MISTAKEN - The Complete First Season (17 page)

"
N
ary
a touch
? Who talks like that?" Mel's blonde curls bounced when she was riled up, and today was no exception. "And who is 'she?'"

My brow creased with the anguish I felt. "I have no idea." I took a seat across from her in our living room.

She tilted her head up at the ceiling and thought. "So there's some random woman out there that's keeping him from seeing you? Like a girlfriend, you think?"

I rubbed at my forehead. "I have no idea. I don't know who it is." I didn’t want to know, either.

Mel tapped her chin. "Curiouser and curiouser. The plot thickens." She waggled her eyebrows up and down at me.

I couldn't help but smile a little. "You’re being a little bit melodramatic, don't you think?"

She gave me a matter-of-fact shrug. "Your fiance returns from the dead. You get whisked away to Japan to see him, then something happens to your boyfriend that makes him turn you over to your body guard. Sounds like a conspiracy to me." She shrugged again. "You have to admit, there is some weird shit going down around here."

I sank back into my chair and ran my hands up and down across the soft velvet cushions. "I guess." I let out a long sigh. "I just think I'm done with men." My shoulders dropped and I closed my eyes for a moment, wishing I could just wake up and have dreamed the past few months.

"Well, you do know how to pick them." She flopped against the back of the couch. "So are you going to give 'roid boy a go or are you going to start hanging out with the ladies?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm just tired of having my heart broken. And 'roid boy is not coming anywhere near me."

Mel lifted an eyebrow. "Right. Like you're going to go against anything your daddy tells you to do." She tucked a curl behind her ear. "Maybe he's not as bad as he seemed last night. Maybe he's just stressed out about it, too. Maybe it's not really steroids. Although, that guy being on steroids would explain a lot…" She stared off at the wall for a moment. "You know, I watched the announcement this morning on TV. You were frickin' gorgeous, by the way." She turned her head back to grin over at me.

I gave my head a small shake, denying that I could have looked anything but horrible after crying non-stop for the entire two hour car trip to Sacramento. "Whatever. Are you all packed? My dad wants us to get started by the end of the week. There are already events planned for next week."

She gave me the most forced smile I'd ever seen from her and she didn't say a word.

"What?" My eyebrows shot up. I knew something was up. Something she wasn't telling me. Something I wouldn’t like.

"About that… Iowa, I mean…"

She was interrupted by a knock at the door. I rose to answer it and saw Krystal, my dad's campaign manager standing at the door. She was an intimidating woman, not just because of her demeanor, but because of her physique. She was at least six inches taller than me, and was built like a house. I was sure no one messed with her—ever.

She gave me what looked like a genuine smile as she stood in my doorway. "Hello, Jenna. Can I come in?"

I nodded and moved out of the way.

She walked over to the small dining area just inside the door and took a seat at the table. "So, are you ladies ready for Iowa?"

I gave my shoulders a small shrug in response and took a seat across from her at the table. Mel just continued with her forced smile and said nothing.

I looked over at her. "What is it, Mel? You were starting to say something about Iowa before Krystal came in." I motioned toward Krystal with my head. "You're not going, are you?" I knew she wasn't. Something about the way she was acting told me she wasn't. My brows furrowed with my disappointment.

Her lips turned up into an even more forced smile. "I've just sort of had another opportunity…"

I groaned. "No, Mel. We had this all worked out. We were going to get away for the summer, remember?" I rubbed at the back of my neck. It felt like the weight of the world had begun to rest on it.

Her smile fell and I could see she was pained by her decision. Maybe it hadn't been so easy for her. "Remember Ray? The guy who was here when you got home yesterday?" She ran a hand through her blonde curls and forced a hopeful smile back to her face.

I lifted a single eyebrow in disgust. "I thought he said his name was Jay?"

She threw her hands in the air. "Whatever! He's in a band."

I bobbed my head and waited for her answer. She didn't provide one. "And…?"

She bit her bottom lip before answering me. "And they're touring this summer. He asked me to go with him today while you were in Sacramento."

I let out a sharp breath. I didn't know if I could handle campaigning for my father on my own, as much as I wanted for Mel to be happy. I glanced over at Krystal, who sat there in silence, her eyes darting back and forth between us like she was watching a ping pong match. "You're going to be a groupie? Are you serious?" I didn't know if I should be disgusted or jealous. It didn't sound that bad, traveling with a band. It had to be better than Iowa. It was infinitely better than Will.

She shrugged. "I think it's more like a roadie. But groupie probably works, too. Yeah…" She turned away from me to stare out the window. "I just don't think I can do Iowa, Jenna. If it was Florida, maybe…"

"Fuck, Mel." I dropped my head into my hands. "I know it sounds selfish, but I don't think I can do this without you." If my eyes hadn’t already been so swollen from my earlier crying jag, I think I would have burst into tears.

She continued to stare out the window. "Of course you can. You're stronger than any of us. You know you are."

I looked out the window and saw the light streaming in from the sunset. My chest felt tight with fear. I knew I should be happy for her, but I was sorry for myself, too. I shook my head in my hands and tried to get my act together, willing myself not to start crying again. I knew if I started this time, I wouldn’t be able to stop.

"Forgive me for interjecting, girls." Krystal was the first to break the silence that had fallen. "This could be a good thing for both of you. Where will you be traveling, Melissa?"

Mel turned to face the woman. "West coast. Portland, Seattle and Vancouver, most likely." She turned to face me. "There are beaches there, you know? I just want some beach time this summer." She bit her lip. "It's probably the last summer we'll have to go out and have fun, Jenna. You can come with me if you want."

I lifted my head and met her gaze, dejected. "We both know that isn't going to happen." Even if it did sound better than being on the road with my steroid enhanced new fiance.

She shrugged with both shoulders and glared over at me. "I told you that you wouldn't be able to go against anything daddy wanted you to do." She lifted an eyebrow in defiance. "I dare you to come with me, Jenna."

Krystal stood from the dining room chair to face Mel. "Jenna has a job to do. She's going to Iowa to help her father become president. It's a noble job…" She turned back to me. "You're doing the right thing by helping your father. You know that, right?"

I nodded my head and dropped it back into my hands. Going out on the road with a band had a certain appeal to it, even though I knew I would never be the type of girl who would be able to drop everything and do something like that. Mel, on the other hand, was. I lifted my head to speak to her. "You should do it, Mel. If it will make you happy, you should do it. Iowa would be so boring for you…" And I knew that was true. The only reason I wanted her to come was for me. There wouldn’t be anything there for her.

"You have no idea how boring it would be for me, Jenna doll. But we'll be back in the fall, both of us together, right?" She looked over at me with a glimmer of hope in her eye. "I mean, we'll still have the apartment and we can find a job together…"

Krystal interrupted. "I imagine Jenna will have a lot on her plate come fall, Melissa." She looked over at me and then back at Mel. A small smile had formed on her lips. "I believe there is a wedding to be planned." Even with the smile, I could see the look she was giving me was something akin to pity.

Mel shook her head, disgusted. "Oh bullshit on the wedding. I'll marry Ray if Jenna actually goes through with marrying 'roid boy."

"Jay," I corrected.

"Whatever. We both know that a wedding ain't gonna happen. Not with that turd." She shook her head and crossed the living room to flop back onto the sofa, her curls splaying out behind her.

Krystal sighed and looked over at me, but didn't acknowledge anything that Mel had just said. "I'll hire you an assistant this week, Jenna. I'll try to find someone young that you can talk to while you're on the road."

I looked up at her. "It doesn't matter. Just hire someone who can keep me on track."

She nodded at me and stood up. "We leave tomorrow. I'll be traveling back and forth between you and your father and making sure the other campaign fronts are taken care of." She tilted her head and she had a look of genuine concern on her face. "Is there anything I can do for you, Jenna?"

I shook my head. "Just keep me away from men."

She gave me a lilting laugh and her eyes crinkled with amusement. "I'll see what I can do."

M
y first week
in Iowa wasn't the worst experience of my life. I spent most of my time on my father's campaign bus, which by any measure was a luxury ride. I loved that I had a desk with a window near the front; it meant that I didn't have to spend any time with Will, who preferred the bedroom in the back. He and I only spoke when necessary, though he had made himself quite comfortable with the assistant Krystal had hired for me.

Even though I was busy, my heart still ached for Brandon. Each time my phone beeped with a new text message, I hoped it would be him. I knew on some level that it wouldn't be—that it would never be—but I still held out a little hope that he might change his mind.

I didn't have much time to feel sorry for myself. My days were packed from dawn to dusk. But each time that phone beeped, I still felt a little pang in my heart that maybe, just maybe, it would be him.

My second week started at a small county fair, somewhere near the middle of western Iowa. The day was sweltering and beads of sweat dripped down my back all day. I had to reapply my makeup several times after it melted off in the oppressive heat. I sat down in the air conditioned bus after a long day of meeting and greeting. I put my feet up on the chair across from me and leaned back, looking out the window. I was so exhausted, I didn't have the energy to get my hopes up when I heard my phone beep.

I pulled it from my pocket, expecting it to be my father checking in on how things had gone that day. It was funny, but he seemed like he honestly cared about which girl had won the pageant or which cow I had judged most beautiful. There was something nice about being able to connect with my father again, even though we were still far from seeing eye to eye on how the rest of my life should unfold.

I looked down at my phone and I squinted to make sure I was seeing it right. The message was from Brandon. It had been eight days since our weird encounter at his apartment building, without a single word of explanation from him. I felt a surge of excitement just seeing his name on my phone, only to have it simmer down into a brew of bitter discontent when I saw what he had written to me. He had only sent a single word.

"Hey."

I pressed my lips together. He hadn't spoken to me in over a week and all he could get out was 'hey?' After what had happened at his apartment building, I suppose I felt entitled to a little more than a single word greeting. My jaw clenched and I typed my response.
"Hey."

“How are you?”

I wasn’t sure that he would want my honest answer. Heartbroken.
“Fine. You?”

"I’m good. Did you get it?"

A look of confusion lit my face.
"Get what?"

There was a long pause.
"I sent you a package. You didn’t get it?"

I sighed.
"No."
I wasn't even sure if he was telling me the truth. Truth seemed to get lost on him so often, but it was still difficult for me not to be somewhat close to happy to hear from him. I was so conflicted about him. He had hurt me, more than once, and every bit of me was still on fire for him. I still wanted him, no matter how much it hurt.

He finally replied.
"Where are you?"

"At a county fair. Where are you?"

The response was almost instantaneous.
"Not important."

I felt my cheeks redden with the rage I felt bubbling up inside of me.
"Why is what I ask not important?"
It wasn't just him, either. My whole life had devolved into what other people said was "important" or "not important" for me. I didn't have any control. Brandon did it; my father did it. My mother had always done it. And I was getting tired of it. What was wrong with me? Why did I keep putting up with this?

He didn't respond. His silence was the only answer I needed.

I took a deep breath and typed again.
"I'm tired of being brushed off."

"I'm not brushing you off."

"Then answer the question. It's important to ME."

There was only silence again.

"I guess I can interpret your silence as your disinterest."

"I'm not disinterested. It's too complicated to explain by text."

"Typing where you are is too complicated?"

"It isn't that. It's all too complicated."

"Then call. Or come to Iowa. Or I’m done."
And I meant it. I had to be done with this. It hurt too much.

The silence was too long.
"The package was delivered to your hotel this morning. It should be there when you get back."

"Awesome. Thanks for responding."

"Just give me a chance, okay?"

I pressed my lips together and paused to measure my response. I guess I waited too long.

"Jen?"

"I thought I had."

"Thought you had what?"

"Given you a chance. I think I've given you a lot of chances."

"Text me when you get back to your hotel."

"You really won't tell me where you are? Or give me any clue about what's going on?"

"Just text me when you get back, okay?"

I held down the button on top of my phone and turned it off. I thrust the thing back into my pocket and leaned back in my chair. I closed my eyes and tried to relax my tensed muscles. I was so tired of trying to guess what was going on. I couldn't understand why no one would tell me anything. It was like playing a game that I knew I could never win.

The ride back to my hotel in Des Moines seemed short and I was there before I had time to get too worked up or upset. I checked at the desk when I arrived; there was no package waiting for me. I just shook my head; he was playing games with me. To say it was getting old was an understatement. I just didn’t think I could take it anymore. There was too much other stuff going on. I didn’t have room in my life for the games.

I put the key card in my door and turned the handle. A sweet floral fragrance washed over me as soon as the door opened. There were flowers on every flat surface in the room. Huge bouquets of pink lilies, yellow and pink roses filled the space. It was overwhelming, beautiful. So this was the "package." And he did care. I felt little goose bumps rise on my arms and the butterflies in my stomach danced again. He cared and it meant everything. I grinned, despite the anger I still felt inside.

I couldn't remember telling him about my favorite flowers, but it was a thoughtful gesture all the same. It made me happier than I had been in a long time. I inhaled a deep breath of the flowery air and sat down on the bed. I kicked my shoes to the floor before pulling my phone from my pocket. I turned it back on and texted him.

I touched the silky petals of a yellow rose, then turned my attention to the phone.
"Thank you."

He replied a few seconds later.
"You like?"

My lips turned up in a smile.
"I love. How did you know?"

"It seemed like you."

My brow furrowed a bit.
"I'm not sure how you figured out what I liked, but they are perfect."

"They?"

My brow dropped further, deepening into a frown.
"The flowers."

"What flowers?"

Something wasn't right.
"The flowers in my room?"

"Jen, I didn't send flowers. I told you I sent a package. Did you check for it?"

If he hadn't sent flowers, who the hell had?
"I did check. There was no package."

He didn't reply for a long time. I stood from the bed and went to check the vases for a card. I began at the desk across from the bed, turning each vase around to check for a card or note—something, anything that would tell me who had sent them. It was an effort in futility. There was nothing.

He finally replied a few minutes later.
"The package was signed for at the hotel. I put a tracer on it."

I shrugged.
"Okay."

"I really did send you a package. It's important."

I bit the bottom of my lip before replying.
"You could have delivered it in person then."

He didn't reply again for several moments.
"If I could have, I would have."

"Oh. Is it the same reason I can't talk to you?"

He made me wait again for a reply.
"Yes."

"I see."
The happiness I had felt from being surrounded by my favorite colors was turning to anger.

"You don't understand. It's complicated."

I felt my jaw tense. Maybe he thought I was too dumb to understand.
"You've said."

"Because it is."

"Right. And I'm too stupid to understand? Is that it?"

"I never said that. And I don't think that. I just want you to be safe."

"Who's going to hurt me in Des Moines with two Secret Service guards in my business all the time?"

He made me wait forever for his reply. And when it finally came the butterflies that had been in my stomach moments earlier turned to stones and almost knocked me over. The last thing he said to me that night was a single word.

"Me."