Pieces (The Breakaway #2)

by Michelle Davidson Argyle

  “Well, I’m here.” He reached over and set his hand on top of her thigh. She glanced down and smiled.

  “So, how was it? You went to Rome?”

  “Yeah.” He rested his head on the seat and sighed. “It’s beautiful, Naomi. You’ll love it. I sorted out a lot of the paperwork I’ve been having problems with, so now I have to wait and see if I get the position. They told me I should know in a few days.”

  Naomi’s heart was beating fast now that she was going to have to decide soon. Eager to change the subject, she said, “I planned our favorite pasta dish for dinner. Do you want to help me make it?”

  His shoulders relaxed as he looked away. “Of course. Why don’t we pick up some wine to go with it?”

  “Okay.”

  DINNER FELT rushed. Naomi wanted to take Jesse up to her room as soon as they stepped through the front door, but he had mentioned in the car how hungry he was, so cooking seemed like the sensible thing to do before anything else. She didn’t want to be sensible, but at the same time, she was more nervous then she thought she would be. So, dinner it was.

  With her mind on a million things, she undercooked the pasta and overcooked the mushrooms. When she cut her finger slicing bread, Jesse went to find a Band-Aid in the bathroom.

  “Top shelf in the medicine cabinet!” she yelled after him as she pressed a damp paper towel to the cut.

  A moment later, the front door opened. Becca walked in with her backpack slung over one shoulder and her laptop case over another. She dropped both bags on the couch and wandered into the kitchen. Dark circles rimmed her eyes.

  Leaning against the sink, Naomi watched her trudge to the refrigerator.

  “I need caffeine,” she mumbled in a deflated voice. “Or alcohol. This semester is going to kill me.” She pulled open the refrigerator door and peered inside, then glanced at Naomi. “I hate Professor Davis. If he gives me less than an A in his class, I’ll find a pack of rabid dogs to hunt him down next time he’s walking out to his car.”

  Naomi smirked, watching as Becca grabbed the bottle of wine Jesse had put on the top shelf.

  “Um, that’s ours,” Naomi said, stepping forward.

  Becca looked up, the bottle gripped tightly in her hand. It had cost Jesse a small fortune. He had refused to let Naomi buy it.

  “Ours?” Becca asked. “You mean mine and yours? Great.”

  “No, mine and Jesse’s. For dinner. We put it in there to chill for a few minutes.”

  Becca blinked. “He’s here?”

  “Yeah, he flew in today.”

  “How the hell does he have permission to fly here and see you?”

  “He’s off parole.”

  Leaning forward, Becca asked, “Already? That was pretty damn fast for the crime he committed.” Her focus hardened on Naomi’s face. “And it seems like they still wouldn’t let him see you right after parole, especially if it’s that short of a time.”

  Naomi glowered. “He’s done everything they asked him to. It doesn’t surprise me.” She pressed the balls of her feet hard into the floor, trying to move past her annoyance. “You can join us for dinner if you want. There’s plenty.”

  Becca put the wine back in the fridge and closed the door. “I guess so.”

  Looking down at the paper towel pressed around her cut, Naomi noticed blood was starting to seep through. “So, you’re alright with him staying here for a while, right?” she asked, stealing a glance up at Becca’s widened eyes.

  “Um ....” She looked away.

  “He’s not going to murder us in our sleep.”

  Becca stiffened. “Did I say that?”

  “No, but—”

  Jesse came into the kitchen, stopping in his tracks when he saw Becca. “Hello,” he said, his expression cautious.

  Naomi motioned to Becca. “Jesse, this is Becca, my housemate.”

  He stepped forward, his hand extended. In his other hand, he held a Band-Aid and a tube of antibiotic cream. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Becca glanced at Naomi as if making sure Jesse wasn’t going to pull a gun on her. Naomi supposed it might be unnerving meeting an ex-con for the first time. But he was Jesse. He didn’t look scary. It wasn’t as if he had killed anyone. She glared at Becca, who stepped forward and quickly shook Jesse’s hand.

  “Nice to meet you,” she said in a fake sweet voice as she pulled her hand away.

  “Becca’s eating dinner with us,” Naomi said, reaching for the Band-Aid. Jesse held it away from her.

  “I’ll do it.” He looked at Becca, still smiling. “We’d love to have you join us. You live here too. I don’t want to intrude. Did Naomi ask if it’s okay for me to stay?”

  “She did,” Becca answered, and swallowed as if a lump had formed in her throat and she couldn’t get it down. This was ridiculous. Naomi held out her hand for Jesse, who unpeeled the paper towel.

  “Nasty cut,” he mumbled. “You need to be more careful, love.”

  It was the first time he had ever called her love. She looked up at Becca as Jesse cleaned the cut.

  “It’s okay if you stay,” Becca said, her voice hesitant. She watched Jesse with a wary expression.

  Naomi straightened. “Since Derek stays here all the time,” she growled, her anger mounting. “Right, Becca? Just because you know Jesse was in prison doesn’t mean you need to be afraid of him.”

  “It’s not that,” Becca snapped. “It’s that he kidnapped—” She glanced at Jesse and snapped her mouth closed.

  Finished with the Band-Aid, Jesse let go of Naomi’s hand and looked back and forth between her and Becca. He folded his arms and a steely expression settled across his face. Naomi knew that look all too well. He had made up his mind about something and he wasn’t going to budge.

  “I’m not staying if it makes either of you uncomfortable,” he said, focusing mostly on Becca. “It’s obvious Naomi has told you about me.”

  “A little, yes.” A tiny spark of fear flashed across her face. It was the first time Naomi had ever seen her so uncomfortable.

  Jesse nodded. “Would you like me to leave?”

  Naomi stepped forward, her muscles tense. “Jesse, no, you don’t have to leave just because she—”

  Becca put up her hands. “No! I’m fine, I promise. You seem like a nice guy, okay? It’s a weird situation, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting you here.” She threw Naomi a sharp look. “So chill the hell out. I’ll leave you two alone.” With that, she walked out of the kitchen and disappeared upstairs.

  “Well,” Jesse said, staring at the space Becca had occupied. “That’s one example to back up my point.”

  “What point?” Naomi cradled her finger in her other hand. The cut throbbed now that a Band-Aid was wrapped around it.

  Jesse turned to her, his expression softening as he said, “I don’t think Becca meant any offense—”

  “What point?” she interrupted.

  Jesse shrugged and walked to the fridge, taking out the wine and setting it on the table. Then he went to the counter where Naomi had been cutting the bread earlier. He picked up the knife and began slicing the crusty loaf. Dinner was ready whenever they decided to sit down. Finishing a slice, Jesse began another. “Like I said, I don’t think Becca meant any offense. Her behavior was a natural reaction if she’s not accustomed to ... people like me. She seems like a nice girl, so I doubt she’s been around many criminals.”

  “You aren’t a criminal. Not anymore.” She folded her arms and watched the knife sawing through the bread. It seemed to go in rhythm with the throbbing in her finger.

  “Your reaction is what I expected,” Jesse said, looking up at her without moving his head. “You seem bent on defending me.”

  “Of course I’m going to defend you.” She leaned over to look him in the eyes as he kept cutting. Her jaw was tight before relaxing to speak again. “It’s not a crime for us to be together. Becca has no right to—”

  “To what, Naomi?” He stopped cutting. “Be afra
id of me? She can’t help that.” He set down the knife and pulled Naomi into his arms, rubbing her back as she relaxed against him. “This is exactly what I was trying to tell you earlier. It’s not everyone’s reactions I’m worried about. It’s yours. You’re too sensitive to deal with this. What’s going to happen when newspapers start printing stories about us? How are you going to feel? And when reporters start knocking on the door? What then?”

  She was crying now, her cheek pressed against his shoulder as he continued to rub her back. “You always make me cry,” she muttered through her sobs.

  “I don’t mean to,” he said, chuckling. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re right. I get so angry whenever anyone mentions you at all. Nobody ... not one person wants us to be together, except for us. It’s not fair. For the longest time, I didn’t think it would matter what other people thought, but it does, and I hate that it does. My mom doesn’t even know you’re here.”

  Jesse pushed her away from him so he could look into her face. “You haven’t said anything to her. That’s good.”

  “Of course I haven’t.” She looked at the dishes on the table. The pasta was getting cold. “Can we eat?”

  “Yes, of course.” He kissed her forehead and went to open the wine. When he had poured her a glass, she sat down and took a few sips of the deep red liquid, realizing she was sitting in the same spot she always sat whenever Finn came over for dinner. Now it was Jesse in Finn’s place, eating from the same bowl with the same silverware.

  “This is excellent,” Jesse said, already eating with as much gusto as Finn.

  “Not as good as Evelyn’s. I’ve made it better before.”

  Jesse swallowed and took another bite. “It’s perfect,” he mumbled.

  Smiling, Naomi took a bite and decided the pasta was nothing special. Nobody would ever make it as well as Evelyn, but it didn’t matter now. Jesse was here. She didn’t want it any other way, mediocre pasta and all.

  “SO, YOUR parents pay for this house?” Jesse asked as he unpacked his bag in Naomi’s room.

  “Yeah, they do.”

  “It’s a nice place.” He threw a pair of jeans into the drawer. He had told her he had a few days off because of the Thanksgiving holiday, and he planned to spend all of it with her. She wanted it to be longer, no matter how awkward it might be with Becca around.

  “Jesse, I—”

  He walked to his bag beside her on the bed, and with a sweep of his arm pushed it to the floor. “I’m tired of waiting,” he said, embracing her. “You’ve fed me and played proper hostess long enough.”

  She giggled and wrapped her arms around him. The glass of wine she’d had with dinner had made her warm already, but now she felt on fire. It was a good feeling. It was more than she had felt in a long time. “What are you saying?” she asked, her words a little slurred.

  “I want you. Now.” He started undressing her and she didn’t stop him. She pulled his shirt over his head, kissing him every moment he came in contact with her. He tasted so good. He smelled of garlic and thyme from dinner. “I love you,” he whispered, pressing her onto the bed. She rested her head on the pillows. When she closed her eyes, she remembered her first time with him at the house, how gentle he had been, and how he was still gentle, but forceful too. She didn’t know how he managed to combine the two and not mess it up.

  Holding her wrists together, he secured her hands above her head. Her knuckles grazed the wall behind her. Jesse smiled and she smiled too ... and then she remembered kissing Finn. Crap. If she didn’t tell Jesse about Finn now, she would regret it forever. She wanted to be honest with him. No secrets ever again.

  “Jesse,” she said with a crack in her voice, “I need to tell you something.”

  “Yes?” He kissed her neck and then her bare collarbone.

  “Um, please don’t hate me. Please, please don’t hate me, but being here with you like this, I have to tell you in case it’s an issue. I think you’ll understand.” She closed her eyes, keenly aware of how Jesse was pinning her down by holding her hands above her head. In a way, the submissive feeling was comfortable and put her at ease. Jesse was in control. She wanted it that way and he knew it. It was how it had been at the house.

  “Go on,” he urged, putting his full attention on listening to her.

  “There’s a guy I met before I found out you were on parole.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. She loved Jesse. Opening her eyes, she looked at him and knew she would do anything to keep from hurting him. She had to tell him. So, taking a deep breath, she delved into telling him about Finn. He listened, his expression calm and understanding.

  “That’s it?” he asked, laughing. “If that’s all you’ve done since I’ve been away, I’m relieved. I expected you to be long gone by the time I was out. I never said you had to wait for me. Did I give you that impression?”

  “No.”

  “And you care for Finn as a friend, but it’s me you love.” His hands tightened around her wrists.

  “Yes,” she said, leaning up to kiss him. “Yes.”

  XV

  NAOMI WOKE TO THE SOUND OF HER phone ringing. Ignoring it, she rolled over in bed, hoping to feel Jesse next to her, but his side was empty and cold. She opened her eyes and sat up, relieved to see his luggage still on the floor and his shoes by her desk. He was probably in the shower. She lay back down, smiling. Everything felt perfect, and then her phone rang again. Annoyed, she reached over and grabbed it off her desk.

  Karen Jensen.

  Swallowing a lump in her throat, she answered. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi, sweetheart. I hope I’m not calling during your classes. You told me Thursdays are free in the morning.”

  Naomi glanced at her clock. It was ten-thirty. “Yeah, I have class in an hour.”

  “Oh, good.”

  A long pause. Naomi stared at the ceiling and wondered when Jesse would get back.

  “So, how are you doing?” her mother asked.

  “Fine.”

  “That’s it? Fine? How are your classes?”

  “Fine.” Naomi stared at Jesse’s luggage on the floor. It bothered her that she couldn’t tell her mother about him, but he was right—it wouldn’t go over well. Her throat felt scratchy when she swallowed. She threw off her blankets as the room seemed to shrink.

  “So,” her mother said, drawing out the word as long as possible, “I’ll see you in a week, then?”

  Naomi slid out of bed, her body sweating as she stood in the middle of her room. “I’m not coming for Thanksgiving,” she said, her voice so weak it sounded like a twig about to break. “I’m sorry, but I have to ... I have to ....” She squeezed the phone and gulped. “There’s a guy here I want to spend some time with.”

  “The one you were texting over the summer break?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s ... that’s great, Naomi.” Her mother’s voice wavered. “But are you sure? You always come home for Thanksgiving.”

  “I know.” Walking across the room, she opened her door and peered down the hallway. The bathroom door was open, the room dark, so Jesse wasn’t in there. Becca’s bedroom door was cracked open, but it looked dark inside. That was expected since she left at seven every morning.

  “It’s okay if you stay there for the holiday,” her mother replied, as if she had final say over Naomi’s decision, “but maybe you can drive up to Elizabeth’s for dinner on Thanksgiving Day. It’s only two hours away. Or does this boy have family in Cambridge you’ll be eating dinner with?”

  Elizabeth lived in Maine. The last thing Naomi wanted to do was drive up the coast and spend time with an aunt she barely knew. She decided to stay away from that topic. “He’s not a ‘boy’, Mom. He’s twenty-nine.” Silence. Naomi stood at the top of the stairs, waiting. She wanted to hear her mother’s reaction to little facts dropped here and there about a man she had no idea was Jesse. If Naomi’s instincts were right, her mot
her would urge her to pursue any relationship outside of Jesse, even with an older man. That started an angry fire inside her gut.

  “Twenty-nine is a good age,” her mother finally said, her voice slow and even. “I’m assuming he’s through school and has a career.”

  “Yes.” Starting down the stairs, Naomi peeked into the living room and saw Jesse sitting on the couch, his back to her as he spoke quietly into his phone. In front of him on the coffee table was his laptop. He bent forward and scrolled down a page.

  “Mom, I need to go,” Naomi said, trying to suppress the heat boiling inside her. Of course her mother would be okay with her dating a nice, upstanding twenty-nine-year-old with an established career.

  “Alright, sweetheart, but are you sure about Thanksgiving? Elizabeth would love to have you up there.”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Or maybe we can fly out there to be with you. Then we can meet this man.”

  Naomi tensed. “No, Mom, please. It’s not that serious.”

  “Can you at least tell me his name?”

  Wincing, Naomi took a few more steps down the stairs. By now, Jesse had heard her talking and looked up from his computer. He closed the lid and said something into the phone before lowering it from his ear.

  “Good morning,” he mouthed, smiling warmly.

  She returned the smile, even though she felt like puking. She wasn’t lying to her mother, but she wasn’t telling the whole truth, either. It made her uneasy, as if she was trying to keep a handful of threads connected to everything in her life, and they were all unraveling and snapping at a tremendous rate. She kept trying to tie knots in them, but it wasn’t working. Finn was gone. School was nearly gone. And the thread to her mother had fifty knots, each one twisting away until Naomi stood staring at it, waiting for the final break.

  When she looked up, she saw Jesse. He was stability and strength, a hand held out to her, thicker than any thread. He wanted to take care of her, simple as that. He wanted to make her happy. He didn’t make her feel obligated to finish school. He didn’t make her feel upset about her unresolved emotions over the kidnapping. He wanted her just the way she was. If she asked for help, he would give it without judgment. That was more than her mother was trying to do. It was more than anyone could ever do.