Melissa didn't head back into town like I expected. We soon hit the freeway, and I began to wonder if maybe she wasn't kidding.
She must have heard my unspoken question because she smiled. "We're heading a town over. There's a twenty-four hour diner just off the highway that I think you're gonna like."
"Is there nowhere in Cannon we can eat?"
Her brow wrinkled. "It's better if we don't."
"What do you mean?"
She sighed. "Donnie's family is involved in almost every business in Cannon. It's great when you want to get a table quick, but not so great when you've just snuck out in the middle of the night to pick up the random stranger who is on the top of Donnie's shit list."
"Point taken. Donnie doesn’t know you’re gone?"
“No.”
“Are you going to go back?”
She stiffened, and I almost regretted asking the question. Almost. I deserved to know, especially since I was the top of his shit list, as she said.
"I don't know what I'm doing, if I'm being honest."
"Melissa,” I said in a low, soothing tone. “Why are you with him?"
Silence filled the car, and I wondered if that would be the end of the conversation until we got to the restaurant. Naomi told me Melissa liked to put up walls, so I shouldn't have been surprised when she changed the topic.
"So, are you one of those people that don't believe breakfast should be eaten outside of the morning or what?"
Chapter 12
Melissa
It was like the crappy fluorescents of Ma's Diner brought out otherwise hidden facets of color in Jack's bruises. He looked way worse than I thought he did before, and that familiar stab of guilt twisted in my stomach again. He didn't want me to feel guilty, but that didn't mean I could just stop feeling it. He was a mess and now I'd pulled him into my mess. Who knew how many more bruises he might wind up with because of me?
A waitress greeted us at the door with all the unconvincing cheer of someone working a boring night shift and all the suspicion expected when two battered looking people show up for breakfast at four a.m.. If Jack's face looked worse under the lights, mine couldn't have looked great either. I ran my hands through my hair self-consciously as the waitress, Cheyenne, showed us to our table and gave us menus. When she left to grab us some drinks, I let my menu rest on the table and looked over at Jack.
"You wanna hear something strange?" I asked.
He smiled at me over the top of his menu. "Always."
"I know nothing about you, not a lick, but I feel like I know you. I trust you."
"That is strange," he replied. "And dangerous. I could be a bad guy."
"You're not." I met his gaze boldly. "You wouldn't be here with me if you were."
The corner of his mouth quirked and he stared right back at me. "All the same. Who says I have pure intentions?"
My tummy did a little flip. The cut on his lip and his bruised face only enhanced his roguish features, and just from looking at him I doubted anybody would infer his intentions were anything close to pure. I suddenly felt like I was dining with a lion, and I wasn't sure whether I was the meal or not. If I was the meal, would that be so bad?
"Don't be like that," I chided. "It's a good thing. It feels nice." I swallowed. "It feels safe."
Jack's expression dipped from devious to solemn in a flash. "Of course." He nodded and raised the menu back up. "I'm glad you feel safe with me. I just mean that you should be more careful. There are a lot of people out there who would gladly take advantage of that kind of trust."
I raised my menu up too. "I know."
Cheyenne came back around to take our order, then disappeared with the menus. There was no more hiding.
Jack's eyes travelled down my face, taking in each inch like he expected to be tested on it. My cheeks warmed and I gnawed on my lip. I wasn't a lip biter, not by a long shot, and it made me feel like a child. I decided it was time to get the conversation rolling.
"I don't know where we should start," I admitted.
Jack raised a brow. "What do you mean?"
"With all of this." I gestured between us, around us. "I just pulled you off of a Greyhound in the middle of the night after sneaking out of my abusive boyfriend's house. How do we even begin talking about all that?"
Jack's half-smile made my legs feel rubbery. I resisted the urge to suck my lip back between my teeth and met his gaze.
"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he said. "You don't owe me any sort of explanation. I got off that bus because I wanted to, end of story. If you want to sit here in silence until the sun comes up, that's perfectly fine with me. If you want to talk about the weather and sports, also fine. Don't feel like you have to explain anything to me."
"So we can talk about whatever I want?"
He chuckled and nodded. "Sure. Shoot."
I didn't even need to think about it.
"I wanna know more about you," I said. "All I know so far is that you're some badass fighter guy and that you have a weakness for damsels in distress."
"That about sums it up." He took a sip of his coffee and leaned back against the seat, one arm resting over the back of the booth. I had to tear my eyes away from the swell of his bicep.
"I think there's a lot more to you than that. Where are you from?"
"Bell Springs," he said. "It's about thirty miles from here, but is almost exactly the same otherwise."
"You grew up there?"
Jack nodded, and glanced down at his cup. I got the sense he wasn't used to opening up to people, and if I weren't so damned curious I might back off. I couldn't help myself though. He wasn't like anyone I'd ever met and I wanted to know everything there was to know about him.
"Do you have family there?" I asked.
Jack shook his head. "Not anymore. Not really. My mom died a few years back and my sister's living on campus at Arizona U. She's the only family I've got. Nothing interesting there."
There was a sadness in his eyes that struck a chord in me.
"What was she like?" I asked. "Your mom?"
His lips curved into a wistful smile. "Just like my sister," he said. "Willful. Stubborn. Caring. She always had something to say about something and never let anybody get away with pissing her off."
"She sounds like she was a great woman," I replied. "I'm sorry for your loss."
I wanted to know more but I didn’t want to end up pushing him too far. We all had our emotional baggage, and I couldn't imagine how hard it would be to lose somebody I loved as much as he clearly loved his mom. Then again, I didn't know what it was like to love somebody that much in the first place. It wasn't something that upset me to think about, just another fact in my fucked up life, but it stuck out to me at moments like this when I wondered who was better off in the end.
"She was a great woman," Jack replied. "I did everything I could to save her but it wasn't enough. I know it wasn't my fault, and that cancer's the kind of motherfucker that doesn't care how hard you try or how much you love, but it took a long time for me to wake up every morning without a massive knot of guilt in my chest, you know?"
I was surprised by how much he was opening up to me. Surprised and touched. There were a couple other people in the diner, but it felt like we had the whole place to ourselves, like our little booth was cut off from the rest of the diner and the world.
"Cancer," I repeated. "That's rough. I'm so sorry."
"Breast cancer," he said with a solemn nod. "I've been looking after my sister ever since, but these days she mostly looks after herself."
His face brightened when he talked about his sister. I was always jealous of people with siblings, especially those who got along well with them. Growing up alongside other foster kids provided some sort of camaraderie, but it wasn’t the same.
"What's she like? Your sister?"
"Sadie's something else," he said. "She's nearly finished her Economics degree and makes it look easy. You would never think she'd ha
d any tragedy in her life, like it didn't make a mark on her the way it did me. She's basically the light of my life, to be honest."
I laughed, feeling more and more at ease the more we talked. I already trusted Jack, but filling in these knowledge gaps was doing wonders to reassure me that trust was well-placed.
"Tell me about you," he urged. "Have you always lived in Cannon?"
I wasn't used to talking about my childhood. The only time it ever came up was when Donnie tried to dismiss my opinions, including how I felt about his drunken behavior. He said if I grew up normally I wouldn't have so many hang ups, and that I should relax a bit. Now anytime I revealed something personal about myself, I always wondered when it would be used as ammunition against me in the future. I didn’t have that worry with Jack. He stared at me so intently, with such genuine compassion, that it all came spilling out.
"I was a foster kid," I told him. "I never knew my parents and I moved around quite a bit when I was a kid. I basically showed up in Cannon not long after my eighteenth birthday, on a road trip to nowhere with no plan and no idea of what I was going to do with my life. I got a job at the Alibi and have been there ever since." I shrugged. "And that's about it. A boring story."
"Not boring." His gaze skewered me to the spot, and my mouth dried from the intensity of it. "Nothing about you could ever be boring."
Cheyenne showed up with our food just as I was about to douse myself with my glass of water. Jack was an engineer when it came to designing looks that made my heart race and my spine tingle. Was he even aware of what he was doing to me? Here I was, spilling my life to a stranger more intimately than I ever had before, yet somehow getting hot and bothered in the process.
We dug into our food, silent at first. Jack was obviously starving and started devouring his burger and fries without inhibition. I wondered if food was the only thing he devoured with such enthusiasm.
"You asked me earlier why I'm with Donnie," I said, absently swirling a fry in some ketchup.
Jack's gaze shot to mine and he swallowed his mouthful of food. "It's none of my business."
"I think it is, after everything that happened today," I said with a light laugh. "After all, I did leave you to die in a parking lot."
"That wasn't your fault."
"Look, do you want to know or not?"
Jack cocked a brow and smiled. "Go on, then."
I swallowed and licked my lips. I'd only just started realizing all of this myself, so putting it into words wasn't the easiest thing for me to do. I was ready to get it all out though, ready to not let it hang over my head anymore.
"I guess I just always felt like someone the world forgot. I think lots of foster kids feel like that. You're shuffled around like a deck of cards, and at the end of the day you're just one face among thousands. It's so incredibly clichéd and sad, but Donnie made me feel special. The first time he saw me, he zeroed in on me like I was the most important person he'd ever met, and in a stupid small town way I felt honored to earn the attention of one of Cannon's famous Beringers. That faded after a while, but since then I think I've been afraid that I don't know how to stand on my own anymore and that I would only end up proving to Donnie and everyone else that I'm just the nobody girl I was from the start. I don't want to fade away like that." I let some of my hair fall in my face and screwed up my features. "That sounds so stupid. I'm sorry."
Jack's hand covered mine and he squeezed. "Never apologize for what you think. And it's not stupid. I get it."
"You do?"
His smile was gentle, but I couldn't help feeling something a little more sexual from the weight of his warm, dry hand on mine.
"It's kind of the same with me and fighting." He drew his hand back and picked up his mug, running his fingers down the length of it thoughtfully. "It was something I started doing when I found out about my mom's cancer. For money, anyway. I was always the kind of hot headed kid that got into fights, but when I started being able to make money from it, that was a real game changer. I dropped out of high school and didn't have any prospects, so suddenly being able to make good money and support my mom and sister was huge for me. I stopped for a little bit right before my mom died because she always hated it, but I had trouble surviving in the real world. It didn't feel like a place I could fit into without my identity as a fighter, and I needed money too much to stay away for long. Now it's just the way my life is."
"It doesn't have to be," I told him. "You could quit fighting."
"And you could quit Donnie."
"I'm going to.”
As soon as I said it, I realized it was true. Hell, I must've known that when I crept out of his house earlier, but I just hadn't let the full weight of it sink in yet.
"I guess I just...I guess I just don't know how. It's going to be rough."
Jack’s expression softened. "Do you want me to come with you? I can protect you if he tries anything."
"No." I shook my head, wishing it were that easy. "I need to do this on my own."
We lapsed into silence. Hot claws of panic dug in at the base of my throat as I thought about what I had to do, but I knew there was no way of getting around it. This was happening. I was going to leave Donnie. I should have done it years ago, but better late than never I supposed.
"Will you stay in town?" I asked. "Just in case?"
"In case of what?"
"I don't know. In case I need you, I guess."
Something passed over Jack's face, whether hesitation or discomfort I didn't know, but he finally nodded. "Yeah. I'll stay."
I dropped him off a couple hours later at a motel not far from the Alibi. Doing so was the easiest thing I had to do that morning, but losing his comforting presence was still difficult.
"Jack?" I asked as he was about to leave the car. I’d driven him to the other side of the building to say goodbye after he picked up a room key, and now I idled just outside his door. "What did you mean when you told Donnie you'd fight for me as the prize?"
He stopped midway out of the car and blinked. "Exactly that."
I dipped my head, bashful for the first time in a long time. "But what would being your prize entail?"
Jack's grin was dark and wicked. A tendril of fire stroked my belly and my hands gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.
"Let's put it this way, sweetheart." He smirked. "Prizes are meant to be enjoyed."
Jack left without another word, closing the door behind him and sauntering up to the door of room 103 like the parking lot was his living room. I took a deep breath. Today was going to be a long one.
Chapter 13
Melissa
The sun was just thinking about rising for the day when I got back to Donnie's place. The front door was still unlocked from my flight earlier, and nothing was out of place when I stepped through it. Donnie clearly hadn't woken to find me gone nor had he heard me leave. He had no idea what was coming his way.
I went to the bedroom to find him sprawled out, face down on the mattress. He was snoring lightly, peaceful as a babe. When he was like this, he almost looked innocent, and it was enough that I could nearly forget everything he'd done to me, all the times he'd made me feel so small. Part of me ached to crawl back into bed with him and forget this ever happened. I could, too. I doubted Jack would come looking for me to see if I'd really done it, and since he was the only one besides Cheyenne at Ma's Diner who knew about my late night escapade, pretending that nothing had happened would be as easy as just not seeking him out again.
The thought of never seeing Jack again hurt me more than the thought of leaving Donnie. In the end, that’s what compelled me to start packing a bag, tossing in as many clothes and items as I could fit. I didn't bother trying to be quiet and was actually a little irritated that Donnie didn't stir at all. To think I'd been so worried about every creaking floorboard a few hours earlier, when it turned out I probably could have rung a gong next to his head without him noticing. Go figure.
I finished p
acking and stood at the foot of the bed. My heart hammered against my ribs, punching out a staccato rhythm of fear. It would be easier not to wake Donnie. I could be out of here with no consequences and no drama if I didn't. It didn't feel right, though. I needed closure and he needed to know to stay the hell away from me. Still, it took quite a lot of effort to force myself to walk around the side of the bed and nudge him awake.
He snorted, shuffling over onto his back and opening one bleary eye.
"What?" he groaned.
"I'm leaving," I said, filling my words to the brim with confidence.
Donnie blinked open the other eye and ran a hand over his face. "For work? What time is it?" He craned his neck to look over at the alarm clock, then looked back at me in confusion when he saw it was only six.
"Where are you going?"
He sounded almost innocent in his questioning, like a young boy to his mother. He sounded like he needed me. Or maybe that was just my subconscious still trying to trip me up. Either way, I wasn't giving in.
"Out of this house and away from you." I adjusted the bag on my shoulder, and Donnie's eyes zeroed in on the movement.
He sat up in bed, no longer sleepy.
"Get back in bed," he said. "I'm not in the mood."
I gritted my teeth and took a deliberate step back. "I'm not joking. I'm leaving you, Donnie."
Donnie swung his legs to the floor and ran a hand over his face, eyebrows knitting together in anger. He was quiet for a moment, and in that silence my heartbeat rang out like a heavy bass drum.
"What's your problem?" he asked. "Is it because of our fight last night? Babe, you know how I get when I'm drunk. You shouldn't pick fights with me when I'm like that."
"And that's exactly why!" I folded my arms over my chest and channeled my anger into staring him down. "I didn't pick a fight with you in the first place, and I shouldn't have to be careful about when to pick fights so I don't get beaten. I certainly shouldn't have to take the blame for you hitting me. You think you own me but you don't, and it's time for me to take back my life."
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