Right Kind of Wrong

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Right Kind of Wrong Page 22

by Chelsea Fine


  Drew grins. “It’s good to see you too, asshole.”

  Samson smiles, relief rolling off of him in waves. “Thanks, Jack.”

  “Yeah,” Drew says. “Thank you.”

  I frown at them. “For what?”

  “Uh… for everything?” Drew says.

  I shake my head. “No, don’t thank me. If I hadn’t bowed out of your lives, none of this would have happened.”

  “No, dude. You needed to leave, for your own good,” Samson says.

  “But I didn’t need to check out completely, the way I did.” I inhale slowly. “I’m going to be better about it, from now on. I’m going to come out here more often. Be a part of your lives like a real family member.”

  Mom kisses my cheek. “No arguments here. I love you so much, baby. I’m so happy you’re safe.” She looks at each of us with a scolding gaze. “Now can we all agree that none of you will ever, ever get involved in this nonsense again?”

  We all nod.

  “What’s that?” She puts a hand to her ear sternly.

  “Yes, ma’am,” we say almost in unison.

  Mom turns to me. “Is it over, then?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “It’s over.”

  After arranging for Drew to go back home with Mom and Samson, and saying good-bye to each of them on the street, I turn back around and look at Jenna.

  “Let’s go home,” I say.

  25

  Jenna

  “And here I packed all my best black dresses, thinking I’d be attending some kind of Voodoo funeral,” I say with a mock frown as I stare at my overstuffed purple suitcase and cluck my tongue.

  Grandma chuckles from her seat in the living room’s rocking chair. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, dear. I’ll try harder to die next time.”

  I scoff. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  I sit on my suitcase and try to zip it shut, without success. I dragged it out to the living room in the hopes that having more space would increase my chances of sealing the damn thing up more efficiently.

  How is it that suitcases are always harder to close at the end of your trip than they are at the beginning? It’s not like I bought a bunch of crap and tried to squeeze more stuff inside. The exact same amount of clothes are in this piece of luggage as when I left Arizona. So what the hell?

  “So where’s your gentleman caller at the moment?” Grandma asks, with the subtlety of a morning rooster.

  “ ‘Gentleman caller.’ ‘Traveling companion.’ Are you and Mom watching only black-and-white movies again? We need to update your vocabulary. Better yet, I’ll introduce you to the Urban Dictionary and blow your mind. You can thank me later.”

  Her eyes smile. “Interesting how you changed the subject so quickly when I asked about your beau.”

  “He’s changing the oil in Mom’s car. And he’s not my beau, Grams. He’s my… friend.” I plop down on the purple luggage again. Still the zipper does not cooperate.

  She tsks and shakes her head. “And you think I’m the liar.”

  I whip my eyes to her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re clearly in love with the boy,” she says. “And yet you deny having feelings for him.”

  I roll my eyes. “Please don’t start—”

  “Love is the most important thing in life,” she says, nodding. “Why would you deny it?”

  “Uh, because it’s the twenty-first century and women don’t need men to take care of them anymore. Oh and also, I have goals that I plan on accomplishing before I die. I don’t want anything to stall my dreams.”

  “Stall yours dreams? Jenna. Listen to yourself.”

  I inhale slowly, trying to compose my frustration. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Grams, but I want more than what you and Mom ever had. And I have a plan to make that happen. Love is a nice thought.” I think about being in Jack’s arms. Watching him drink tea with my sisters. The way he protects his family and sacrifices for them. “A very nice thought.” My voice cracks and I clear my throat. “But it’s completely unpredictable and reckless. Bottom line? I can’t control love. And I made a promise to myself a long time ago that I would control everything about my future.” I shrug. I swallow. I give up on the suitcase and stand upright. “So love just isn’t in the cards for me.”

  She eyes me knowingly. “Ah, but it’s in your stars.”

  “Grams—”

  “I’ve seen it, Jenna. A great love. A true love. A love that needs you just as much as you need him.” She stands up, her aging eyes sharp and serious, as she walks up to me. “You won’t be settled until you understand something, my little star.” She watches me closely. “Love is the absence of control and the presence of faith. And you won’t truly be happy until you surrender to it.”

  An uncanny chill tickles my arms and cheeks as I let her words float between us. This is the part of my grandmother that no one dares to question. The part that deals out advice with love, and warnings with conviction.

  The hard edge of her words dissipates as she tips her mouth into a crooked smile and shrugs. “And I can’t die until you’re happy.”

  I snort. “Well I guess I’ll never allow myself to be truly happy then, because I don’t want you to die.” I raise my chin. “Not ever.”

  “But wouldn’t it be a shame if I died anyway?” She grins. “And I never got to see you happy?”

  I narrow my eyes. “Well played, Grams. Well played.”

  She shrugs again and returns to her rocker. “I try.”

  * * *

  Saying good-bye to my mom and sisters was harder than ever before. I’m not sure why. Maybe because of how life-and-death this trip was for Jack’s family members. Or maybe because, for the first time in years, I really appreciated just how lucky I am to have a family. To have so much love.

  Either way, it was rough to say farewell. I kissed my sisters more than necessary. I clung to my mother when she went to hug me, and babbled in her ear about how great a job she did raising me. We didn’t have much and, sure, I’m shooting for a life far different than hers. But she gave me everything she had, and that sacrifice isn’t something I take lightly.

  But now it’s time to say good-bye to Grandma and I’m just falling apart. Not in tears, but in heartbreak.

  “I love you so much,” I say as I wrap my arms around my grandmother’s small frame. “I really do. And I’m going to miss you more than you know.”

  She chuckles softly. “I bet I’ll miss you more.”

  I sniff. “Why do you always have to one-up me?”

  She laughs again and pulls back to look me in the eyes. “Be brave, my little star.” She holds my face in her hands. “Be brave. It’s worth it. I swear.”

  I blink, not exactly sure what she means, but nod anyway. “I will.”

  Jack endures a few rounds of hugs and kisses from all the many females in the house and, before I know it, we’re on the road and headed home.

  Jack takes the keys and drives and I don’t argue. When we pull onto the freeway, he turns on the radio and hands me a tissue. Only then do I realize I’m crying.

  “Since I want to be more involved with my brothers, I told my mom I’d come visit her this winter,” Jack says. “So I was thinking, maybe you could come with me. We could road-trip it again and visit both our families. What do you think?”

  My sad heart immediately bursts with hope and joy. “Seriously?”

  He nods. “I figure, we’d both save some money that way. I know my mom would love to see you again and since your grandma will probably be gearing up for another near-death experience—”

  I reach over the center console and throw my arms around him, squeezing him so tight I hear him suck in a breath.

  “Yes,” I mumble into his shirt.

  He quietly laughs. “Okay.”

  I release him and pull back, composing myself as much as possible after something as embarrassing as side-hugging someone while they’re driving down a massive freeway.
>
  But wow. Just the idea that I’ll be coming back soon unbreaks my heart. And Jack knew, damn him. He knew that’s what I needed to hear.

  God. These past few days have been a total whirlwind. And last night was the craziest of all.

  Jack had his own father arrested and Drew was able to come out of hiding. But the craziest thing of all was Jack saying he loved me.

  We haven’t talked about it, so there’s a slight tension in the air—a tension that seems to grow with every mile that passes. By the time we’re halfway through Texas, it’s downright awkward in the car.

  Jack eventually breaks the silence. “Are you okay?”

  I look at him. “I’m okay. Are you okay?”

  He nods. “I’m okay. You just seem a little… weird, that’s all.”

  I shrug and lie. “It’s hard to leave home.”

  He nods once. “Right.”

  Suddenly feeling defensive, I say, “You seem a little weird too, you know.”

  He raises his brow. “Do I?”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, you know.” He flexes his jaw and looks at me pointedly. “It’s hard to leave home.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “Do you have something you want to say, Jack?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I do,” he says. “Is there a reason you haven’t said anything about me saying I love you?”

  I clear my throat, not expecting him to just blurt that out like that. “Uh… well, I don’t know. But maybe it’s better if we don’t talk about it. I mean, I’m not girlfriend material, Jack,” I say, then start listing off some of my more obnoxious qualities. “I never check my voice mails. I leave cabinets open in the kitchen. I’m messy. Like inexcusably messy. And I hate motorcycles. Hate them.” I shrug dramatically. “I don’t even know why the hell you want to be with me.”

  I instantly feel like a bitch. Why do I always do this? Make things difficult?

  He scoffs and sits in silence for a moment, his eyes hard and sharp as he processes my words, but then his expression softens and he clears his throat.

  “I want to be with you,” he says. “Because I hurt when you hurt. And I’m happy when you’re happy—and not because you have control over me, but because I love you. And I like loving you.”

  I take a shaky breath, suddenly on the verge of tears. “But you want me to be your girlfriend, or something.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So… what if that’s a mistake?”

  “Why would we be a mistake—why would I be a mistake?” he says bitterly. “Because I don’t fit into your plan?”

  “It’s not about you fitting into my plan.”

  “Yes, it is. You and your fucking ‘plan’ are what this whole thing is about,” he says. “And that hurts, Jenn! Do you honestly think I’d ever keep you from your dreams? Of course not! I would support you forever. Follow you anywhere. I would never stand in the way of your goals. If anything, I’d rearrange my dreams to make yours come true.”

  “But that’s the problem!” I shout. “I don’t want you to give up on your dreams for me! I want us both to get exactly what we want.”

  “I didn’t say ‘give up,’ I said ‘rearrange.’ ”

  I scoff. “Like there’s a difference.”

  “There’s a huge difference!” he says. “And dreams mean nothing to me if I don’t have you.”

  I blink, stunned by that confession.

  “Yeah,” he says sharply. “That’s how serious I am about us. That’s how important making this”—he gestures back and forth between us—“is to me.”

  I swallow, upset and confused and afraid and desperate. “Well excuse me for caring about the future—”

  “The future.” He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Then what about caring about right now? Or do you not give a damn about you and me right now?”

  “You and me just aren’t the right plan,” I snap, trying to shut him down. Trying to keep away the powerful emotions taking over inside me.

  He laughs darkly. “And tell me about this ‘right’ plan of yours. Tell me how you’ve got the future all figured out and how perfect your life is going to be as long as you stay away from me. Because it sounds pretty ridiculous to me,” he snaps.

  My jaw clenches. “Finish school. Get a kick-ass job. Live by myself in a rock star apartment and open my own art gallery. And maybe get a pet pig. That is the right plan.” I shout. “You… you and your big heart and caring about me… that’s the WRONG plan. You are the wrong plan!” I cry.

  The pain in his eyes is palpable and I immediately regret my words. But it’s too late. I’ve already crushed him and he whips his beautiful gray eyes away from me and stares out the window.

  “Good to know,” he says in a low voice. Defeated. Hurt.

  It takes all the willpower I have not to scream or beg or cry. God, this man has me all screwed up! This is why I can’t get involved with him. If he can have this kind of power over me when we’re not even together, I can’t imagine how helpless I would be if we were a thing.

  We stop at a motel in San Antonio for the night and get two separate rooms. In silence. We unload our luggage from the trunk of the car. In silence. Then we go to our separate rooms and shut ourselves away from each other. In silence.

  I throw my luggage in the corner with a curse and fall onto the bed with my heart flip-flopping in my chest. I’m so undone, so broken, when it comes to love. Why can’t I just be normal?

  No. This isn’t my fault.

  Jack’s the one who keeps pushing.

  Yeah. This is all Jack’s doing.

  I’m just trying to do what’s best for me—for us.

  I stare at the wall, where Jack’s room is on the other side, and let out a long, sad sigh. I wish there was a broken door between us again. Swinging and screeching and making things uncomfortable. I wish I could stare across the space between us and see him. Make sure he’s okay.

  Ugh. I’m a basket case.

  Rolling over, I turn my back to the wall and wrestle with my screaming heart.

  In silence.

  * * *

  The next day, we drive without speaking more than necessary. We stop for lunch and exchange words about the weather and which hotels are the best to stay at, but it’s obvious our friendship is strained. And honestly, it feels like we’ve broken up. My heart hurts. His jaw is in a constant state of being locked and flexed. And nothing between us feels right.

  As we cross the border from Texas into New Mexico, I try my hardest not to care about Jack. Hot sex is fine. But a relationship? Love? No. I don’t want that… do I?

  Regardless of all the current unease between us, Jack makes me happy. Truly happy. Happy in a way no one else ever has. Would accepting that I love him—telling him that I love him—make me just as happy? I think about my grandma’s words to me when I said good-bye and my heart squeezes.

  Wouldn’t it be a shame if I died anyway? And I never got to see you happy?

  She shamelessly threw that classic Lacombe family guilt in my face. The nerve. I promised her I’d be brave before I left. But for some reason, every mile that passes where Jack and I don’t talk, I feel like I’m letting her down.

  Looking over at Jack, I think about how hard it’s been for him to keep his family safe and away from trouble his whole life. Maybe when he’s asking me to give him a chance, he’s not asking for me to give up any part of myself, but to accept him for who he is. Maybe it’s not about me and my fears at all.

  But fears are funny that way. They live and creep around inside you despite any logic that might say otherwise. And I can’t help but fear that getting too close to Jack might change my entire future—and that’s a fear I’m not ready to face.

  Right?

  26

  Jack

  “Would you just pull over already?” I plead, clenching my jaw as I look at her across the dark car.

  Determined to get home as soon as possible, Jenna tried to drive all the way through from San Antonio, withou
t stopping in Las Cruces for rest. Now we’re both exhausted, it’s nearly midnight, and we’re still two hundred miles from Tempe.

  “I think we can make it,” she says, yawning.

  “No way. You’re going to fall asleep and get us killed. Just pull over.”

  “Why? So you can drive?” She frowns. “You’ve had less sleep than me.”

  She’s right. I didn’t sleep well last night and I didn’t take two catnaps today like she did.

  “Yeah, but at least my vision works at nighttime.” I look out at the road signs and mutter, “We aren’t going to make it. We have to stop for the night.”

  She looks around. “Where are we going to stop? The only hotel place between here and home is…” She thinks for a second. “Willow Inn.”

  I sit up. “The place where Pixie works?”

  She nods. “But I don’t think Ellen would want us rolling up in the middle of the night—”

  “We’re doing it. I bet Ellen would rather have you alive and bothering her in the middle of the night than dead on the side of the road.”

  She sighs and concedes. “Fine.”

  Twenty minutes later, we’re pulling off the freeway and back into the parking lot of the quaint little inn. The porch lights are still on.

  “See?” I say, nodding at the light. “She’s probably still awake.”

  “If she’s even here,” Jenna mutters.

  Getting out of the car, we trudge up to the front door and carefully open it. Dim lights shine in the lobby to where Ellen is behind the front desk with a pair of glasses on, typing furiously. She looks up when she hears the door and lifts a brow.

  “Jenna?” Her expression turns panicked. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. Everything is fine. We’ve just been on the road all day and we’re exhausted, and this guy here didn’t want me to drive any farther so he asked me to pull in here but I told him you were probably booked so I’m really sorry to bother you but—”

  “Of course.” She smiles. “You guys should stay here for the night. In fact, I have a free room. Let me just make sure no one is checking into it first thing in the morning.” She goes back to typing.

 

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