I slapped him across the cheek. “How dare you! You can’t just come in here and drag me away like you’re some kind of Neanderthal.”
“Don’t make me tie you down in the back,” he said calmly. “Because I’ve got the bungee cords.”
I glared at him, but he stared me down, his hands on his hips.
“You can hit me again if you want,” he said. “But you’re still getting inside.”
I was too tired and too dizzy to fight. Grumbling, I climbed into the seat and slammed the door just as he pulled his arm away. He slid into the driver’s side and started the truck, then waved at Buck as we drove past.
Suddenly nauseated, I leaned against the window, closing my eyes. I didn’t think I’d had that much to drink, but now the entire earth seemed to be pitching from one side to the other, tossing me around like a pebble.
After a couple of miles, Jack asked, “What got into you back there?” His voice was cold. “You can’t go teasing people like Remy.”
“I wasn’t teasing anyone. And I don’t need you to protect me.”
As he shifted gears, my brain seemed to crash against the inside of my skull. I rolled down the window to get some air. The stars were bouncing around like pinballs. I closed my eyes again.
“You’re just jealous,” I mumbled.
“Maybe.”
“You thought you were so smart.”
He said nothing, shifting again as we hit the curvy stretch of road. If he was trying to make me carsick, he was about to succeed.
I rolled my head toward him, waving my finger in the space between us. “You’re trying to get close to me so you can stay in the house. You think if I fall for you, I won’t be able to kick you out.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It almost worked, but I’m onto you now.”
“You’re drunker than a wildcat, honey.” He shifted again, punching the gas. “And now you’re just talking nonsense.”
“Am I?”
“Yes, you are.” His tone was cool and even, but he clenched his jaw as he gripped the wheel.
I leaned my cheek against the door. The warm breeze eased my pounding head. “Had me going for a while too,” I said. “But Remy told me what you had planned.”
He stared at the road. “Do you have any idea how stupid that was? How dangerous that guy is?”
“He told me what you said about getting the house. You had this all planned out from the start. Thought you had me.”
“Christ almighty,” he muttered.
“But you can forget it. Our deal’s off. Nobody makes an ass out of me.”
“Yeah, you don’t need any help with that,” he grumbled.
“You’re evicted! Immediately.” I stumbled over the words and laughed. “Evicted. Such a weird word. I think it’s Latin for ‘out on your ass.’”
“We’ll talk about this tomorrow. You’re blitzed.”
“And you’re a jerk. A house-stealing, fake, seductive jerk.”
He sighed. “Darlin’, you just don’t get it. For such a smart woman, you do some stupid things.”
“Don’t lecture me.” My voice rose. “You’ve got no room to talk about stupid things. Got no room to talk about anything.”
He downshifted suddenly and pulled off into the grass. The truck rumbled along the shoulder, halfway off the road, and then came to a stop. I braced myself with one hand on the dash, a little too late.
“Are you crazy?” I said.
He turned sideways and stared at me. “Dammit, Enza, this is no joke. That guy’s a shark. He destroys people like you for fun. And to see you just wandering right into his arms—how can you not see what he’s up to?”
I froze, my hands now gripping the seat. This was the first time I’d seen him so frantic, his cheeks flushed. That look was enough to sober me right up.
“He’s a felon, Enza. He’s got a rap sheet that could stretch across the lake. He’s left dozens of gals like you broken and in pieces, and there’s not one single reason he ought to be walking around a free man.”
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to believe or who to trust.
“You’re lying,” I said.
He slammed his fist into the steering wheel. The horn blared, echoing in the darkness.
I jumped, sliding against the door as I reached for the handle. But we were miles from the bar, and being out in the bayou at night was like being in a labyrinth.
“Good God,” he said. “Are you completely blind?” He lowered his voice, taking a deep breath. I thought he was going to lose it completely, but he sat still, staring at me. “Go down to the police station. It’s public record.”
My head throbbed. I was going to be sick.
“How could you believe him over me?” he asked. “I thought you trusted me. I thought we had something here.”
“I don’t know what to think any more.” My voice sounded like a squeak.
He shook his head, staring out into the night. When he spoke again, his voice had softened. “This is about before. About Miranda.”
The silence was stifling. All around us, fireflies were blinking out over the water. Under any other circumstances, it would have been a beautiful night. But there I was, stuck in a swamp with a guy who was leaning toward crazy, who could easily drive off and leave me there to become the latest missing person. I just wanted to go home and pretend this night hadn’t happened.
“I don’t know how I can convince you,” he said.
“Don’t. I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“Can we just get out of here?”
He stared straight ahead for so long it made me nervous, thinking he might snap after all.
I slid my hand along the side panel of the door, pausing when I found the handle.
He shook his head, shifting the truck into gear and pulling back onto the road. “I don’t know what to do with you,” he said. “How to make you see.”
We rode in silence the rest of the way home. I sat curled up in the seat, my face resting against the doorframe. I knew Remy was trouble. There was no rational reason for what I’d done. Even in my sloppy state, I knew I’d done it to get back at Jack. And even though I might blame it on something else tomorrow, I felt like a teenager trying to avenge her broken heart with the baddest boy in town.
Jack kept glancing at me. I could feel it, just like I could feel the waves of disappointment rolling off him. But I had nothing left to say, so I kept my eyes closed. I was afraid of what else he might see if I looked too long in his direction. Vergie said once that the eyes were the easiest way to let folks see into the hidden parts of yourself.
“You’d better be careful who you let go peeking around in there,” she’d said. “Sometimes it’s hard to see in, like looking into a house in the daylight, but other times it’s easier than you’d think—like when it’s dark outside and your neighbor’s left his shades up.”
I figured Jack Mayronne had seen enough of me for one day.
When we pulled into the yard, Jack climbed out and opened my door. I stalked past him to the porch. I expected him to leave, because it’s what I would have done. But he followed me up the steps as I fumbled for my keys. I swore under my breath, jamming the wrong key into the lock.
He reached around me, taking the keys. “Here, let me.”
When he pushed the door open, I stepped past him into the house, avoiding his stare. He hesitated in the pale light, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do.
“Just go,” I said. I couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
“I’m not leaving until you talk to me,” he said, his voice cool and even.
“I’ve got nothing else to say to you, Jack.”
He held me to him and said, “Just listen to me.” His lips moved against my ear, and I felt my whole traitorous body relax.
I tried to ignore how good his arms felt around me.
He turned me toward him and nudged me agains
t the wall so that his body was pressed against mine, as if he knew I needed him to hold me steady. “What were you thinking back there at the bar? You could have been hurt.”
I scoffed. “I was upset about Miranda, sure. But then Remy told me you were trying to steal my house.”
“Remy lied to you. I never said any of that.”
I swallowed hard.
“Look at me,” he said, and I did.
“Why didn’t you kick me out when you first met me?” he asked.
My legs felt like they would buckle at any second. Jack was the only thing holding me up. “I felt sorry for you. That’s the only reason I agreed to any of this.”
“That’s a lie,” he said, staring me down. “You need me. And you want me.”
“What I want is someone who isn’t trying to con me.”
“If anybody’s conning you, it’s Remy. And if you can’t tell the difference, then you’re not half as smart as I thought you were.”
“I never should have let myself—”
He gazed at me, his eyebrow arched. “Never should have let yourself what?”
“Never should have let you stay.”
He lifted my chin and pushed my hair behind my ear. “That’s not what you were going to say.”
Before I could argue, he slid his hands into my hair and kissed me. I moved to turn away, but he deepened the kiss, his teeth pinching my lip. His taut chest pressed into mine, and I shivered as he tugged at my hair. I grabbed his hips and dug my fingers into his back until he groaned.
When he finally pulled away, I felt dizzy, out of breath. He stared at me, as if waiting to see what I’d do. My hand rested at his waist, my fingers sliding over his belt. Before he could say anything, I pulled him to me, kissing him with a fierceness I hadn’t felt before.
I felt the tension in his arms as he slid his hands along my skin, holding me tight against him. I gripped his shoulders, hoping to make him ache for me the way I did for him.
When I slid my hands into his hair, he stopped and took a step away from me. My lips tingled, and I could still taste him. It was getting harder to breathe.
“Hang on,” he said, his hand barely resting on my shoulder.
“Just get over here.” I grabbed him by the collar and closed the space between us.
He stepped backwards, biting his lip. “Not like this.”
My head was spinning, but all I could think of was the way his hands would feel as they traced the curves of my shoulders, my hips. “Stop toying with me. Isn’t this what you wanted?”
He let me kiss him, but then pulled away. “I can’t,” he said. “You’re still drunk.” With little effort, he lifted me into his arms and carried me up the stairs. He set me down on the bed in Vergie’s room and flipped on the lamp.
“Jack,” I said, pulling him closer. I slid one hand in the waist of his jeans as I kissed him. He groaned, pushing my hands away.
“Sleep it off,” he said, easing me onto my back. He pulled my boots off and set them on the floor, then swung my legs onto the bed.
“You’re leaving me again?” I said. “What are you so afraid of?”
He leaned over me, pulling the sheet up, and pinned my hand to my side when I reached for him again.
“Stay,” I said, already feeling my eyelids getting heavy.
He kissed my forehead and whispered, “Good night, Enza. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
I struggled to keep my eyes open, reaching for him again. But he was already standing at the door, turning off the light.
“Jack,” I said. My voice sounded so distant. “Wait.”
“What?”
“How’d you know to come there tonight?”
“Buck called me.”
He started to close the door, but I called out to him again.
“What?”
“I’m sorry I hit you. I don’t want you to leave.”
I thought he said something else—I was sure I heard his voice, but it was so distant now, like a bird calling from across the swamp. I heard the click of the door, felt the breeze from the open window tickle my hair. Then there were only his footsteps thumping down the stairs, echoing in the dark.
Chapter 8
Morning. Vergie’s bedroom. Bourbon headache.
These facts registered while I lay watching the threadbare curtains waver in the breeze. My head was pounding, and already the room was too warm.
What I didn’t remember was how I got into my own bed and why I was still wearing jeans and a T-shirt. What I did remember was meeting Miranda, yelling at Jack, going out for a drive, getting hungry and going to the seafood shack. Then things got fuzzy. There was bourbon at the bar—lots of bourbon. And then dancing. With Remy.
Remy. I wished that had been a bourbon-induced dream. I shook my head, as if that might straighten out my tangle of memories. Then I saw a flash of the scuffle out in the parking lot. Remy’s bloody lip. And then Jack brought me home and put me to bed.
Alone. After I begged him to stay with me.
I slid under the covers and groaned.
Eventually I called up enough courage to haul myself out of bed and into the shower. When I glimpsed myself in the mirror, I cringed. It only took that one glance to convince me that everything I was afraid had happened actually had. I was doomed to a walk of shame in my own goddamn house.
~~~~
After what seemed like hours, I crept down the stairs, preparing myself for the awkward conversation that surely awaited me. Jack would be in the kitchen, making coffee, and I’d have to apologize for acting like an idiot, as much as it pained me to do so. But when I got downstairs, there was no Jack. No coffee.
I searched the house, but it was empty. The furniture in his bedroom was still shoved together in the center like an island of maple and antique walnut. His bed was still in pieces—we’d forgotten to put it back together. And then we’d had that fight, and I’d left.
My stomach tightened. I’d screamed at him and told him to leave.
In the living room, a blanket and a pillow sat on the sofa. He’d stayed, but where was he now? I peered out the window but didn’t see his truck in the yard. Puzzled, I went to make my own coffee. His shirt was on the kitchen table.
When I picked it up I saw the flecks of dried blood and felt sick as the rest of the night came rushing back. Trying to break up the fight in the parking lot, Jack throwing me over his shoulder and hauling me to his truck. I would be that person everyone was talking about today. I shoved my palm against my forehead, cursing myself for acting like I didn’t have a lick of sense. What on earth was happening to me?
There was a whining at the door, followed by persistent thumping. When I opened it, Bella pushed the screen door against the frame with her paw. When I cracked the screen, she rushed in and skidded behind me, then sat down and blinked at me, her tongue lolling.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
She lay down next to my feet and let out a heavy sigh.
“You’re the one that started dragging up voodoo, and look where it got us.”
She stared up at me, and I swear that dog rolled her eyes.
“I could do without the attitude,” I said, carrying a paint can into the kitchen. I might as well get to work, with or without Jack. If he’d been called out to a fire, I’d be waiting a long time.
~~~~
The kitchen didn’t have a lot of wall space to paint. It had huge cabinets, a picture window and white paneling under the chair rails. I was hoping my pale yellow paint would brighten it up a bit and also take my mind off the night before.
Maybe it was best I couldn’t remember any further details.
I washed the walls down with a sponge, then let them dry while I had my second cup of coffee. Sufficiently caffeinated, I laid out drop cloths and stirred the paint. When I came back with my tool box, Bella was sniffing the paint can.
“Hey, no.”
She sneezed into the can.
“Outside,” I ordered. She snort
ed and then walked to the door. When I opened it, she bolted. She didn’t stay miffed for long, that dog.
I skipped the painter’s tape and used a brush and a putty knife to paint against in tricky spots. As I worked my way around the cabinets, those memories of Remy came creeping back. It was silly to have believed him for a nanosecond. He was clearly trying to take me home, and I very nearly let him. Jack had been there when I didn’t even know I needed him.
And then I’d behaved like a child.
And he’d stayed here with me anyway.
Standing on the counter, I strained to reach the places just below the crown molding. I was nearly done over the sink when there was a knock at the door.
“Hang on,” I yelled. Holding the handle of the brush in my teeth, I backed down into a chair, then onto the floor. I balanced the brush on the paint can, and the knocking came again.
“Christ,” I muttered. My head was pounding hard enough as it was.
I opened the door and saw that it had started to rain. Miranda held the screen door wide open.
Before I could speak, she said, “Oh. You’re still here.”
“Well, I do own the place. Miranda, is it?”
She smacked her gum. “That’s right. Guess Jack told you about us.” She smiled a tight smile, planting one hand on her hip. Today she had chosen extremely short cutoffs and a tank top that showed far too much cleavage and the top of a lacy red bra. I had a hard time picturing Jack even talking to her, let alone touching her.
That thought nauseated me all over again.
“I guess you came back for your dish,” I said. “Let me get it for you.”
She glared at me and popped her gum.
I retrieved the dish from the kitchen, the untouched casserole still inside. When I came back to the door, she had stepped into the hallway, the screen closed behind her. “Here you go,” I said, thrusting it at her.
She stumbled backward, teetering on her heels as she stepped down onto the porch through the screen door. I boxed her in at the threshold, standing with one hand on the doorknob.
Bayou My Love: A Novel Page 9