by Chelsea Fine
Damn him, damn him, damn him.
“Right.” I step back and act casual. “So I’m going to go. I’ll see you when I get back. Later.”
I spin around and weave through the crowd with a huff, feeling Jack’s eyes on me the whole time.
2
Jack
There are only two things I don’t ever speak of. My crazy family and my history with Jenna. And both just fell in my lap.
I watch Jenna work her way to the front door and can’t help the unease slipping through my veins. I don’t like the idea of her going on such a long road trip by herself. She’s independent and smart and I know she can take care of herself, but that doesn’t lessen my concern any.
Her long dark hair is pulled back into a high ponytail revealing her golden eyes and high cheekbones. Her half-Creole heritage has kissed her skin with a permanent bronze, which only adds to her unique beauty as her shoulders, bare in the strapless shirt she’s wearing, show off the numerous tattoos running the length of her arms. The intricate designs disappear beneath her clothes, where I know they continue to travel across other parts of her curvy body. She’s beautiful and wild, and drives me absolutely crazy.
Her hips swing as she moves out the door and my gut tightens. If anything were to ever happen to her, if someone ever tried to hurt her, I… well I can’t even think about it. Which is why I can’t think about Jenna all alone in a car on a series of desolate freeways for three days.
I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.
My friend Ethan plops down in the barstool next to me, reeking of cologne. “Hey, man.”
“Hey,” I say.
I’ve gone through a series of roommates this past year, but Ethan has been my favorite, so far, or at least the easiest to tolerate. He and I have been friends since I first moved to Arizona and, as very opposite as the two of us are, we get along pretty well.
“Was that Jenna I just saw leaving?” He nods at the door.
“Yep.”
Ethan smirks. “What did you do to piss her off this time?”
I grin. I do have a way of getting under Jenna’s skin. I can’t help it. If she would just be a grown-up and address what happened between us last year then maybe I’d back down. But instead she acts like nothing ever went down and dammit, that’s just insulting. Because she’s not just some girl I hooked up with a while back. She’s Jenna, for God’s sake.
But she wants to pretend like we’re nothing more than friends, so I go along with it. And occasionally I piss her off—because it’s something. It’s some sign that I matter more than she lets on.
“Surprisingly enough,” I say, “I didn’t do anything. This time.”
Ethan shakes his head. “I don’t know why you poke at her the way you do.”
“Because it’s funny.” I shrug. “And it’s not like she doesn’t piss me off just as much, like when she goes off and sleeps with dickhead guys.” I shift my beer mug around in a slow circle, one inch at a time. “When she knows she can do better.”
“Yeeeah.” Ethan purses his lips. “You care way too much about who Jenna sleeps with. That’s not healthy, man.”
I stifle a groan. “I know.”
Ethan orders a drink from Cody while I stare into my beer. I really shouldn’t care who Jenna sleeps with, especially since I’m no angel myself. But damn. I can’t help it. I don’t like her sharing her body with anyone else.
My phone rings again. I look at the caller ID and groan.
I’ve been fielding phone calls from my family members for a week now and it’s grating on my nerves. Earlier, I was on the phone with my frantic mother, who was babbling about how concerned she is for my youngest brother, Drew. He’s twenty and should be able to take care of himself by now, but apparently he’s been acting shady lately and his behavior has my family on edge. Now Mom’s flipping out and I’m running out of reassuring words.
I thought our last phone call would tide her over for a while, but now my other brother, Samson, is calling. Again.
Not a good sign.
I grudgingly take the call and snap, “What?”
“Easy, bro,” says Samson. “I’m just the messenger.”
“Yeah, well I’m getting sick of all your messages.”
“What would you rather I do? Not call you? Let Drew go down on his own?”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “No.”
“That’s what I thought. Drew’s in deep trouble this time, I can feel it. And Mom’s losing her shit. I need you out here.”
A year older than Drew and a year younger than me, Samson is the middle child, and the most laid-back. It takes a lot to stress him out, so the fact that he’s been at my ear these past few days is a red flag in and of itself.
But as the oldest brother—and the only real male authority in my family—it’s my job to keep everyone calm, cool, and collected. A task that’s growing more difficult by the phone call.
“Not happening.” I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “I left for a reason, Samson. I’m not coming back.”
His voice is strained like he’s gritting his teeth. “And just what the hell am I supposed to do without you? You know I don’t have the pull or the power that you do.”
I run a hand through my hair. “Have Drew give me a call. I’ll straighten him out.”
“That’s just the thing, man. Drew’s missing.”
My heart stops for a moment. “Mom didn’t mention that.”
“That’s because she’s in denial and refuses to accept that her baby boy is caught up in a mess. She thinks he’s out roaming, but you and I know better.”
Fuck.
I rub a hand over my mouth, trying not to panic. Or growl. This is exactly the shit I was trying to stay away from when I moved away from Little Vail, Louisiana, and toward Tempe, Arizona. And now here I am, getting dragged right back into it.
“Fine,” I say, my decision made. “I’ll come out there this week. Tell Mom to calm down, would you? Her freaking out will only make things worse.”
“Got it. I’ll see you later then.”
“Yeah.” I hang up and run a finger over my cold mug.
Drew is missing.
I knew something like this would happen, eventually. You can’t play around with drug dealers and not get jacked down the road.
“You all right, dude?” Ethan asks as Cody sets his drink down.
“What? Yeah.” I rub my mouth again. “I’m fine. Just family shit.”
He takes a drink. “How come you never talk about your family?”
I stretch my neck. “Because there’s nothing to say.”
Actually there’s a ton to say, but no one would want to hear it. And frankly, I like the life I’ve made for myself out here in Arizona. No baggage to weigh me down. No expectations lingering around me.
I pull up airfares on my phone and scroll through the prices with a grimace. Damn, it’s expensive to fly. My eyes snap up as a thought hits me. Jenna’s heading to New Orleans and I need to go to Little Vail, which is only two hours north and right on her way.
A slow smile spread across my face.
I might just have to tag along on Jenna’s road trip.
3
Jenna
A gaggle of girls meets me the moment I step foot inside my small apartment.
“Your mom called,” Alyssa says, talking a mile a minute. “She said you’re driving out to see Grams all by yourself because you think flying is too expensive but you really aren’t, are you? Please tell me Aunt Sherry was just joking because you driving all alone across the states would be crazy.”
“Crazy,” Becca repeats, bobbing her head as they block me from walking any farther into the room. “There are like killers out there disguised as truckers and they will hunt you down on the road and like kidnap you and use your skin for like lampshades and stuff.”
I crinkle up my face. “What—”
“It’s true,” Callie adds with a curt nod. “I always see th
ese specials on TV about young girls who go on road trips by themselves and never make it back alive because some psycho roasted them like a turkey.”
My cousins stare at me with their oversized eyes, waiting for me to ease their irrational fears and tell them that of course I’m not going to drive by myself across the country. Not without a suitor and a chaperone, and maybe a hoopskirt to match my corset. Because oh, the horror!
I roll my eyes and squeeze past them into the small living room. “You guys need to relax. No one is going to kill me. Or eat me.”
“How can you be so sure?” Alyssa’s eyes manage to grow even wider.
“Because unlike the three of you,” I say, dropping my purse down on the coffee table and flicking a hand in their direction, “I wasn’t raised by an overprotective daddy who put the fear of God in me about stepping foot outside without a man to protect me. I was raised by Sherry Lacombe and I can take care of myself.”
I love my uncle Noah, but holy hell, he sure raised a skittish pack of scaredy-cats. I used to be jealous of my cousins, having a daddy around their whole lives who looked out for them and endlessly doted on them, but looking at their dreadfully concerned faces now I’m grateful I dodged that bullet.
There’s nothing more dangerous than being afraid of everything.
“You should just fly, Jenna,” Callie says. “With us. Then we’ll get to Grams faster and at the same time.”
Becca nods. “Yeah.”
“Yeah,” Alyssa echoes as the three of them close in on me again with their pouty lips and pleading eyes.
“And waste all my hard-earned money?” I snort. “Uh-uh. I’m driving—by myself—and that’s final. So chill, all of you. And step back too.” I push through them, again, and head for the kitchen. “God, you’re like a bunch of needy hens. Peck, peck, peck. I pity the men you three end up with.”
They follow me into the kitchen. Shocking.
It’s times like these I wish ASU would let students live on campus over the summer. But noooo. I had to move my ass out of the cozy dorm I shared with Pixie and shack up with my three cousins, all of whom are in silent competition for the world’s most girly girl ever.
Alyssa’s dressed to the nines, as per usual, even though I’m almost certain she didn’t leave the apartment today. Her hair is all done up, her makeup is far too dark and drastic for anything less than a Vegas outing, and her sparkly five-inch heels match the chandelier earrings flanking her high cheekbones. A typical Tuesday getup for my cuz.
Becca’s no better, with her sleeked-back hair beneath a pink headband, and her button nose between her pink cheeks, and her very pink toenails. She’s adorable in that sexy kind of way, which both perplexes and impresses me.
And Callie… well, Callie is hell on heels with boobs that would make a swimsuit model jealous and clothes so tight I’m surprised she doesn’t need a scuba tank to breathe.
They’re ridiculous, all of them, and it’s hard to believe we’re related. With my endless tattoos and piercings, and my tendency to dress like a punk rocker, I look like Amy Lee and Lara Croft had a half-Creole baby and gave her too much eyeliner for her birthday.
Needless to say, I look out of place among my cousins. But despite my best efforts, I inherited the Lacombe genes with our high cheekbones and small frames, and I have a tendency to wear a lot of jewelry—earrings dot my ears and I have at least one ring on each of my fingers—so I can’t help but look somewhat girly.
“So what are you going to do, then?” Becca asks, hand on hip, jutted chin. “Just, like, pack a bag and drive, with just the GPS on your phone to guide you and your Charger through three states?”
My red Dodge Charger is my pride and joy. It’s also half of my paycheck every month, but whatever. I love it.
“Yes,” I say.
“That’s insane!” She throws the hip hand up. “What if you get lost?”
“What if you get robbed?” Callie says.
“What if you get eaten?” Alyssa adds in a low voice laced with honest-to-God seriousness. She whispers, “I don’t want anyone to eat you.”
I stare at them. It’s like living with Tweedledee, Tweedledum, and Tweedle-doom.
“Yeah.” I turn to the freezer and pull out a carton of ice cream. “That would be a bummer. But look at the bright side. If I get eaten, you three can pillage my wardrobe and keep whatever you want.” I grin.
Callie scoffs. “Like there’s anything in there we would want. Ripped jeans and leather tube tops? No thank you.”
I cock an eyebrow. “Your big ass wouldn’t fit into my stuff anyway.”
“You’re just jealous of this delicious booty.” She waves her hand at her plump rear.
“I have plenty of my own booty to go around.” I take a bite of ice cream.
Alyssa, who’s clearly still hung up on the possibility that someone on the highway wants to eat me, puckers her lips and says, “I still don’t like the idea of you driving back home by yourself.”
I smile. “Blame Grandma. Woman keeps ‘dying’ on us at the most inconvenient times.”
Becca snorts. “That’s the truth. You think she’s really sick this time?”
Alyssa shrugs. “Who knows? But I have to admit, I’m kind of excited about flying home. I miss Dad.”
“Me too,” the other two say, nodding.
As they chat about their amazing father and how wonderful it is to have such a loving daddy, I put the ice cream away and head to my room to pack. It doesn’t take me long, mostly because all I have to do is shove pretty much everything I own into the large purple suitcase my mom got me when I first moved out here and I’m good to go.
Sherry Lacombe wasn’t thrilled about me leaving our home in Louisiana. She wanted me to stay nearby, and for good reason. I’m her beloved daughter and friend, of course, but I’m also her helper. I have three younger sisters at home: four-year-old Shyla, six-year-old Raine, and sixteen-year-old Penny.
When I was twelve, my mother decided to become a foster parent. It was supposed to be a temporary thing, but Mama couldn’t help herself and just kept falling in love with the baby girls she took in and managed to adopt each one. By the time I was eighteen, she was a single mother of four.
My younger sisters are a lot of fun, but they can also be quite a handful. I know my mom really appreciated my help when it came to raising them and running the house, especially after Grandma started “dying” and moved in with us. We were a very happy—and very broke—female family of six, and my waitressing job in New Orleans provided just as much household income as my mom’s job at the medical clinic. We were strapped for cash and I was going nowhere, looking at a future of waiting tables and living paycheck to paycheck just like my mom.
I’d been out of high school for almost two years and was starting to lose hope in myself, and my dream of someday opening a gallery to display my sculptures, so when Arizona State University offered me an art scholarship—and the prospect of a better future—I couldn’t pass up the opportunity for free schooling.
Mom was not pleased when I announced that I wanted to go to school out of state. But once she accepted the fact that I needed to move away, not just for school, but so I could make something of myself and secure some kind of future for my family, she was completely on board. Hence, the awesome purple suitcase.
And it ended up being better than I could have imagined because I met Pixie. Even though I’m a year and a half older than she is, we’ll both be starting our sophomore year of art school this fall and I couldn’t be happier. Arizona was definitely a good move for me.
I pack until it’s overflowing and I have to sit on the luggage to get it zipped up. Then I change into my jammies, say good night to the gaggle of hens in the living room, and crawl into bed.
4
Jack
“Why do you insist on looking like a douche bag every time you leave the apartment?” I say, frowning at Ethan’s attire.
After we left the bar, we came back to our shit
ty apartment where Ethan immediately changed into what he calls his “Peacock Smock”—yes, it’s as horrible as it sounds—and started making faces at himself in the mirror of the single bathroom we share. And because I keep walking past the bathroom on my way up and down the hallway as I start packing for the road trip Jenna doesn’t know I’m joining her on, I can’t not look at him.
“This,” Ethan says, gesturing to his skintight purple jeans and the black dress shirt he’s left deeply unbuttoned to reveal the three gold chains hanging down his chest, “is an attention grabber. First I capture the ladies’ eyes with my outfit. Then I reel in their hearts with my charm.”
I shake my head as I yank my duffle bag from the hall closet. “I don’t know where you read that bullshit, but you look ridiculous. Which in turn makes me look ridiculous. Please stop making me look ridiculous.”
“Sorry.” He places a fedora on his head at a very precise angle and shucks his shoulders at his reflection. “No can do. I’m going clubbing tonight and I don’t want to jeopardize my game.”
I roll my eyes and, turning away, head down the hall for my room, calling back, “Clubbing? What are you, a teenage pop star?” I snort. “Jenna was right, dude. You have no game.”
I hear him scoff. “At least I have my own balls.”
I drop the duffle bag on my bed and glare at him through the doorway. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He flicks up his open collar. “It means Jenna has your balls in her hand and you let her squeeze them as tightly as she wants.”
“Fuck you.”
He raises his hands. “Hey man, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. I’m just saying that Jenna could claim bird shit was delicious and you’d probably think she was ‘right’ about that too.”
I scowl and turn away. “This has nothing to do with Jenna. You have no game, Ethan. Own it.”
He mocks, “Own it,” as I start shoving clothes in my bag.
My pocket vibrates and I pull out my phone only to frown at the screen before answering, “What?”