She shrugged. "Damn thing just stopped working on me. I've been stranded here I don't even know how long. My phone died a while ago and it only made it to ten percent just now. I tried to leave it off so I could have it for a while."
"Come on, get in my truck and I'll give you a lift."
"You don't have to do that," she protested. "I'll be okay."
I knew that was a lie. She really was starting to go blue and she looked like she wanted to break down and cry. I walked to the back of her car and opened it before I grabbed her bags and popped them into the back of my truck. She tilted her head.
"Get in," I called as I walked back to her car. "My friend can tow this back to where you're staying."
"My mom's," she said quietly. "I'm staying there for now until I can get it all cleaned up so I can sell it."
I watched her and frowned as she slid behind the wheel of her car. I knew that had to be hard, staying in the place that she hated so much. I'd been with her so many nights when we were teens, and she'd broken down and held onto me for support. When life had been too much and she couldn't handle another second of it.
I was glad that she'd gotten away. When she left I knew that she'd be happy.
The only problem was that she'd left me behind in the process. I thought I'd hear from her eventually, but as the weeks had turned into months, had turned into years, I knew I'd never hear from her again.
"Turn your wheel," I called from behind the car. "I'll push you over to the side so nobody comes along and hits it in the meantime."
Joanne nodded, and I pushed and she steered until the car was more on the side and alongside a ditch then sitting in the middle of the road. It was a good thing that she hadn't been hit already. I dusted my hands off on my pants as I panted and she slipped out of the car. She stared at me as I tried to catch my breath.
"I'm not that out of shape. It's just hard to push a car."
I watched a grin tick up the corner of her mouth. "Are you sure? Should I call someone for you?"
"Get in the truck," I growled.
Joanne chuckled as she climbed into my truck. I shook my head. Still an asshole. That's true at least.
I climbed into the driver’s seat and watched as she practically melted against the chair. She groaned deep and it stirred something deep inside of me. I raised a brow at her.
"Heat," she moaned. "Sweet, glorious warmth. My car wasn't built for the cold and I never got it looked at because I was in the desert." She laughed. "It was so stupid, but I guess it wouldn't have mattered anyway. The car still would have died."
"Or if you'd taken it in they could have made sure everything was good before you left and you wouldn't have almost frozen to death."
Joanna narrowed her eyes at me. "Don't make me go from grateful and appreciative to slapping you."
I laughed. There was that attitude that I hadn't had the pleasure of being around in a long time. She'd never been an agreeable person. If anything she'd argue you down and call you an idiot. Or maybe that was just the way that she was with me.
For a while we drove in silence. I glanced over and she was buried in her jacket as if it were an igloo. When her head popped out she smiled and I knew it was the simple pleasure of warmth and comfort. I remembered spending the night at her place when there was no heat and the blankets were thin and ratty. We'd cuddled underneath the same blankets and the thick quilts that I snuck over until she stopped shaking and had that same tamed look on her face.
"So, where have you been?" I asked as we drove closer and closer to her mother's house.
"All over," she said with a shrug. "California, Arizona, Colorado and then I settled in Vegas."
"Vegas?" I asked. "You ran off to become a call girl or something?"
Joanne flipped me off. "That's not the only profession in Vegas," she scoffed. "I'm a nanny out there."
"Who the hell keeps kids in that place?"
"People who work there," she said pointedly. "Execs, socialites, celebrities. Most of them don't stay there the whole year, but when they're in town I'm the one that watches and helps raise their children."
"They sound like shitty parents."
"Oh yeah," she mumbled. "You're a paragon of understanding and kindness as usual."
"How would you know what I am?" I mused. "You haven't been here in over ten years. I think that means you no longer know what the hell you're talking about."
She blinked at me and I instantly felt bad. My deep-seated anger at the whole situation made me cranky toward it, but I still couldn't stand that look on her face. She looked guilty and sad.
"Sorry," I said quickly. "I was just kidding. You know that, right?"
Joanne nodded. "It's no big deal. I'm exhausted and freezing. I'm dying for some food and a good bath."
"I'm sure we can find that for you."
We finally pulled up to her mother’s house and I was hit with a wall of emotions. The place still stood the same as it always had. Honestly, it was a grand house with yellow paint, white doors and a large garden out front. Joanne’s mom, Monica, had let the garden die while she was there, but I remembered it when I was a kid and how much it flourished.
Joanne stared up at the place as we sat in the driveway. I watched her rub her arms and mumble to herself before she glanced at me. In that moment I wanted to reach out, caress her cheek and tell her that it would all be okay.
Instead, I kept my distance until she sucked in a breath and nodded.
"Alright. Thanks for the ride."
"Do you think I'm letting you go in there by yourself?" I asked.
"I'm fine," she said with a smile. "It's a house, not a haunted asylum or some shit."
Even as she tried to deny that it bothered her, I could hear the way her voice caught in her throat. She didn't want to go in there alone any more than I wanted her to do it. I reached over and laid a hand on her arm. She glanced up at me, sadness in her eyes as she rotated her hand and let me slide mine inside of it.
"We're going in together," I pressed. "And if you don't listen to that I'll be happy to throw you over my shoulder and drag you inside."
"Such a caveman," she laughed. "Fine. You can come inside with me."
"You act like I was waiting for an invitation."
"Ah, just as irritating as I remember."
We smiled at each other and our eyes locked. I felt the heat that swept up my body every time I looked at her, even as a teenager. Her tongue darted across her lip before she opened her door and slid out of her seat.
It took me a minute to get myself under control. Once I was sure that I wouldn't be presenting anything too outstanding I climbed out and grabbed her things from the back. My groceries could wait. It wasn't like they'd go bad in the cold. Instead, I trudged up after Joanne and waited patiently as she opened the door.
Chapter 3
Joanne
Peter…
Wow. How was I supposed to know that I'd run into such a familiar face? It was almost not familiar though when I looked at him. That dark beard that covered his chin and cheeks, swirling brown eyes and hulking figure were almost completely different from the beanstalk that I'd grown up with.
Being close to him in his car for the remaining miles to my mom's house had been... challenging. I realized I kept staring at him out of the corner of my eye. How couldn't I? He looked so good in his khaki-green jacket and heavy boots. Once we were in the house with the heat blasting as high as it could go, he looked even better. His body showed through the white tank that he wore underneath the black flannel over it.
I wanted to rub my hand over his body. I knew there had to be a dark spattering of hair under there as I saw it curl here and there around the top. I wanted to trace it down to his happy trail.
What the hell, Joanne?
Okay, I knew I had lost my mind.
I'd tried to squash those feelings that I'd had for him back when we were kids, but they'd all come flooding in again when he smiled at me and called me Jo Jo. That w
as the nickname that only we shared and only he could call me.
"Where do you want me to put this?"
I glanced up as Peter walked into the living room with a lamp in his hand. It was covered all over in shells and beads and looked like all of Jamaica had puked on it. I pulled a face and pointed to a box.
"There. I'm going to assume no one would be stupid enough to buy something like that."
"Your mom did," he grinned.
I sighed. "That's because she was high all the time. I feel like if I was strung out I'd think it was cute too. Otherwise?" I shrugged. "I'm gonna say it can end up in the dump."
"Ah, don't be so hard on her," he said as he lowered it into the box I'd pointed at. "We both know she had a love of the ocean."
I smiled. He was right about that. No matter how annoying she was, I knew that she'd wanted to get out of Iowa too. She just never could. It made my heart feel heavy to know that I'd gotten to escape and she'd stayed trapped in the same small town until she died.
"You okay?" Peter asked.
I glanced up at him and plastered on my familiar fake smile. It was the one that I always wore when someone wanted me to show sincere emotion. Is that insane? It has to be a little insane? I groaned inwardly. Or maybe it was just because I'd gotten used to hiding what I was really feeling at every turn.
"I'm fine," I said finally as Peter continued to stare at me. "I'm just a little tired after the drive and everything."
"I told you, you should have gone up and taken a bath first thing, but you refuse to listen."
"No way. I want to get this done as soon as possible before I have to hit the road and get out of here again."
"Okay," Peter said with a small nod.
When I looked at him I saw something in his eyes that made me want to stop and touch him.
I know, you missed me.
It was clear to see that's what bothered him, and I felt even more like shit for not contacting him over the years. Every time he'd tried to call, text or send a message I'd avoided it. Not because of him. I just couldn't stand to face the life that I'd left behind.
"Did your friend say when he'd get to my car?" I asked to break up the tension.
"Dan said it would take a little bit. He had to tow another car for someone that slipped into a ditch but he'll get to yours next."
"Sounds like a deal," I said as I stood up and looked around.
The living room was slowly but surely coming together. I'd let Peter help me with the cleanup only because he'd insisted. Honestly, I thought I'd be alone in this big old house until I'd finished getting it together, but he refused to leave.
As I glanced around the room, all I could think about were all of the bad things that had happened to me there. Being hungry, being scared and alone, being cornered by my mom's boyfriends until she had to kick them out. My throat felt like it wanted to close up and all I could do was frown.
"Remember when we used to come here after school?" Peter asked as he wandered around. "We'd make those weird concoctions and dare each other to eat them until someone got sick?"
I relaxed a little and grinned at his words. "You mean when I made you eat mayonnaise and ice cream and sardines?"
Peter looked like he wanted to hurl at that exact moment. I grinned. One of my favorite pastimes, when we were children, was to get him to eat the nastiest combinations of food that I could possibly find. He wasn't much better than I was. He loved it too.
"Go ahead and joke," Peter laughed. "All I have to say is hot dogs covered in peanut butter with chips and syrup."
I held my stomach. "Fuck that and you."
Peter laughed as I walked away from him. That was a serious punishment. He'd laughed while I ate it and then held my hair as it came back up. That was just one of many games that we'd played when we were young. The amount of laughter and sickness were proportionate. Even if our moms yelled at us for it later.
We fell into comfortable conversation as if we had seen each other every day for the past ten years. No matter what sad thoughts tried to permeate my brain, Peter made sure I remembered something equally hilarious and there was no shortage of great stories.
"Remember when we brought all those firecrackers and shoved them into people's mailboxes?" I asked as I carried a box into the living room.
"Oh jeez," he groaned. "That was such a bad idea. My mom yelled at me so bad and then she lectured me for longer. I hated the lecture more."
I laughed as I walked over and ran a hand through his hair. It was still the same chocolate brown that matched his beard now. My fingers scratched across his scalp and he moaned as he leaned back into my touch.
"You always knew how to do that just right?"
I snorted. "As if anyone couldn't do this?"
Peter shook his head. "Trust me, people have tried. It's not the same."
I swallowed thickly. Does he mean it's not the same as me?
I'd done this to him since we were young. Peter would always curl up against me and usually he'd fall asleep too. Our mothers had been so concerned that our friendship would turn inappropriate, but it had never gone beyond comfort, support and an amazing friendship.
Except I'd started feeling things for him when I was still young. How could I not? He'd smiled at me and touched me like I was the most special thing on the planet. I still remembered the feeling of his hands as they embraced me and the way he stood up for me whenever I couldn't.
I haven't thought about those things for so long.
It felt like ages ago. I still remembered Peter with his fist cocked as he stared down my bully and then jammed his hand into his face. He'd always been there for me. Maybe that's why I felt so comfortable with him.
I pulled my fingers from his hair and quickly went back through prowling the living room for more things that needed to be packed away. It was stuffed full of my mother's need to horde and keep until things became shadows of what they once were. The newspapers were yellowed and dog eared. The books on the coffee table were stained and falling apart.
That's what I need to focus on. When I glanced up, I watched Peter's deep brown eyes as they appraised me. He was the only person who'd ever known when there was more going on beneath the surface than what I told him. I watched his hand as it twitched and I knew that he wanted to reach out and touch me. I didn't need that though. I needed to plow forward until the house was completely empty and I could go back home.
"What do you want to do with all these picture albums?" He asked quietly.
I looked at them and shrugged. "I don't think there's any reason to keep them. Throw them in the trash."
"What about these?" Peter asked.
I didn't want to look. Still, my feet dragged me to his side and I stared as I crouched down beside him. In one we were wide-eyed kids with dirty clothes and we held a fish in our palms as we laughed. In another, we were older. I laid on his lap as his head tilted straight back over the couch and he snored. The last one was from the week I'd left. Peter held me in his arms and stuck his tongue out as if he was going to lick my face. I looked horrified, but I remembered having such a good time.
Underneath it was one picture that sucked the breath right out of my chest.
Peter and I stood in a field and there was a man behind me. He beamed at the camera proudly. The man had dark hair, but the same pea-green eyes that I'd inherited. He gripped one of each of our shoulders and smiled as the picture was taken. My father. The only one I'd ever really missed in my life besides Peter.
"We were so young," I whispered as I plopped onto the couch and stared at the photo.
He nodded. "Yeah, we were. Your dad was a good man though. I remember him."
"I do too," I whispered.
As I stared at the photo held gingerly in my hands, Peter started to rub my back. Just like I knew that a scratch to the scalp would calm him, he knew that if he rubbed my back I would settle down as well. The gentle motion of his skin against my shirt almost lulled me to sleep before I shook my head.
I wanted to stay in Peter's hands forever at that moment. I wanted him to touch me, hold me, caress me until I wasn't such a fragile bundle of nerves that I'd been before I even arrived back home. I wanted his touch and comfort.
Come on. There's so much left to do. Get it together.
I reminded myself that I wouldn't be sticking around long enough for any of that. No matter what old feelings stirred in my chest, I had to remember that we'd both moved on and that I wouldn't be here forever.
I'd only come into town to tidy things up and get out again. There's no time to pursue anything. The only thing that had been on my mind since day one was to sell the house and get the hell back to Las Vegas.
That couldn't change.
Not even for Peter.
I quickly rubbed a hand over my eyes. "We should keep going," I said as I stood up and tossed the pictures back onto the coffee table.
Peter stared at me, but I ignored him. The ache that throbbed in my chest felt hollow and deep. I didn't want to question it and find out why it hurt so badly.
Chapter 4
Peter
"I'm starving," Joanne said as she stacked another box against the wall and wiped the sweat from her forehead.
"I have some groceries out in the truck. They're probably frozen by now," I laughed.
"I think that microwave works in the kitchen. Maybe," she mumbled as she thought it over.
The sound of a horn blared and we both jolted. I stopped staring at her and walked to the window to see a smiling face and Joanne's car. My friend Dan walked up to the door and Joanne peered from around my shoulder.
"This is Joanne. It's her car."
Dan extended a hand and shook hers. "I think I know what's wrong with it… it’s likely your alternator is shot. I’ll need to take a proper look, but if it’s definitely that I can get the part for you and replace it—."
"Thank God," Joanne sighed.
"—ut it won't be tonight."
I watched Jo's face fall. "Why not?"
"There's a huge storm rolling in. It's getting worse. I need to get home and hunker down for the night with my family. They're saying it's going to be ridiculous out there. Maybe for a few days."
B9 Hometown Lover Page 2
