A Long Way Home

by Becky Doughty

  “Then I’m staying.” He straightened his shoulders and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re not talking to that guy alone, even on the phone.”

  “I won’t be alone. Sebastian will be in the next room, and Killian is right here.” Oddly enough, I found standing my ground with Jordan came easy. It was the strangest thing, too, because not in a million years would I have done so with Marek. But then, I wasn’t afraid Jordan would give me the back of his hand if I stood up to him, either.

  “I’m staying. Sebastian hasn’t met Marek. I have.”

  My brows went up, and I almost rolled my eyes at him. Jordan had told me enough about Sebastian’s abusive home that I had no doubt in my mind the guy living in my parents’ house had met Marek before. Maybe not my Marek, but if the stories were accurate, Sebastian had lived through his own version of Marek—one far worse than mine, in fact. I’d seen the jagged scar across the bridge of his nose and the way one side of his mouth didn’t lift as high when he smiled.

  “I’m staying,” Jordan said again, crossing his arms in front of him and bracing his feet apart. Did he think I was going to try to force him out of the room? Ha! I wasn’t even going to touch him again, not after that little… encounter.

  I dug my heels in, too. “You can’t stay. Tish needs you to walk her home.” Nope. No curl of fear in the pit of my stomach. No quiver of dread racing up my spine. In fact, I felt… for lack of a better word, empowered. It seemed so strange—so inside out from what I was accustomed to.

  “Well, maybe Sebastian should tend to his girlfriend’s needs so I can be here for you.”

  Like a light coming on in the dark, it suddenly became clear to me what we were doing. Jordan and I were communicating. Hashing things out. Perhaps a bit childishly, maybe laced with a little too much emotion, but in that moment, I recognized that I wasn’t there to do his bidding, and he wasn’t there to make me do his bidding. I could tell him ‘no’ and he might not like it, but he’d accept it.

  And that made it easy for me to acquiesce.

  “Fine. Stay. But I’ll call him from downstairs. I never had a house phone up here.” I glanced over at Killian. He didn’t look like he would stir before the sun came up. I waved my hand toward the door, motioning for him to go first.

  “Savannah—”

  I cut him off, knowing he was hoping for something from me, something I couldn’t give him. A promise, a future—hope. “Jordan, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I crossed the line.” I couldn’t look at him anymore. “I’m exhausted and I’m not thinking straight. And I’m worried about my mom.”

  Jordan sighed and rubbed one side of his jaw with the back of his finger… the same side I’d pressed a kiss to. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m outta line. You need to be thinking about her, not about me.” He lifted apologetic eyes to me. “I don’t want to fight with you, Savannah Clark.”

  But I kinda like fighting with you, Jordan Ransome. I nodded, but said nothing.

  “You’re doing it again. The nodding thing.”

  “Let’s not fight,” I replied, holding my head perfectly still. “We’d better get downstairs before Tish sends in the cavalry.” I hurried past him and out into the hall, and he fell in step behind me.

  I tried not to think too much about him back there, free to let his eyes roam. I wondered if he saw the differences in my body. The way parts of me had filled out after childbirth, my walk so different after carrying a baby first in my womb, and then on my hip. My joints had loosened and stretched to accommodate and deliver the miracle of pregnancy, and then strengthened and rejoined, as though I’d been taken apart as a child, and put back together as a woman. Did he notice? Or did my childish, selfish behavior only moments ago keep him distracted, remembering the girl I once was? Comparing the me I was now to the me I was then.

  When he kissed me… oh, when he kissed me. That hadn’t been like any other kiss we’d ever shared in the past. Yeah, we’d had some major make-out sessions, but he’d always kept his hands where they should be and his mouth above my neckline. He’d always been so very careful with me. Even though there were many times he’d been undeniably turned on, I’d never seen him so… unbridled before. Was he as bone-weary as I was and his guard was simply down? Was it frustration over my reticence—was it some attempt to stake his claim? No, that was a Marek move. The Jordan I knew—the one I’d known, anyway—wouldn’t have succumbed to the pressure to stake his claim, especially on another human being.

  But people changed. I’d changed, so why wouldn’t he? Maybe he’d grown up in the three years since I’d left home and was more of a take-what-you-want kind of guy now. My mind reeled back through the day. He certainly hadn’t left me alone when I’d asked him to the first time. Or when Marek made his not-so-subtle threats. By the lake, Jordan had argued with me, insisting I leave with him, until I’d finally had to walk away. And he’d called and called and called again. Yes, it was because of my mother, but he’d planned to call later that night regardless—he’d made a point to let me know via Pella. And when I didn’t respond, he came back for me, ready to tear our camp to pieces looking for me, if need be.

  Jordan suddenly sounded a lot like Marek to me. In seconds, my fingers started trembling, my armpits tingled, and my scalp prickled with the same kind of fear Marek triggered in me. With Jordan behind me and out of my line of vision, he had morphed into a monster. Even though I knew in my head that it was ridiculous, my body reacted instinctively, and a wave of panic washed over me. I picked up my pace, hurrying from the hall toward the kitchen, frantic to find Sebastian, Tish, or even the dog, for that matter. Anyone who might quell whatever unpredictable notion was stirring in the man behind me.

  I nearly sobbed with relief when I burst into the warm yellow room and all three of them were seated around my parents’ table—well, the dog was under the table, but still present and accounted for. They each looked up at me with surprise—including the dog—and I saw Tish’s eyes narrow as her focus shifted to Jordan, who entered a few paces behind me. Sebastian’s initial surprise quickly turned to wariness, but he kept his eyes on me. I wasn’t sure if he was being my dad’s watchdog or if he might just be attuned to the fear I surely exuded.

  Even Pete got up, but his loyalties were clearly elsewhere, because he threaded his way out from under Sebastian’s feet and went directly to Jordan’s side. Jordan obediently crouched down to acknowledge the friendly dog. I gathered my courage and made myself look over at him.

  Jordan’s smile was genuine and warm. Perhaps a little curious, but I sensed nothing threatening or dangerous about him. What was wrong with me? In the space of less than a minute, Jordan had gone from man to monster and back again in my mind. Maybe I was going crazy. Maybe Marek had driven me insane.

  “What’s going on?” Tish asked, not even attempting to hide her concern. “What did you do to her, Jordan?” She still had her eyes on him. Sebastian’s brows rose in an unspoken question, but I shook my head.

  “He didn’t do anything. I just need to call Marek and let him know we’re staying here for a bit. At least until we know what’s going to happen with my mom. I don’t want him to worry too much, and he needs to know what to expect from me. When I’m coming back and stuff.” I knew I was rambling, but the words flowed out unchecked on the wave of my inner turmoil. “Marek is Killian’s dad, but he’s also my boss, so it’s really important I let him know. And I don’t have a phone in my room. I left mine at the camp.”

  The more I said, the more ridiculous I sounded, but it kept tumbling out. “I’m a Gypsy. We dance. We’re a troupe of dancers and musicians. Marek is the Gypsy King.” Just shut up, Savannah!

  The room was dead silent as I wrapped my arms around my torso, gripping the side seams of my jacket in tight fists to try to quell the trembling. I shrugged one shoulder and closed my eyes, not sure if my next words would help or hurt. “At the Renaissance Faire.”

  Still, no one else spoke, so I made my way arou
nd the table, noticing that Tish continued eying Jordan rather ferociously, and I picked up the cordless from the counter. Before I could dial, Tish spoke up, her head cocked toward her brother.

  “Is that who’s been calling and texting you all night, J?”

  I didn’t realize that anyone else had noticed.

  “Yep.” Jordan’s terse response spoke volumes, and I suddenly wondered exactly what kind of messages Marek had left for Jordan. I doubted his messages were for me since he knew from my phone who was on the other side of Jordan’s. And it wasn’t like Marek to beat around the bush when he was ticked.

  “Wait!” Sebastian jumped out of his chair and wrapped his freakishly long fingers around the phone in mine. He didn’t try to take it from me, and his grip was remarkably gentle, but he effectively stopped me from making my call. “Call him from Jordan’s phone.”

  I looked up at him—the guy was quite a bit taller than I was—my agitation growing. I didn’t want to interact with Jordan anymore tonight. Something in me had twisted in my gut, and I was inexplicably repulsed by him at the moment. Or repelled by him might be a better way to describe how I was feeling—the way two like-charged magnets repelled each other. I loved him—that hadn’t changed—and I was pretty sure he still loved me, but even the idea of acknowledging it and acting on it made me want to run. I tried to pull away from Sebastian, intent on making my phone call so I could escape back to my room and my little boy, who probably needed his diaper changed if I didn’t want us both to wake up wet.

  I really needed to get him potty trained.

  “Sebastian’s right, Savannah,” Jordan chimed in, straightening up again and holding his phone out toward me from the other side of the room. “He already has my number, so there’s no reason to give him your folks’ number, too. You don’t want him calling here incessantly.”

  I spun around to glare at him then, my hoodie slipping down my arm on one side. I yanked it up with gusto when I saw his gaze shift to my shoulder and his eyes narrow. “Excuse me? How do you know what I do or don’t want? He’s Killian’s father, Jordan. He’s responsible for both of us,” I finished, my words sounding lame even to my own ears. He wasn’t my husband or my boyfriend, and he certainly wasn’t responsible for me in ways a man should be for his woman, but it didn’t matter what he was to me. All that mattered was that I was his, period. “He needs to know how to get a hold of me.”

  Jordan was clearly shocked at my outburst. He stiffened, but he didn’t lower the phone. “From the looks of those bruises on your arms, I think he already knows a little too well how to get a hold of you,” he muttered, but in the distilled silence around us, everyone heard what he said. Humiliation and anger washed over me. All I wanted to do was melt into a puddle and seep down into the cracks of the floorboards, disappearing altogether.

  “You need to let go of the phone, Sebastian,” I ground out, my jaw clenched in mortification. “I won’t tell him where I am or give him this number.” He didn’t let go. “I’ll block the caller ID.” If I could remember how to do that.

  Sebastian lowered his hand, but I felt worry emanating off him as he took one stilted step backward, as if he still wanted to protest—to stop me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  To my great relief, my old bedroom welcomed me with open arms that night. I’d been afraid she’d be standoffish after I’d abandoned her for so long, but after a quick, but effective, hot shower, I climbed into bed next to Killian—who had indeed required a new diaper—and pulled his sleep-warmed little body up against my belly, curling myself protectively around him the way I’d done since I’d first learned I was pregnant. I used to lie in bed, my knees drawn as close to my growing stomach as possible, my shoulders curved forward, my arms wrapped securely around my baby. After he was born, I’d lie in bed the same way, my knees drawn up and my shoulders hunched forward, my tiny baby boy wrapped securely in my arms. It was our favorite way to sleep, even now.

  I lay there in the dark, wrapped around Killian, my room and my memories wrapped around me. I was worn out, and I knew I was going to sleep like a baby. Or like my toddler.

  Except I didn’t. My mind wouldn’t stop replaying the events of the day that led up to me being here, lingering on that kiss, and then on my outburst in the kitchen and his cruel comeback. How dare he make so blatant an accusation about Marek in front of Tish and Sebastian? Maybe he thought he knew something about my life, but the reality was that was all he knew. Something. He didn’t see the sacrifices Marek had made in taking me on, in giving up his freedom to care for me—a practical stranger—and our son. He didn’t have to claim Killian; a lesser man would have laughed in my face. But he had, and over the years, he’d made sure we both had a bed to sleep in, clothes to wear, and food to eat. So maybe our life was a bit unconventional, but that didn’t mean Jordan had the right to criticize it. Maybe Marek had become a little possessive of me over the years, but he had a lot on his shoulders, too. He was responsible for keeping our troupe in the circuit. He had many more than just mine and Killian’s mouths to feed. If he didn’t keep us booked, we’d all be in a bad way. So what if he released his frustration and high stress levels on me now and then? At least he never took it out on Killian.

  Even as I let those thoughts play out in my mind, I recognized how unreasonable they sounded. Marek hadn’t hurt Killian… yet. But he’d threatened to. Mostly just when he wanted something from me that I didn’t want to give him, or when he didn’t like the way I acted toward him in public. I knew he loved the notion of ruling over his own little kingdom, but in reality, I was the only person he really ruled over. The rest of the troupe could come and go as they pleased, and although most of them loved the bohemian lifestyle and chose to stay long term, it was an unspoken truth that he had no power over any of them. No one except me.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I also suspected he couldn’t actually force me to stay, either, but he didn’t have to. I wasn’t going anywhere. As trite and cliché as it sounded, I was damaged goods now. Not because of Killian—not by any means!—but because I’d paid for my room and board in Marek’s trailer with the only currency I had—my body.

  He’d gotten his money’s worth and more before Killian was born, knowing he couldn’t get me pregnant.

  What little value I had now, I clung to like some deep-seated treasure. There was still part of me that longed to love and be loved, but I poured every ounce of it into my son—our son—so he’d never have to wonder how precious he was to me.

  Especially once Marek had gotten over the thrill of having a son. After strutting around with Killian held aloft like some trophy, he’d quickly grown tired of spending time with him. Killian cried too much. He smelled bad. He threw up on Marek’s embroidered shirt only once, but that was one time too many. He didn’t listen. He didn’t talk in a clear way. There was always some reason Marek could find not to be around.

  And predictably, once I was no longer pregnant, Marek’s concern that I would become so again had brought me a reprieve. He just made me pay in other ways. Sometimes, it seemed, with a pound of my flesh, but most times, it was the lesser price to pay.

  But that was none of Jordan’s business and he’d had no right to presume so much about the way things were.

  And yet, because he was my friend, because he’d been there for me all this time, even in such a limited capacity, maybe he did have a reason—if not the right—to interfere. I knew now without a doubt that he would have stepped in long before now if I’d allowed him to.

  Once again, I’d circled back to me being the problem here, not Jordan.

  Jordan had sat at the table while I made the call. Tish and Sebastian left the room together after some unspoken agreement passed between them, but I could hear the rise and fall of their muted conversation from somewhere else in the house. I’d had to call our phone service provider to find out how to use the caller ID block, and even then, it had taken three tries before I actually dialed through without hangi
ng up.

  Marek didn’t answer. Probably because the ID was blocked. “Marek, it’s me, Savah.” I left a message and used my Gypsy name, hoping it would soothe his hackles a little. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you before I left, but my mom was in a bad car accident, and I’m with her now.” I took a deep breath and turned my back to Jordan, not wanting to see his reaction to my next words. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you came home. I’ll know better how things are in the morning, but Mom came through surgery and her prognosis is looking good. I promise to call you tomorrow, but I won’t be back to do the show this weekend. I don’t know about next weekend, either. I know it’s our last performance, and I’m really sorry to let you down. And everyone else, too. I feel terrible and—and I’m sorry.” My hands were shaking again, and I hurried to finish. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Sorry.”

  I heard Jordan’s quiet grunt as I pushed the off button. I didn’t turn around, but leaned against the counter, trying to get my agitation under control.

  “Five times, Savannah. You said you were sorry five different ways.” His words stung, but his tone was gentle and sad.

  “I need to get some sleep, Jordan. Thank you for everything you did tonight.” I crossed my arms tightly over my chest and turned to face him. “I really appreciate it all, and I’m really sorry I can’t—”

  He surged out of his seat and rounded the table to stand directly in front of me, his fingers pressed to my lips. “Don’t apologize to me, Savannah Clark. Not in that voice, not like you just apologized to him. You’ve done nothing—nothing—that requires an apology tonight, do you understand?” He withdrew his hand and I turned my face away, resisting the urge to step back into his arms. I could feel the tension in him, too, that magnetic pull that had once again flipped, so that it was becoming impossible not to press into each other.

  I sidestepped him and left the room before I made an even bigger fool of myself than I had already.