Totally Folked

by Penny Reid

  Don’t panic.

  I’d been in this situation once before, a few months prior to moving into the fortress I now called home in Hollywood Hills. The situation had been the reason for my move. You were ultimately okay then, you’re okay now. You just need to think.

  Whoever it was, they’d heard me in the shower. They knew I was in here. There was no hiding that. Maybe . . . maybe I could delay walking out of the bathroom? I could wait them out until Dave and Miguel returned. I could pretend I was drying my hair while I secretly hid behind the door with a weapon. I’d done something similar the last time, and it had worked.

  I don’t want to die.

  Stop! Stop it. Find a weapon. What can I use for a weapon? My eyes frantically searched the bathroom as I pulled a towel off the rack, wrapping it around my body tightly. I needed a weapon, I needed—

  “Hey, Rae?”

  I sucked in a breath, gripping the towel bar, because that wasn’t a psycho stalker’s voice.

  “Sienna?” I croaked before I could stop myself.

  “Yeah, hey. Sorry—I just wanted to let you know I’m in here. I need something from this closet for Ben for tomorrow and—Oh my God, Rae? Are you crying?”

  I nodded, another muffled sob escaping despite my best efforts to keep it in. My adrenaline crashed, leaving my limbs shaking. Calm down. Calm down. False alarm. I sunk to the floor.

  “Rae?” She tried the door and obviously found it unlocked. In the next moment, Sienna was on the floor next to me, her arms around me. “Oh no. No, honey. It’s just me. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. You’re safe.”

  “Hey! Why is this door open?” Jackson’s voice called from somewhere in the house, and I felt Sienna’s body tense.

  “Shit. I left the front door open.” Hugging me tighter, she lifted her voice to call out, “We’re in Rae’s bathroom.” Then to me she whispered, “Dave and Miguel said they were coming right behind me, I swear. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “You’re fine. I’m sorry.” I wiped at the stupid tears, sucking in a deep breath. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

  “You know why you’re crying, you’ve come face-to-face with an attacker before. Oh! Jackson. Come here.”

  “What—what happened?”

  The edge in his voice had me looking up. He stood at the doorway, his forehead furrowed with severe concern, his eyes searching my toweled form, perhaps for injuries.

  “It’s my fault.” Sienna said, kissing my forehead.

  “No, it’s my fault.” I sniffled, forcing a laugh. “I heard Sienna in the bedroom and got freaked out. My imagination got away from me and—”

  He rushed forward, taking me from Sienna and lifting me in his arms. “I got you,” he said, holding me close and carrying me to the bedroom. “You’re safe, I got you.”

  “I was safe the whole time,” I protested half-heartedly, catching Sienna’s eye as she sent me an apologetic look and rushed to the bedroom door.

  “I’ll just leave you two. You’re in good hands. I’ll get the thing for Ben tomorrow. And again, I’m so sorry,” she said, backing out of the door.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about!” I called after her.

  “Yes, I do!” she shouted from the other side of the door.

  I cry-chuckled, shaking my head and closing my eyes. My chin wobbled, and I tried to breathe through the residual adrenaline leaving my system. What a roller coaster of a day.

  Jackson sat on the bed, still cradling me, his lips pressed to the top of my head. And that’s when I realized his heart was galloping. I tried to lean back so I could see his face, but he was holding me too tight.

  “Jackson, hey. You’re holding me too tight.”

  His arms loosened but his heart didn’t slow. I managed to lean back, holding his jaw between my hands, wanting to force his eyes to mine. They were dark and wild, not meeting mine.

  “Jackson? Are you okay?”

  He nodded, his throat working. “I’m sorry. It’s just, I’ve seen—” he paused, managing a swallow. But when he spoke next his voice was tight. “In my line of work, I’ve seen some things. And when I came in, you looked—and you were on the ground in just a towel, crying, and I thought—” His attention lifted to the ceiling. “Sorry.”

  I stared at him, both wanting and not wanting to know what he thought. In the end, I didn’t ask.

  I twisted my arms around his neck and held him back. “I’m fine. I promise. I heard Sienna in the room, and it freaked me out. That’s it, that’s all. I’m not hurt.”

  He nodded, his arms wrapping around my back. “You were crying because you were scared?”

  “Yes. Before I moved into my place in Hollywood Hills, I had a—an intruder come into my bedroom while I was in the shower. I heard him moving around. It brought all that back.”

  Jackson seemed to stop breathing. “What happened?” he asked.

  “I hid in the bathroom and plugged in a curling iron. He got tired of waiting for me to come out, and when he opened the door, I whacked him in the face with the iron, burning him, then I kicked him in the balls, then I ran out of my place into the street and screamed for help.”

  Jackson expelled a breath, pressing a kiss to my neck. “Thank God. Thank God you got away.”

  Something about the sound of his voice sent a ripple of unease up my neck, like he’d been a witness to an alternate ending and knew what happened—or what might’ve happened—had I not battled my way out of the bathroom.

  We held each other for a short moment, and I barely had a chance to reflect on what I’d said and his reaction to it before he twisted and deposited me to the bed. He then stood, paced to the windows, and checked behind the curtain.

  He mumbled something that sounded like, “I left you on that boat.”

  “What was that?”

  “These windows are locked,” he said, his voice louder. “But I don’t like how big they are.”

  I held the towel at my chest, frowning at his back. “Maybe they should have bars.”

  “Maybe . . .”

  I made a scoffing sound, my blood pressure rising to an unmanageable level for the second time that night. He can’t be serious. “Jackson, no. They don’t need bars, and they’re not too big. The windows are fine. And I’m fine.”

  He turned, his hands on his hips. I flinched, shocked by how he was looking at me, like I was a problem to solve. This was the first time he’d ever looked at me like that. It pissed me off, but it also hurt.

  “Rae. The door was unlocked and open. The alarm was off.”

  “Because Sienna was walking into her carriage house, on her property, which she owns.” Was he treating me like a child? Or was I imagining it?

  “But what if it hadn’t been Sienna? Where are Dave and Miguel?” Jackson flung his hand toward the bedroom door, his tone anything but polite. “You’re not safe here.”

  “I am safe here, and you are overreacting.”

  This statement seemed to only irritate and inflame him, and when he spoke next it was through clenched teeth. “No. You are not safe. You need more guards. Or—or you need to leave. You need to go back to LA.”

  I gaped at him, feeling like he’d just slapped me. “You want me to go back to LA?”

  “Yes. Dave says your house out there is a fortress. You should at least think about it. You’d be safer there than here. You should—”

  “I don’t want to go back to LA.”

  “You should—”

  “Don’t tell me what I should do!” I said, my voice rising before I could control the volume. I stood from the bed. “I decide what I should do! I am responsible for me, not Harrison, not Domino, not my mother, and definitely not you!”

  Now I was yelling. Great. Just great.

  Jackson snapped his mouth shut and glared at me, the set of his jaw stern and severe. He said nothing.

  I closed my eyes. I breathed in. I breathed out. I was so tired. And my nerves were rattled. And my emotions felt like one giant ra
w nerve. Now was not the time to discuss this.

  “Listen, it’s been a long night. I think it would be best for us to table this conversation until morning, after a good night’s sleep.”

  I opened my eyes and found him still glaring at me.

  “Jackson?”

  “You’re sleeping here tonight?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I inspected him, looking for a crack in his armor. He looked infuriated. But behind the fury, I sensed fear. “Will you stay with me?” I asked, trying to gentle my voice but instead ended up sounding impatient and cranky. Great. Just great.

  “Is that what you want?” he asked, his jaw ticking. “Since, you know, I don’t get a say.”

  I barely, just barely refrained from rolling my eyes. “You do get a say in what you do. You do not get a say in what I do. I’m my own person, Jackson. I make my own decisions; I do not need you or anyone else making them with me or for me.” I repeated the words my mother had said to me countless times. I was my own person, I was responsible for myself and my decisions. Me. Only me. Obviously.

  Now he flinched, like I’d slapped him. But then he nodded, his eyes dropping, his features hardening further. “I see.”

  Something icy and uncertain slithered through me, settling in my stomach and making my chest feel hard and heavy. He was upset. I was upset. And I didn’t know how to make either of us not upset. More words didn’t seem likely to help, so I stepped forward, reaching for him.

  He took a step back, out of my reach.

  My hand dropped, and so did my stomach. “Jackson—”

  “I’ll just get out of here so you can change,” he said, tossing his thumb over his shoulder before turning and walking for the door.

  “Wait.” This was dumb. What were we even fighting about? I darted over to where he was and wrapped my arms around him, pressing my chest to his back. “You don’t need to leave. Stay. Stay and be with me.”

  He didn’t touch me, and his body felt so stiff and distant. “I need a minute,” he said quietly. “But I’ll be back.”

  Letting my arms slide away, I watched him leave the room. Without looking back, he shut the door behind him.

  Chapter 26

  *Jackson*

  “I wasn’t a sex symbol, I was a sex zombie.”

  Veronica Lake

  “Bad day, Deputy James?”

  “Not at all.” I lifted my head and glared at Boone. He stood at the edge of my desk, sipping a cup of coffee even though it was just before 6:00 PM. A few weeks ago, during one of his rare conversational moods, he’d been complaining about not being able to sleep at night. I’d told him to quit drinking coffee after 3:00 PM.

  “It’s almost six, Boone,” I said, returning my eyes to the file in front of me, if not the whole of my attention.

  “It’s decaf, James. And why’re you in a shit mood?”

  “I’m not.”

  I was. But Boone and I didn’t talk much even on his chattiest days. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have with anyone, least of all at work, two hours past the end of my shift, with a roommate who barely said hi and goodbye.

  I’d gone for a walk last night, and then I’d returned and laid next to Rae on her bed. She’d slept fitfully, but I hadn’t been able to sleep at all. I kept thinking about all those people who were obsessed with her, trying to break into her house, trying to get to her.

  In particular, I thought about the man who she’d fought off with a curling iron. I’d looked him up. He had an arrest record three miles long. He’d brought rope and zip ties to her house. Chief among his charges were domestic abuse and sexual assault, and I could not stop thinking about it.

  And then I thought about what she’d said, that her decisions were her own.

  You get a say in what you do. You do not get a say in what I do.

  I didn’t know how that worked. My parents didn’t love each other that way, neither did Jess and Duane from all outside appearances. They were partners, they made room for each other, they took each other’s wishes into account. Could I be in love with someone and not have a say in their life, their safety? Would I be okay with that? I didn’t think so. I wanted a say. And I wanted her to have a say in my life too.

  Flipping through the file in front of me, I grimaced as my eyes moved over the image embedded in the printout. More tragedy today, and on a Sunday too. God rests, but death doesn’t. A multicar accident with one casualty, all because some teenagers were trying to pass a Toyota Corolla on a switchback.

  Boone didn’t leave my desk right away. I sensed his loitering presence, heard him sip loudly from his cup of coffee. But eventually, he drifted, leaving me to my notes from Deputy Evans’s brief description of the event during our phone call. He’d been the first officer on the scene, which meant he was also on his way over to Mr. Rossi’s house right now to break the news about the man’s youngest daughter.

  I swallowed around a lump, thinking about my sister Jess and her husband, Duane Winston. I still couldn’t believe she’d married him. He was . . . reckless. When they lived here, he drove too fast and had always pitched a hissy fit whenever I’d pulled him over for speeding.

  Rather, for Duane it had been a hissy fit. The man didn’t say much, just glared like his eyeballs were made of lasers and my face was the target. But maybe, if he’d seen what I’d seen, if he’d been privy to the mountain of tragedy caused by taking roads too fast, he would be more careful, especially with my sister and nephew in the car.

  I hope he’s careful now. I hope he keeps them safe. And I hope Jess lets him.

  For the millionth time since leaving the carriage house before dawn, my thoughts turned to Rae. She wanted us to be people existing adjacent to each other with no overlap. She wanted easy and fun, a love affair without investment, without making room for each other, without compromising, without all the difficult work that built a foundation and helped it last. But I’d suspected this from the beginning, hadn’t I? Being with her was too easy.

  This isn’t going to work.

  Just the thought made me feel like I couldn’t breathe, yet it was the truth. This was what I’d been trying to avoid. But now I loved her, and I didn’t know how to stop or what to do. I wasn’t going to push her into making room for me in her life if she didn’t want to. She had to want me there. And she had to want a place—a say—in my life too.

  Falling when I should’ve stayed upright.

  We’d drift apart, I knew we would. There was nothing anchoring us together, nothing—

  “Jackson James.”

  I blinked, my eyes coming up to find Cletus and Jethro Winston standing where Boone had been just moments prior. Wait . . . that was a few moments ago, wasn’t it? What time was it?

  I frowned, checking my watch, surprised when I saw the time. “It’s past seven.”

  “So it is.” Jethro plucked the file from my hands, closed it, and set it on the desk. “Let’s go, James.”

  I glanced between the two of them. “Where are we going?”

  “We’re going for a beer,” Cletus said, giving me a somber nod. “But you should probably change first, seeing as how your shift ended three hours ago. You don’t want another violation thingy for wearing your uniform while off duty.”

  I changed out of my uniform, but I had no intention of grabbing a beer with the Winston brothers. I thanked them for their offer and begged off, claiming it had been a long day. Once we were in the parking lot, they watched me walk over to my truck, slide inside, and attempt to start the engine. It wouldn’t turn over.

  That’s when Cletus moseyed up and asked if I was having car trouble.

  And now here I was, forty-five minutes later, sitting in Genie’s Country Western Bar, at a booth, Jethro and Cletus Winston staring at me from the other side, and I could not have been more surprised or perplexed by the evening’s events.

  “How was work, Jackson?” Jethro asked. It was the first time he’d spoken since approaching me at the station. Like usual, he wore
his smirky, careless, ghost of a smile.

  “Fine,” I said, not wishing to discuss work with Jethro. I didn’t imagine he had much respect for law enforcement if his prior arrest record was anything to go by. “Why am I here?”

  “Glad you asked.” Cletus pushed his beer to one side and placed his arms on the table, leaning forward. “We will now discuss your relationship with Ms. Ezra.”

  I’m glad I wasn’t drinking anything as Cletus spoke, I’m sure I would’ve spit it out. “Excuse me?”

  “You are excused.”

  “No, Cletus.” My eyes cut to Jethro’s, then back to Cletus. “What—why would I be discussing Ms. Ezra with you two?”

  He cleared his throat. “Firstly, in our culture, traditionally, men do not discuss the trials and tribulations of their romantic relationships with other men, not like the womenfolk do. I believe this leads to unnecessary angst, heartbreak, and the blockage of essential harmonizing hormones which aid mental wellness. You should talk to someone, and it should be us.”

  “Oh really? Why you?”

  “I was just getting to that. Secondly, you should discuss the matter with me because I have superior deductive reasoning skills. You should discuss the matter with Jethro”—he lifted a hand toward Jethro, like I couldn’t see the man right in front of me—“because he has expertise in the field of study you wish to traverse, wooing and marrying a Hollywood starlet and keeping her in a state of perpetual bliss. And you should discuss the matter with both of us because we have an excellent and proven track record maintaining healthy relationships with exceptional women, and also because you have no brothers.”

  “I have no brothers,” I repeated flatly.

  “Exactly. We have brothers. We are brothers. And therefore, we have a built-in support system of men we trust to tell the truth, but who also break it kindly. You have no similar support system that I can deduce. As such, seeing as how I am generosity personified and Jethro didn’t have plans tonight, we are offering to fill the void.”