: Chapter 9

Shel tries to send me home early into my double-shift, but after the episode with Pike, the last place I can be right now is in his house. I have nowhere else to go, not to mention I need the money.

How could he do that this morning? Barge into my work like he knows anything? I don’t belong to him.

And if he has a concern, why can’t he convey it nicely? Not every lie is meant to hurt someone. I was covering Cole’s ass.

Yes, I understand suspicions. I get it. He doesn’t know me well, and he’s concerned for his son, but how can both Lawson men suck so badly at mature, adult conversation?

I rub my eyes, my mind drifting back to the moment he told me he wouldn’t support someone like that and to get out of his goddamn house. In that moment, I felt unwelcome. Again. Unwelcome somewhere else. By someone else. I felt like a burden. Like I did with my parents, and even with Cole and Cam sometimes.

Why do I always let myself feel like I don’t deserve better? I thought he was nice. I thought we were friendly, and I started to relax.

I groan, trying to keep the tears at bay. I hate that I cried in front of him.

I work until the night shift arrives at six and stay long enough to eat the other half of my sandwich from lunch as my dinner, pocket my tips, and count out my drawer before slipping on my sweatshirt and grabbing my bag. I haven’t showered in over twenty-four hours, and a headache presses between my eyes from lack of sleep. I just want to sit under a hot shower and drown out everything else.

My stomach sinks a little, remembering I have nowhere to go to take that shower. I’m not taking a damn thing from Pike Lawson ever again. Not to mention I’m still pissed at Cole. He texted to make sure I was okay and to apologize again, but I didn’t text back.

I wave bye to Shel and the other girls and leave the bar, stepping out into the welcome evening air. The sun has set, but there’s still some light as I strap on my backpack and head left, down the street.

I need my own place. My own and no one else’s. I need my own home that’s all me where I can feel like me and never be pushed out or crowded or unwelcome. Where I feel safe.

And that means I need money.

Without thinking, my legs carry me forward down Cornell Street and over to Lambert, the sky growing darker and the lightning bugs glowing in the trees above. The traffic has lessened, but it gets heavier over the next hour as I trail farther and farther toward the outside of town. Houses line the streets, as well as a few corner shops and gas stations, but there’s less light out here, so I stick to the sidewalk and the welcome porch lights to the left and right.

After less than an hour, I see the lights from The Hook up ahead and the steadily growing parking lot full of cars. I’ve been here before, but I hate walking into a busy place in day-old clothes with hair that smells like smoke.

I scan the parking lot and spot my sister’s Mustang off to the side of the building. Every night, one of the bouncers walks all the girls out to their cars, just in case a crazy fan decides to try to catch one of them when they’re alone.

Walking into the club, I’m all of a sudden shrouded in darkness, the heavy beats of the music vibrating the floor under my feet. It’s warm and smells like fog and perfume. Unlike Grounders, there’s no smoking allowed in here, and instead of ancient wooden floors with dirt lodged in all the cracks, a gleaming black floor squeaks under my sneakers.

“Hey, Peaches!” a woman calls. “What are you doing?”

I turn and see Malena through the window of the little box office. She never charges me a cover, of course. I don’t come here for that.

“Cam around?” I ask.

“She just finished on stage,” she replies. “She’s probably on the floor somewhere now. Go on in.”

“Thanks.” I give her a smile and walk into the club, the little knot in my stomach tightening more. I’ve never bugged Cam here unless I had to. Some of the ladies’ sisters or friends will sit in the back with the other dancers and hang out and socialize, but it’s hard for me. I can handle seeing my sister naked, but I have a problem seeing others see her naked. Fathers of friends from school, an old boyfriend…even women from around town who come in packs for a girls’ night out to ‘do something different’, but I know they’ll leave and just talk shit about the dancers the next day to anyone who will listen. Looking out from behind the curtain and seeing my elementary school bus driver or something would throw me for a loop. I don’t know how she does it.

The room is cast in strobe lights, rotating up, down, and around, while bulbs line the edges of the stage that protrudes out into the crowd and is surrounded by tables on both sides. It’s not a big place, but there are two separate pedestals with poles and their own lights where dancers can dig deeper into the audience away from the main act.

Stopping at the bar right inside the entrance, I look around for Cam’s brown hair, probably styled big enough to make any Texas woman jealous. There’s a good amount of patrons tonight. Loners, a few couples, booths filled with men scarfing down steak and burgers, who look like they just left the office, and a larger party of young guys I don’t recognize.

Gwen, one of Cam’s friends, places her hands on the arms of a chair and lowers herself back into the seat.

And into the lap of the man already sitting there.

Supporting herself with her arms, she moves and grinds, rolling her hips and laying her head back on his shoulder. My skin warms, and my breathing turns shallow. I’ve seen her or any one of the other girls do this a dozen times. It’s him that has me mesmerized, though.

Her customer looks in his late twenties, a young man in jeans and a T-shirt, but he’s handsome and fit. His eyes are downcast, looking over her shoulder and down the front of her body as she moves on him. His hands, unable to touch her, clench the arms of the chair, and I look up, seeing his jaw flex.

Taunting, teasing, captivating his attention and dangling something he wants right in front of him and then yanking it away, because he can’t have it…

In this brief moment, I wonder if I’d be that good.

“I see a few eyes on you already.”

I turn my head, seeing Mick Chan, The Hook’s owner, standing around the corner of the bar. Mick is a middle-aged, ex-wrestler who married a stripper and decided he wanted to spend the rest of his life in a bar, so he and his wife opened this place and have lived happily ever after since.

He smiles at me, his black T-shirt stretching across his still-muscled chest. “The money we could make together,” he says with a wink.

I turn my eyes back to the room, holding back my snicker. Dude should seriously start a booth at the high school career fair, so he can snatch up women as soon as they ripen to the legal age of eighteen rather than keep harassing me.

“Your sister says you don’t have the head for this, and I’m supposed to leave you alone, but Jordan—”

“I didn’t come here for that,” I snip. “I came to talk to her.”

I finish scanning the room and am about to head to the back, but he suddenly moves toward me, his tone calm but stern.

“You see these customers at Grounders, too, right?” He glances to the crowd and back to me. “It’s the same guys you serve there, isn’t it?”

I lift my gaze back to the tables and booths, recognizing some. It’s a small town. So, what?

“Why do you think they go there at all?” he asks, narrowing his eyes on me. “I have a chef and a better menu here. Trained bartenders. Cleaner bathrooms. Why not spend all their bar time here?”

“Because Grounders is cheaper.”

“Because Grounders sells sex, too,” he fires back. “These boys go to Grounders for you, Shel, Ashley, Ellie…not the cheap beer and peanut shells all over the floor. Why do you think there are no men working there, after all? Shel hired you, because of the way you look.”

I don’t say anything but just focus back on the stage where I see my sister walking out from behind the curtain. Mick watches me, and I can almost feel his breath on my neck even though he’s three feet away.

“Don’t kid yourself,” he tells me. “They’re still looking at you like a piece of ass, even with all your clothes on.” And then he glances up to the stage and my sister swinging around the pole. “She just makes a hell of a lot more money.”

The next day my sister doesn’t ask why I slept on her couch. She takes her son and me out for breakfast, and then we hit the Farmer’s Market for some produce. We talk about the county fair coming up, what’s new in the movie theaters, and what kind of party Killian wants to have for his birthday in September.

My sister likes to give me a hard time, but she’s good about seeing when I’m hurting, too. She knows when to back off.

After her dance last night, I followed her to the back of the club and got her keys from her, so I could have her car and get into her house. I didn’t know what to tell her about why I needed to crash with her, so I didn’t explain anything. Where would I start? Cole flaking on picking me up the night before? Me alone with Jay in a car, on a deserted street in the middle of the night, for the first time in two years? Me spending the night on a pool table? Pike accusing me of screwing around on his son and taking advantage of his generosity?

Her boss putting the pressure on me again about working for him?

Cole barely acting like I exist anymore?

I feel a sob stretch my throat. I can’t go back there. I’d rather sleep in my car. The three year old in me with pride the size of the Pacific will show him, won’t I? I’ll live in my broke-down car with no AC and busted door handles, because I don’t need anyone, right?

Through my watering eyes, I smile a little as I drive my sister’s car down the lane. It’s not as bad as all that, actually. I have my dad’s house. My stepmom may not want me there, but they won’t turn me away.

It won’t always be like this.

I turn into Pike’s neighborhood, downshifting my sister’s Mustang and coming up on his house.

My sister doesn’t have to work today, so she let me use her car to get my things out of Pike’s house.

As his place comes into view, though, I spot his truck in the driveway, and my stomach knots.

I don’t want to see him right now.

I should come back later.

But no, I need my clothes and my books for school. I can get the rest another time, but I need a few things now.

I park and climb out of the car, taking the small suitcase I borrowed from my sister and walk across the lawn and up the stairs. Taking out my key, I go to unlock the door but see that it’s already open. I take a cautious step inside.

The living room is empty, and I pass the kitchen, seeing that he’s not in there, either. My shoulders relax slightly. Making my way to the stairs, I grab the bannister.

“Jordan.”

I freeze, awareness and nerves making the hair on my neck stand up. Shit.

Turning around, I steel my expression and lift my chin as I face Pike. He stands between the kitchen and living room, wiping his hands with a dirty towel, his arms and fingers covered in dirt. He’s wet, sweat-soaked through parts of his gray T-shirt, and his face is more tanned than the last time I saw him. Like he’s been outside a lot the past twenty-four hours.

“I just need to get my stuff,” I say and turn back for the stairs.

But he stops me again. “Jordan.”

“Look, whatever, okay?” I cut him off, turning toward him again. “I shouldn’t be here anyway, and it’s not like Cole is here half the time, either, so let me just cut my losses and get my shit.”

He steps forward. “Where will you go?”

I almost want to cry. “My dad’s house. In Meadow Lakes,” I tell him. “I’m not your problem, okay?”

There. It’s done. No need to pretend that I don’t have other options. I’m leaving. I hate the idea of going back to that trailer park shithole, but it won’t be forever. I’ll live.

I move to head up the stairs again, but he speaks up, almost in a rush.

“Please,” he blurts out, stopping me. “Come here for a minute. I have something I want to show you.”

He must see the suspicion in my eyes, because he asks again, firmer and resolute this time. “Please,” he says. “Just for a minute.”

He turns and heads back into the kitchen, and I hesitate for a moment before following him. I don’t want to be curious, but I am.

I enter the kitchen and see him walking through the adjoining laundry room and out the back door. What’s in the backyard that I’d want to see?

The screen door flaps shut, and I take a deep breath and straighten as I follow him.

He stands next to a rectangular parcel of land that was simply part of the yard twenty-four hours ago. Now, the grass is gone, there’s a border outlining the perimeter, and rich, black soil turned up in the box. There’s a hose attached to some PVC pipe, which is embedded in the soil with spouts for sprinklers at several intervals.

He looks over at me, almost like he’s nervous of my reaction.

“What is this?” I ask.

He glances at it behind him and back to me again. “It’s a garden,” he answers. “I was hoping you’d want to help with it or something.”

I’m speechless. My heart is beating so hard, and the sun feels so hot. How did…? But then I remember. He knows I love landscaping. He knows I read all those magazines. He knows what I like.

An ache hits my heart. He did this all in one day?

But I’m not melting for him. I harden my voice. “Since when did you want a garden?”

He approaches me, and I cross my arms over my chest, steeling my armor.

“Jordan, I was an asshole,” he says. “I jumped to a conclusion, because I had it bad, and I’m old and jaded. I expect gutter behavior from everyone.” He pauses and frowns. “But it was me with the gutter behavior. You’re different, and I really fucked up. It won’t happen again. I can’t believe I said those things.”

He’s turning blurry, and I can’t stop the tears from welling despite how hard I’m clenching my teeth.

“I want you to stay,” he goes on. “I like having you here. It’s nice coming home and having life in the house. Having people to talk to. It’s nice having help, and…” His jaw flexes, looking angry. “And you shouldn’t have been sleeping on a fucking pool table. You’ll stay as long as you need, do you understand? I don’t want you to leave.”

My chin trembles, and I can’t help it. The tears spill over, and I drop my head to hide it.

“Please don’t cry again,” he begs, “or I’ll have to take out the pool and build you a gazebo or some shit.”

I break into a laugh, sniffling and wiping my eyes. “No, don’t take out the pool. I like the pool.”

Wandering over to the new garden, I take in how big it is and how much work it must’ve taken. It doesn’t make his behavior okay, but it does help knowing that he worked his ass off on something that he thought would make me happy. No one has ever done something like this for me.

I mean, my sister has bought me clothes and taken me out, but Pike did something he knew I would love. Something that’s very much me.

“This is amazing,” I tell him, meaning it. “But I really think it’s best if just I go.”

“This is your house,” he tells me. “You belong here for as long as you want. You and Cole can invite your friends over, play your music, light your candles—”

“Toilet seat covers?” I tease.

“Fuck, no.”

We exchange a chuckle, and I gaze back at the soil. We can fit so many vegetables in here.

“I bought a bunch of seeds,” he says, grabbing a bag and sifting through handfuls. “But I’m not sure how everything gets planted or how much space to allot for each vegetable, so I thought you might want to plan it out?”

I meet his eyes, and we hold the look for a moment. I think maybe he wants me around even more than he’s letting on. Like maybe I’m a buffer between him and Cole, and like he said, he’s enjoying having people in the house.

He hands me the bags of seeds and slowly takes the suitcase from my hand. “I’ll put this in the garage,” he says. “I’m going to go get a shower. Maybe we can get started planting in the morning?”

His eyes seem to search mine, and my breath catches for a moment at his gaze.

I finally nod, turning away.

He walks toward the house again and then I hear his voice from behind me. “And if we need more supplies, just let me know. I have to hit Home Depot tomorrow anyway.”

“’Kay,” I whisper.

And then I look at him over my shoulder. “And you’re not old, you know?” I call out.

He looks at me, amusement in his eyes. “Old enough to have gotten set in my views. And that was wrong of me.”

“Thanks.”

The muscles in his arm flex as he holds my suitcase, and I can’t help but stare at the tattoos running down the length. They look slightly faded, like he got them when he was a teen.

What was he like at Cole’s age? It’s hard to picture him as a…. Well, a guy, I guess. He’s so serious. To a fault, almost.

But he’s sincere.

“The next time you need a ride—or anything,” he tells me, “promise you’ll call?”

I nod again and turn back to my seeds, excited for the summer ahead.