Plain Jayne

by Laura Drewry

  “I’m not crying!” She sat up and dropped her hands in case he didn’t believe her. Hell, she even forced a smile. Or maybe it was a grimace. “Nothing Gran did ever made me cry, Nick, it was always you.”

  “I never made you cry,” he murmured. “I let you cry. There’s a difference.”

  Ignoring her protests, he pulled her back against his side and held her tighter than before. “Cry or don’t cry. I don’t know what else to do right now, so I’m just going to sit here and hug you until we come up with a better idea.”

  They sat in silence for a long while as people in orange vests set up barricades at the intersection in front of Gran’s store and redirected traffic to Second Avenue and Loggers Lane. It didn’t seem to matter that Jayne’s dream had just come to a screeching halt; it was the first weekend in August, and in the town of Newport Ridge, that meant Loggers Sports Weekend.

  People came from all over the world to take part in the events—everything from chair carving to the springboard chop, from the chokerman’s race to log birling, a huge parade, and tonight’s opening event—the bed races.

  In a couple hours, the sidewalks would be swarming with families jockeying for the best place to watch as teams raced their decorated gurneys down Main Street.

  Did any of them know what was behind the papered-up windows of the old second-hand bookstore? Did any of them care?

  “Are you running a bed tonight?” Jayne forced each word past the tightness in her throat. It was a stupid question; of course Nick was running a bed, he always did, but how much longer could they sit there and not say anything?

  “Jayne.” Nick breathed a sigh against the top of her head, completely ignoring her question. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “How?” she choked. “How the hell is it going to be okay? That store was like … a refuge … and not just to me. It was the one place a person could go and not be judged. Fat or skinny, ugly or pretty, it never mattered. Geek, nerd, jock, princess … you could always find understanding in a good book. And if the only parent you ever had was a miserable old bat who’d been forced to raise you when her own daughter OD’d, those books were especially understanding, and now it’s … it’s … shit!”

  “I know.” He squeezed her tighter yet, then helped her up. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  What else could she do but nod? She didn’t even protest when Nick wrapped his arm around her shoulders again and steered her down the street, away from her store, her car, and what was supposed to have been her new home. Now what the hell was she supposed to do?

  “Where are we going?”

  “Wherever you want.”

  Typical Nick; she could ask for the moon right then and he’d find a way to wrangle it. But Jayne didn’t want the moon.

  “I could use a drink.”

  “Just one?” His laughter rumbled quietly as he squeezed her shoulder. “I think I could use six.”

  Chapter Two

  You know, I’m getting input here that I’m reading as relatively hostile.

  The Geek, Sixteen Candles

  Nick held the truck door for Jayne, then waited until she was settled before he walked around and climbed behind the wheel.

  He hadn’t lied before; she did look great. Exhausted, sure, but still great. It was hard to tell with her ball cap on, but from the length of the ponytail hanging out the back, it looked like she’d let her hair grow longer. He’d once said her hair was the same color as warm honey oak, but she’d just rolled her eyes, called him an idiot, and said it was nothing more than plain old mousy brown. Her eyes, bluer than blue, could hide her emotions from everyone else pretty well, but she couldn’t hide her other tells, and this one had always been her most obvious.

  Sitting shotgun in her ratty old blue jeans and plain white T-shirt, Jayne fidgeted with whatever she could reach: keys, the hem of her shirt, or the rip in the knee of her jeans. With any other girl, he’d have reached over and wrapped his own hand around hers, but this was Jayne, and this is what she needed to do to maintain control. Besides, he’d already pushed his luck with the number of times he’d hugged her.

  Holy hell, he’d missed her. He’d missed the smirks, the eye rolls, the way she always smelled a little bit like strawberries. It was his own stupid fault she’d stayed away so long and there was no way in hell he was going to let anything—least of all the mess at the store—send her running off again. He still kicked himself for letting Abby’s insecurities drive a wedge between him and Jayne, but that was nothing compared to how hard he kicked himself for the way he treated her at Abby’s funeral.

  From the second she’d come through the church door that day, she’d set her sights on him and didn’t stop moving until she had him wrapped in a hug so tight he thought he’d break.

  And he almost did.

  His wife, his beautiful Abby, had been ripped out of his life by an eighteen-year-old kid who was too busy texting his girlfriend to watch the road. From the second his friend Brett Hale pulled up in his cruiser and told Nick to sit down, it felt as though someone had slashed his heart in half. It was a pain so sharp and so unexpected, Nick had no idea what to do with it, or himself, and then suddenly he didn’t have time to figure it out.

  Someone had to deal with the coroner, the funeral director, Abby’s family, his family, the police, the florist, the pallbearers, the music, what she would wear in her coffin …

  All his life, he’d been the one who fixed things, but he couldn’t fix the hole inside him, and no one else seemed to know how to help. But then Jayne had walked in, and for the first time Nick believed he might make it through the next two minutes. And maybe the two after that.

  If it hadn’t been for her showing up when she did … Nick shook the thought away. The fact was, she had shown up, she’d given him the one thing he needed most, and instead of showing his gratitude, he’d run her out of town. Part of it was the shock of having her hug him like that in front of everyone, something she’d never done before, and part of it was because Abby’s mom took one look at Jayne and started screaming the walls down until Nick had no other choice. They were burying the woman’s only daughter, what else could he do but make it as easy as possible for her?

  “So, what d’you think?” He fired up the truck, threw it in reverse, and grinned over at Jayne. “A couple dumpsters and a blowtorch … the place’ll be good as new in no time, right?”

  “Right.” Her mouth curved into a reluctant smirk. “And since you’re Mr. Big Shot Contractor, you can get me a good deal on those, right?”

  “ ’Course.” He reversed out of the parking spot, turned the truck down Logger’s Lane, and waggled his brow at her. “You know what they say: if you can’t be handsome, at least be handy.”

  “It’s a good thing you’re handy then.” It was a pathetic excuse for a smile, but she forced it anyway. “Because as usual, you look like shit.”

  They were almost to the end of town when Jayne’s head suddenly shot up. “Wait—can you swing by The Inn—I’m going to need to get a room.”

  “I would,” Nick winced. “But it kinda burned down three years ago.”

  Her mouth twitched. She hiccupped once, then burst out laughing, making the knot in Nick’s chest loosen a little. Hysterical laughter was better than nothing, right?

  “It ‘kinda burned down’?” She sniffed over a laugh and sighed. “What about the Super 8? Has it ‘kinda’ sustained any type of catastrophic disaster I should know about?”

  “No …”

  “So what are you doing? Scoop a U-ey.”

  “Yeah, that’s not going to work, either.” He slowed the truck to a stop at the red light and nodded toward the other side of the highway.

  A freshly washed and fully loaded logging truck had been positioned on the far side of the intersection to show off the giant Loggers Sports banner strapped to the logs. Anyone who’d ever been in town for Loggers Sports weekend knew they had a better chance of winning Lotto Max than they did of find
ing a hotel room.

  “Crap.” Jayne let her head drop back against the headrest and groaned. “What about a campsite?”

  “Yeah, right,” he snorted. “You in a tent? And no, they’ll all be taken until sometime Monday. Long weekend, remember.”

  “Great.” She sighed, slow and quiet. “Forget the drink, then. You better just take me back to my car.”

  “What for?”

  “I’ll go grab a room in North Van.”

  “And what?” he scoffed. The light turned and he headed north up the highway. “You gonna drive back and forth all weekend until you can get a room up here?”

  “Well I’m sure as hell not staying in that apartment, Nick, so unless you’ve got a better idea …”

  “As a matter of fact …” Was he crazy to even suggest it? Probably. Would she agree to it? Probably not. “I know a great place with plenty of room, kitchen’s available 24/7, open bar, flat screen, free wireless, and easy access to laundry services.”

  A moment’s hesitation, a frown, then her blue eyes flew open. “No way.”

  “Why not? It’s perfect.”

  “No.”

  Nick ignored her and kept driving. What could she do—jump out?

  “To make up for being such a prick the last time he saw you, the owner’s offering free room and board for as long as you like.”

  He could hear the arguments building behind her open-mouthed gape. Best to cut her off before she started.

  “What’s the big deal? You need a room, and I’ve got one. Big one, too, with your own bathroom and a butt load of closet space.”

  “Seriously?” She lifted her hands, palms up, and exhaled a snort that pretty much covered how stupid she thought he was. “What’s the big deal? You mean besides the fact it’s just flat-out weird?”

  “Says who?” As far as he was concerned, it was a done deal. Hell, even if there were hotel rooms available, this made more sense.

  “Says me!” She made a sound like a wounded bear, which only made Nick laugh. “We haven’t seen each other in four years, Nick, and before that—”

  He rolled his eyes. “Before that you refused to stay with me because you thought Abby hated you.”

  “She did!” The growl sounded again, slower, longer. “There was no way she would’ve let me stay with you and there was no way in hell I’d even ask.”

  “Well, you’re not asking, and Abby’s not here to put up a fight, is she?”

  That shut her up for a second; but only a second. “What are people going to think?”

  “Who cares?” He followed the highway around past the ball field and over the bridge.

  “Hello!” she snorted. “Does the name Debra Scott ring a bell? Jeez, Nick—your mother has found a way to blame me for every breakup you ever had, so if it even looks like I’ve come back to shack up with her darling little Nicky, she’s going to have me strung up in town square faster than you can say ‘Holy flying axe throw, Batman.’ ”

  “Town square? Really?” He laughed, then pulled his arm out of reach when she made to smack him. “The gallows were dismantled a couple months back, so you’re probably pretty safe.”

  “Very funny.”

  From the corner of his eye, he could see she was shaking her head at him, but as he steered the truck into the exit lane, he caught the glimpse of a smile.

  “Didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend?”

  Damn it. He’d been seeing Lisa for a couple months now, and even though he didn’t consider it anything serious, he knew Lisa did. He’d have to at least let her know what was going on.

  Jayne clicked her tongue. “I’ll take your silence as a yes.”

  “So?”

  “Oh my God, Nick, do you rent out that space in your head? No woman is going to be happy about her boyfriend inviting another woman to live with him.”

  “It’ll be fine.” It was more of a hope than a lie. “So unless you’ve got someone who’s going to kick my ass for even suggesting this …”

  He waited for her to answer, but when she didn’t, he laughed.

  “I’ll take your silence as a no. Any other excuses?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Think fast, because we’re almost there.”

  “This is crazy.”

  “No. Driving back and forth to Vancouver every day is crazy; this is nothing.” At the stop sign, he glanced over and watched her chew her bottom lip. “I’m not saying you should move in permanently, just stay until we get your place fixed up. And trust me, my place is a hell of a lot better than a hotel room we both know will never be clean enough, no matter how much you clean it yourself.”

  The second her nose wrinkled, he knew he had her.

  “How did you survive the hotel rooms on the trip out, anyway?” he asked.

  Her mouth twitched a little before she finally smiled. “I bought a sleeping bag.”

  “And how many tubs of Lysol wipes did you go through?”

  “Only two.” After a second, she sighed and lifted her left shoulder. “And a half.”

  Two and a half tubs of wipes. He could have pulled the I-told-you-so card, but didn’t. Instead, he just drove on, waiting for her to realize he’d won.

  “And what if your girlfriend freaks out?”

  “Her name’s Lisa, and she won’t.” At least he hoped she wouldn’t.

  “You don’t know that,” Jayne cried, fisting her hands against her knees. “What makes you think Linda’s going to feel any different than Abby did? I don’t want to screw this up for you.”

  “It’s Lisa.” Nick sighed quietly. “And no one’s going to screw anything up, Jayne. If she can’t handle you and me, that’s her problem.”

  “No, Nick, it usually ends up being my problem.” Jayne huffed so hard it was surprising she had any breath left to keep talking. “It’s not exactly normal that we’re … like this … and you can’t blame people for thinking the worst.”

  “What worst? If my best friend was a guy, there’d be no problem with him staying at my place, so I don’t get why it’s a problem to have you stay there.”

  “The problem,” she ground out, “is that I’m not a guy. In case you hadn’t noticed, you idiot, I’m a girl.”

  It was all Nick could do not to laugh out loud. They may have been best friends all these years, but he was still a guy. He noticed.

  Admitting it, though, would only prove her point.

  He wheeled the truck into the long driveway and threw it in park. “I’m telling you, Lisa won’t care. And if she does, that’s between her and me, it’s got nothing to do with you.”

  “Yeah, right. Until she goes crying to your mother and I end up on the top of the Debra Scott hit list again.”

  “Not gonna happen. Besides”—he pushed the button on his visor and the garage door jerked then started rolling up—“there’s someone else who wants you to stay.”

  A second later, his old basset hound came wobbling out from under the door, his tail swinging, his ears flapping along beside him.

  “Duke!” Jayne was out of the truck before Nick pulled the key out of the ignition. Cooing and laughing, she dropped to the driveway, arms outstretched.

  Nick climbed out of the truck and laughed as he walked over to where Duke had already climbed onto Jayne’s lap and was busy smothering her face in wet sloppy kisses.

  “Looks like we got us a houseguest, buddy.”

  Jayne’s mouth hung open and her eyes all but bulged out of their sockets. Nick had barely finished framing the house when Abby died, and given the situation at the funeral, Jayne had never been invited to see it. And rightly so.

  * * *

  The large sunken living room sat like a hub in the middle of the house. Complete with a huge rock fireplace and way-high ceilings, she could have fit her whole apartment in that one room! The furniture wasn’t anything fancy, but the flat screen was enormous and the brown leather recliners looked comfortable enough to sleep on.

  “Come on,” h
e said. “I’ll give you the twenty-five-cent tour.”

  The living room eased into a big open kitchen and eating nook that looked out over a wide deck and a huge fenced-in backyard. Jayne ran her finger idly over the granite island, mesmerized by how much light flowed in through the long windows. For a single guy, the room was surprisingly tidy. The counters were all but bare, save for the coffeemaker and toaster, and to look at the stove top, you’d never know someone cooked on it.

  “Are you sure you actually live here?” she asked, only half joking.

  “Cleaning lady’s worth her weight in gold.”

  Nick led her out the other side of the kitchen, past a bathroom and utility room, and down the short hallway to the master suite. The creamy yellow and soft brown duvet looked like it had been freshly laid out, and the matching pillows freshly fluffed. The Robert Bateman print she’d given them as a wedding gift hung above the six-drawer oak dresser and the matching side tables displayed an arrangement of magazines.

  “Mark Zuckerberg as Time magazine’s Person of the Year?” she chuckled as she followed him back through the kitchen to the other side of the house. “You might want to update your reading material.”

  The first room had half a dozen boxes labeled Christmas, a bike with no front wheel, Nick’s old drum set, and a Callaway bag loaded down with scuffed-up golf clubs. A white T-shirt had been tossed over the top of a black duffel bag and a thick red sleeping bag flowed over the edge of the open futon under the window.

  “This is Carter’s room when he stays over.”

  The next room was home to an empty brown leather tool belt, three cans of paint, a ring of paint samples, various bins of nails and screws, and four or five different carpet samples.

  “I like what you’ve done with the place.” Jayne snickered. “Has that real ‘homey’ feel to it.”

  They passed a full bathroom, void of any décor, and moved to the end of the hall where Nick pointed to a room on the right. “That’s the office, and this is my room.”

  “Your room? Don’t you use—”

  He shook his head, pushed the door open, and stepped aside so she could look in.