True for You (7 page)
Sheets
of rain pound the roof and, not for the first time, I wonder if the
rickety bridge that serves as my only access to the mainland will
make it through yet another storm.
When
I had this house renovated, the construction crew used barges to
bring the supplies here, because that bridge couldn’t bear the
weight. The engineer who oversaw the redesign of the house had
recommended I replace the bridge, one built in the 1920s by the
original owners, but I refused. I didn’t want to get rid of it
just because it was old, just like I didn’t want to bulldoze
the house.
Besides,
the bridge and the house had weathered countless hurricanes and
storms before, so why mess with what worked?
Crashing
on the couch, I take another breath and the scent of Bliss fills my
lungs. I close my eyes, trying to fall asleep, but being surrounded
by her only serves to make me hard and my heart pound.
I
still want her.
She’s
still here, in my bedroom, and sleeping in my bed, but I can’t
go to her smelling like a womanizing drunk. So I keep my eyes closed
and wait for sleep to take me.
***
I
wake up with a start and sit up, automatically checking the windows.
Sunlight filters weakly through the heavy storm clouds, but the deck
is still intact, even with a few chairs blown over.
Bliss
appears on the deck, her hair in a ponytail, wearing a loose pair of
sweats and one of my shirts. She opens one of the French doors and
walks inside, our gazes colliding. Her glasses slip down her nose.
With
a sigh, she pushes them back up and just looks at me, not saying a
word.
“Good
morning,” I say, getting to my feet. I stretch, cracking my
neck and back. I’m ready for her righteous anger over me being
gone for so long.
“Morning,”
she says softly. “Would you like something to eat?”
Her
question is not the one I expected to hear first. Something along the
lines of “Where in the hell have you been?” would be what
I would have led with.
“You
plan to make me breakfast like a good little wife?” I ask, and
then snap my mouth shut. Yeah, I’d not only left her alone, but
I’d left her without money or food. I rank right up there with
pond scum. It doesn’t matter that I’d taken care of the
food problem the same day I’d left. I’d left her all the
same.
“I
walked into town and went shopping,” she says, heading to the
kitchen.
“You
walked?” I croak. It’s five miles to Sweetland.
“Couldn’t
find the keys to your dad’s car or I would have driven it.”
She fills my plate full of fruit and some toast. “I couldn’t
figure out how to work the gas stove or the microwave, so no bacon or
eggs.”
“That’s
okay.” It was more than okay, because I felt like parasite on
the bottom of a pile of shit. I’d left her here, without any
resources, not even the basics. She was wearing my clothes because my
drunk ass had burned hers, for crying out loud.
“Would
you like coffee?”
“God,
yes.” And some whiskey with a shot of a vodka and a couple of
six packs.
She
pours a cup, sets everything on a large tray, and brings it to me
while I keep standing there, doing nothing to help her. “Here
you go.”
I
take the tray and set it down, picking up the plate of food and a
fork. “Thank you.”
“You’re
welcome.”
“I
want to apologize.” Best to get on her good side, before I tell
her that I’m leaving again. Could this day get any worse?
Her
face remains the same, smooth and emotionless. “Okay.”
“My
temper got the best of me. It won’t happen again.”
“Because
we won’t be together after today… or because you’ve
decided to grow up?”
Her
words, while true, sting. At twenty-four, and after all I’ve
accomplished in life, you would think I’d have more maturity
than to stomp out of a room at the mere mention of my ex’s name
to pout for three days.
“I’d
like for us to stay together, and I’m willing to make it worth
your while.”
The
corners of her mouth turn down. “I don’t want your money,
Jackson.”
“If
we stay married, then it’s our money,” I point out.
“Only
if we have sex,” she reminds me. As if I need reminding of
that.
I
take a step toward her, and she steps back, her eyes wary. “I’m
not asking for sex. I’m asking for your help.”
“How
will pretending to be married help you?”
It
wouldn’t hurt or help me, but since she doesn’t know
that, and I can’t think of a real reason why, I make one up.
“Because I can’t get the money I’ve earned until
I’m… thirty or married.”
“Why?”
“It’s
in a trust and that’s the conditions of it.” Okay, so I’m
half lying. I really couldn’t get to my money until this year,
but she doesn’t have to know that. Or that I already have
access to it.
“What
about your dad? Are you still rebelling against him?”
Damn.
The girl doesn’t forget anything. “That’s just
icing on the cake.”
“I’ll
stay married to you if,” her hands twist together, the ring I’d
given her catching my eye, “you’d agree to pay for me to
take classes at night, at the local college? On the bulletin board
near the town hall, I found the flyer for ones they’re
offering—”
That’s
what she wants—an education? Not a lump sum of money? “Deal.”
Her face lights up.
I’ve never seen her so happy, not since the time I tried
teaching her how to play guitar. I grin, unable to help myself. Her
joy is that contagious. My guilt is gone, replaced by the certainty
that while I’m away in New York, Bliss will be fully occupied.
She’ll want for nothing while I’m away, too.
Whatever
she needs, I’ll gladly supply it before I go.
“I’ll
go sign up today,” she says, practically bouncing toward the
stairs.
I
rub my hands together. Being married is a hell of a lot easier than
I’d thought. I planned to be married for as long as it pissed
off Everett. Which most likely meant that Bliss and I would be
together until someone murdered him in his sleep.
“While
you do that, I’ll take a shower, and then later we can go get
some lunch to celebrate.”
She
stops at the top of the stairs. “I can’t.”
My
grin fades away. “Why not?”
“Because
I already have plans.”
“With
who?”
Her
cheeks color. “Your friend, Cameron. I saw him the other day in
town, when I was trying to read the bulletin board posters in the
town square, by the courthouse. He said that if you agreed, he would
show me around campus today and make sure I wouldn’t get lost
at night.”
How
very gentlemanly of him. “He put you up to this?” On the
one hand, I’m happy, but on the other, I’m suspicious as
hell.
That
blush of hers deepens. “Sort of. I had wanted to go back, but
before I didn’t have the time or the…”
“Money,”
I say flatly. “Good for you, honey.” I lean into her.
“Hope all those classes keep you warm at night.”
Her
nose wrinkles, and she steps back. “You smell like a strip
club.”
How
would she know what they smell like? “Yeah, well, I did a
little celebrating with some strippers. Really dedicated strippers,”
I taunt. “They were all about getting the job done to my
satisfaction.”
Pretty
green eyes turn soft behind the lenses of her glasses. “You
don’t have to run away from me, you know.”
No,
I don’t know. Actually, Bliss makes me want to run away and
stay all at the same time. I’ve never been so confused in my
life. And why in the hell isn’t she jealous, mad, or something
other than patient and understanding?
“I
won’t hurt you, Jackson, at least not on purpose,” she
says. “But you won’t know that until you at least attempt
to trust me.”
“What
makes you so damn trustworthy—because you want to use my money
to get an education instead of buying jewelry or houses?” I
sneer, trying to keep her at a distance.
“None
of it does.” This time, Bliss moves closer to me, searching my
face as she lightly brushes my hair back. “Learning to trust
someone is taking a chance to put your ego, your heart, and your
feelings in their hands, then hoping they don’t crush it to
death.”
“Are
you willing to trust me, Bliss?” I say, scared as hell she’ll
say yes, while equally terrified she’ll find me not worth it
and say no.
“Haven’t
I already?”
Bliss
Jackson
ignores me the entire ride into Sweetland. Instead, he turns on the
radio and listens to the DJ talk about the massive storms coming in
this afternoon.
The
SUV travels down the tree-lined street of the small town. Moss is
draped on the branches, and daffodils grow at the base of each tree.
It’s very green and yellow.
Small
stores with big display windows showcasing their wares and American
Flags flying beside each door make it seem picturesque.
We
pass by a huge, brick building, students hurrying in and out.
It’s
very intimidating. I swallow and fight the urge to wring my hands.
Cameron
waits in the parking lot, standing beside a black pick-up truck, with
gigantic tires, just like he’d described.
He
grins when he sees Jackson’s SUV and heads in our direction as
we park and get out. I’m wearing the clothes I had on the night
Jackson and I got married, a jean skirt and a pink blouse.
“I
hope you don’t mind—”
Jackson
cuts me off. “He doesn’t mind me being here at all, do
you, Cam?”
“No,
I don’t,” Cameron says, handing me a folder. It’s
purple and gold, with the school name and mascot on the front. “I
hoped you come with her.”
Jackson’s
mouth smashes together, and I drop my gaze to the folder again,
tracing the outline of the school’s name, then look up at
Cameron.
The
second time I met him, at the town’s bulletin board, I almost
ran in the other direction because I was so embarrassed, but he’d
put me at ease and just waved at me while he tacked up a couple of
posters. We didn’t speak again until I was trying to sound out
the words on one of the fliers, desperate to find a job as a backup
plan.
I
think he’s a good friend for Jackson to have, but right now,
neither one of them look very happy to see each other.
“Isn’t
this for real students?” I ask. “You know, the ones that
will graduate with a real degree?”
Jackson
takes the folder from me. “Why wouldn’t your degree be as
real as theirs?”
“Um,”
I say, my face beginning to heat.
Cameron’s
gaze bounces between the two of us, a dark look in his brown eyes.
Then he gives me a lopsided grin. “You are a real student,
Bliss, and you’ll receive a real degree.”
“If
you say so.”
“Shall
we tour the campus?”
“After
you, Professor.” Jackson places his hand on the small of my
back, a possessive move that thrills and annoys me. Why does he care
if Cameron’s nice to me, or even flirts a little? I’m
nice back to him, but flirting—? I’ve never had the
chance to flirt with anyone.
We
walk across campus, Cameron pointing out buildings, the campus
bookstore, and the cafeteria.
I feel like a fraud
as we pass by students and professors alike, strides purposeful and
hands full of books. There are signs up everywhere for different
events.
A
group of girls, wearing green shirts with pink triangles on the
front, sits in the middle of the courtyard, eating and laughing as
boys slowly walk past them.
Cameron
takes the lead, escorting us inside a modern brick building. “This
is the Green Building, home of adult educational services.”
Jackson
gives me a look, but I turn away. My ears turn hot. “How many
people are usually in a class?” I ask.
“Ten.
I like to keep it small, so that my assistant and I can do some one
on one.”
“Hold
up,” Jackson barks. “You’re her teacher?”
“Yeah,
what of it?”
The
two of them are practically toe-to-toe. Jackson seems larger than
life, but I’m not sure if it’s because he’s wearing
boots. Cameron’s more relaxed with his polo shirt, khaki
shorts, and flip-flops.
Or
maybe it’s just because Jackson has something Cameron will
never have—presence. That elusive
It
Factor
that makes regular people stars.
Whatever
Jackson has that makes him a star isn’t the reason my skin
tingles when he touches me. It isn’t the reason why when he
kisses me, I can’t think or see straight. The first time we
touched, I felt it… a connection, an attraction that no matter
how hard I wished for it to go away, it wouldn’t.
That
connection is bound to be the death of me.
*** *** ***
Jackson
Friend
or not, Cameron’s throwing off some really obvious vibes
concerning Bliss. He’s attracted to her, and it pisses me off
to no end. Don’t even get me started about their meet cute in
town. Wasn’t that how my ex and my brother first met? It’s
like history’s trying to repeat itself, and if it does, I’ll
be the one left in the cold again.