by Chelsea Fine
I can’t get her out of this town fast enough.
Looking at the time, however, I start to rethink my plan. It’s almost midnight and New Orleans is a good two hours away. Jenna’s no doubt exhausted, and her night vision isn’t great even when she’s well rested. Her driving home alone tonight probably isn’t the best idea. Not that she would agree. I inwardly sigh, knowing what’s coming.
I clear my throat. “Maybe you should wait until morning before heading home.”
She pulls a face. “Why?”
“Because it’s late, and dark, and you’re probably tired of being on the road—”
“Which is why I want to go home.”
“It’s a long drive and even with your glasses—”
“Oh my God. What are you, my ophthalmologist now?” She huffs. “My vision is fine.”
“You’re vision is not fine, but even if it were I still think it might be a good idea to get some sleep before heading home.”
Her jaw shifts in anger. “I’m not wasting another penny on hotel rooms—especially not when my own damn bed is less than two hours away.”
I shift my own jaw. “Why does everything have to be a fight with you?”
“Because you keep trying to control me and tell me what to do!”
“For the last time, I’m not trying to control you, Jenna!” I grip the steering wheel. “I’m just suggesting things to keep you safe. You’re the one who’s trying to control everything.”
Samson pokes his head between the front seats again and woozily says, “Are you two sleeping together?”
“No!” we shout.
He nods. “Well that explains a lot.”
“Shut up, Samson.” I turn down the street I grew up on and come to a stop in front of our small house.
It’s gray with lopsided porch steps and a square of dead grass in the front yard. Bittersweet memories accompany the sight of the yellow front door and the small wicker table and chair on the porch. Good things happened here. So did bad things. Something thick and hot tugs at my throat as I look over my childhood home.
There were many days I thought I’d never see it again. Days I was certain I was going to die. On those days, I tried to focus on the good memories of growing up in the little gray house. Wrestling with my brothers. My mom sneaking cookies into my lunch for school. The good outweighs the bad. Now, at least.
Everything about it looks the same as the day I left except the dozens of wind chimes hanging from the porch roof.
I murmur, “What the hell…?”
Samson follows my gaze and groggily explains, “That’s Ma’s new thing. You know how she’s always trying to quit smoking? Well she bought some kind of chime-making kit thingy on one of those late-night TV commercials and now, instead of sucking on a cigarette every two hours, she whittles together a wind chime instead.”
“That’s…”—I exit the car with a frown—“strange.”
He scoffs. “And obnoxious.” Tumbling out of the backseat, Samson barely catches himself before glowering at the hanging chimes. “When the wind picks up, it’s like living in the bell tower of a thousand churches. I feel like Quasi-fucking-modo up in here.”
Jenna gets out and we watch him stagger toward the porch steps.
“Maybe Mom’s doing it on purpose,” I say. “So you’ll move out already.”
He spins around and points a wobbly finger at me. “Hey, it’s not my fault Trixie kicked me out of her apartment and made me homeless.”
“Uh, yeah it is,” I say. “You slept with her best friend—”
“I did not sleep with her. I just slept with her,” he says, bumbling over his words. “Why is that so hard for people to understand?”
My mom’s voice breaks into the night. “Maybe because you’re always spouting off about it when you’re hammered.” Backlit by the lamplight in the living room, her silhouette stands with a hand on a hip in the doorframe. “People don’t care what a drunk man declares, Samson. Now quit crying about Trixie and get inside before I make you sleep in the yard.”
I cringe, hoping Jenna doesn’t think I was raised by some crazy woman. “Hey, Mom—”
“Trixie, my ass,” Mom mutters, her eyes glued to Samson as he trudges inside the house and flops facedown on the couch. “Sleeping outside is probably ten times better than sleeping in that girl’s bed.”
“Mom—”
“What the hell kind of name is Trixie, anyway? Can’t you boys find women without whore names—”
“Mom!” I raise my voice and she finally stops talking and turns around. “This is Jenna,” I say, inhaling sharply through my nose.
She squints through the darkness and manages to look slightly mortified when she realizes we have company. “Oh, hell.”
I gesture from Jenna to the crazy woman standing on the porch. “Jenna, meet my well-meaning, but very tacky, mother.”
Amusement sparks in Jenna’s eyes as she smiles. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Oliver.”
She gives Jenna a wry smile. “I’m sure it is, darling. Sorry about all that,” she says, making her way down the porch steps. “I have no doubt Jack’s gonna have some choice words for me later.”
She looks good. Healthy. Not too skinny. Not too tired. Her dark brown hair falls in thick waves to the middle of her back and her green eyes—identical in color with Samson’s—are clear and bright.
“And please,” Mom adds, “call me Lilly.” Jenna’s arms stick out awkwardly in surprise as my mom wraps her in a hug. “I’m so happy to meet you, Jenna. It’s so refreshing to meet a girl with a name that doesn’t sound like it belongs to a stripper.”
I pinch my lips. “Really, Mom?”
“What?” she says innocently, releasing Jenna from her arms. She places a cool hand on my cheek. “You sad I didn’t hug you first?”
I exhale in frustration. “This, among other reasons, is why I don’t bring girls home.”
She pats my cheek with a grin. “Oh, please. You don’t bring girls home for an entirely different reason.” Her eyes slide to Jenna then back to me with a wink.
“Mom…” I warn.
She gives me a knowing smile then drops her teasing tone. “Welcome home, baby.” She kisses my cheek and, with a quiver in her voice, she whispers, “I’m so glad you’re here, Jack. I’ve missed you.”
I kiss her back. “I’ve missed you too.”
Stepping back, she clears her throat and merrily waves us in. “Come on inside, you two. I want to hear how your trip was.”
“Actually,” Jenna takes a step back and purposely avoids my eyes. “I think I’m going to head out.”
The idea of Jenna leaving before I’ve had a chance to explain, or at least properly apologize, for the intense night she’s been through puts me on edge.
“Don’t you think you should hang around for a bit?” I say. “So we can, you know… talk?” I say that last word through my teeth and narrow my gaze on her.
Her eyes flit from side to side, looking at my mother, looking at Samson. “Oh, no. You and I can talk anytime.” She shoots me an I-want-to-get-the-hell-out-of-here look. “I should really be on my way. You know, before it gets any later.”
Yeah, that’s not going to work for me. I can’t let Jenna bail on me. Not yet, anyway. I need to make sure she’s really okay. More importantly, I need to know if what she saw tonight changed the way she sees me. I put her in a situation where we were held at gunpoint for Christ’s sake. I’m sure she has questions, or at the very least, concerns.
“Nonsense,” I say with a forced smile. “You should stay here tonight. Right, Mom?” I look pointedly at my mother.
“Of course!” Lilly Oliver smiles broadly, obviously thrilled at the prospect of a girl staying in her house. “I would love to have you stay.”
Jenna glowers at me before shaking her head with a tight smile. “I really should get home. My mom is probably waiting up and everything.” She shakes her phone in an aw-shucks kind of way.
“Grea
t idea,” I say, a new, brilliant, foolproof master plan blossoming in my mind. “Let’s call your mom.”
Her sugar-sweet act drops. “I don’t think that’s necessary, Jack.”
“Really? Because I think your mom might have some valuable insight into whether or not you should drive home this late.”
She glances at her screen. “Look at that. My battery’s almost dead.” Dramatic sigh. “I guess I’ll have to call her after I charge it in the car.”
“No worries,” I say. “I have your mom’s number in my phone, so I’ll just…” Pulling my phone from my pocket, I dial the number and hold it to my ear with a triumphant smile.
Her eyes widen. “How do you have my mom’s number?”
“From the last time your grandma was dying, remember? You called me from New Orleans to bitch about your cousin stealing your tattoo idea. Hello, Sherry?” I smile and look away. “Yeah, this is Jack Oliver. I’m…” Jenna glares at me while her mother coos over the phone. “Yep, I’m that Jack.” I wink at Jenna, who’s obviously told her mother more about me than she wants me to know. “So I’m here in Little Vail with Jenna and since it’s getting pretty late, I suggested Jenna stay at my mom’s house with me. But Jenna’s afraid that you might be disappointed since you’re waiting up for her and all… uh-huh… uh-huh… I know. I said the exact same thing. And we both know how stubborn she is about wearing her glasses at night…” Jenna sneers at me and my grin grows. “Right… uh-huh… so what do you think? I certainly don’t want to take away from precious time with your daughter, but I also want what’s best for her safety… uh-huh… I couldn’t agree more… Sure. Here she is.” I hold the phone out to Jenna.
She stares daggers at me for a few beats then snatches the phone from my hand. “Hi, Mama… uh-huh… uh-huh… okay… bye.” Hanging up, she shoves the phone back at me with a tight smile. “Looks like I’m staying here tonight.”
“Fantastic,” my mom says, grinning from ear to ear. “Now, come on in and I’ll get you set up for the night.”
As we follow my mother up the porch steps Jenna turns to me with a scowl. “I hate you.”
“Yeah.” I smile. “I know.”
13
Jenna
So tonight has been a little bit crazy. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t completely freaked-out earlier when it looked like every guy in the back room of that bar wanted to kill Jack, but weirdly, I felt safe the whole time. I’m not sure if that’s because I trust Jack so much, or because I’m clinically insane. But either way, I was more worried about Jack than I was about myself.
It did raise some questions in my mind, though. Hell, it gave birth to a litter of questions and encouraged them to run around like mad in my head all night. A part of me feels like I don’t even know Jack anymore. The guy standing beside me in that bar tonight was a stranger, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. But the guy sitting beside me right now is the same old Jack I’ve always known, and I know exactly how I feel about that.
Happy.
But it doesn’t hurt that Jack’s mom is entertaining as hell and keeping a constant smile on my face. Lilly Oliver is a piece of work—and I mean that in the best possible way. I can tell Jack’s trying to rein her in, but honestly I kind of want to see her run free.
“You like beer, Jenna? ’Cause we’ve got beer,” she says, swinging around the kitchen from cabinet to cabinet grabbing God knows what. “We don’t have wine because none of us can stand the sweet stench. And we don’t have champagne because, you know, ick. But we’ve got beer, whiskey, tequila, gin, and beer—shit.” She looks at me. “Do you even drink? If you don’t, that’s totally fine because we’ve got…”—she opens the fridge and scours the contents with a little hum—“expired milk, half of a Sunny Delight, and tap water.” She pulls a six-pack from the fridge and holds it up with a grin. “But we have beer.”
Jack rubs his temple. “I’m not sure if Jenna’s clear on whether or not there’s beer in this house. You might want to reiterate that fact.”
She gives him a disparaging look. “I’m just trying to be a good host.”
He nods once. “The key word there is ‘host,’ Mom. Not bartender.”
She ignores him and looks at me. “What would you like to drink, darling?”
Biting my cheek to keep from smiling at their exchange, I tap a finger to my mouth. “Hmm. I feel like the right answer here is beer.”
“Wait.” Jack holds up a hand. “There’s beer in the house?”
Lilly narrows her eyes as she puts the six-pack back in the fridge. “Do I need to beat you?”
Jack wrinkles his brow. “Why are all the women in my life so prone to violence?”
“Maybe because you drive them to insanity,” I quip.
“I can vouch for that.” Lilly scoffs. Still standing with the fridge open, she twitches her lips and slides her gaze to me. “So seriously, what’ll it be, Jenna? Sunny D? Water?” She winks. “Beer?”
I smile. “Uh… can I just have whiskey?”
A moment of silence passes where my stomach clenches in fear that perhaps I’ve just supremely offended Jack’s mom in some way. But then Lilly lets the fridge door fall closed and throws her hands up in glee.
“Finally! A girl with taste! I’m sorry, darling, but I just have to do this.” She comes over and kisses the top of my head.
“Mom,” Jack groans. “Can you at least try to be normal?”
I laugh as Lilly plants a second quick kiss on my head and pointedly looks at her son. “This is my normal. You just brought home a beautiful girl who drinks whiskey. That’s cause for celebration.” She scurries around the kitchen, collecting three glasses and a bottle of Maker’s Mark. “How do you takes yours, Jenna?”
“Just on the rocks,” I say.
As she fills the glasses with ice, she looks at Jack and mouths, I love her.
He mockingly mouths back, I can tell.
My phone buzzes and I see I have four missed calls, all from my cousins. I smile at Lilly. “Will you excuse me for minute?” She nods as I scoot out my chair. “I’ll be right back.”
I leave the kitchen and weave down a quiet hallway to the right as I call Callie. No answer. I try Becca. No answer. Checking my texts, I see that they were only calling to make sure I wasn’t dead and to know when I thought I would be home.
I text them to let them know I’m safe and that I’ll be home tomorrow then start back down the hallway. There’s a fairly recent picture on the wall of Jack and Samson, and I squint at Samson. It was hard to get a good look at him tonight, what with all the guns in my face and all the drunk head-lolling he was doing, but looking at him in the photo I realize Samson looks very similar to Jack—tall, dark, and totally hot—but more mischievous and playful. And where Jack’s eyes are metallic pools of dark gray with thin rings of hazel green, Samson’s eyes are a true green.
Moving on, I round the end of the hallway and see Jack and his mother leaning close together in deep conversation at the table. Not wanting to intrude on their mommy-and-me moment, I quickly duck back into the shadows of the hallway.
“Tell me the truth, Jack,” his mom says, sounding worried. “How bad is this thing with Drew?”
Jack sighs heavily. “I really don’t know, Mom.”
Crap. I need to go somewhere else. I walk into the living room, but I can still hear them talking so I tiptoe to the back of the hallway where I texted my cousins. Dammit, I can still hear them.
Lilly’s voice climbs higher in pitch as she grates out, “Is he okay? Is he in trouble? Is he—”
“He’s fine.” Jack’s voice sounds sure. Steady. “He’s going to be just fine.”
Glancing at the hallway doors, I debate slipping into one of the mystery rooms to avoid listening in on their private dialogue. But sneaking into someone’s room in the dark and hiding out there for no apparent reason is like ten times creepier than eavesdropping. So yeah. No mystery doors for me.
She sniffs. “Dammit, J
ack. Just tell me so I know. I promise you, everything that I’ve been imagining is worse. Much worse.”
He quietly scoffs. “Yeah, that’s probably true.”
Screw it. I plaster myself against the side of the hallway and listen as Jack sucks in a deep breath.
“All right, Mom. Here’s what it is: Drew got mixed up with some of Dad’s associates and now he’s trying to get out—but don’t freak out. Samson and I have a plan. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Pressing my back against the cool wall I frown. I know for a fact that Samson and Jack do not have a plan, so I can only assume he’s lying to keep her calm.
“What associates?” Lilly asks with a bite to her tone.
“Mom…”
“Which ones, Jack?” A beat passes. “Don’t make me call Jonesy.”
Jack sighs. “The Royals.”
“The Royals?” A panicked squeak escapes her throat. “Oh, no. Not Drew. No, no, no—”
“Mom. Mom. Look at me.” Jack quiets his voice to a near whisper. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for this family. For you. For Samson. And especially Drew. So I will find him.” He pauses. “No matter what, I will find him and bring him home. Everything will be okay. I promise.” His tone is so gentle. So careful.
I’ve only heard him speak with such tenderness one other time, and that memory clashes terribly with my current situation.
Lilly sighs. “Jack… I’m worried.”
“You don’t need to worry,” Jack says. “I’ll take care of Drew.”
“No, baby. I’m worried about you.” I hear the scooting of a chair like she’s pulling closer to him. “You’ve been taking care of this family ever since you were a teenager—even before everything happened with your father. And when you left…” She inhales. “I know I said I didn’t want you to go, Jack, but secretly… I was relieved. You needed to get out of this place and away from all the burdens you inherited. And now this thing with Drew has you running back home and I—I’m afraid you’re going to slip right back into that burdened role.”
“Loving you guys isn’t a burden.”