Raine

by J.C. Valentine

  TWENTY-THREE

  The house felt empty. Jarret walked from room to room, seeing Raine everywhere. She was in the kitchen, cooking one of her mother’s dinners from memory. She was in the living room, laughing at some British comedy he didn’t understand. He saw her in the bathroom brushing her teeth, sitting in the middle of her bed reading a paperback because she loved the way they smelled and pushing those glasses up her nose because they refused to stay in place.

  She was in his bed, her lips parted and cheeks flushed as she looked up at him with something in her eyes that he refused to name.

  She was everywhere, making it impossible to think. More than a month had passed since Jarret had sent her back to her parents, and he hadn’t been home for more than a few hours. Just enough time to grab a shower, change his clothes, and leave again. He slept little and worked a lot. The shop had become his refuge, the only place she hadn’t marked, and still he couldn’t escape her, because as soon as she’d left, he’d realized he couldn’t put off fixing her car any longer.

  It’d taken him almost a full week to finish, but each time Jarret had something fixed, he found something else that could use a little bit of tweaking. He’d replaced the tires, fixed the electrical, replaced belts and hoses, put in a new battery, cleaned the spark plugs, changed out all the fluids, and more. By the time he was finished, he’d done everything short of rebuilding the car from scratch. It still looked like shit, but it’d never break down on her again.

  Now he just had to figure out how to get it back to her without seeing or talking to her. He wasn’t ready for that yet. Between Camron, his parents, and what Raine had said, his head was completely fucked. Who was telling the truth? Who was lying? He wanted to believe everyone, but he knew there were two sides to every story, and the last thing he wanted was to take the wrong side.

  So, he’d been avoiding everyone. The day Raine left, Jarret had set his phone to voice mail and thrown himself into his work.

  Until today.

  Jarret had rolled out of bed—or more accurately, out of his rolling office chair at the shop—with a new mindset. He was tired of blocking out the world. It was time to sort everything out and get to the bottom of it. He wanted to know the truth, and today he was going to have it.

  That’s why, at just before nine on a Monday morning, Jarret found himself staring up at the two-story Tudor mini-mansion through the windshield of his SUV with something just short of dread stewing in his gut.

  A little voice in the back of his mind whispered that this was a bad idea, but Jarret chalked it up to a simple case of the Mondays and got out. The gravel crunched under his work boots as he walked across the gravel drive and up to the house. Using his key, he entered without knocking and scanned the main floor for either one of his parents.

  Usually, his father was out of the house by seven, but some days he’d been known to stick around as late as eleven if he had to meet a client for lunch. His mother, however, never left the house. She was a bit of a recluse, preferring to stick to the estate grounds, unless escorted by his father. She hadn’t come from money, and even though she played the part well in public, behind closed doors, she was a woman who drank too much and relied on her husband for company.

  When he and Camron were small, she’d play with them sometimes. He remembered running around in the backyard, swimming in the pool, and her teaching them tennis in the courtyard out back, but as they grew up and their lives began to branch out, she’d withdrawn into herself. Camron lived in the house up until a few months ago when he went off to play football for Kent State, so he’d maintained a better connection with their mother than Jarret had, but if he were being honest, he’d never felt very close to her. She’d been a good mother for a while, but he’d always felt that she preferred Camron over him. As boys, story time always took place in Camron’s room, he always sat next to their mother at the dinner table and her smiles always seemed just a little brighter when she set her eyes on him. He’d never allowed himself to wonder too much about it, until now.

  As Jarret climbed the steps to the second floor, he heard raised voices coming from inside his father’s office. The door was closed, but the heated argument reached through the heavy paneled wood easily.

  Slowing his pace, Jarret crept closer and pressed his ear to the door. His parents were the ones arguing, his father’s voice prominent, overbearing, and commanding compared to his mother’s weaker, complacent tone. Despite the door standing between them, he could hear their words as plainly as if he were standing in there with them.

  “This never would have happened if we’d sent him away earlier,” his father said, his voice sharp with authority. “I always said he was a bad influence.”

  “He’s a boy, William. Boys do stupid things. We can’t place all the blame on Jarret. He hasn’t lived here in over a year.”

  “Living here or not, they’re together all the time. Where do you think Camron gets all his booze from? Where do you think those parties are being held, Vivian? Do you know how many times I’ve smelled pot on Camron when he comes stumbling in after an all-night bender? Continue sticking your head in the sand if you want, but that won’t change the fact that Jarret is a detriment to this family.”

  Jarret knew right away that he should leave, but at the mention of his name, his feet felt rooted to the floor. He pressed closer.

  “Don’t you think that’s a little harsh? You can’t hold him responsible for his brother’s actions. Sure, he’s made poor choices letting Camron use the house for his gatherings—”

  “Parties, Vivian. They’re called parties,” his father growled impatiently.

  “But we can talk to him about that. Let him know we don’t approve.”

  Jarret’s jaw clenched. He hated when people talked about him behind his back, and hearing his parents do it somehow made it worse. It felt like a betrayal. He wanted to storm into the room and shout at them to say it to his face, but he was too curious about what would be said next to interrupt.

  “If you haven’t learned by now, let me make this perfectly clear. Jarret doesn’t bend. He’s a stubborn little asshole who holds his middle finger to the world and does whatever the hell suits him. Remember when I tried to get him to go to law school? He wasted my hard-earned money on a year’s tuition and threw it all away so he could paint lines on fucking canvas.”

  “Jarret’s always been fond of art,” his mother defended, and Jarret felt his chest puff up a bit at hearing her take his side. He’d never thought she understood his drive, but apparently he hadn’t given her enough credit.

  “Fond of being a loser, you mean,” his father snapped. “Look at him, covered in tattoos, working in a damn garage, sitting up in an attic all day painting like a damn hippie. So Camron lost his head for a minute and got a girl pregnant. She should be grateful he even looked in her direction in the first place. But I’ll tell you a little truth, Vivian. Camron’s got something going for him, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let that piece of trash son of yours ruin his chance at greatness because he’s shacking up with that gutter trash whore.

  “If it weren’t for me funneling my money into that property, Jarret would be a bum on the street, or still taking up space down the hall. Face it, Vivian. Jarret’s as worthless as his no-account father. He’ll never amount to anything. He should be on his knees thanking me for raising him up as my own. Everything he has, he has because of me.”

  Jarret felt his stomach drop to his feet. He couldn’t process everything he’d just heard. How could he when it was all lies? It was no secret to him that his father didn’t approve of his career choice, or the method he chose to express himself, but Jarret tried his best to meet them in the middle. He showed up to all their events, dressed and acted the part, but at the end of the day, he was a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy. What did it matter if he chose to get his hands dirty? It was a perfectly respectable profession…for anyone other than a Moss. But the biggest question wasn’t what he wore or that he had
grease under his fingernails, or who his real father was—which was shocking enough, since Jarret had only known one in his life, and that was the man behind that door. The biggest question was, was what his father said about Camron a veiled confession that he had raped Raine? Because Raine was no whore and neither was she a liar. Months of her living under his roof had taught him that, and had he not stuck his head up his ass, he would have realized it sooner. He could never forgive himself if he’d hurt her and wasted all this time that could have been spent together over lies.

  “Keep your voice down, William. Someone might hear you.”

  There was a pause, and then his father said, “Someone already has. Isn’t that right, Jarret?” he asked, his words cruel and mocking.

  Of course, Jarret realized. The entire estate was wired with security. His father would have known the minute he pulled onto the property. With his blood pounding in his ears and his mouth dry as the desert, Jarret took a deep breath, twisted the doorknob, and went inside.

  ***

  Jarret felt dead inside by the time he drove away from his family’s home, and that’s just what it was—his family’s home. After finding out that his mother had a brief and meaningless affair with a man described to him as a “reckless, piece of shit Mother-Nature-loving-hippie type,” she jumped into a marriage with his father, who wasn’t actually his father, only to find out that she was pregnant with the previous man’s child during their honeymoon.

  Jarret now felt a complete disconnect with everyone in that house. It explained so much of his life, how his father never seemed to care about him as much as he did Camron. How he only offered criticisms to Jarret instead of the high praises he gave to Camron. How his father always pushed him harder, expected more, and never gave an inch, but the sun and moon seemed to rise and set on Camron.

  How, on his eighteenth birthday, he was handed a set of keys to his new house and was moved in by the end of the day. As an eighteen-year-old boy, Jarret had seen it as the most insanely awesome gift in the history of gifts. Now, he saw it for what it was—a means to an end.

  His father wanted him out of the house, out of his hair, and away from his precious biological son.

  Jarret was just now realizing that his entire existence had been nothing but a burden. He had never been wanted, and he questioned if he had ever really been loved. He thought he was, but then again, when the world had just been turned upside down, it was hard to sort the truth from the lies.

  As he pulled the truck into his drive, his first thought was going inside, finding Raine propped up in bed with a book in her hands, and crawling into bed with her. He would lay his head in her lap and she would run her fingers through his hair, and everything would be okay.

  The headlights glinted off metal as the door rose, and Jarret watched her car come into view. He’d been sitting on it for far too long. He should have called her weeks ago to let her know it was finished, but for some reason, he could never bring himself to make the call.

  Sitting there, with the engine idling, Jarret stared at the cold piece of machinery and wondered what the hell he was doing. Out of everyone he had ever known, there was only one person who’d ever given a damn. And he’d turned her away.

  How fucking stupid was he?

  Pounding his fist against the steering wheel, Jarret cursed himself. He was a total asshole. He knew Raine was estranged from her family, and he’d gone behind her back and called them to come get her. He could still see the look of hurt on her face when he told her what he’d done.

  She would never forgive him.

  Hell, he would never forgive himself. What Jarret had done was inexcusable. He’d taken the most damaged person he’d ever met, earned her trust, and then shattered it in one phone call. And for what? The family who didn’t even want him? The family who couldn’t wait to get rid of him, that suffered his existence out of, what, duty? Obligation?

  Well, fuck that and fuck them.

  Throwing open the door, Jarret stormed into the garage, into the house and exchanged his keys for another set. Then he was right back out the door and climbed into the four-door clunker. He was about to drive off when he had an idea. Leaping out of the car, he rushed over to one of the shelves lining the garage walls, grabbed what he needed, and jumped back in the car. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he sped down the road. If he was going to do this, then he was going to do it right. First, he was going to deliver Raine’s car to her, and then he was going to beg her forgiveness. He was going to do whatever it took to make her see that he was worth taking a second chance on, and if she didn’t, then he’d be back again the next day, and the next, until she finally came to her senses.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Someone was playing their music really loud. In her neighborhood, it was something Raine had grown accustomed to. People drove around with their music blasting loud enough to rattle the windows all the time. Today, however, she wasn’t in the mood for it. She’d woken up with a killer migraine that morning that only grew worse after breakfast with her parents.

  So far, they’d been very supportive of her, taking every chance that presented itself to show her that they were making an effort to change. Her mother drove her to all of her doctor’s appointments, they ate dinner together at the dining table every night, and her father had taken to eating dessert with her in her bedroom each evening while they watched Say Yes to the Dress together.

  Little by little, they were earning back her trust. It felt good to have her parents back and to know she wasn’t alone, although, Raine had never felt more alone in her life. No matter how much time had passed, Jarret plagued her every thought. She’d hoped to bury her feelings for him by now, but they only seemed to grow stronger. That saying about absence making the heart grow fonder was finally making sense.

  But this morning, at the breakfast table, her world crumbled once again. Between munching on a slice of bacon and chunks of syrupy pancakes, her father cleared his throat and hit her with a whammy.

  “Good news, sweet pea. We think we’ve found a solution to our little problem. Your mother and I have been talking to a great couple from the church. They can’t have children of their own, and when we told them about your situation, they were thrilled. We’ve already talked to the lawyer about it, and he says that once the baby is born, all you’ll have to do is sign some papers and move on with your life. Isn’t that great?”

  Raine had been so taken aback by the information dump that she’d just sat there, staring at her half-eaten breakfast, her anger rising as the seconds ticked by. Then, as if everything were happening in slow motion, she watched her mother’s hand reach across the table to take hers, and Raine had lost her mind.

  Everything after that was a blur. She remembered a lot of yelling, and the pressure in her head making it feel as if it would explode. How she ended up in her room, buried under pillows and blankets, was a mystery to her. All she knew now were three things: her parents hadn’t changed at all; she needed to find a way to get back on her feet before the baby arrived; and if that inconsiderate jerk outside didn’t turn down the damn music she was going to go postal on his ass.

  Growing up, Raine had managed her anger using the counting method. She hardly ever found a need for it, but when she did use it, it always worked. Closing her eyes, Raine focused on steadying her breathing and began counting.

  One…

  Two…

  Three… The music turned up a notch, and Raine huffed in irritation.

  Four…

  Five…

  Six… The music continued to play, a steady beat that sounded familiar and much sweeter than what the rap people on her block usually played. She focused on trying to figure out the lyrics as her blood pressure began to ease.

  Seven…

  Eight… She was pretty sure that voice belonged to Peter Gabriel.

  Nine… Something about eyes?

  Ten.

  Suddenly, everything clicked. Raine’s eyes flew open and the next t
hing she knew she was throwing her curtains aside and shoving the window up. Bitter cold air gusted in, but Raine hardly noticed. Outside, standing in the middle of her parent’s front lawn, was Jarret. It wasn’t raining and the sun was so low in the sky, its brilliant pink light barely made it over the rooftops, but that didn’t make the picture in front of her any less breathtaking.

  There Jarret stood, jeans hanging low off his hips, black shirt peeled up to show off the hard, flat stomach underneath, with his arms up, holding an old portable stereo high in the air over his head. Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes” played sharp and loud, piercing her ears. Raine threw her head back and laughed.

  “Come down and talk to me?” Jarret asked as the song ended and he lowered the stereo to his side.

  Sucking her bottom lip in, Raine considered how wise it would be for her to give him even a moment of her time after the way they had left things, but denying that she didn’t want to hear what he had to say would be a lie. No matter what he said, good or bad, Raine craved to hear every word spoken from Jarret Moss’ mouth. She just needed to hear his voice one more time, and then she could close the door on that chapter of her life.

  Ignoring the puzzled looks from her parents as she sliced a path through the first floor, Raine hurried for the front door. Then she realized what she was doing. She paused with her hand on the knob. There was no way she was going to add another dash of humiliation to her humble pie by running out there like an excited puppy.

  Taking a few deep breaths, Raine smoothed her clothes, stepped into her boots and put on a coat so she wouldn’t freeze, and calmly stepped out onto the porch. Her breath caught in her throat the instant she laid eyes on him. Jarret stood at the base of the stairs, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets, staring up at her through weary blue eyes. He looked tired…and worried…and a whole lot stressed. Raine wanted to throw her arms around his shoulders and hug him. Instead, she folded her hands beneath her belly, drawing Jarret’s eyes down to the considerably larger bump.