This Is the Wonder

by Tracey Ward

  She grins wickedly. “You don’t know the half of it. Why do you think you’re the one taking me out on New Year’s and not my husband?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “You are freaking cray,” I tell Robin. “You know you’re married and pregnant, right?”

  I normally would never say that word, and I smile thinking of Sanchez when I do, but this night is an exception. My sister is full-blown cray tonight. She’s in spiked heels, her hair is blown out, her makeup looks professionally done, and her sequined black dress is hugging her curves. Even her little baby bump. It’s not that noticeable yet. If you didn’t know she was pregnant you might just think she had a big meal, but it’s there and I just want to touch it all the time. She’s slapped my hand at least three times already but I keep coming back for more.

  She runs her hands over her hips, smoothing the dress down her body, and shrugs. “I’ll probably never have this body again. The baby is going to ruin it, so I have to enjoy it while I can.”

  “Did Chris see you before you left the house? Because I imagine if he did he’d want to be enjoying it too.”

  She grins. “No. I left to get my hair done before coming to get you. I brought the dress with me. He hasn’t seen anything. Not yet, at least.”

  “Gross.”

  “Whatever. You’re just jealous.”

  “Maybe,” I admit a little bitterly.

  When we get inside the bar we start looking for her friends. We’re supposed to meet up with people she knows from work, and I don’t know why I’m helping her look because I have no idea what they look like. I survey the bar, looking for an opening, and I accidentally make eye contact with a guy sitting near us. He’s good-looking with perfectly styled black hair and cheekbones you could cut a steak with. The lights are flashing, it’s hard to see very well, but I know he smiles with perfect, full lips when he sees me.

  Crap.

  Normally this guy is my type because, seriously, he’s that kind of handsome that’s everyone’s type. But I’m obviously not looking for attention tonight. It’s why I wore dark skinny jeans and a fitted red T-shirt with a modest scoop neck. It’s comfortable, not sexy. I’m wearing ballet flats! They don’t exactly put out The Vibe. But this guy obviously doesn’t know that, because even after I hastily look away, I can still feel his eyes on me.

  “There they are,” Robin calls over the loud pulse of the music.

  I look to where she’s pointing and hesitate, not sure if I’m reading her right. She’s pointing to a group of middle-aged, pot-bellied men.

  “By the bathrooms?”

  “No,” she laughs, shaking her hand emphatically. “The girls on stage. On the—”

  “Pole,” I finish for her, my tone dropped lower than the forty-year-old woman’s ass working the pole center stage. “That’s who we’re hanging out with tonight?”

  “Robin!!!” a redhead screams. She stumbles down off the stage, nearly eating floor with her face, and jumps into Robin’s waiting arms.

  Her sloppy movements and slurred words immediately remind me of Mel, and I feel a familiar ache in my chest. I miss my friend. I miss my boyfriend. Hell, I even miss Ben if I’m being totally honest.

  “Here, meet my sister,” Robin tells her drunk friend. “Brenda, this is Wren. Wren, this is—”

  “Brenda?” I guess sarcastically.

  She scowls at me. “Stop doing that.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Finishing my—”

  “Sentences?”

  Her scowl deepens. “I’ll kill you.”

  Brenda looks between us, misreading our glares as genuine anger and her face crumples. “No! No, no. You’re sisters. You can’t fight. Sisters don’t fight. They l-love each other. You have to love each other. So much. So much so that… when the time comes and the baby and the… road to recovery.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask her.

  Robin shakes her head, hugging the woman to her side and running her hand soothingly up and down her arm. “Who knows? She’s wasted.”

  “Kinda early.”

  “She’s going through a divorce.”

  “No!” Brenda shouts, throwing off Robin’s arm and swaying on her feet. “No D word. We’re not using the D word tonight. Kylie said. She said… no. No D. Tonight is fun!”

  I wince at the high-pitched shriek and look longingly toward the bar. The guy is still there but he’s not looking at me anymore. I could swoop in, grab a beer, and get out before he even knows I’m there.

  As Robin agrees with Brenda over and over to not talk about the D word and I think that what Brenda needs more than a ladies’ night out is a dose of the Big D, I pull out my phone to check it.

  Still nothing.

  I have it on vibrate and on the loudest setting even though I know I won’t hear it. I still want to try. I have to. It’s been five days and I’m past worried and slipping into a numb panic. It’s a weird ride and I’m not loving it. I’m dying for the phone to ring so I can talk to him and know he’s okay, but I’m also terrified it’ll ring and it’ll be his mom and I’ll know he’s not okay.

  I tap Robin on the arm, stowing my phone. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

  “Traitor,” she tells me without looking at me.

  “Don’t hate. It’s not my fault you got knocked up.”

  “It was on purpose.”

  “Even less reason to be bitter.”

  I head to the bar and the only opening—next to Steak Face. I pretend not to notice him sitting there and I wave to the bartender, a tall, skinny hipster type with a faint beard growing in and black glasses that I’m pretty sure don’t have lenses.

  “Can I get a beer?!” I call to him over the music.

  Ignores me. Maybe I should have worn something less comfortable and more cleavage-centric.

  He makes a pass in front of me and I raise my hand to get his attention, but he ignores me again. He pops the top on three beers and heads to the other side of the bar to serve a group of guys. I watch with impatience as he stops to chat with them, laughing and wiping his hands on a white bar towel.

  “You’re shit out of luck,” Steak Face tells me.

  I glance at him briefly. He’s grinning. “Why’s that?”

  “He’s gay.”

  I frown. “Seriously?”

  His grin becomes a smile and he downs the remainder of his beer. Then he lifts his hand to get the guy’s attention, shakes the empty bottle, and puts up two fingers to him with raised eyebrows. Hipster smiles broadly and excuses himself from the group he just served. Steak Face has two bottles of beer in front of him in under a minute.

  “Thanks, man,” he tells Hipster with a sexy grin.

  Hipster flushes and runs away, unable to hold eye contact.

  Steak Face hands me one of the beers. “Told you.”

  I hesitate to take the beer, glancing at it sitting there on the bar in front of me. “How’d you know?”

  “Because I have eyes. I haven’t had an empty for more than two minutes since I got here. And neither have they.” He points to the group of guys that Hipster has returned to. “Meanwhile, beautiful women like you can’t get a drink to save their life.”

  And just like that, I’m not taking the beer. I slide it gently toward him. “Thanks, but I’ll buy my own.”

  He smirks, sliding it back toward me. “Relax. It was a compliment, not a come-on.”

  “I have a boyfriend.”

  “And I’m looking for one, so neither of us needs to be worried.”

  My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You’re gay?”

  He nods sharply, taking a drink. “As a show tune.”

  I look him up and down slowly. Nikes, loose jeans, faded T-shirt with the Mustang logo in blue in the center of his chest. He’s cut for sure and his hair is perfect, but good-looking guys like this seem to be born that way: effortlessly beautiful.

  He looks at me out of the corner of his eye and smiles. “Don’t I look gay?”<
br />
  I blush, feeling like a shit, and I take the beer along with a seat beside him. “Nope. You don’t.”

  “Do you want to see my Hello Kitty wallet as proof?”

  “No, I’ll suspend my disbelief.”

  “Why? Because I bought you a drink?”

  “I’m easy like that.”

  He laughs, rotating his beer on the bar. The motion reminds me of Jax and the pub in England. “You’ve never been easy, Wren.”

  I freeze, the beer halfway to my lips. “How do you know my name?”

  “You don’t recognize me?”

  “Should I?”

  “I guess not. Actually I’m not surprised that you don’t. We didn’t run in the same circles.”

  I put my beer down, examining his face. Nothing about it rings a bell. I would remember a guy this good-looking. “We went to school together?”

  “Only for a year and we really never saw each other. I was a year above you. Sophomore when you were a Freshman. I transferred out after that, but you played soccer with my little sister Hazel.”

  “Hazel Mershaw,” I say instantly, remembering the younger girl with the bright blond hair.

  He grins, pleased I remember her name even if I don’t remember him. “That’s her.”

  “I remember her, but I don’t remem—wait! Your name is… I can think of it, just… Braylan! Braylan Mershaw, right?”

  “Damn,” he mumbles, chuckling. “Good memory.”

  “Hey, you remembered my name. Your hair was long, right? Past your shoulders.”

  “Yeah. I was going through my angsty years back then. I’ve since grown out of it.”

  I smile. “Yes, you have. Why did you transfer out? If your sister stayed, why didn’t you?”

  His brow tightens and he runs his hand over his mouth once. “I was having some trouble.”

  “You got in a couple fights, didn’t you?”

  “More than a couple. It was more like a couple of fights per week.”

  “What were they about?”

  “One guess.”

  My face falls. “Because you’re gay.”

  “Gay Bray,” he confirms bitterly. His hands have stopped on his bottle and they’re holding it loosely but there’s a tension in his stillness. A containment. “A group of Bible-thumpers tried to kick my ass constantly. I finally left because of what it was doing to Hazel. She saw it happening, she started getting teased and people called her a lesbian, saying she must be gay if I was. I couldn’t do that her, so I left. I went to a school across town and I kept to myself. I didn’t date and I did my best to fit in.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, knowing it doesn’t help but unsure what else to say.

  “Don’t sweat it. It sucked to hide but it was nice not having to watch my back every day.”

  “I can’t imagine getting beat up every week.”

  He smirks, his eyes and tone lightening. “I said they ‘tried.’ I never said they always succeeded, and they sure as shit didn’t walk away unscathed.”

  I smile, tipping my beer to his. “To giving as good as you get.”

  “Damn straight.”

  Bray and I fall into an easy conversation after that—the kind you can have with someone you barely know but immediately feels familiar. His sister is at college now, he’s working for an advertising company in Boise three hours away and is only home to visit for the holidays, and he’s leading the bartender on to get quick drinks. He has no interest in hipsters. Bray is a football-loving, cheap-beer-drinking, ex-frat boy. And no, he doesn’t go to the gym much. That body is genetics and he’s a bastard for it, a fact I’m quick to point out and he’s just as quick to laugh at.

  We talk about my graduation coming up, my semester in Europe, and of course, Jax.

  “So that’s why you’re obsessed with your phone?” he asks, nodding to it spinning in my palm. “Because you’re waiting to hear that he’s okay?”

  I put it down, feeling self-conscious. “Yeah. I can’t stop looking at it.”

  “I don’t blame you.”

  “What are you doing sitting here at a bar alone on New Year’s, Bray?” I ask, changing the subject to avoid my stress. “What’s the story there?”

  He laughs. “Can’t a guy just want to be alone?”

  “Not on a night like tonight. Not with T-minus…” I check the clock on my phone, “two hours to go until midnight. Who are you gonna kiss when the ball drops?”

  “Who are you going to kiss?”

  I flinch. “I’m on a date with my sister.”

  “Yikes. Keepin’ it in the family.”

  “You’re dodging the question.”

  He pushes away his third empty beer without signaling for another, shrugging faintly. “I was at a bar down the street with a few friends. My ex showed up. I didn’t want to deal with the drama so I said I was going to the bathroom and I bailed. I snuck out and didn’t go back.”

  “Bad breakup?”

  He laughs shortly. “Bad relationship.”

  “And your friends haven’t called to see where you are?”

  “I turned my phone off. I needed a minute and it turned into ten and a beer and then you showed up and I didn’t feel like going back at all.” He turns his head to look at me, his eyes crinkling at the edges when he smiles his stunning smile. “I’m happy right where I am.”

  I smile as well, leaning over to nudge his shoulder with mine. “I’m happy right here too.”

  My phone bursts to life, the screen lighting up brightly in the dark bar and the vibration on the table making both of us jolt slightly. I look at the number and feel breathless. I don’t recognize it, of course I don’t, but it’s stateside. It’s not international.

  “That might be from Jersey,” I whisper shakily.

  Bray stiffens. “His mom?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Answer it.”

  I move my hand toward it slowly, hesitating. “Shit.”

  “Wren, answer it!”

  I swoop the phone up into my hand and answer the call. I can barely hear anything over the pounding of my blood in my ears and the beat of the music in the bar driving it angry and forceful through my veins.

  “Hello?” I shout into my phone. “Jax?!”

  There’s a voice on the other end. A woman’s voice. Immediately my heart is in my throat and I’m pushing through the crowd and out the door so I can hear her clearly.

  “Hello?” I ask frantically. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m here,” she comes through clearly. “Am I speaking to Wren? Am I saying that right?”

  “Wren, yeah,” I answer breathlessly. “Like the bird. That’s me.”

  “Hello, dear. This is Angela Jackson, Ken’s mom.”

  It’s so weird to hear him referred to by his first name, especially since it’s so formal and not Jax at all. No one uses first names in the military and I have to remind myself that he has one and that of course his mom would use it. She gave it to him.

  “Hi. How are you? How is he? Is he okay?” I ask, the questions coming out in a mad rush.

  She laughs lightly, the sound surprisingly warm. “Yes, he’s fine. He’s just fine. You’re sweet to worry.”

  “He hasn’t called me yet. I was getting scared.”

  “The silence is hard, I know. He just arrived today. He told me to apologize to you but he was only given time for one phone call and he used it to call me.”

  “Of course he did,” I say quickly. “You’re his mom. I would have been shocked if he hadn’t.”

  “I wouldn’t have been,” she says, and something in her tone is very… knowing. “He asked me to let you know he’s safe and getting settled and that he’ll send you a message as soon as he can.”

  I sag with relief, the air rushing from my lungs. My hands are shaking slightly and I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline or the cold. Probably both. “Thank you. For calling me and for telling me that. I’m so glad he’s okay. I was… I was really so scared,�
� I confess, my voice sounding constricted even to my own ears.

  “It’s okay to be scared.”

  “It feels stupid. He’s the one in danger, not me. He shouldn’t have to keep reassuring me.”

  “But he will. And he should. You need his help right now as much as he needs yours. Don’t talk yourself into feeling any differently than you genuinely do.”

  I stare at the ground and smile. “Thank you,” I say again. “I’m really glad I got to talk to you, Mrs. Jackson.”

  “Angela, please. And I’m very happy to talk to you, Wren. We’ll be in touch, all right?”

  “Yes. Okay.”

  “All right. Have a good evening and a happy New Year. Stay safe.”

  “You too. Goodnight.”

  I end the call and stand outside with the phone hanging loosely in my hand as I let my head fall back and my body relax. He’s okay. He’s safe—or as safe as he can be, considering. It’s over.

  And in six months it’ll happen all over again.

  Chapter Twenty

  I’m here. I miss you. Thank you for being patient.

  I wake up early the morning of January 1 to those words from Jax sprawled across my computer screen. It’s a good way to start my year.

  After the phone call with Jax’s mom I went back inside and had another beer with Bray to celebrate. I flagged Robin down and told her as well and she hugged me way too hard, the sequins of her dress digging into the bare skin of my arms, and then she ran off to pull her drunk friend off some guy’s thigh. They had moved off the pole and were giving lap dances. I didn’t want to be there when they improvised a Champagne Room. Luckily we left not long after that because Robin was tired, and frankly, so was I. I exchanged numbers with Bray, we friended each other online, and then I headed home. I fell asleep still looking for a message from Jax himself, but I went to bed easier knowing he was okay.

  And now with messy hair, blurry eyes, and a smile on my lips I finally get to talk to him again.

  I miss you too. I’m so glad you’re okay! What time is it there?

  Nothing. He’s logged in online but he must not be at his computer. I wait fifteen minutes, dozing off again before snapping awake for no reason, but he doesn’t reply. I look up the time difference on my phone. He’s eleven and a half hours ahead of me, putting us on almost perfectly opposite schedules. I’m just waking up and he’s probably at dinner, winding down his day. I cringe to think what it will be like trying to find time to talk when school starts up again. By the time I get home, he’ll be asleep. By the time he gets up for work, I’ll be going to sleep.