Double Clutch

by Liz Reinhardt

  It was the spiky haired boy from Jake’s Polaroid. So that was Saxon. There was a woman with his black hair and eyes and his wicked-sexy smile. And there was a man.

  Who looked exactly like Jake would look in a few years.

  The lights and sounds and cold of the night all faded away. Jake’s father was in a family picture with Saxon? Had there been an affair? What did this mean?

  “Who is in this picture?” I traced my finger over the three faces lightly.

  “You tell me,” he ordered, his voice hard.

  “The kid is you,” I identified. He nodded. “The woman is your mother.” He nodded again. “The man is Jake’s father.”

  Saxon’s eyes were pain ravaged. He just shook his head. “Not exactly.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Who is he? Jake’s uncle?”

  Saxon let out a shaky breath. “That asshole in the picture is my father, Brenna. And he had an affair with Jake’s mother. Jake doesn’t know.”

  I held the picture tighter. “The man who Jake lives with is not Jake’s father?”

  “No.” Saxon shoved his hands into his pockets. “My father got Jake’s mom pregnant and she married someone else, and pretended that the baby was that guy’s.”

  “That means you and Jake…”

  “Are half-brothers.” Saxon finished my sentence and hung his head. “I’ve known for years. I swear, I tried to be a good brother to him. My father never acknowledged him. When he split, he told me to look out for Jake. I just wound up screwing it up, though.”

  I looked at Saxon, not sure what to say. It explained the undefined thing I saw when Saxon looked at Jake. It was love.

  “Are you going to tell Jake?” I looked down at the picture again.

  Saxon shook his head. “No. I’m telling you. That’s it. And I don’t really want you telling Jake. This stays between us.”

  “No.” I put my foot down. “No more me and you, Saxon. You need to tell Jake. You’re brothers. He needs to know. From you.”

  “Why? So he has more people to hate for letting him down. If I’m just his friend, it doesn’t have to rip him up that I suck. But if I’m his brother? And the guy who’s raising him, he’s a cold robot, but he’s around, buying Jake a damn flashlight every Christmas. What about a father who wouldn’t even acknowledge him? It’s better if I keep it between you and me, Brenna.”

  “But why me?” I searched his face, his deep black eyes brimming with sadness. “Why not just keep it to yourself?”

  “Because I know you’ll understand.” He put his hand out for the picture, but when I offered it, he grabbed my hand instead. He ran his fingers along my skin and closed his eyes while he took a deep breath. He stuffed the picture back in his wallet, hidden from view once more. “I know you see the good in me, even when no one else does. And that’s damn rare. If Jake wasn’t my brother, I’d do everything I could to win you from him. But I’ve screwed him enough. He deserves you. I know you two are good for each other.” Saxon tilted his head back and exhaled a long breath of air. “That doesn’t mean I can accept you hating me. I knew you saw that I cared about him, but I knew you didn’t understand my motives. I just want you to know I’m not a complete fuck up.”

  He pulled me close and I let him. His eyes were completely black, deep and bright with despair. “Let me hold you. Just for a minute, Brenna, let me feel like a fucking human.”

  I put my arms around him and let him crush me, the air squeezed out of my body by his grip. He rubbed his face on my hair, breathed it in and groaned a little before he broke his hold and held his hands up like he was surrendering. “Go,” he said gruffly. “Go back to him.”

  He started to walk away. “Saxon!” He turned. “Where are you going?”

  “I need to think.” Then his wicked smile was back. “But I’m not very good at that. So I’ll probably end up drunk and brawling. Just keep your fingers crossed that I get laid, too.”

  I held up my hand, middle finger twisted over my index finger.

  “You know I love you best when you’re a bitch, Brenna.” He slid into his car and peeled away without a backwards glance.

  I watched until the dust died down. I didn’t even notice Jake behind me.

  “Jesus, Bren! You scared the hell out of me!” His eyes were worried. He took off his ball cap and ran a hand through his hair. “Tell me before you leave, okay? I’m not even going to tell you what was going through my head.”

  I threw myself into Jake’s arms and held him tight. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s alright, Bren.” He tilted my face and kissed me softly. “What were you doing out here?”

  I looked at his gray eyes, his crooked eyetooth, his kind smile, and I loved him just the way he was. I didn’t know if I’d be able to keep something so big from him forever, but for this night, I just wanted to be with him and enjoy the moment.

  “Just thinking,” I lied.

  “What about?”

  “How today was such a huge day for both of us. So much has happened so fast, it’s just a lot to take in.” That was true. I was glad to see that he smiled, looking relieved at my confession.

  “We’re good together, Bren.” He looked into my eyes. “I think it’s just going to get better.”

  “It will,” I said with so much authority I even convinced myself it couldn’t possibly be another lie.

  Epilogue

  I woke up the morning of October 11 way earlier than I should have. Mostly because Jake was stretched across my bed, his leg draped over my mine heavily. I ran my fingers through his hair, newly cut in preparation for my birthday celebration. Thorsten was taking us all into the city for lunch at a famous Chinese restaurant, and then we were going to the Met, since Mom and I had been dying to go since we got back to the states and Jake had never been. Jake had parked down the road and snuck in to sleep with me, just as a treat, just for my birthday. He had to leave so he could get home and get ready to drive back before my parents came in to wake me.

  “Wake up, Jake,” I whispered.

  He cracked one eye open. “Hey, pretty girl.” He pulled me into his arms and kissed me all over my face and neck.

  “You’ve got to go. It’s dawn.”

  “Happy birthday,” he stalled.

  “Thanks.” I put my hand over his face, spread my fingers and looked at his features from behind the bars I created. He kissed my palm and fingers, then leaned over the bed and grabbed his pants.

  “Good.” Even though it wasn’t really good, part of me felt relieved. He had to leave before he got caught. “No more fooling around…”

  He came back up with a tiny wrapped box. Even the paper was great, bright pink with tiny gold stars all over it. There was a miniature gold bow on the top.

  “Jake! You didn’t have to.”

  “Just open it.” He kissed the tip of my nose.

  I ripped the paper away and took the lid off of the box. I removed the cotton batting and sitting there was a sliver cursive “B” pendant on a black ribbon with three teardrop pearls hanging off of it.

  “Remember that book about Ann Boleyn we read? Well, you read and I listened to?” he asked eagerly. “This is the necklace she had in the movie.”

  “You got me an Ann Boleyn necklace?” I asked, not exactly sure how I felt about it. “She, uh, got her head chopped off, Jake.”

  “Yeah, I know. But she was badass and smart and sexy, so I thought we could just forget the whole beheading and focus on the good stuff. And your first and last name start with ‘B.’”

  Just the fact that he had put that much thought into it made it awesome even if I would think about being beheaded every time I wore it. “Thank you, Jake.” I wrapped my arms around him. “It’s so beautiful and literary and historically feminist. I love it!”

  He picked up the ribbon and tied it around my neck. I got out of bed and looked at it in the mirror in my room and instantly loved it. Maybe I would think about going after what I wanted and b
eing kick ass when I wore it instead of beheadings after all.

  “I’m glad you like it.” He grinned. “I’m sorry, baby, but I have to leave now.”

  He pulled his jeans up and his boots on, grabbed his shirt and pulled it over his head and threw on his jacket.

  “I can’t wait for today. Don’t be nervous.” I grabbed him around the hips.

  “I’ll wear my button down,” he promised.

  “I love you.” I kissed him hard. “I love you, love you.”

  He laughed. “I love you, Bren. I’ll be back in four hours.”

  He jumped out the window and went running. I stuck my head out and watched him. I was about to snuggle back into my warm, if empty, bed, when I saw a package wrapped in brown paper on the window sill. I smiled. Jake must have left something else.

  I pulled the package in and unwrapped it. It was a hardcover copy of Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen. I read Pride and Prejudice after Lord of the Flies and fell head over heels for Austen, but hadn‘t had a chance to read Sense and Sensibility yet. I flipped it open, but the inscription was in a precise, neat script that wasn’t Jake’s. I knew exactly whose it was.

  Blix,

  It’s the great underestimated Austen. I like it because the people who should end up together do, romance be damned. Willoughby’s a douche bag, but he truly loves Marianne right to the bottom of his sucky black soul. Doesn’t matter. Austen knows that you end up with the person who makes sense, not the asshole.

  Stick to Austen’s plan.

  Happy birthday.

  Love,

  Saxon

  My heart pumped and my head spun. I had to double clutch, two breaths in, one out, two in, one out. Without really thinking about it, I sat on the bed and opened the book. I was reading when Mom and Thorsten burst in, hours later, to wish me a happy birthday.

  “Brenna!” Mom rushed to the bed. “Why are you crying sweetheart?”

  “Just a book,” I sobbed.

  Mom tilted her head and looked at the cover. “Sense and Sensibility? Honey, it’s a romance. I don’t remember anything sad in the book.”

  “I’m not done yet.” I wiped my tears away, embarrassed now. “Mom, why doesn’t Willoughby end up with Marianne?”

  “It will ruin the book, honey.” Mom stared at me with wide eyes.

  “Please.” I grabbed her arm.

  She sat on the bed and swept my hair back off of my neck, kissing me softly, and recited the information I asked for. “He makes her believe he has serious intentions for her, then gets forced to chose to be poor with her or marry a woman he doesn’t love for money. He marries the one he doesn’t love.”

  “So he was just a huge jerk?” I said, calming down.

  “Yes.” Mom tilts her head and considers her answer. “But he did honestly love Marianne, he just chose the person who was right for him realistically and let her marry the person who was right for her. He realized that being in love wasn’t all there was. There were realities in life.” Mom sighed. “I wrote a great paper my junior year about that book.” She looked dreamy.

  “I’m sorry I was so weird.” I rubbed my eyes and gave them a watery smile.

  “That’s okay, baby. When you’re ready, Thorsten is making his famous waffles.” She kissed my forehead and left. I heard her talking about “…Brenna’s emotions when she has her period…” as she walked down the hall with Fa.

  I would have to finish the book later and figure it out for myself. I closed it with a snap. There was a big difference between fiction and real life. I could cry all I wanted over Austen, but thinking about the reality of my upcoming day made me smile despite all of the bullshit.

  Acknowledgements:

  First and foremost, I want to thank my strong, smart, fierce mother. Her maniacal faith in my ability to do absolutely anything is sometimes overwhelming and always encouraging, especially when I start I get the urge to curl into fetal position and eat massive amounts of comfort pudding. I give her all the love and respect in the world.

  And thanks to my baby sister, Katie, who never pulled a single punch in her young, mean life. Especially the day she ripped that “Do you want to be a writer?” leaflet from an Avon novel back when we were in high school, raised her perfect eyebrow, and stuffed the page in my hand with a single, fateful remark; “You could write a better book than this, so you should.”

  I want to thank my brothers Jack and Zachary for supporting me even if they act like books will burn them if they hold them for too long. Thank you to my “baby” sisters Jessica, Jillian, and Jamie, who make me laugh and remind me of what it was like to grow up in NJ. Thanks to my dad, who constantly calls and updates me on any book/writing/publishing news he hears on NPR. I’d like to thank my grandparents for calling me and nagging me to get my work out there or just generally encouraging me so I could make some money and stop mooching off of them. But also, of course, because they love me and think I’m a decent writer. Thank you to all my family who have cheered me on and believed in me, no matter how obnoxiously lost in my own fictional world I’ve been. I want to thank those friends who inspired the friendships in this book and still warm my cockles (Ronan, Jessie, Kimmy, Liz, Jesse, Aaron, Ellen, Lou, Fran, Frank, Chloe, Elisa, Lauren, Biffy, Holly, Jen K…)

  An unimaginably huge debt of thanks goes out to the long line of teachers who loved and nourished my voracious little reader-mind; Mr. Post, Mrs. Schroth, Mr. Flynn, Mrs. White, Ms. Mattil, Ms. Hassenplug, Mr. Bauer. Every single one of you swept me up in reading and inspired me to write more. Or less, if I was being too longwinded. Thank you for your red pens, your passion for words, and your patience with my sometimes irritating exuberance.

  I could not have done this without my best friend and amazing editor, Alexa Offenhauer, who runs a fantastic editing business, Loose Leaf Editing. She untangled my crazy sentences, updated my 90’s era fashion nightmares, and rooted for the book with her entire, brilliant heart from day one. A huge thanks also goes out to the hugely talented YA authors Caryn Caldwell and Angie Stanton for being so sweet but firm as critiquers, Tamar Goetke for reluctantly embracing her inner teen and being my meanest beta, and Brittany Hansen for her uncontrolled squeals of girlish delight. I tucked them in my head for ear cleanings and to give me happy courage when I just wanted to sink into a bottomless pit and stop this writing madness. Thank you to my fantastic, amazing, blow-me-away cover designer, Steven Peterson. He made Brenna, Jake, and Saxon come alive right before my eyes, and I will never forget the moment he made them jump out of my head and onto the page.

  Last, but never least, thank you to my girl, Amelia, who I hope grows up crazier and more amazing than any girl I could imagine in any book…but not too fast. And a big, wet, sloppy thank you to my husband, Frank, my love, my best friend, and the coolest guy I’ve ever known. His awesomeness has inspired some great fictional romance.

  And a huge thank you to my readers! I hope Brenna, Jake, and Saxon meant as much to you as they do to me. Anytime you want to drop a line, send me an email at lizreinhardtwrites@gmail.com. Love to you all!

  Biography

  Liz Reinhardt was born and raised in the idyllic beauty of northwest NJ. A move to the subtropics of coastal Georgia with her daughter and husband left her with a newly realized taste for the beach and a bloated sunscreen budget. Right alongside these new loves is her old, steadfast affection for bagels and the fast-talking, foul mouths of her youth. She loves Raisinettes, even if they aren’t really candy, the Oxford comma, movies that are hilarious or feature zombies, any and all books, but especially romance (the smarter and hotter, the better), the sound of her daughter’s incessantly wise and entertaining chatter, and watching her husband work on cars in the driveway. You can read her blog at www.elizabethreinhardt.blogspot.com, like her on Facebook, or email her at lizreinhardtwrites@gmail.com.

  A preview of Liz Reinhardt’s new novel,

  Junk Miles: A Brenna Blixen Novel

  Book 2

  coming Autumn 201
1!

  Junk Miles: many miles run at a slow pace, attributed to a training strategy by runners who confuse high mileage counts with improvement

  Chapter One

  My mother was one of the most thoughtful, loving, caring women in the world. That didn’t mean that she was dumb, and it didn’t mean that she was nice.

  I should add that I’ve never had respect for nice mothers, at least not according to the common teenage definition of “nice.” My mom never looked the other way when I did something she didn’t like. She didn’t try to fit in with my friends if she didn’t approve of them, or with any of my friends at all, for that matter. My mom had high expectations for me, and she drove me with a huge mixture of love, neurotic pressure, and guilt.

  A whole lot of guilt.

  This complicated theory ran through my mind Christmas morning, while my head was still bent down, my eyes fixed on the open box in my lap. I had split seconds to come up with the appropriate face for my mom and Thorsten, my stepfather, and I knew that my initial feelings of shock and disappointment were in no way appropriate. My mother had done exactly what she was best at.

  She had rocked my world with her generosity and sneakiness.

  I made my eyes wide, opened my mouth, and shook my head. “Paris? Paris!” I shook the ticket in my hand and jumped up. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” I hugged her tight. And I was thankful and genuinely excited.

  Mom smiled and kissed me hard. I could feel her triumph. Because this wasn’t exactly what it seemed.

  Mom plotted this out with all of the intelligence of a military tactician, and that was why there was no chance of moping or sulking. I had always wanted to go to Paris, and there was no one in the world I wanted to go with more than Mom.

  But there was more to it than just that. I told Mom and Thorsten about my super sexy, super awesome boyfriend Jake a few months back, and they had handled it really well; no yelling, no threats, no unreasonable restrictions. They had even included him in things. Jake went out with us for my birthday, they gave him a gift on his, invited him over for Thanksgiving, and he was coming over for Christmas dinner later on this evening. I didn’t take advantage of their willingness to be nice about Jake. I am, after all, my mother’s daughter, and I knew that I had to keep Jake distanced from them or they would start to find things about him that weren’t good enough for me. Well, Mom would start to find things. Because Jake isn’t exactly what she wants for me, and my mother does not even consider second best when it comes to me.