by Geri Krotow
“Brandon’s correct; the first year or two is going to be hit or miss. But eventually the grants will work out, at least some of them. I expect most of them will come through, but statistically it’s best to assume we’ll earn maybe fifty percent.”
Brandon’s brow lowered. “I don’t get it.” He looked at Jeb, then turned to Jena. “I’m the major donor here. I don’t even understand why you’re looking for more money. I’m funding it all, aren’t I? Or didn’t I make it clear enough that I want to?”
Guilt coiled low in Jena’s belly. “I know you want to, and that’s very generous. But, like I told you in the hospital, if this is really going to work from the ground up, it needs to be fully sustainable. Your donation is crucial to getting the building completed, but it’s not enough for The Refuge to keep going on solely the interest.” She bit her lip, not wanting to turn this into a family drama, but Brandon had a habit of tunnel vision once he’d made a decision.
“The development of a forward-looking financial plan isn’t a luxury or an unnecessary distraction.” Jeb commanded the attention of everyone in the room, and Jena saw why he’d been so good at what he did for Boats by Gus—and why The Refuge would never be enough for him. He needed more of a challenge, professionally. The job in Atlanta sounded like it fit the bill, from what Brandon had told her.
“I don’t see why it’s necessary at all.” Brandon was being the stubborn brother she’d arm wrestled with.
“It’s necessary because no nonprofit operates well with only one source of income. It’s not only bad business, it’s an affront to the people we’ll be serving at The Refuge.” Jeb’s quiet authority could smooth the most ruffled feathers. “Besides the grants, there are several different sources of state and local funding. I’m putting those together now.”
“We’ll go over this again next week. Let’s move on.” Jena transitioned the meeting to more day-to-day operations, encouraging the newest employees to participate.
When the meeting ended, she left first, unable to remain in the room with Jeb. She didn’t trust herself not to ask him why he was checking his phone so much. It could have been his new job. It could have even been a romantic interest. His life wasn’t her business anymore. She had to face facts. The day would come soon enough that he’d tell her he was leaving.
What would she do then?
* * * *
Jena stared at her monitor, eyes burning as she studied what had to be the hundredth application for assistance. The Refuge hadn’t had its official opening yet, as far as the facility was concerned. But since she’d hired a marketing firm to put the website together and launch it, word got out in NOLA.
Clients ranged from homeless families to alcoholics and drug addicts. There were several requests for help with domestic conflict, and families and couples who needed someone to guide them through conflict resolution about things like home budgets. They also had domestic violence cases, which she was required by law to report to the police.
The initial sense of satisfaction was tempered by the very familiar sense of being overwhelmed.
Which meant it was time for Jena to give it a break until tomorrow. She pushed back from her desk, shoved her feet into her shoes, and stood up. It was a little after eight; Jeb might still have been working in the pantry, but she hadn’t heard anything from that side of the building in over an hour. Then again, she’d been engrossed in the requests for aid.
She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder, acknowledging her stomach’s grumbles. There was leftover pizza in her fridge, probably too dried out to consider for dinner. Grilled cheese and tomato soup it’d be.
In the corridor, near the front reception area, she heard the click of a door, and she paused. Hadn’t she locked up after the contractors left? No, she’d been holed up in her office for the past three hours.
While she didn’t miss being a CIA agent, she was grateful for the skills she’d acquired. Setting her bag down, she crept down the hall and waited just out of sight of the high desk. Footsteps, irregular and definitely not Jeb’s. Someone had come in off the street.
Before she had a chance to inch closer and get a glimpse of the intruder, a loud thump sounded. Jena ran forward, using moves that assured her safety, but her hackles were no longer on alert. She saw the high-heeled sandals first, the wearer flat on the floor in front of the reception desk. As she peered around the opaque window divider, she discovered an attractive young woman unconscious. She ran to her, kneeled at her side, and felt for a pulse. Very faint, erratic. The woman’s purse was beside her, its contents spilled out, including a small plastic packet of white powder and two syringes.
Move.
Jena’s training—from basic first aid to advanced trauma aid—kicked in.
The woman was coated with sweat and didn’t appear to be breathing.
Jena shouted on the off chance Jeb was still there. “Is anyone here? Help!” Tilting the woman’s head back, she cleared her mouth, then administered several mouth-to-mouth breaths. The woman’s lips were still blue, and she tried to breathe but there was only a sick, gurgling noise.
“Jena!” Jeb stood at the woman’s feet.
“Call nine-one-one! Probable overdose.”
Jena raced to her purse and brought it to the woman’s side, dumping the contents. Jeb’s voice was background noise as he spoke to the emergency dispatcher.
She quickly gave the woman more emergency breaths, then ripped open a packet of Narcan and prepped it. Placing the nozzle in the woman’s nostril, she administered the antidote.
Jena bent to resume rescue breathing, but the woman’s eyes popped open and she sucked in a long, full breath.
“What, what, oh, shit…” Her voice, while weak, didn’t stop her from letting loose a string of “fucks” and “shits.” Jena briefly closed her eyes. Thank God.
“You’re safe. What’s your name?”
“Molly.” Her eyes darted around the reception area, never fully meeting Jena’s. “Where am I?”
“The Refuge.”
Jena placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder when she tried to sit up. “Not so fast. You’ve just survived an overdose.”
“Wait—where the fuck did you say I am?” Instinct to fight a perceived threat had her struggling to keep seated.
“Take it easy. You’re at The Refuge, a social services center.”
Jena looked at Jeb, who stood in place, arms crossed over his chest. His expression was bland but Jena knew the blaze in his eyes. She’d felt the same way the first time she saw a resuscitated heroin OD.
“Oh, shit!” The woman turned her head to the side and vomited. If she hadn’t been trained to fight her gag reflex, Jena would have joined her. She rubbed the woman’s shoulder, trying to offer calm reassurance. And she was stalling—if the woman knew that an ambulance was en route, she might try to run.
“Here.” Jeb handed her a roll of paper towels and a bottle of water. She opened the bottle and helped the woman sip from it, then handed it to her. As she finished cleaning up the vomit, the EMTs arrived through the front door. Two police officers followed.
“I don’t need any fucking help!”
“We’re here to help you, ma’am.” The first EMT smiled and asked Jena what had happened. She explained, and one of the officers nodded.
“We know Molly. This is her neighborhood—she lives two blocks over.”
“Then I’ll leave you all to it.”
“We’ll need a statement once she’s stabilized.”
“Of course.”
Jena stood back and let the first responders do their jobs. Jeb walked up next to her. “That happen a lot in social work?”
“It didn’t used to, but yeah, it’s not uncommon. And FYI, I carry Narcan in my purse. Just in case. I’m sure you see the news—we’re in the middle of an opioid epidemic.”
“This is the first time I’ve seen it up close and personal.” His gaze assessed her. “You didn’t bat an eye.”
“There isn’t time to blink when someone’s overdosed. Every second counts. I’m just glad she walked in here and didn’t collapse on the street.”
“I thought the front door was locked.” His frown reflected her thoughts.
“I did, too. I never went out to check it, though. I got so busy in my office.” She looked at him. “Why are you here so late again?”
“I was crunching some numbers and planned to do the rest at home. When I got up, I saw that the kitchen needed some sweeping, since the contractors finished installing the cabinetry today.”
“That isn’t your job anymore—the contractor stuff.” They’d gotten laptops for each member of the staff who needed it, and Jeb had plenty to fill his plate as they fought to get the center on solid financial footing.
“It was quick and easy, and gave me a break from the head-pounding tasks.”
She wondered if he missed the more physical parts of his work at Boats by Gus, but before she could ask him a police officer approached them.
“Ready for my statement, officer?”
The woman chuckled. “You’ve done this before.”
“Many times.” Jena turned to Jeb, but he was gone.
Again.
Chapter 11
“Hey, bro, watch it!”
Jeb ducked in time to narrowly miss being clonked in the head by a falling limb as he and Brandon navigated the bayou in one of the flat-bottom boats their company had manufactured. When they’d had a company.
“Thanks.”
“You’re distracted this morning.” They’d agreed to meet this morning, enjoying time together as they had before what Jeb was beginning to think of as “The Event.” When he’d discovered that the woman he’d thought he knew better than anyone in the world was a completely different person entirely.
“I am.” No sense fighting it. He was beyond distracted, to the point of obsession.
“Want to talk about it?” Brandon’s phrase wasn’t new between them. What was new was that Jeb didn’t feel worthy of his friend’s trust. And yet he’d agreed to join him for something they’d always done: hanging out.
“I wouldn’t know where to begin.” Especially since Brandon had no clue how close he was to Jena.
“Try me, bro.” There it was.
“I have to get past this thing between us first, Brandon.”
“You’re the only one putting it there.” Brandon shut the motor off and handed Jeb an oar. They maneuvered through much more interesting territory the old-fashioned way. Plus, it didn’t scare off the critters, which was what had brought them out here as kids.
“Remember that raccoon with the alligator?”
Brandon laughed. “I thought we were going to see that gator swallow him whole.”
“Nope—he just caught a ride across the river.” Jeb rowed, enjoying the resistance of the current against the oar. “I know I’m the one holding back, Brandon. And to be honest, I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to forgive myself for betraying you. I could have at least left you a note.”
“And what would I have done? You know me best when it comes to that kind of thing, Jeb. I’m uptight, and when in doubt I’m always the one who’ll call for help. I’d have called the police, the FBI, and you’d have never gotten out of the country with the funds.”
“You said you didn’t care about the money. You’d have wired the money yourself.”
Brandon lifted his oar and used it to point. “See that tree? Look up at the branch right over the water.”
Jeb’s skin crawled at the sight of several water moccasins writhing on the low branch. “We don’t want to go over there.”
“Let’s head out for the middle of the stream.” Once they were into a comfortable rhythm, Brandon looked over his shoulder. “You’re right—I would have wired the money, but that wouldn’t have done jack shit for Jena. They’d have killed her.”
Yes, they would have. The sick sense of dread washed over him, his heart pounding against his rib cage. He didn’t think he’d ever let go of this—the sheer terror at the thought of losing Jena.
And now he’d been the one to let her go, then send mixed messages by making love to her in the kitchen.
“You aren’t disagreeing.”
“I can’t. You’re right.”
“What made you go, Jeb? Sure, Jena’s been part of your life since you met my family, but what’s really going on?”
Jeb stilled. Brandon knew damn well what was between him and Jena—he wouldn’t dig into something so personal unless he already knew the answer. Or at least had a good idea of it.
“What are you asking me, Brandon? If Jena and I are more than friends?” He wasn’t going to betray Jena, but he wouldn’t lie to his lifelong friend, either. A friend he’d already betrayed.
Brandon set his oar down and motioned for Jeb to do the same. He moved to the seat beside Jeb at the stern and fired up the motor. It was relatively quiet for an outboard motor, and that had been a great selling point for their boats. They skimmed along the swampy water, the sun glistening on the brown surface. Several water bugs leaped and flew their way over the bayou, their wings iridescent. He longed to be here with Jena.
And that was the crux of his issues. He always wanted to be with the one woman he’d never have, not in that way. Jena didn’t give herself away like that.
“I think we both know the answer to that, Jeb. You don’t run to another continent with fifteen million to rescue a friend’s sister, unless the friend asks you to. No, my friend, that’s what a man in love does.”
“That doesn’t mean I knew it at the time.” He hadn’t. He’d simply acted. Like adding up columns, finding a deficit, and knowing it had to be corrected.
“But you’re not denying how you feel about her?” Brandon looked at him, his gaze noncommittal. Jeb knew better. Brandon was feeling him out, looking to see if Jeb had thought it all through.
“No.” He leaned forward, his arms on his thighs. “It’s not what you think, though. I can’t have the ending you and Poppy had. Jena and I… We’re a lot more complicated.”
“How so?”
“Are you kidding me? Should I start with the whole bit about being a part of your family?”
“We all knew there was something there for a long time. You went to prom together in high school, remember? And you’re always at odds with one another, at least you have been since college. Henry and I figured something happened between you two there.”
“You’d be right.” He hung his head. “Fuck.”
“It’s not a death sentence to care about a woman, Jeb.”
“That woman is your sister.” It had to carry more weight. She meant a whole hell of a lot to both of them.
“Yeah, but she’s her own person, too. And from a brotherly standpoint, I’d much rather see her with the devil I know.”
Jeb looked at him, and when he saw the wide grin on Brandon’s face, he punched him in the shoulder. Brandon laughed.
“It’s never going to be anything more than it was. She and I… We can get along for a while, and it all seems okay on paper, if you will. But we’ve both kept too much from one another over the years. That’s not how it should be with a life partner. I can’t be with someone who won’t share it all with me.”
Brandon nodded. “Yeah, Jena’s a tough nut to crack, all right. She’s always kept more to herself than either Henry or I. She had the same issues we did with our folks, but instead of throwing it all out there, she quietly planned for college and made a vow to herself she’d leave home for good at eighteen.”
“How are you doing with your parents? With your, uh, reconciliation?”
“It’s good. I can’t pretend the past didn’t happen, but it
doesn’t have to define today. They’re doing their best to make up for the lost years, and for how they behaved when Henry announced his engagement to Sonja. Do you know about Henry’s ex bothering Sonja after the wedding was called off?”
“A little bit.”
“My folks invited Henry’s ex to the rehearsal dinner, and the wedding, and didn’t tell Henry or Sonja. She was nuts in college, and hasn’t gotten any better. It was just a lot of drama for them, on top of Sonja having cold feet and finding out she was pregnant.”
“Why the hell did they do that?”
“Because they had to make a last-ditch attempt to convince Henry he should marry a white girl.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, Jesus had something to do with them coming around, if you ask me. Only a miracle could have changed my father’s ingrained bigotry.” Brandon heaved out a sigh, moved the tiller to get around a large patch of cattails. “I’m glad they’ve both seen the light, but I’m a little bit heartbroken that it didn’t happen sooner.”
Jeb sat quiet, remembering the many times he’d listened to Brandon vent about his relationship—or lack thereof—with his parents. Brandon cut ties with them when he was in college, furious over how his parents had left NOLA in the aftermath of Katrina.
“Which leads me back to my point, Jeb. I had this conversation with Henry when he was trying to figure out what the hell to do about Sonja and whether to fight it out. You and Jena, you’re both very stubborn, and neither of you are the world’s most open people.”
Jeb didn’t argue. He didn’t like to talk about his family or the frightening childhood he’d endured at the hands of an alcoholic mother and absentee father. Who would? And Jena didn’t talk about anything, beginning with her job with the CIA.
“Trust is central to it all for me, Brandon. I’m not saying Jena’s not trustworthy—”
“I get it. You’re saying she doesn’t trust you, not enough to let you in to her world fully. Take it from me—she doesn’t let any of us in. You’re the closest ally she’s ever had.”
