"What are you doing here?" Jessie Kay removed her sunglasses and stepped inside without an invitation.
"I work here. Something I would have liked to discuss with you."
The statement of fact was met with a glower. "Was that last night?"
"You know it was."
"Well, did you account for Jessie Kay Standard Time?"
Meaning, what Jessie Kay agreed on shouldn't ever be counted on, and it was Brook Lynn's bad for assuming otherwise. "No. I actually thought you'd keep your word for once."
"Then this is on you."
Brook Lynn shook a fist in front of her sister's face. "You are such a pain."
"As if that's news." Jessie Kay flipped her hair and shifted from one foot to the other. "So, where's Jase? I brought him a seven-course meal. Me...and this." She held up a six-pack of beer.
She was still interested in him? Stomach twisting. "He's out, but that shouldn't matter because you two aren't dating. I told you what he said. He isn't looking for a relationship."
"Oh, my darling sis. What do you call a man with only half a brain? Gifted. Jase doesn't actually know what he wants. I've decided I have to show him."
Stomach twisting harder. "You're wrong. Jase knows what he wants." It wasn't her sister...and it wasn't her.
Jessie Kay stared her down and glowered. "What's with you today? Why are you so snappy?"
"Just because." Because she was tired and hungry and sore, and Jase had been rude, and she didn't know where he was or what he was doing--didn't know who he was doing. And it wasn't her business. She was his employee and would never be anything more. She shouldn't want to be anything more.
"What'd Jase hire you for, anyway?" Jessie Kay asked, running a fingertip along the top edge of a chair. "What is it he needs?"
"Help around the house." From someone just desperate enough to agree to slave labor.
"So you're his maid?"
"Executive assistant. Now, go home. Please. And actually wait there this time. I'll be right behind you, and we'll talk about everything that's happened."
Jessie Kay protested.
"One," Brook Lynn said.
Her sister hurried onto the porch. "Dude. You are such a pain."
"I know. We can discuss that, too, if you so desire." She shut the door. In the kitchen, she waited for the casserole to finish baking, and when it did, she placed the sizzling dish on top of the stove before writing a note to Beck. Short and sweet.
Had to leave, BL
Outside, darkness had fallen, the only light spilling from the porch. She switched her implants to a lower setting, allowing more sound than usual to filter into her ears. Despite the discomfort, she needed to be able to pick up on certain noises, like the snap of twigs or the grunt of the undead. She clutched her industrial-size hand sanitizer close to her chest the entire trek, making it to the RC parking lot without incident--
Only to find Jase standing beside her car, his own parked behind it. He looked as if he'd just stepped out of a violent windstorm. His hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled and askew.
Had he tangled with a tornado?
When he spotted her, he crossed his arms over his chest.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, her heart pounding wildly.
"Beck called me. Said you'd taken off...that you were walking. Alone."
And that was a crime? "He didn't lie."
Motions clipped, he opened her door for her. "If I don't like you walking out of Two Farms at night, what makes you think I'd like you walking three miles through a forest and down a darkened street?"
Had Jase feared for her safety? "Well..."
"Do not ever leave my house on foot again, Brook Lynn. Do you understand?"
All she could do was blink over at him. "Or what?" Seriously. She wanted to know.
"Or..." He cursed under his breath. "You'll get a very stern lecture. Now go home and drive safely." He climbed inside his own car and backed away from hers, but he didn't speed away. No, he waited until she was sealed inside her own vehicle.
"He's a closet gentleman," she muttered, awed by that fact. Yes, he'd done other nice things for her. Helping her search for Jessie Kay. The job. The pay. But for the most part, he was emotionally closed off or running hot and cold, and he seemed to care about nothing.
Who was the real Jase?
She waved as she passed him, even smiled. He didn't wave back, and he definitely didn't smile. But he did follow her home and take off the moment she made it inside.
She had no idea what to think about this new revelation of his character...actions mean more than words...but she would be lying if she claimed she wasn't looking forward to their next interaction.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JASE'S MEETING WITH his parole officer had gone better than expected. He'd been placed on unsupervised parole, which meant there would be no more monthly meetings and fewer random drug tests. He could mail in his dues and wouldn't be subjected to monthly inquisitions about his activities, finances and future plans.
Almost over. Less than six months to go.
Finally. An end in sight.
Jase longed for the days he would no longer have scheduled reminders of a youth spent behind bars and the reason he'd been sent there. Or of all the times he'd been placed in the shoe, forced to spend twenty-three hours of every day by himself, locked inside a too-small room, his "good days" taken away from him.
In prison, every thirty days of excellent behavior earned an inmate forty-four days off his sentence, while every infraction meant those days were tacked back on. Needless to say, he'd had a lot of infractions.
He now sat on the sidelines of a field, watching West and Beck coach the Strikers, a youth soccer team the two had sponsored long before earning enough money to actually do so, made up of boys and girls trapped in the system, whether through foster care or simple financial aid.
"Edward, my man," West called from one of the goals. "That's the way. You're doing great."
A little girl approached him and asked a question. West listened intently before demonstrating the proper way to kick a ball. Beck--who loved playing soccer but had always hated being teased about his name--was currently helping a redheaded boy improve his goalie skills.
Jase envied his friends. He would have loved to share his own knowledge of the game, to actually make a difference in someone's life, but these kids had dealt with enough crap. They didn't need the hassle an ex-con would bring to the table. And as soon as their guardians learned about his past, there would be a hassle and he would be asked to leave.
"Which one is yours?" A thirtysomething brunette placed her lawn chair next to his.
He spared her a brief glance, noticed the yellow sundress hugging generous curves--but he wasn't even close to tempted. "I'm friends with the coaches. Just waiting for them to finish up."
"Ah. The coaches the mothers can't stop talking about. I swear, more moms watch the Strikers practice than any other team on the planet."
He nodded, saying nothing else. Encouraging a conversation of any sort wouldn't be wise. Mistakes were the stepping-stones to ruin, and Jessie Kay had taken him too far down that path already.
Brook Lynn, on the other hand--
Would only take him further, he decided. He'd tossed and turned most of the night, images of her in his shower, naked, wet, using his soap and his shampoo, playing on a continuing loop in his mind. This morning he'd woken up on the verge of climax and gasping her name. Knowing how soft her skin was and just how sweet she tasted would likely turn him into a frothing-at-the-mouth he-beast with only one goal: sinking inside her no matter the cost.
Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing, though. Maybe he would forget her afterward, just like he'd forgotten so many others.
Stop rationalizing, seeking permission.
"Go, Johnny, go!" the woman beside him called. "Yes! Yes! That's the way. Oh, baby, I'm so proud of you."
It was clear she loved her son, and a pang of envy hit
Jase. He'd been six years old when his mother had packed up and abandoned him in a crumbling, run-down apartment, knowing she would soon be evicted. Days had passed before the super found him.
Being a parent wasn't a responsibility he would ever want or welcome, but he was damn sure he'd never abandon his own child like that.
"Good going, Ryan," Beck called.
If anyone would understand his issues about childhood abandonment, it was Beck. The guy's mom had taken off soon after his birth, and the father he'd rarely ever seen had left him with one aunt after another before signing away his parental rights and moving out of state without even saying goodbye.
How could parents be so uncaring? How could people be so cruel?
Like I have the right to judge anyone.
A sudden prickling at the back of his neck had his gaze darting here and there. Some part of him must have sensed danger his eyes hadn't yet found. A handful of parents loitered nearby... A man a little younger than him leaned against a car parked at the curb, shading his eyes with his hands as he watched the field... A snow-cone stand had a line of kids from other teams. No one watched him. No one looked to be packing heat.
Jase forced himself to relax. He wasn't in danger at a freaking Little League practice.
A whistle blew, and Strikers scattered across the field, returning to their parents. West and Beck began picking up cones and balls. Jase rolled his shoulders in an effort to loosen the knots forming there before standing and jogging to the field to help.
He reached Beck, and they bumped fists.
"How'd the meeting go?" Beck asked, stuffing the cones in a bag.
"Better than expected. I've been upgraded to unsupervised."
"Dude," his friend said, sounding like anything but a millionaire businessman.
"I know."
They shared a quick grin.
West dumped a basket of soccer balls into the bag. "I need a picture of the two of you in this moment. I'll create a GIF and tag it with the phrase I Just Found Out I'm Awesome. You Might Want to Get Yourself Tested."
"It's funny because it's true," Beck said with a nod.
"My results would be negative." Just like all the others, thank God. Jase had paid a visit to his doctor immediately after his release. He'd had a full workup done and received a clean bill of health. But months had since passed, and he'd been with multiple women. He'd used a condom with each of them, but maybe he should do another round of testing. Not because he had any interest in unprotected sex with anyone particular. Of course not. Never. Just for his own peace of mind.
"You guys ready?" West hefted the oversize bag behind his shoulder. "I've allotted myself two hours for lunch."
"More than ready." Beck kicked into gear. "I'm starved."
West snorted. "You're always starved."
Deadpan, Beck said, "I also think I want to take two hours and eight minutes for lunch."
West punched him in the shoulder. "Forget it."
Jase drank in their easy camaraderie.
On the way to their cars, three moms blocked Beck's retreat in an effort to "question" him about upcoming practices and games. Those need-answers-now questions sure were punctuated with a lot of giggling, but Beck responded as if the upcoming championship depended on the words that left his mouth. Somehow, despite his seriousness, he managed to flirt with each of them. But then, flirt was his default setting.
West glanced impatiently at the time on his phone. "Beck. Man. My two hours are already running down."
"Pencil me in for another minute," Beck said before returning to his convo with the women.
Jase didn't stick around to hear the rest of the mating dance, but met the boys at their favorite dive. A hole-in-the-wall located in one of the rougher areas of Oklahoma City. Surrounded by government housing, with gang signs spray-painted on every wall and streets littered with potholes. His home turf.
They ate greasy burgers and heart-attack fries, and for a while, it was just like old times, when they had teased each other and laughed, nothing between them but a bond thicker than blood.
But the reprise didn't last long. A clatter of breaking dishes sent Jase hopping to his feet, a butter knife clutched in his white-knuckled grip.
Horrific memories flashed through his mind. Memories that had been seared in his brain, a disease without a cure. Darkness he couldn't shake. Inmates surrounding him, forming a wall so the guards couldn't see what was happening. A cold shiv pressing into the back of his neck. His clothes...ripping...
He was already panting, gaze darting around the restaurant, searching for the threat.
"Everything's fine." West unfolded an inch at a time in an effort not to spook him and gently rubbed his nape. "You're safe, man. You're safe."
Safe? Was he? The prickling at the back of his neck had returned.
When he realized people were staring at him with strange looks on their faces, he squared his shoulders and reclaimed his seat, setting down the knife. He pushed his food away, no longer in the mood to eat, and though his friends tried to return to their previous conversation, the laid-back solidarity of before was gone, the tension and guilt back.
West finally released a bitter laugh. "There's no good time to bring this up, so I'm just going to do it now. As you probably know, the anniversary of Tessa getting her GED is coming up."
And her death.
Beck tensed. "We've still got a few months to go."
"Yes, but what I want to do takes time and planning." West caught a bead of condensation trickling down his water glass. "I plan to throw her a party. The one she always wanted. The one I promised her but never gave her. I would have done it already, but..."
But Jase hadn't been around, and Tessa would have insisted on having him at any celebration in her honor. Another rock of guilt his friends still carried.
The lines of tension bracketing Beck's eyes softened. He gently asked, "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"Tessa's death wasn't your fault," Jase said. "You don't have to sentence yourself to life without the possibility of happiness, clinging to her memory."
"Her death is my fault," West said. "A life sentence is far less than I deserve."
"Her death has never been your fault." Tessa had always been an up-and-down kind of girl, but her ordeal with Pax Gillis had shredded her. Months passed, but she'd never recovered emotionally. She'd cried every night, but she'd cried especially hard the night she'd died, and Jase often wondered if she'd lost control of the car, as the police report had claimed, or if she'd intentionally crashed.
The Gillis family had been hounding her, blaming her for Jase's actions. If she hadn't lied about the assault, they'd said, Jase wouldn't have come after their son.
"You weren't there," West snapped. "You don't know."
"No," he replied quietly. "I wasn't there." I was rotting behind bars.
The Gillis family had protested every time he'd come up for parole, which was another reason he'd remained behind bars as long as he had. But then, last year, Pax's dad had died of a heart attack, leaving only the mother and the little brother. Jase remembered them from the trial. A small, slender woman who'd never stopped sobbing and a punk kid with a Mohawk, who'd had more piercings and tattoos than Jase.
West closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken to you that way."
"Forget about it." But Jase knew he wouldn't. He never did. "I have."
"I feel like I'm living Moore's Law," West muttered.
"Uh, you're smarter than the rest of the class, bro," Beck said. "You'll have to explain that one."
West shrugged. "Over the history of computing hardware, the number of transistors in a dense integrated circuit doubles approximately every two years. In other words, my brain is the hardware and my memories grow stronger as time passes."
That made two of them. "Why don't I ask Brook Lynn to help us with the planning?" Jase said, getting them back on track.
"Good idea," Beck said
. "Since she's working for us and all."
Jase swallowed a protest. She's mine, not ours.
West rubbed two fingers over his jaw. "I've been meaning to ask... Are you sure it's smart to have the little blonde firecracker hanging around the house all the time?"
No. "Why?"
"Why?" Beck arched a brow. "Did you really just ask me why? Dude. You nailed her sister."
"So?" Don't like the reminder. "You did, too."
"So you both admit to being idiots. May we move on?" West grumbled, a surprising amount of frustration in his voice.
"Exactly," Beck said, speaking over him. "The situation is complicated. And yes, I can roll with it. But can you? I've seen you, man. And I can't believe I'm having to point this out yet again, but you watch Brook Lynn like you're drowning, and she's the only life raft."
"You must be going blind," Jase ground out. "I have never looked at anyone that way."
"My eyes, like every other part of me, are working just fine, thanks. But if it's the analogy that bothers you, I can give you a more palatable one. You look at that girl the way I look at her casseroles. As if there's about to be a party in your mouth."
West pushed his plate of leftover fries away. "I told you guys what would happen if you messed around with a Strawberry Valley girl. I told you, but you did it anyway. You've got no one to blame but yourselves."
Beck flipped him off, and Jase threw a wadded-up napkin at him.
West held up his hands, all innocence. "Hey, we've all agreed I'm the smart one in our little band of brothers. Why the attitude now?"
"Your IQ might be higher," Jase said, "but your street cred definitely sucks."
"True that," Beck said.
West laughed, the sound of it rusty. "Tell me you didn't just true that me. Because if you did, I will have to deduct serious points from your street cred."
"What do I care?" Beck spread his arms wide. "I've got points to spare."
The two continued to argue good-naturedly, the tension draining once again, and Jase soaked it up, knowing there'd soon be another drought. This was something else he'd missed. This most of all. Smack-talking, enjoying the company of his friends. Smiling till it hurt. Just...being, no worries intruding.
The insults continued as they cleared their table and headed outside.
I'm kind of jealous of people who haven't met you.
If ignorance ever goes up to $5 a barrel, I want drilling rights to your head.
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