Right Kind of Wrong Page 6

  “So do you have two separate rooms we can check out for the night?” Jenna asks, leaning against the front desk’s counter.

  The old man glances at the screen. “Sort of.”

  She blinks. “Sort of? How can you sort of have two rooms?”

  He smiles and hands a key to each of us. “You’ll see.”

  Ten minutes later, we’re all checked in and headed to our “separate” rooms. Jenna walks a few feet in front of me, clearly not over the engagement thing. As per usual.

  I let out a tired exhale. “If you don’t like people thinking you’re engaged then just stop wearing the damn ring.”

  She shakes her head and her sleek black hair tosses from side to side. “It was my grandma’s ring and she gave it to me with specific instructions to wear it until I feel settled in life, which I don’t—yet. And I’m not going to stop wearing it just because people in our culture think the two of us are dumb enough to be engaged.”

  I glare at her swinging hair. “I realize you’re not my biggest fan, but you don’t have to be a bitch about everything.”

  She stops walking and turns around, big eyes filling with regret. “Sorry.” She shakes her head with a sigh. “I wasn’t trying to be a bitch to that guy in the lobby. I was just trying to get us our own rooms.”

  It’s this side of Jenna—the part that wants to be softer—that reminds me why I try so hard to stay in her life.

  “You weren’t a bitch to the front desk guy,” I say. “But saying that being with me would be a dumb move is kind of bitchy.”

  Her eyes flash with a spark of something… sadness? Desire? I’m not sure, but it’s gone in an instant.

  “It would be dumb.” She shrugs. “For us, or for anyone else our age to be engaged.”

  “Says the girl who willingly wears a diamond on her ring finger.”

  She points at her hand. “This isn’t a real diamond. It’s just mirrored glass. See?” She slides the top of the “diamond” to the side and it swings out like the lid on a very small container. But the diamond shell isn’t empty.

  “What’s that?” I point to a small piece of brown material wedged inside the fake diamond.

  She snaps the mirrored lid back into place and smirks. “The world’s smallest gris-gris bag.”

  Without further explanation, she starts walking again, her long black hair swishing from side to side as she moves.

  I follow after her. “And… what’s a gris-gris bag?”

  She sighs. “A Voodoo love potion thingy.”

  I bite back the smile that so desperately wants to burst through my face. “You have a Voodoo love potion on your ring finger?”

  She spins back around, eyes flashing as she points at my chest. “It was my grandma’s idea, okay? Not mine. She’s just… like… really superstitious and when I moved away she got all weird about me finding love so she asked me to wear this ring and I couldn’t say no, because she’s super intense and thinks I’ll be cursed if I don’t.”

  The whole time she’s talking, I nod. “Uh-huh. So tell me”—I cross my arms—“has this magical Voodoo ring brought you love since you put it on?”

  She looks me up and down—a brief glance—but I catch it anyway and a bolt of triumph rushes through my veins.

  “No,” she snaps. “Of course not.”

  “And, uh…” I run a hand over my almost-smiling mouth. “When did you first start wearing this love potion ring?”

  “When I moved to Arizona.”

  “That exact day?”

  “No. I first put it on…” Her eyes widen, just barely, and she purses her lips. “I don’t remember.”

  I finally let my smile loose and break into laughter, knowing she must have first worn the ring sometime around meeting me.

  Oh, this is rich.

  “Liar,” I tease.

  “Whatever.” She lifts her nose in the air like she’s so far above this conversation and all her very inconvenient truths.

  But I let it go. Pushing the subject will only force her to lie to me. And besides, it’s enough to know that her love potion is in some way related to her introduction to me. It’s enough.

  For now.

  “This is me,” she says, stopping in front of a room with a white number eight drilled into the door. Sliding her key into the handle lock, it clicks and she pushes the door open.

  I walk past her and stop at the next door over. When she frowns at my stopping I explain, “This is me,” and point to door number nine.

  “Oh.” She pulls her suitcases inside her room. “Right. Well, see you in the morning.”

  I nod and let myself inside my room. Our doors close behind us at the same time with a loud clunk. Looking around, the small room isn’t bad. It’s old and has a faint smell of smoke, but everything else about the place is new and fresh.

  I toss my bag on the bed and move toward the small bathroom in the back of the room. After today’s long car ride, a hot shower would be nice. I catch a reflection of myself to the left and pause. Turning, I realize it’s not a reflection at all but Jenna walking across a small hallway from me, headed to the back of her own room.

  She turns as well and we stare at each other through an open doorway that attaches the two rooms.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she says, crossing her arms.

  “I guess this is what he meant by ‘sort of.’ ” I smile at the adjoining doorframe. “This probably used to be one big suite.”

  Jenna steps forward and nudges the stopper away from the base of the door, then lets it fall closed between us. The door squeaks as it falls back, but instead of stopping at the doorjamb it swings into my room then back into Jenna’s.

  I catch it on its return to me and hold it at the doorframe. I try to lock it, but there’s no latch of any kind to keep the door in place so it just hangs between us, slightly squeaking as it struggles to stay still.

  “Perfect,” I hear Jenna say through the door. “A room with no real privacy.”

  I flex my jaw in agitation. “Would you relax, already? It’s not like I’m going to barge into your room uninvited. And I don’t know why you keep bitching about privacy. I’ve seen you naked, Jenna. I think our privacy boundaries were compromised a long time ago.”

  “That’s exactly my point,” she mutters then huffs as her footsteps retreat. “Whatever. Good night.”

  “Night,” I say to the door, then head for the shower.

  The hot water refreshes me, and for the first time all day I’m able to think clearly. Being around Jenna muddles my mind, and sitting beside her for hours on end makes it nearly impossible for me to think about anything other than her. Things like what the hell is happening back home.

  I don’t know how bad a shit storm I’m walking into. It could be a minor misunderstanding where Drew is just being a dumbass and hiding out of precaution. Or it could be a repeat of what happened with my father before I left Louisiana. As water falls over my head, I rub a hand down my face and flick it away from my eyes. I certainly hope it’s the former.

  After I towel off and pull on some pants, I hear the air conditioner kick on with a soft hum. The hanging door between Jenna’s room and mine begins to sway back and forth as I turn off every light except for the lamp by the bed. The door squeaks with each swing. Screech, screech.

  Well that’s going to be annoying as hell to sleep through.

  Sitting on the edge of the soft mattress, I scroll through the missed calls on my phone.

  Samson.

  Samson.

  Mom.

  Samson.

  Mom.

  Mom.

  Samson.

  Dear God, they’re needy. I’m not a phone person but I understand why they choose to call instead of texting me their complaints. When your family participates in shady activities, you learn not to leave evidence in your wake. And text messages would be a blaring testimony to just how fucked up my situation back home is.

  Bracing myself for what’s to
come, I dial my mom’s number and rest an elbow on my knee as I hold the phone to my ear. She answers on the first ring.

  “Jack,” she says breathlessly. “Where have you been all day? I’ve been calling and calling.”

  No shit.

  “Sorry, Mom. I’ve been on the road with shitty service.” It’s not a complete lie but a zing of guilt courses through me.

  Lilly Oliver loves her children and only wants us to be safe. I need to loosen up and be a better son. Or at least a more comforting one.

  Screech, screech.

  The swinging door continues to squeak and I hear Jenna curse as my mom spills her concerns into my ear. “On the road? So Samson was telling the truth?” she says, with a tremor of panic. “You left Tempe? You’re really coming out here?”

  “Yeah. Should be there in two days.” I frown. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  “What? Yeah, baby. Of course. I just… I didn’t think you’d actually do it. I was hoping there wasn’t anything to worry about—that Samson and I were just overreacting—but now… I knew it,” she says with a quiet curse. “I knew bad was brewing. Drew wouldn’t just take off and not call for five days.”

  He’s been gone five days? Fuck.

  “He’s an adult, Mom,” I say with more assurance than I feel. “He’s probably just out getting wasted with some new girl of his.” I glance at the noisy door.

  Screech, screech.

  “Don’t patronize me, Jack,” she scolds. “I know he’s in trouble. If he weren’t, you wouldn’t be hauling your ass back here, especially after your promise to never return to this hellhole.”

  I knew it was coming. It needed to. But if anyone has the right to call me out on bailing, it’s my mother, so she gets a free pass on throwing my decisions in my face.

  “I had to leave, Mom,” I say, my lungs pulling tight with something dangerously close to remorse. “You know I did.”

  Screech, screech.

  A frustrated Jenna yanks the door inward and presses it against the wall then tries to kick the stopper back in place. She’s wearing a thin shirt with skinny straps that hangs to just above her belly button with a pair of tiny black shorts. The outfit shows off the many tattoos on her legs, stomach, and arms, but I know there are more hidden beneath the small scraps of material she has on.

  Her eyes meet mine and neither of us moves for a second. Her hair is wet from the shower she must have taken and the dark strands cling in wild tangles to her bare shoulders and flushed cheeks. The primal part of me that wants to own her, to tame her, comes alive and claws at my rib cage. She must sense it because she instantly breaks contact, dropping her eyes to the stopper and kicking at it again. But her kicks aren’t strong enough to wedge it in place.

  Through the phone, I hear my mom’s weary sigh. “I know you did, baby. I just wish you and your brother would quit pretending like this is no big deal. I already lost your father. I can’t lose Drew too.”

  I walk over to where Jenna is still cursing at the door and, with one solid kick, wedge the stopper under the base so the door stays locked against the wall, wide open between our rooms.

  “I know, Mom,” I say. “You won’t lose him. I promise.”

  At my words, Jenna looks up at me in concern. I wave it off, giving her a reassuring nod. The last thing I need is Jenna flipping out. At least with my mom and brother I can ignore their calls. If Jenna were to jump on board the freak-out train, I’d have no way to turn her off.

  Jenna gestures to the doorstop and mouths, Thanks.

  I mouth back, No problem, then listen as my mom sighs again through the phone.

  “I hope you’re right,” she says wistfully. “I’m glad you’re coming back home, baby.” She pauses. “Really glad.”

  I look at the floor, struggling to find the right words to say, but I come up with nothing. Mom must realize this because she carries on without hesitation.

  “Drive safe, baby,” she says. “I’ll see you soon. Good night.”

  “Good night, Mom,” I say and the line goes dead. I lower the phone.

  Jenna’s eyes catch on my bare chest for a moment before she nods at the phone. “Your mom, huh?”

  I drop the phone in my pocket. “Yeah.”

  She furrows her brow. “Who’s she afraid of losing?”

  I smile sadly, half of me wishing Jenna knew everything about me, the other half wishing she knew nothing at all.

  “Everyone,” I say. Jenna doesn’t seem satisfied by my vague answer so I add, “But at this particular moment, she’s worried about my brother.”

  “Samson?”

  I shake my head. “Drew.”

  The corner of her mouth lifts in a small smile. “Baby brother got himself into some trouble, then?”

  “I’m afraid so.” I glance at the doorstop. “I guess you got fed up with all the screeching?”

  “It was driving me insane.”

  “Yeah, patience and tolerance have never been your strong suits.”

  “Please.” She rolls her eyes. “Like you weren’t just as annoyed by that damn squeaking as I was.”

  I grin. “Oh, I was annoyed. Just not enough to come over here and kick the shit out of this poor plastic wedge”—I tap my foot against the stopper—“to prop it open.”

  I pull my eyes up, tracing the ink patterns on her thighs, then over to where the cherry blossom branches from her back wind to her stomach and dot her lower belly. I’ve touched those branches and kissed those blossoms. It’s burns me a little that I may never have the pleasure of doing that again.

  Jenna clears her throat and tips her chin. “Then good thing I was. Now we’ll actually get some sleep tonight. And I don’t care how long it makes our trip each day, I’m sleeping in tomorrow—and every other day we’re on the road. This is as close as I’ve gotten to a vacation since I started working at the Thirsty Coyote and I’m not about to set an alarm clock.”

  I smile to myself. Jenna isn’t a morning person, not in the slightest. She’s definitely a night owl, which suits her personality perfectly. The intense darkness. The changing moon. The glinting stars. They’re far more “Jenna” than the happy morning sun and clear blue sky.

  “So our departure time is dependent on you waking up out of your own free will?” I whistle. “Okay, then. I guess I’ll see you around noon.”

  She narrows her eyes. “I’m not that bad at waking up.”

  “You sleep like a hibernating bear.”

  “I do not,” she says sternly, but there’s a sliver of teasing in her eyes that fills me with pride. I know her well, and I like it.

  “You do, but it’s okay.” I shrug. “We’ll leave when we leave.”

  I look down into her golden eyes, just inches from mine, and wonder if there will ever be a time when I can stand this close to her and not feel so undone, so unguarded. Then I wonder if that’s even something I would want.

  “Thanks,” she says quietly then draws in a slow breath before shifting her eyes away. She takes a step back. “Night.”

  I retreat from the door as well. “Night.” And we go to our own beds.

  As I get in mine, my thoughts turn to Drew and the mess that waits for me in Little Vail. He’d better not be mixed up too deep with the wrong kind of business. I’ll be pissed if he is. I love Drew—hell, I practically raised the kid—but I worked too hard to give him a better life for him to throw it away.

  I thought I’d gotten my family free and clear before I left Louisiana, paying for their release with my service, my blood. But maybe I was wrong. Drew’s disappearance is probably him paying for my sins, in one way or another, and it’s all my fault. Samson’s stress. My mother’s worry. Drew’s absence. All my fault.

  Running a hand through my damp hair, I inhale deeply through my nose and stare at the bed. There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep tonight, not with my mind racing like it is, or my chest pounding the way it has since I took Samson’s call yesterday. Restful sleep won’t come until I know my f
amily is safe. And free.

  I almost snort. If that’s the case, I may never sleep again.

  I hear Jenna pad around her motel room and watch as, one by one, each of her lights go out. Then I shut off the last lamp beside me and the only light left behind is the glow of the yellow bulbs outside our motel doors, shining in through the thin fabric of the window curtains. It’s faint, but in the darkness it’s enough to see through to Jenna’s room.

  Our beds mirror one another across the propped-open door so I can see her lying on her side facing me and she can see me on my back with my head turned in her direction. Our eyes are glinting bits of dark marble, trained on one another in the soft yellow light, as if we’re sleeping side by side in a single bed instead of thirty feet apart in separate ones.

  The last time we looked at one another across bedsheets was last December, but it feels like years have passed since then. I turn away and stare at the ceiling, remembering the first time I saw Jenna.

  She was a new hire at the Thirsty Coyote, and I’d heard only intriguing things about her from coworkers. She was from New Orleans, born and raised, with both Creole and French in her blood, which accounted for her “exotic” look, as everyone called it. She was rumored to practice Voodoo, and had more attitude in her soul than she had tattoos on her body. All of these things, along with the fact that she was one of the best bartenders my boss had ever seen, had me curious to meet the mysterious new hire. And when I finally did, I wasn’t disappointed.

  She was just as feisty and headstrong as I’d been told, but far more attractive than anyone had described. When I first saw Jenna, with her mile-long eyelashes, long graceful neck, and diamond stud in her nose, “beautiful” wasn’t the right word. “Striking” was more like it. Looking at her was like being hit by something powerful. A force. A bolt of fire.

  She had her back to me at first, as she reached for a tequila bottle high above her head, but then she turned around and struck me with her golden eyes, and I was scorched on the spot.