She was naked, and likely covered in soap by now. Yeah, proving himself to her was going to be a whole lot of fun.
* * *
Budgets made her eyes bleed but she was determined to keep Ellen’s tightly managed books on an even keel. Even the strains of Slade’s “Merry X’mas, Everybody,” blasting from the kitchen wasn’t making the columns of numbers any more fun to look at.
“Jenny, come here,” Thomas whispered. He waved his hands with such urgency that she immediately dropped her paperwork and followed the young boy as he ran from her office.
She trailed him up the stairs. “Where are we—?”
“Shh. Listen,” he said, cupping his ear in the direction of the bathroom door.
The shower was running, and a sweet voice was singing that Justin Bieber song about loving yourself. “I think he forgot I wasn’t with him. He just grabbed his towel and went in. Do you think he’s okay? Do you think I should go in?” Thomas asked.
So many boys had grown up too fast, but the way Thomas and Harry had been treated had left both of them so vulnerable and developmentally delayed for their age. Over the week since they’d arrived, the bathroom had continued to be a rough spot for Harry.
“What’s happening?” Albi asked as he walked by.
“Shh,” Thomas said.
“Harry is showering,” Jenny said, a warm feeling going through her. This was the kind of progress she made. She’d never be smart enough to run a big company, or eloquent enough to be a politician or a lawyer, but small miracles with damaged children she could do. All the nights she’d spent talking to the boy about his bath-time routine and his safety here were beginning to pay off. It was the first time she hadn’t had to talk him into the bathroom, the first time he hadn’t cried, the first time Thomas hadn’t had to sit inside with his back to the door.
“Why are you guys all standing around?” Ravi asked as he bounded up the stairs with Leon.
This time both Thomas and Albi shushed the newcomers, and the noise drew Mark out of his room. “Is Harry in there?” he asked in surprise.
Everybody nodded. The water stopped flowing, the clunk in the noisy pipe giving it away.
Jenny held her breath but nudged everybody away from the door. “Come on, guys,” she whispered. “Back it up.”
But it was too late. The door was opened by an unsuspecting Harry, who was bundled up in a towel.
All the guys burst into whoops and cheers.
“Nice job, Harry,” Leon shouted.
“You’re such a tough guy now,” Ravi echoed.
“You did good,” Mark added quietly.
Harry jumped at first, but Thomas threw his arm over his shoulder. “You did it,” he whispered. “I’m proud of you.”
Jenny bit back the tears that threatened to fall and swallowed hard. Whether the boys could see it or not, there was a magic in this home, something so deeply entrenched in the walls, and the staff, and Ellen . . . even the boys who lived there. “Hey, Harry,” she said, roughly. “I’m very proud of you, bud. Now, the rest of you, can we back it up? Let’s get on our chores. Who’s next in the shower? Let’s move.”
There were a few grumbles and some more teasing of Harry as they walked down the hall. He looked back over his shoulder, his cheeks still pink, and smiled shyly before walking into Thomas’s room instead of his own. Today told her that would change eventually, but for now it was all about the small steps.
Jenny walked past the office to the kitchen, where Miles, one of the more junior members of Ellen’s team, was starting to get the ball rolling for dinner. It had long since gone dark outside, and rain battered against the window. An umbrella was going to be useless against the wind. Winter was truly on its way in.
“You know you can go home, right?” he teased as she leaned on the kitchen island. “You would have gotten home before it turned miserable outside if you’d left on time.”
“I know.” She grinned. “But then I would have missed Harry showering without Thomas standing guard, and then the rest of the boys cheering him.”
Miles looked up at the ceiling. “Is that what all that noise was? That is a big deal. Maybe I’ll make a special dessert. If I start now, I could make a sponge cake, and I think we have some of that basketball cake-decorating pack that I used for Albi’s birthday left . . . you know, just to make a big deal about it.”
“I think that would be a very sweet thing to do,” Jenny said.
“Ellen always says it’s important to celebrate the steps. How are you settling in? Anything I can help you with?”
“It’s good to be back in Toronto. Plus, I spent a lot of time here as a kid, so there’s a lot of nostalgia . . . and a lot of admin. Is that usual? Not that I mind it, but I’m curious.”
The afternoon had been filled with meetings and appointments. The online schedule was constantly getting updated. Psychologist appointments, behavioral therapy, probation officers, family member requests. Leon and Albi seemed to be having growth spurts and would need new clothes soon, a trip that would need planning for. In her early career, she’d resented this part of the job because she’d wanted to spend as much time with the boys as she could. But experience had shown that it really did take a village to raise a child, especially a child without a family, a child with anger management problems, bound up in grief, or finding it impossible to extricate himself from gang life.
“Yeah. Because many of the boys here are”—he looked toward the door to ensure none of them were within earshot and lowered his voice—“generally here for the long run, they tend to have a lot of issues they need help with.”
“Makes sense,” she said, thinking of Nik and the others.
Her phone buzzed and she pulled it out of her pocket.
Nik.
She let it go to voice mail. At some point, she would talk to him, but only when she’d had the chance to properly think through what had happened beyond the mind-blowing sex the previous evening and figure out whether her lust-induced decisions were the right ones. The clock on her phone told her it was five thirty. She’d finished her shift officially, but being busy had helped prevent her from dwelling on it.
“I’m going to head out if you and Nelm have things covered,” she said.
“Sure thing. See you tomorrow. Try not to get too wet.”
Jenny packed her bag, put on her coat, and buttoned it up. She debated calling for a taxi, regretting her decision to let Nik drop her off instead of bringing her own car, but figured that if she hurried she wouldn’t get too drenched. Her phone rang again as she was saying her goodbyes, but she left it in her bag, figuring she’d see who was calling after she got home. Christmas lights on houses did their best to lift the gloom of the wet and dark night. Rain pounded down on the hood of her jacket as she jogged home, clasping her bag to her shoulder. Looking down at the pavement to avoid having the rain hit her face, she could see the yellow glow of the streetlights reflected in the puddles on the sidewalk. Occasionally she’d look up to safely dodge the other pedestrians all making their own frantic dashes to wherever they were headed.
By the time she reached her door, she was a little out of breath, and her pants were soaked through to her skin. She quickly slipped the key into the lock and let herself into her apartment, closing out the storm and flicking on the light. Splats of water hit the floor as she dripped on the entrance mat, and she laughed at the horrible sight that met her in the mirror. The front of her hair, the part that had escaped the hood, was plastered to her head and there were two black mascara tracks on her cheeks. “So attractive,” she said out loud.
She kicked off her wet shoes and slipped out of her coat and soaked pants, hanging them over hooks in the hallway so they could dry out. Half-dressed, she walked into the small kitchen and pulled two chicken breasts out of the fridge, one for tonight and one for lunch tomorrow. They could cook while she showered. PJs and finding something new to binge watch on Netflix sounded like the perfect way to relax. She turned on the ov
en, placed the meat on a baking tray, and seasoned it before placing it in the oven.
Her phone rang again. She rescued it from her purse and looked at the screen.
Nik. Again.
Part of her just wanted to leave her phone on the counter while she showered, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to relax while she was in there if she didn’t know what he’d wanted.
Jenny went to voice mail.
“Hey, it’s me, sweetheart,” Nik began. She could hear random instruments playing no particular tune in the background. The thump of a drum, a chord progression on an electric guitar. Laughter, the occasional shout. “I’ve been thinking a lot about last night, and I’ve got to be honest, I still can’t believe it happened . . . I’m . . . I guess . . . shit. You think I’d be better at this, right. But, yeah. I keep using the word ‘everything’ a lot. But you are and it was. And I—”
The phone went dead. Not hers. His. The voice mail just cut off. Then the next voice mail began.
“Hey, sorry. Stupid fucking signal in this place. Where was I? Oh, yeah . . . and I . . . Hang on.” There was a muffled sound as if he’d put his hand over the mouthpiece, but she could still make out his words. “I don’t give a fucking shit. We’ve been at this all fucking day and five minutes to make a phone call won’t break the fucking show, Jordan.” The sound got louder again. “Sorry about that. I just wanted to say that I don’t want to rush you, but I’d love to see you again tonight if—”
It cut off again, and Jenny couldn’t help but laugh. She played the third voice mail.
“For fuck’s sake. I’m sorry. I’d love to see you again tonight if you feel like some company. Let me know. My place or yours, doesn’t really matter, as long as we’re both in the same room, fuck, and now I’m hard for about the fiftieth time today thinking about all the ways that could end. I’m going to go see if I can’t stop World War Three breaking out on stage . . . guaranteed to kill a boner. Miss you, babe.”
Her fingers hovered over the keys. It would be so easy to type a message telling him to swing by. He could have some of the chicken and salad she was going to make. And she could get down with the cool kids lingo to “Netflix and chill” with Nik. But was it healthy? Was it just falling into old habits? It felt impossible to separate new feelings for Nik from old ones. She put the phone down on the counter and walked to the bathroom. As she stripped, she thought about their conversations over dinner and in New York. He’d grown. Changed. Become more thoughtful, less impulsive. At one time, words and ideas just fell from his lips and she’d consumed them all. His dreams had been big and exciting. Now he was measured, and while he’d lost a little of that reckless edge, making him a safer bet from a relationship standpoint, she kind of missed that about him.
But he was far more thoughtful about others. The way he’d spoken about the rest of the band, he had a real sense of pride in how they’d survived as a family. She turned on the spray and let the hot water warm her up. Jenny wondered if he realized just how often the anecdotes and stories he’d shared had revealed him to be the arbiter, the focal point that the rest of the band depended on for decisions and guidance.
As she soaped her body, she noticed how tender she felt between her legs. It was a delicious reminder of the part of their relationship that had never needed any assistance. Nik had always been a heady mix of tender and . . . it wasn’t quite “domineering,” and “aggressive” wasn’t quite the right word either. “Ravenous.” That word worked. He’d always taken her like he was starving for her. There was no denying that that part of their relationship had gotten even better than it had been before.
Jenny finished her shower and turned the water off. Once dry, with her wet hair in a bun, she pulled on her pajamas and went to make the salad to go with her chicken. She looked over at her phone once and decided not to call. Maybe it was a subconscious test to see just how badly he wanted her. To find out if he would pursue her. Or maybe it was simply the reverse . . . to see how badly she wanted him. But more importantly, it would give her space to sort out her emotions. . . .
Before she made another big mistake.
* * *
She hadn’t called. Neither had she texted. Or written. Or sent a carrier pigeon.
And that had left him feeling uneasy.
Nik looked around the quiet coffee shop and sipped on his double espresso.
It had dawned on him somewhere around three that morning when he was still wide awake staring at the ceiling that he’d never had to work for a girl in his life. The concept of having to do that with Jenny wasn’t a problem. In fact, he didn’t mind the idea of the chase at all. But what he was having a major fucking issue with was the idea of failing. Because when it came to Jenny, all bets were off as to where her head, or her heart, was at.
He looked at the clock on his phone. Steve Jenkins, the producer of Who Am I?, had called Ryan personally to ask if Nik would agree to meet him to talk about the show, saying he’d had a personal commitment to the story that he wanted to share. Nik’s gut reaction was to say no, but it felt crucially important to start taking full responsibility for these kinds of questions by answering them properly. He needed to start figuring out what exactly he wanted from his life now that the rest of the band seemed to be figuring out what they wanted from theirs.
With his baseball cap pulled low, his hair tied in a braid, and his back facing most of the patrons in the coffee shop, nobody had recognized him. Fortunately, it had been days since anybody had reported on the leaks of his video. As the label’s publicity team had repeated frequently, some big new story would soon come along and everybody would forget about his. While he didn’t wish ill on anybody, it had certainly been helpful that two major A-list celebrities who had been married for fifteen years had decided to divorce.
He looked down at his hands, one of the few parts of his body that didn’t have any ink, and an idea came to mind. It would take a trip to go see Cujo, his favorite tattoo artist out of the Second Circle Tattoos studio in Miami. But he was certain that Pixie, Dred’s fiancée and former manager of Second Circle, could hook him up.
“Nik? I’m Steve. We talked on the phone.”
Nik looked up, surprised to find a trim man in his mid-fifties. He shook his hand, wondering what other conclusions he might have jumped to about the show . . . and his life. “Hey.”
“It’s a little strange to sit here and pretend that we haven’t already done a little bit of research about you,” Steve said, placing his coffee cup down on the table. “But I just wanted to let you know we have something in common. My grandmother was Lower Cayuga, Turtle Clan like your grandmother. Neither she nor I ever lived on the Six Nations reserve, but I have lots of extended family there. I want to tell our story, Nik. But I need your help to do it.”
For a moment, he thought about Jenny and the parallels to the conversation he was about to have. He had needed to persuade her to listen to him, to listen to all of him. Not just his words, but his actions. And it made him realize that he needed to do the same for Steve. Because just like Jenny could with him, if at the end of the day Nik wasn’t convinced by what Steve had to say, it was okay to walk away. And as much as Jenny was giving Nik a chance to earn a place back in her life, he needed to give Steve the same opportunity to play a role in his. Nik took a sip of coffee and leaned back in his chair. “I’m listening.”
And Steve began.
An hour later, Nik’s head was reeling, and he knew he needed time to think through everything Steve had said. “Thank you for being so candid with me,” Nik said as they packed up their belongings.
“Nya:węh. Thank you. I know how reluctant you are, but hopefully I’ve given you a lot to consider. I’m not going to pressure you, and I’m happy to work any research and filming schedule around yours. Give it some thought over the next week or two and let me know what you think.”
Nik left the coffee shop and walked to his car. He knew that he needed to drive out toward the airport to the warehouse th
ey were using as rehearsal space, but he wanted to see Jenny. Most of all, he wanted to look her in the eye and ask if everything was okay. The last few times they’d met, it had felt like they were making progress. And when they’d made love, it had felt like a giant step. He knew he was fucking lucky she wanted to spend any time with him at all. So, if she needed time, he’d make that work. But he wanted to know whether he should keep pushing or back off for a little while. Lose the battle to win the war.
All the children from the home would be off at school, which meant that she’d be there with another staff member.
He let himself into his car, turned the engine over, but didn’t start driving.
His head was buzzing. And right now he needed some impartial advice, so went to the one place he knew he’d get it.
“Nik,” Ellen said after he’d knocked on and then opened the sliding doors at the back of the house. “I’m dying of boredom, and you are the perfect antidote.”
When he’d first found out that everyone had known about Jenny’s return except him, he’d been furious, but over time he’d come to realize that Ellen always did what she thought was best for them.
“Got to be honest, I’m not feeling very antidote-y today.” He slipped his jacket off, threw it over a stool, and slumped into an armchair. “How’s the leg?”
Ellen picked another piece of popcorn from the bowl at her side and pierced it with the needle she held in her other hand. From the length of the strand, and the two others sitting on the table, she’d been busy for a while. There was something reassuring about the sight as he remembered all the other times in his life he’d seen her make the popcorn garlands for the tree.
“Broken and slow to mend. Still. Oh, and itchy. But let’s skip the pleasantries. Why don’t you tell me why you are here?”
Nik laughed, and felt the release of some of the pressure he’d been carrying. “You always could see straight through us.”
Ellen smiled. “Years of practice.”
He ran his hand over his face. Where to start? Jenny? The way he was feeling? The TV show? All of it. Fuck my life.
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