I crept back into the room as quietly as possible, but Melissa still stirred a little. She didn’t wake fully, just enough that she cooed as I slid back under the covers and bundled her into my arms. She burrowed into my warmth and let out a deep, contented sigh.
It was such a simple moment, one I knew would probably get lost in the depths of my memory by the time I awoke the next morning, but perfection is often in the simpler things. A cool breeze on a hot day. That first taste of a frosty beer.
And the sigh of the woman I loved as she nuzzled into my arms.
Chapter 27
Melissa
Not surprisingly, Jack and I didn't have an easy time finding jobs in Cannon. He soon had his fill of slammed doors and decided to go look for work in another town, so he dropped me off at the laundromat one sunny Wednesday morning and went to do just that.
I didn’t intend to sit by idly, either. I loaded up the washing machine with clothes and set it going before taking a seat at the back of the room and pulling out my aging laptop. It sputtered to life, clicking and groaning for several minutes before I could even open up a browser window. Finally, however, I was all set to look for jobs.
Cannon didn't even have its own Craigslist, and it was no surprise that the online job listings for the immediate area were few and far between. Apparently, like Jack, I was also going to have to go a bit off-book and find something outside of Cannon. That was fine. We could end up in another small town, but would that be the end of the world? If nothing else we could do the same thing we were doing here. It wasn't like we had a place we'd have to pack up or anything. That was one of the few benefits of living in a motel.
It took me a shorter amount of time than anticipated to apply for jobs. I only hoped Jack had better luck. I couldn't say for certain how long we'd last in this town on the savings we had, but I knew it wouldn't be long. We'd be on food stamps before either of us knew it.
I didn't have any hang-ups about accepting charity. Lord knows I'd done my fair share of relying on strangers to provide the very basic of necessities. The ultimate foster kid pipe dream was acquiring some rich old folks who just want a kid to spoil and love, and each time I got moved I dreamed about what my perfect new family was going to be like. In the end, even the ones who seemed promising at first soon showed their true colors. It wasn't until I got much older that I understood why people who seemed to hate children would willingly take in strange ones. The whole time I assumed it was out of the goodness of their hearts because they needed someone else to love and I needed someone to love me. I didn't realize how many foster parents only took kids because they got money from the state, or how little they cared about my wellbeing.
My perfect happy family never came. I didn't dwell on that anymore. I got out of there and that was all that mattered. I was a free woman now, even more so since I'd ditched Donnie and found somebody who loved me with no strings attached.
Being in foster care did teach me a great deal about humility, about savoring the kindness of strangers when and if it came—albeit with a healthy dose of skepticism. And you know what? Accepting help from the state was a helluva lot less demeaning than accepting help from Donnie, and I’d been doing that a lot longer than I ever should have.
I knew that if our money ran out and we were forced to scrape the bottom of the barrel for a bit, we’d pull through just fine. It was still a situation I greeted with almost as much trepidation as I would hopping back in Donnie's bed.
Trying not to think about my potentially bleak future, I looked up at the washing machine to see how much longer I had on my load. I sighed. All out of jobs to apply for and I still had twenty minutes left on my first wash. Bummer.
I returned to my senior computer, navigating my Facebook for a couple of minutes before an idea struck me. I quickly pulled up the website for the University of Arizona and clicked through to look at their fine arts page.
Jack was an inspiration to me. I wanted to paint his face in a thousand colors so other people could see what I saw there, see the ever-changing facets of his personality in stark relief against his handsome features. He was the one who'd finally gotten through to me about the importance of following my dream. I felt I owed him for that, even though I knew he'd never accept anything more than a kiss in gratitude. The fact that there were professors at the U of A who thought I was talented was incredible, and I figured it couldn't hurt to have a look at what their program offerings were, even if I couldn't hope to afford it anytime soon.
Washers and dryers buzzed, people chatted around me, but for a little while, I was in another world. I constructed a fantasy out of course outlines and projects for what my life could be. The school offerings drew me in, and the second I noticed the link to the scholarships and funding page, I clicked through without hesitation.
I applied for several scholarships. So what if I didn't stand a chance in hell? If I didn't try, I'd never know. The only break I took was to change over the washing and put on a new load, but then I sat back down and got right back to it. Some of the applications I had to leave half filled out since I would have to gather up a portfolio, but there were a few I sent off right away. It felt good. Even if I never heard even a whisper from U of A, at least I'd started working toward something. It may have looked like standing still, but I was finally moving forward.
I looked at a couple of other schools and applied for more scholarships and grants while I waited for my laundry, but my laptop's battery steadily chugged down to zero, and I was forced to abandon it. I had just pulled out a book when a familiar head of inky hair bustled into the laundromat. The overfilled laundry basket blocked Naomi's face, but I shot up and waved at her to catch her attention.
"Hey!" I grinned. For a day that had started so bleak, I was beginning to enjoy it.
"Fancy seeing you here."
Naomi staggered over to me and, releasing a great sigh, and dropped her basket down onto a table. "One of these days I'm going to spring for my own machine," she grumbled. "You have no idea how much laundry two teenage girls produce. My oldest refuses to wear anything more than once a wash and my youngest seems to use every towel in the house whenever as much as a single toe gets wet."
I went to stand next to Naomi, and she started sorting out her lights and darks with the kind of focus and quick hands you could expect from a Blackjack dealer.
"At least they're not as dirty as boys," I offered.
Naomi snorted. "Boys will happily live in the dirt. I could do with a stinky boy if it meant I did laundry less often." She grabbed the pile of lights and shuffled over to an open machine. "How are you doing? I'm so sorry about what happened at the Alibi. Hank was a real dick about the whole thing."
I shrugged and wrinkled my nose. "Hank had to do what he had to do, I guess. He warned me that he couldn't afford to play fair."
"He warned you not to make a scene," she corrected, grabbing her laundry soap and filling up the machine. "He never said he was going to let Donnie antagonize you into making a scene."
"Same thing."
Naomi slammed the door closed and sighed, leaning against the machine as it hummed to life.
"Still, it was bullshit. And things have been so much worse since you left."
"You're just saying that."
She shook her head, a hard glint in her chocolate eyes. "I'm not. We got a new guy on your shifts, and he's about as useless as they come, which has made Hank stressed, so he's been salty all week. Then there's Donnie. Who would've thought that removing his favorite plaything would agitate the boy?"
I chuckled. "So you're saying you wish Hank had kept me so Donnie would still have something to play with?"
She gave me a flat look. "You know what I mean. He's been even more of a dick than usual and seems to think that just because Hank fired you, he's now the king of the castle, and everyone needs to kiss his ring. It's disgusting. At least you intimidated him enough to keep him in line."
"I did not intimidate him," I said with an i
ncredulous frown.
"Sure you did." Naomi stepped around me and grabbed her pile of darks, moving them into the next washing machine. "Maybe not when you were together, but afterward definitely. He was just as intimidated by your success and your ability to live without him as he was by that hot newcomer guy you replaced him with. Why do you think he acted out so much? Donnie needed to prove that he wasn't as much of a loser as everybody already knows him to be, but at least he knew he had to have limits so as not to make an ass out of himself in front of you."
Naomi stopped and turned to me, hand on her hip. Her expression was taut, thin lines fanning out from the corners of her eyes as she studied me. "I know I probably don't have to say this, but promise me you'll stay away from him. He's not just extra annoying. He's been more aggressive than usual, and it worries me to think of how he would act if he got you alone somehow."
"I don't need telling twice." I lifted my hand into a three-fingered salute. "Scout's honor, I'll stay away from him."
"Good."
"Thank you for the warning."
Naomi sighed. "I just wish I could do more for you. I still can't believe Hank fired you."
We chatted for the next couple of hours while we both finished up our laundry, then Naomi waved goodbye and disappeared into the night. I glanced at the clock for the fifth time since I first took my clothes out of the dryer, then checked my phone. I still hadn't heard from Jack, and he was supposed to have been back already. What was his deal?
I waited for another twenty minutes and left a voicemail and two texts on Jack's phone before I got annoyed enough to heft my basket up into my arms and strike out on my own. It wasn't too far a walk back to the motel, but it wouldn't be fun. I was equal parts worried and irritated. Maybe a little more worried, especially with the ominous warning I'd received from Naomi only a couple of hours before. Wherever Jack was, I hoped he was safe.
Chapter 28
Jack
The cold metal of the bunk bit into the flesh of my palms where my hands squeezed the sides, feet tapping anxiously on the floor. The sound of my sneakers against the cement seemed to fill the small space, resonating in my skull.
I was alone for now. Deputy Morris abandoned me about an hour ago, storming off with his paperwork and laptop to another part of the precinct. I was almost certain he wasn't allowed to do that, and I was completely certain that I was within my rights to request a phone call. Deputy Morris didn't give two shits about my rights and had made that abundantly clear.
I tried hollering out a couple times to see if that would attract attention from another member of staff, but all it did was make me feel even more like a caged animal than I already did.
The clock on the opposite wall ticked silently through the hours. Melissa was either still waiting for me at the laundromat, or had already given up and gone home. Either way, she had no idea where I was. I was desperate to call her and let her know I was okay, and that I didn't skip out on her on purpose, even though I didn't have any other information to offer. I had no idea what they'd picked me up for. I got back to the motel after my job search with the intent of grabbing a quick shower before I met up with Melissa, but I didn't even make it as far as the front door. Before I knew it, I was being hauled into a police car and locked up in this cell. What the hell was going on?
I felt like rattling the bars and screaming until my lungs gave out, but I knew it would be better if I preserved my strength and even better than that if I stayed calm. For whatever reason, these guys were out to get me, and I wouldn't give them anything more than I had to.
The long hand on the clock started making another rotation of the dial before the door to the holding area opened again. It wasn't Deputy Morris who entered the room, but a short, older man with a balloon-sized gut and sidling gait. He evaluated me with eyes that looked bluer than the ocean when juxtaposed against his ruddy face, and I stared right back. It took a second for me to notice he wasn't like all the other cops I'd seen—the gold and white star on his shirt identified him as the sheriff. This could either be a very good or very bad thing.
"Jack Paxton," the sheriff rumbled, his floppy chin wriggling like a bundle of kittens when he spoke. "My name is Sheriff Beringer."
I gritted my teeth. Beringer. Of course it was.
"Do you know why we've brought you in here today, Jack?"
I rose from the small bed, crossing over to the bars and looking the sheriff straight in the eye. "I have a feeling it has something to do with your family, but I'm not sure how."
"My family?" Beringer raised a quizzical eyebrow. "No, son. This ain't got nothing to do with my clan."
"I haven't done anything wrong. I don't know why else you would have hauled me in here if not because of Donnie Beringer's ridiculous vendetta."
The sheriff's jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed into slits. "I'm going to do you a favor and forget you said that."
"Don't." I grasped the bars and leaned in closer. "Are you saying this has nothing to do with Donnie? What is he, anyway? Your cousin? Nephew?"
"None of your fucking business!" Beringer snapped. "You better learn to mind your trap when it comes to talking to authority, son. You'll soon find that I am not the kind of man you want to be messin' around with."
Beringer removed his wide-brimmed sheriff’s hat to wipe the sweat now glistening from his tomato-red forehead. He put it back on and tossed me another surly look before depositing himself in the office chair across from me and picking up the file from the desk.
He cleared his throat and began to read.
"Jack Paxton. Twenty-eight years old." He looked back up at me. "It seems you have quite the propensity for underground fighting, which I'm sure as you know is illegal in the great state of Arizona, as well as everywhere else in this country."
I backed away from the bars, needing space to process what he'd said. Immediately my thoughts flew to Roddy, to the threat he tossed at me before I hung up on him the last time we spoke.
I could make things very bad for you...
How had he managed to sell me out without implicating himself? What could he possibly have as evidence that he could use to damn me?
I decided not to acknowledge what the sheriff said either way. I just licked my lips and stared him boldly in the eye.
"I want my phone call."
Sheriff Beringer nodded slowly with a tight-lipped smile. "I thought you might." He pulled out his handcuffs and slipped the file back onto the desk. "Get to the back of the cell. If you try anything funny, I won't hesitate to take you down. Fighter or not."
I did as he said, not letting out even a peep of complaint when he snapped the cuffs on my wrists and drew them tight enough to bruise. He led me to a phone and cuffed me next to it, informing me that I had five minutes and that was it. I thanked him, offering up a cheery smile. His obvious confusion was my only consolation in the whole humiliating ordeal.
The phone was grimy and old as dirt, the ringing coming through like I was hearing it through a wall. I couldn't even lift my free hand to block my other ear. Thankfully it was quiet in the police station.
"Hello?" Melissa picked up.
It was such a relief to hear her voice. No matter what fresh hell they put me through, at least I could always close my eyes and picture her pretty face. The thought that I might not get to touch her again sent a stab of agony through my chest, but I suppressed it. I wouldn't last long in a place like this if I let depression get the best of me.
"Hey babe, it's me."
"Jack! I've been worried sick. Where are you?"
I sighed. "I'm at the police station."
I waited for her reply with bated breath. I didn't think Melissa would leave me over this, but I still feared it more than anything else. I could handle anything the world threw at me as long as I had her.
"Oh my god! What happened? Are you okay?"
I tried to lift my hand to run it through my hair but was cut short by the metal cuff. Frustration rippled throug
h me.
"Yeah, I'm okay. I think I've been arrested, though it's a Beringer's world at the police station too, so I'm not really sure what's going on. They didn't let me call you until now, but I've been here for hours."
Melissa's voice began to rise in pitch and volume. "What? Are you fucking serious! That's crazy! I swear to god, Jack, I'm going to get you out of there. What did they say they brought you in on?"
"Illegal fighting, apparently." I grimaced. "Babe, listen, I don't have much time. I need you to make some calls for me."
Melissa and I went through the details of what was going to happen next, which didn’t take too long since all I knew was that I needed a lawyer and all I could afford was a public defender. After that, Sheriff Beringer came back and hung up the phone for me before I had a chance to say a proper goodbye.
"I wasn't done," I said calmly, trying to hide my growing rage.
I didn't even have a chance to tell Melissa that I loved her before he hung up. What if something happened to me in here and the last thing I said to her was something about how we were going to figure all this out?
"Your time was up," he replied in a flat tone, re-securing my hands behind my back and leading me back to the cell.
I highly doubted that, but I bit my tongue.
"You win many of your fights?" Beringer asked as he unlocked the cell. He slid the door open, and I stepped inside, walking up to the back wall and standing with my nose against it while I waited for him to un-cuff me.
He took his sweet time.
"You hear me?" he asked.
I didn't respond. He was trying to bait me into saying something incriminating, and I was done speaking until I had a lawyer present. I wasn't stupid.
"Well, I hope for your sake you did." He pulled the cuffs off and retreated, locking me back into my new home. "'Cause where you're going, you're gonna have to do lots of fighting."
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