hand gripping the doorknob for several seconds, before she was finally able to pull it open.

  Dalton glared across the threshold. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he spat, hard and uncaring—a side of him she'd never seen. "I told you there was nothing between Stacy and me. I told you to come home." His hand shot out, finger shoved millimeters from her nose. "What part of those words didn't you understand?"

  Jemma stared into his cold, empty eyes. The sneer and overly arched brow matched the sarcastic scolding of his words. Dalton always got his way. Handsome and athletic, all he had to do was show his dimples for most women to do his bidding. Until the day from hell started, Jemma had counted herself as the luckiest woman in the world to have the tall, blond, blue-eyed god for her very own. He'd treated her with respect, challenged her intellect, and encouraged her to follow her passion in life, photography. He had seemed like the total package, and she'd been swept off her feet.

  This was her wake up call. And a hearty slap in the face to remove any doubt she was lost in a nightmare.

  "Answer me, damn it! I'm losing my patience with you—fast."

  "I followed you to Stacy's house today." Her bottom lip quivered as she spoke, her tone barely above a whisper. Anger, betrayal, hurt, and loss swirled in her gut.

  "I told you she called in sick. I took lunch to her. You're really a disappointment. This whole jealousy thing doesn't work for me." He crossed his arms over his chest and glared. "Get your things. Now!" He yelled.

  Anger steeled her spine, pushing her shoulders back. Visions of Stacy on her knees popped into her mind, fueling the burning rage. "So, getting a blow job was just payback for lunch?" she screamed, matching his tone.

  "What?" Dalton's eyes widened, his guilty gaze shifting to the floor.

  "I followed you to her house." Jemma fed on the fury consuming her sadness. A sarcastic giggle escaped her lips. It was her turn to point the finger, poking it into his chest a time or two. "I felt bad when I stopped, even thought about knocking on the door and seeing how Stacy was feeling. But, I saw you both through the window first. Good thing, too. I would've hated to interrupt such a touching moment."

  He stammered, "You, you must have been there when she was…she was crawling around looking for a lost earring. Jem, I love you."

  "Hmm, unless she lost it in your pants and tried to retrieve it with her mouth, I'm pretty sure I saw exactly what happened." She grew louder with each precisely annunciated syllable, paying no regard to what her neighbors might think.

  Dalton released a huge sigh of resignation, his shoulders sagging. "Can I come in so we can talk this over without the whole world knowing I screwed up?"

  "No, we've said all that needs saying. I have my things from your place, so there's no reason to ever cross paths again. This should make it a little easier on both of us." Tears spilled past the blaze of anger again, ache twisting in her chest where the remnants of her battered heart quivered.

  "Please, give me another chance. It won't happen again." He reached out and brushed a tear from Jemma's cheek with his thumb. His handsome features morphed back into the compassionate man she'd known and loved.

  Mikey's voice pierced the darkness of the hallway as his hand appeared, grabbing the collar of Dalton's coat. "You heard my sister. Leave now, and I'll let you walk away all by yourself."

  Jemma glowered at the shadowed figure behind Dalton, sputtering, "Dad promised to let me handle this."

  "Dad promised he wouldn't interfere. Besides, I'm merely escorting this gentleman to his car. That's all."

  Dalton's face puckered back into a hateful scowl, his eyes narrowing to mere slits. "Well, I guess I don't have much of a choice now, do I? Your dad is probably standing on the street, waiting for some signal from your Neanderthal of a brother." Turning to face Mikey, Dalton smacked away his grip and stormed down the darkened steps.

  Jemma glared at her brother as he stepped into the light. "Why? I'm not your little kid sister anymore. I'm a grown, mature woman."

  Mikey snorted. "Twenty-three years does not constitute maturity."

  "Okay. And twenty-five does?"

  "When you're a guy? Yes." He pushed his way past her and slumped onto the couch.

  Jemma closed the door and sank into the beanbag chair next to him, sort of glad to have his company, though she'd never admit it to him. "I would have gotten rid of him eventually, you know."

  Mikey forced a pained smile as he picked up the box of snack crackers from her coffee table, stuffing a handful of them into his mouth. "Yeah, okay." Crumbs spewed with his words. "I know you, and I also know he would've weaseled himself back into your life somehow. I let you handle it until I heard you crying. After the tears came, I knew it was only a matter of time until you suckered under. He's been lying to you for a while."

  His words splashed over her like ice water. She wiggled to a sitting position. "Excuse me? What?"

  He slumped down in the chair, while swallowing the food in his mouth. His lips contorted into a pity smirk. "Yeah, sorry. I saw him with her a few weeks back, but Dad wouldn't let me tell you. He says I didn't see him do anything wrong." Mikey sat up straight and scooted to the edge of his seat, his eyes widening. "But, I say it was all kinds of wrong. They were walking arm-in-arm, and she was hanging all over him. I thought that was bad enough. It still doesn't compare to what you caught them doing, though." He shoved another heaping handful of crackers into his mouth, a few not even able to fit in all the way. Pieces slid down his shirt, landing on the floor at his feet.

  She loved her big brother but knew he was lucky to have their father's looks, or he'd never date with those kinds of manners.

  Jemma took a few crackers from the box, her stomach churning intermittently between hunger and anger, and munched on the carb-filled goodness as her thoughts finally came together. "Well, part of me wishes you'd told me. What I walked into might not have been such a shocker. The other part knows I wouldn't have listened to you, though."

  Mikey tossed his hands in the air then slapped them on his thighs. "Only a woman can admit they have two different people bottled up inside. You're psychotic, you know that? Men don't stand a chance."

  "Be very careful with your words. My selves haven't decided whether to hug you or punch you just yet. Count your blessings; the nice side is winning at the moment."

  Mikey snorted, choking on remnants. When he finally stopped coughing, his face fell somber. "Are you going to be okay? I could sleep on the couch tonight if you want company."

  Memories of her snoring, slobbering, gaseous brother sprawled on her couch in nothing but his boxers sprang to mind, and she stifled a groan. "That's very sweet of you, but I'll be fine."

  He stared directly into her eyes, undoubtedly reading her like a book, just as he'd done all his life. "If you change your mind, call me." Mikey sprang to his feet and walked to the door. "I'd better head back to Duke's and call off the Cavalry. I don't think you want four drunken middle-aged men showing up here looking for a fight."

  "Nope, point them in the other direction. I'm going to go to bed for about three days." Jemma followed Mikey to the door, flashing him as much of a sm
ile as she could muster, and added, "Give Daddy a kiss for me, will ya?" Knowing full well he would, she pictured her father's red face and shocked expression from times past.

  "Will do." He grabbed her by the shoulders. "I love you, little sis. Promise me you'll take care of yourself?"

  "I will, big bro. I love you, too." She folded herself within the confines of his awaiting embrace, and a brief reprieve of peace enveloped her. She found herself doubting her decision to not have him stay the night. The large belch he expelled directly in her ear kept her from changing her mind. Shoving him away, she muttered, "You're such a pig."

  "Yes, I am." With a wink over his shoulder, he slid down the banister and into the dark.

  Shaking her head, Jemma closed the door and locked it behind her.

  Leaning against the sturdy wooden frame, she glanced around at all of the boxes in her small apartment. She realized at that moment she'd missed the simplicity of it, the convenience of everything being all together. She walked toward the bamboo partition that hid her bed, sliding her hand along the stainless steel counter of the kitchenette. Briefly, she considered turning on the television for background noise, but decided she needed the quiet. She thought back to Dalton's expansive, elaborate house, resembling more of a museum with all of the display cases and locked cabinets filled with antique and collectible guns, knives and tools. Never once had Jemma felt like she could relax there. She knew he clung to money and all of his stuff, flaunted his household staff like they were trophies, and tossed money around whenever he could as a diversion to keep people from knowing he'd grown up in filth with an alcoholic mother.

  She pushed the two-timing jerk from her mind, and dropped into a sitting position on her bed. As she let out a pent up breath, Jemma was glad to be herself again. While her heart still ached for Dalton's arms to hold her, a part of her reveled in the freedom surging through her as she stared back toward the door, at the much beloved beanbag chair he hadn't allowed at his house.