Bullet Series Box Set Books 1-8

by Jade C. Jamison

  She and Val were meeting for lunch—a girls’ day out. Val was bringing Hayley, her daughter, and Jennifer was bringing Zoe. The girls were more than a year apart in age, but it still didn’t stop Jennifer from hoping the two would become and remain good friends throughout their lives. Jennifer and Val had lost touch for a few years when Jennifer was finishing out college and Val was pursuing a music career, but they had never completely lost touch and continued to have a strong bond.

  In spite of the fact that she hated the area, Jennifer agreed to meet Val for lunch on Sixteenth Street in downtown Denver. There was a hot spot down there, a trendy restaurant Val had been wanting to try out. It was a beloved place for business folks who worked near the capitol, but shoppers had begun buzzing about it too, and Val wanted to check it out for herself.

  Jennifer parked in a paid lot and couldn’t even remember the name of the restaurant—she thought it had the word yard in it somewhere. But she had the address and it was on her maps app on her phone, so she picked up Zoe and the diaper bag with her purse shoved in and began walking the two blocks to the restaurant.

  She knew how Val was too. She knew her friend would also want to do a little shopping afterward. Jennifer would wait and see how she felt after eating before deciding for certain. If Zoe was cranky (or if Jennifer felt cranky), they’d skip the shopping part. But Val had a way of energizing Jennifer, of making her feel happy and alive and ready to conquer the world.

  Ten minutes later, Jennifer was stepping into the restaurant. The décor was dark—lots of black and heavy woods, juxtaposed with doses of silver and chrome and mirrors. Each table had a spritz of thin flowers in tall vases, giving the place a hip feel. She was looking ahead at the hostess who stood behind a large polished wood podium, so she heard Valerie to the right before she actually saw her.

  “Jennifer!” She turned her head and saw her friend stand up from off the bench where she’d been sitting. Dark-haired Hayley was crouching on the floor, playing with a soft baby doll. Jennifer walked toward Val, and her old friend embraced both her and the baby. By the time she let go, Hayley stood at their feet.

  “Mama!”

  Val smiled and picked up her daughter. “Do you remember Jennifer and Zoe, Hayley?”

  “Uh-huh,” the child said, smiling and bobbing her head up and down.

  “Hi, Hayley,” Jennifer said. “I’m starving. It smells great in here.”

  Val smiled, turning to pick up her purse and diaper bag after setting her daughter down. “Hayley, pick up your doll, honey.” She looked to Jennifer while taking Hayley’s hand in hers. “I hope it lives up to the hype.”

  While they moved closer to the podium, the hostess said, “All set? How about a booth?”

  Val said, “Sounds good to me.” Jennifer was impressed with her friend and so happy to be around her again—while Valerie didn’t look like she was eighteen anymore, she certainly looked youthful. Yes, she was now tattooed and pierced and had blonde streaks in her brown hair, but her eyes had never stopped sparkling, looking for the best in people; her smile had never faded. Her exuberance could still be felt in the air.

  In less than five minutes, they were seated, including Zoe in a high chair and Hayley in a booster seat, and they were flipping through the menu. Jennifer was beginning to feel overwhelmed by it—too many pages, too many choices. “I have no idea what to get. So many things sound good.”

  “I have to try this burger. I can’t turn down a good burger. And…for Hayley, I think I’ll get these chicken tenders and sweet potato fries. Is Zoe eating more adult foods nowadays?”

  “Yeah. I just like to make sure they’re cut up good enough.” She continued scanning the menu, but she was dying to catch up. So, when the waiter came by, Jennifer asked what his recommendations were and went with them for both her and her daughter. The women were deep in conversation by the time their drinks arrived.

  Jennifer began by asking, “How are Brad and Chris?”

  “Doing great. I guess the guys are planning to get together in a few weeks to start putting together album number four.” Jennifer took a deep breath, figuring now was as good a time as any to let Val know that she’d been halfway seeing Zane again, but then Val said, “I have something I need to tell you.”

  “What?”

  “Brad and I are expecting again.”

  “Oh, that’s great, Val. That’s amazing! What’s your due date?”

  “They told us January tenth, but you know how my kids never come when the ultrasound says they’re supposed to. It’s bound to be later than that.”

  “You never know. What do the kids think?”

  “I don’t think Hayley quite understands, but Chris thinks it’s pretty cool. He keeps telling me he hopes it’s a boy. He loves Hayley, but he wants a brother in the worst way.”

  “Aw.” Jennifer couldn’t imagine her life with more than one child and now Val was going to have three. She never would have guessed it. The more Jennifer thought about it, though, the more it made sense. Yeah, Val had chosen to become a rock star, but part of that was driven by her complete adoration of Ethan. She loved being in love and, of course, children went along with all that. And now that she was with the guy who was truly meant for her, it wasn’t completely shocking that they’d want to have lots of children. “I’m so glad our children are around the same ages so they can grow up together.”

  “Are you planning on having more?”

  “Probably someday.” The waiter brought by the appetizer—some type of egg rolls and various sauces for dipping. Jennifer was cutting one up for Zoe when she said, “Speaking of the father of my child…”

  “What?”

  “Well, you know Zane was going to contact me…and we went out on a couple of dates. But I, uh, gave him an ultimatum.”

  “Ultimatum?”

  “Yeah. I told him he can’t just go to rehab anymore, because it doesn’t work. He needs to finish what he starts.”

  “Ah…that explains a lot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Remember I said the guys were getting ready to put together their next album in a few weeks? Well…I guess they’d originally planned to start now but Zane asked for more time. Said he had some personal business to attend to.” She shrugged. “He probably gave the guys more detail than Brad passed along to me. Never mind that I used to be their roommate and knew everything…and I used to be in the band, for God’s sake.”

  Jennifer’s smile was wry. “Yeah, but when the subject matter involves one of your close friends…”

  “That’s good, though, right? That he’s taking you seriously?”

  Jennifer tousled Zoe’s hair, wishing for her daughter’s sake that Val was absolutely correct. “I’m not going to hold my breath, Val. He’s made me too many promises, too many times. All I can do is…hope.” And, no matter how cynical she felt herself becoming, that was all she had left to cling to—and, this last time, she was going to hope with all her heart that Zane could do what he’d vowed to.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “ZANE, BABY, DO another line.”

  “I’m already flyin’, honey.”

  “Just one more, stud. You can do it…and then we can stay up alllll night long…”

  “Too much’ll make me an asshole.”

  “Maybe I like you when you’re an asshole.”

  “Honey, you’ve never seen me when I’m an asshole.”

  “Hmm.”

  “There. You happy?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Much. Now maybe a little champagne.”

  “Look, Jen, I need to ease off a little—”

  “What did you just call me?”

  “Uh…”

  “My name’s not Jen, you asshole!”

  “I, um, I tried to warn ya…”

  “It’s good to see you back, Zane.”

  “Same to you, doc.” Honestly, the jury was still out as far as what Zane thought of his therapist, but the guy seemed to be just as competent as any of
them out there…he maybe even had a little bit more on the ball, because some of the things he’d said to Zane in their first session had rung true—and hit a little too close to home. Things Zane had never thought before.

  So he was going to stick with it.

  Yeah, he’d said it before, that he would do it for Jen, that he would give it a good try, but therapy had never worked for him in the past. He was going to try again, though, and he hadn’t thought far enough ahead to figure out how he’d convince her to stick around in spite of the fact that the shit never worked for him.

  But maybe this time he wouldn’t have to. Maybe this time was really going to work.

  The therapist was flipping through his clipboard and Zane felt a little uncomfortable again. Maybe this guy didn’t remember him and had to flip through his notes to refresh his memory. That wasn’t a good sign at all.

  Or maybe not. “You hinted at a rough childhood, Zane, at, perhaps, some problems with your father. Why don’t you tell me a little about that time in your life?”

  “What’s the point? It’s in the past.”

  “It most certainly is, Zane, but if we don’t understand our past, we can’t come to terms with it.”

  “Oh, I understand it, doc. I understand it completely. And that doesn’t help me a bit.”

  “So what would it hurt to tell me? In a nutshell, tell me about your childhood.”

  Zane swallowed. He could blow the guy off, make light of it, or whatever, but—like the man asked—what would it hurt?

  Nothing. And he had nothing to lose. So Zane let his mind drift back, back to a place he rarely went, a place he’d mostly forgotten, a place he’d tucked away in the dark recesses of his brain. He nodded and let out a long breath. “I, um…I was the only boy in the family. I have two sisters, one older and one younger. When I was little, my dad was mostly around, and I was his favorite punching bag. Didn’t take much to set him off, either. I think he was disappointed in me. I was a little fuck up, to use his words. He was around less and less as I got older, but when he bothered showing up (and my mom would let him back in the house), I had to hear about what a loser I was—my hair was too long; I was scrawny; I hung with the wrong crowd. I was fourteen, I think, the last time I remember my dad fucking with me. He was yelling at me about never helping around the house, saying my mother deserved better. Well, that was all it took for me to let him have it. I told him at least I was there consistently, and I’d probably taken out the trash more that year than he had during their entire marriage. He clocked me in the jaw—said if I was gonna talk like a man, I was gonna get a beating like a man. I stormed off to my room where I had a wooden baseball bat. I hadn’t used it much, but I’d toyed with the idea of playing softball in middle school and my mom had bought it for one of my birthdays. Turns out it came in handy. Dad followed me to my room, telling me he wasn’t done talking yet and, by God, I was gonna listen. I turned around after finding that bat under my bed. Dad was in the doorway of my room.” Zane’s fists clenched in front of his chest, an imaginary bat in them. “I held onto that goddamned bat with both hands and I said, ‘No, dad, you’re gonna listen. You ever lay a finger on me again, I’ll bash your fucking brains in.’ I really don’t remember what happened after that…but he left me alone. Never did touch me again. He stuck around for a while too…would drink a six-pack or two a night. And I started sneaking beers for me and my friends when I thought I could get away with it. Honestly, the old man probably knew I was taking ‘em, but he took me seriously. No way in hell was I gonna put up with his shit anymore.”

  “What about the other members in your family? Did he transfer his aggression to one of them?”

  “No…and I was ready for that if he did, but he didn’t. I think we were just a good place for him to crash between jobs, and I was the one disappointment in his life that he could take out all his bullshit frustrations on.”

  “Do you think your father was an addict?”

  “Yeah…I’m pretty sure. He drank a lot.”

  “And how did his assessment of you make you feel? You said you were a disappointment to him.”

  “God…as a kid, it ate me up inside, especially when he’d tell my sisters how pretty they were, how smart they were, how clever they were. It was pretty clear to all of us that he would have been very happy if I’d just curled up and died.” Zane was surprised—first at how easy it had turned out to talk about it and second…at how good it felt to let the shit go.

  “How about now?”

  “I really don’t think about it much anymore.”

  Dr. Harvey leaned back in his chair and paused for a few seconds—just long enough that the moment began to feel heavy. “Do you think, perhaps, that could be the cause of some of your more rash behaviors today?”

  Zane blinked. He’d been digging deep, deep into the past, and so this wasn’t the kind of conversation where he had to hurry up and give an answer, any answer, just to keep the ball rolling. He needed to think, to ponder, to muse over his life and his situation, and he knew his therapist would give him the time he needed. It was good that he didn’t need an immediate response, because the question was one he’d never been asked before or thought about. But, it turned out, he didn’t need to think much, because it seemed so obvious. “Yeah, it definitely could be.”

  “We emulate our fathers, Zane, because they teach us how to be men in the world.”

  “And what about when they’re not around?”

  “Then we make our own rules.”

  “And what about when they’re assholes when they are around?”

  “Then we’re presented with two choices—either embrace our own inner asshole”—Zane was really digging this guy now; how couldn’t he love a therapist who used his own words, even when others might find them offensive?—“or decide to become someone else.”

  Zane let those words sink in. They felt powerful to him, even though he couldn’t figure out why. “What if I chose both?”

  Dr. Harvey raised his eyebrows a millimeter. “Are you happy with that choice?”

  Zane felt a chuckle escape his lungs and mouth before he could fully understand his thoughts. “I must not be, because I’m trying to drown out everything in my head every waking moment.” And, oh, yeah, doc. I fucking hate myself.

  “So maybe we’re getting somewhere. The beauty of the human spirit is that we can change—but we have to want to change, first, and we also have to face the fact that our bad choices must be rewarding us in some way. Otherwise, we wouldn’t keep going back to them. Am I right?”

  Yeah…he was definitely right. The reward was being blissfully ignorant of himself, of forgetting everything, of letting it all go. Zane nodded…and then told his therapist what he’d been thinking—that being blitzed out of his mind 24/7 was a better alternative than living with who he was.

  “Let’s start there. Find out who you are and maybe who you want to be…and then we can talk about real change.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  JENNIFER LOVED SATURDAY mornings. She always slept as late as Zoe would let her and then, when the child was wide awake and babbling at her mama to get up, she’d pull her out of her crib and let her bounce around in bed with her for a bit. When she was littler, Jennifer was able to get Zoe to sometimes go back to sleep if she could pop the child’s pacifier in her mouth and snuggle her in a warm embrace. Nowadays, though, Jennifer would just let her play for a bit until Zoe was tired of it and edging herself off the bed, ready to explore the apartment or eat a little breakfast. And then Jennifer would often get up and make an entire pot of coffee she would nurse throughout the morning until they’d get dressed and leave home to do something for the remainder of the day.

  This Saturday morning was no different. Zoe was in Jennifer’s queen-size bed and was now tugging on strands of her mother’s hair—to what end, Jennifer didn’t know, but Zoe was cracking her up with her constant chatter about spaghetti.

  Did her hair look like spaghetti? Well,
as long as Zoe wasn’t chewing on it, she wasn’t going to worry.

  Soon bored, Zoe began sliding off the bed, and Jennifer sat on the edge, yawning before standing up. Her phone rang and she glanced at it as she stood.

  It was Zane.

  She let out a soft breath. It had been a couple of weeks and he hadn’t bothered her. She thought maybe for once he was taking her seriously.

  And she thought maybe she was ready to talk. She picked it up after the third ring and began walking toward the bedroom door. Zoe was already way ahead of her. “Hey, Zane. How are you?”

  “Nice to hear your voice. I’m doing pretty good. What about you?”

  “Can’t complain.” Well, she probably could. She still disliked her job. She’d thought telling off Cunt-stance would change all that and, while it was better, she still didn’t care much for it. She hadn’t realized how repetitive the work was now that she no longer had to walk on eggshells. However, she doubted Zane wanted to hear all her crybaby woes. “How’s recovery going?” Oh, God. She hoped that hadn’t come out sounding too insensitive, aiming straight for the target without any more small talk.

  Before she could apologize, Zane answered. “Really well, actually. I’m, uh…learning a lot about myself. A lot.” She was going to ask another question but, once more, he beat her to it. “And I’m still clean.”

  She grinned at Zoe who was already in the kitchen playing with little solid plastic doll figures she had on the floor and headed for the coffee pot. “How long?”

  “Close to thirty days.”

  That didn’t sound very good to her, but she didn’t want to be discouraging. Her thought was that anyone could do anything for thirty days if he needed to. Immediately, she thought of Morgan Spurlock eating nothing but McDonald’s for thirty days in his documentary Super Size Me, and then all the people on the TV show Survivor, battling the elements and various assholes while starving—it was a tad more than thirty days, but not by much. Yeah…she’d be impressed when he made it to half a year…and then more. But instead of saying that, she said, “That’s great, Zane.”