Broken Home, page 15
part #4 of Way Home Series
“I know, Dad, but I don’t want the girls to have to move more than once. I want to be ready for them, so they can have stability with me. I already looked at schools, and I’ll just have to drive them until they finish up this year. Next fall, we can talk about registering them for a closer school. They’ll be moving to junior high anyways.”
He just nods. My dad never pushes anything, and he’s listened to my problems for as long as I’ve had them.
“I fucked things up with Jordyn.”
He nods again. Jackass.
“Don’t look too surprised.”
“I’m not, son. You’re my kid. I fucked things up with your mom all the time.”
That seems a little hasty, I’m talking about realizing I like this girl, not spending thirty-five years with her.
Though, that doesn’t seem like such a bad idea now that I’ve thought of it.
I shake my head.
“She was… Hurt before.” This makes my dad sit up a little.
“Hurt how?” His voice is tight.
“The worst kind of way,” I answer, and his breath catches.
“You can’t win your way to redemption by trying to save her, Jeremy.”
“There’s no redemption for me.” He scoffs and takes a long pull of his beer.
“You’re right.” I swing my head to look at him, surprised. “Not because you don’t deserve it, but because you don’t need it. You didn’t have choices overseas, Jer, and you weren’t responsible for what they did there.”
It’s the same thing I’ve been told since I started talking about it, but it doesn’t make it easier to accept.
“I’m not using Jordyn for that. Maybe I was, in the beginning. But now… I just… I want her. Around. At my home. With my girls.” I take a drink of my Coke and settle back in the chair with a resigned sigh. “In my bed.”
“So, by your sadness, am I to take it that she doesn’t feel the same way?” I almost laugh at this, if only it was that easy.
“No, she does.”
“Well then, son, maybe I’m too old to understand the problem here.”
“She’s been hurt. I don’t want to take advantage of her.”
“Does she think you’re taking advantage?”
“No, that’s the problem. She won’t listen when I tell her we can’t!”
“Well, son, I think the question you’re left with, then, is who the fuck do you think you are to tell her what she wants?”
I finish up my Coke with no answer to give him.
Standing and heading to my truck, I just shrug.
“Good fucking question.”
Back at the bar, everything is in full swing. Shane seems to be keeping up with the end of the dinner rush, and as I survey the rest of the room, it all looks like it should.
Except standing at one table, in a pink fluffy skirt, open black boots, and a rainbow tank top is a colourfully tattooed waitress with pink hair.
Holy shit.
I openly stare. I don’t even try to hide it, I can’t. She’s laughing at something the older regular is saying. Her head tilts back, and her pink curls shake. Her tattoos snake down her neck, across her chest where the modest neckline hints at the rest underneath. Both arms are a mosaic of pink, blue, and purple, right to her hands. Down one leg a vine with what looks like butterflies in the flowers that reach from under the pink poof of the skirt all the way to her boots.
She’s a fucking masterpiece.
“Try to blink a few times, Jer. I’m worried your eyes will dry out.” Juliette speaks from behind me, and I spin, the laughter in her eyes the least of my concerns.
“How… why… is she okay?” I don’t even know what to say.
“I’d say she’s better than okay. She’s coming back to herself.” She smiles. “It turns out that ‘herself’ was even more amazing than we first thought.”
I just nod like a damn bobblehead, my eyes drifting back to Jordyn as she logs an order in the computer.
She’s more than amazing. She’s a superhero.
“Don’t you make her feel bad or uncomfortable for her outfit, Jer.”
“Is that what you think I'd do, Jules? How much of an asshole am I?” Her voice softens, and I regret my outburst that was far more about me than her.
“You’re a good man, Jer. One of the best people I know.”
“You give me too much credit, love.”
“I don’t think you give yourself enough. Jordyn, she’d be lucky to have someone like you beside her. Just… remember her. She’s not some broken doll.”
That sounds a lot like what Jordyn tried to tell me last night.
Dammit.
I try getting work done, going about my day like normal, but it’s next to impossible with the gorgeous distraction and her infectious smile out in my bar. She doesn’t catch my eye, doesn’t look over at me, and somehow, the hours pass even slower.
Jules still stays late most days, which I need to talk to her about since I want her to be home more now that we’ve given her daytime hours, but there’s nothing much exciting happening. I head outside for a quick smoke and just light up when I hear the door crack open. I freeze, not willing to make things worse with Jordyn by letting her see me with the cigarettes I keep telling her I’ll give up.
Twiz gives me a half-hearted smirk.
“Shit, I thought you were Jordyn.” His grin gets bigger.
“So, baby girl moves in, and you already have to hide from her to have a smoke in your own place?” You out here hiding from a ninety-five-pound girl?”
I shake my head and take a drag, letting it clear my mind a moment. Fucking ‘baby girl’ shit grates on my last nerve.
“Damn right I am. Don’t call her that, you make her sound like a little kid.”
“So, we all know she’s a grownup, she works here! Besides, compared to some of us,” he looks pointedly at me, “she’s pretty young.”
I take a deep breath and try to school my features, but Twiz misses nothing. In a flash, I have his chest against mine, his breath on my face.
“You. Did. Not.” I think to most people, Twiz would be intimidating. I don’t think, I know. I’ve been around soldiers too long to give a shit, though, and I know he’s just trying to defend a friend.
“I haven’t done anything!” It’s technically true. She kissed me.
Man, though, do I wish I had.
That’s painfully clear, to him and me. What I hope he also sees is how much I care about her. If I had touched her, it wouldn’t have been in the way he’s thinking.
He backs off, leaning against the wall next to me, bumping my shoulder in a gesture that shows he knows. He knows, and he understands.
“Well, aren’t we a couple of suckers.” He lets out an exhale. I know he’s hurting. I know that between his own issues and Erika’s, he’s walked away from her. Problem is, she’s exactly what he needs. He just hasn’t accepted that yet. I take a long drag.
“You could have Erika.”
“You could have Jordyn,” he bites back, and it bothers me at first only because I hate that they can all see her desires. I don’t want anyone to look at her as some love-sick girl waiting around for me.
We say nothing for a long time.
We know what our options are, neither of us willing to step up or walk away.
What a couple of cowards.
“You’re right, we’re fucked.”
As usual, I don’t go back up right away when the bar closes. Instead, once the guys have left, I convince Jules that I’ll be fine watching the closing staff, who can damn well close on their own now anyways. I stay and wipe down the same counter I’ve been wiping for twenty minutes, avoiding Jordyn who finished her shift after dinner and went up to the apartment.
The door opens again, and I look at the time. It’s only just after eleven so I guess I’m still open. I’d rather call it a day and close up, but then again, I could just go upstairs and leave the staff to it, and I’m not.
Tavish and Matt saunter back over.
“You guys forget something?” I glance over at the booth where they were sitting, but they just laugh.
“Ya, we forgot to tell you to get your head out of your ass.” Tavish laughs at Matt’s bluntness. I’m left staring like a mouth breather at the two of them.
“The fuck?”
“Why you still down here, Jer?”
“I told Jules she could go home,” I mumble, knowing they’ll see through my bullshit.
“So? That’s why you trained weekend staff, is it not?”
“Ya.” I throw the cloth back over the bar and lean back, crossing my arms in front and staring at them in a useless move to intimidate.
“So, just admit you’re down here hiding from the girl up in your apartment.” I drop my arms to my side.
“I can’t go there.”
“Why the fuck not?” Tavish shakes his head at me, and I stare dumbfounded.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Uh, no. Enlighten us. Explain it to us like we’re stupid, Warrant.” I give out a humourless laugh.
“She’s traumatized. She’s more than a decade younger than me. She’s been hurt…”
“So?”
“So, I can’t, okay! I was a shit husband and a worse soldier. I’ve failed more women than I can count, and I can’t!” The effort of my words takes my breath.
“Finally.”
“Finally, what, smartass?”
“You’re admitting that the problem is you, not her.”
“Of course I’m the problem! She’s a gorgeous twenty-four-year-old woman, and I’m an alcoholic, thirty-eight-year-old broken soldier with two kids, an ex-wife I failed, and a career of not being able to save anyone.” My words echo between us and would have made almost anyone take a step back, but the two men in front of me don’t even flinch.
Finally, Matt lets out a deep breath and taps Tavish’s shoulder.
“Thing is, Jer, I don’t think she’s asking to be saved.” His words are slow, deliberate, like he needs me to understand what I’m saying.
“Look, we left Tavish’s girl out there with Twiz.” Tavish swings his head back, looking out the front window to wear Jules has somehow got the hurting soldier who must be a foot taller and a hundred pounds bigger into a position that makes it look like she’s the one holding him. Tav lets out a little growl.
“We wanted to come in here and say, though, that for what it’s worth, we think you should. Fuck her age, she’s more mature than most of us. And fuck whoever tried to break her, too. She’s proved she was stronger than that. Is she gonna need someone willing to walk through some shit with her? Of course she is. We all fucking do, Jer. So, once you get your head out of your ass and back where you can see what you’re missing, the rest of us will be happy for you. You’re a good man, and you’d be good for her.”
With that, he gives my shoulder a friendly smack and turns, following Tavish who’s walking a little faster than necessary out of the bar towards his wife.
Leaving me standing here, gathering the strength I know I’ll need to swallow the coward in me and face the woman who’s already too much a part of me to let go.
11
Jordyn
I’m drowning my annoyance in ice cream.
Sitting with my feet up on the fancy, carved wood coffee table, a pint of Cherry Garcia in my lap, SportsNet on the TV.
I mean, at least I took my boots off.
Is angry eating a thing? Can you angry eat? Because if this ice cream had feelings, I’d worry it would feel more than a little bruised.
I wore the outfit.
The one that’s been sitting in my closet for what seems like forever. I’ve looked at it each morning, as I’ve started going back to jeans that fit and shirts that don’t hang off me, almost without thinking I’ve found a comfortable wardrobe that is more me and less my trauma.
Those are the words my therapist uses, but however you say it, I look like myself again.
So today, I wore the outfit.
I’m not broken. And maybe part of me wore it just to prove that to a pigheaded bar owner who refuses to accept that fact. Once I was downstairs, though, it was all about me.
I love this outfit. With the thick black band above fluffy pink tulle that flares in all directions until stopping a couple of inches above the knee. On top is a bright-coloured rainbow sleeveless, with lace around all the edges, each colour blending to the next.
I love everything about it. It’s me. It looks like the girl who I was when I got my first tattoo, knowing I wanted to be covered. I wanted to decorate my body the way I pictured it.
It looks like the awkward girl who didn’t know how to make friends in high school but never changed to fit in either, who went to college just hoping to find people like her. Who spent years looking for a tribe? Who was willing to be unapologetically herself, right until that was taken advantage of?
Tonight, I put it on to prove a point, but it was also the first time in nearly a year that I felt like myself.
It was amazing. It IS amazing.
And I refuse to let the fact that the aforementioned bar owner didn’t notice. This will not be about him.
Okay, it’s a little about him.
But that part feels like me, too, because it’s me that’s willing to admit I want someone. That I care about someone like I do him. That I can see a man as kind, smart, strong in a way that’s positive and not scary. As fucking sexy.
That I want to kiss him.
That I want to do a whole lot more than kiss him, but we could start there. That’s a big deal, and it’s months removed from the girl who didn’t want to take off the sweatpants.
I want this, and I won’t let myself move backwards.
Except so far, nothing. Nada. He barely glanced at my direction.
So that leaves me here, eating from the pint of ice cream he doesn’t even know I have because I don’t let him buy junk when we get groceries. I have to hide this behind his ridiculous Eggo waffles he insists on still getting every week even though I make breakfast in the mornings.
When I hear the key in the door, I freeze. It’s early for him, not yet hit midnight and while I know he has staff to close, he rarely leaves it to them when he’s around, much to their annoyance. The door opens, and his big frame steps through, however. His faded jeans have rips just below the pockets, the material managing to look almost soft with age. His white Henley clings to his frame, showing off what I know he still works at in the little gym he’s built in the unfinished part of the upstairs here. His arms are the focus of my fantasy most days, molding to the thin material of his sleeves, showcasing his strength.
He’s so different looking than the boys I dreamed about in high school or chased in college. He doesn’t look his age, I know he’s in his late thirties, but he could pass for younger, if it weren’t for the faint lines around his eyes and ears that are more pronounced when his head is freshly shaved. He’s not built like a college athlete, or even like the other guys we hangout with here. He’s not giant like Jason or even as big as Tavish. He’s not all lean muscle like Twiz. He certainly doesn’t have that football star look like Matt.
He’s fit, enough that he looks damn good but more than that, he’s confident. He doesn’t give a shit about the rest of it, this is who he is.
The combination is incredibly hot.
“Pixie.” He walks over and sinks to the couch next to me without meeting my gaze. “We need to… wait. Is that ice cream?” I give him a guilty grin, and he stares for a moment incredulously then shakes his head.
“Never mind, I mean, we’re gonna come back to that, but we need to talk. I need to talk. To you. Fuck. This already isn’t coming out right.” My heart races. This is it. He’s going to let me down gently. Maybe even kick me out of here.
“Just… here’s the thing. You’re amazing. You are so strong, and so gorgeous, and so… everything. Fuck, Pixie. That’s the thing. You could be… everything.” He finally looks up, and his eyes are piercing.
“I… could?” Dammit. That wasn’t all I wanted to say, but it’s all that came out.
“You could. The only things stopping you is me.” He takes a deep breath, but I don’t interrupt him. “I’m fourteen years older than you, Jordyn.”
“I know.”
“I’ve been married, and I sucked at it.”
“I get that you think that.” I’m not willing to agree that his marriage was all on him. I wasn’t there, but there were two of them in that relationship.
“I have kids and not fucking things up with them is the number one priority to me.”
“As it should be, Jer.”
“Look, I know I’m a different person than I was when I was with Deb. But you should know that I… I hurt her, Pixie. The night she left, my dad had to pick me up from jail.” It takes me a moment to try to understand what he’s saying.
“You hit her?” My voice sounds tinny, but I refuse to believe this man could have abused his wife. Not the man who lies beside me in bed and offers only comfort. Not the man who loves his children like he does, the man who defends his friends the way he does, the one I’m falling harder for every day.
“No, no, I never hit her. I yelled, though. So many hurtful things. Threw shit. Slammed doors and stomped around. I mean, she did too, we both did but… I scared her. Worse of all, to her I think anyways, I left her alone when she needed me and not just when the Army told me to, but so many other times when I just chose to hide. Abuse isn’t only physical. I broke her, Jordyn, and I don’t want to break you.”
Oh.
“The last night… I was still transitioning out of the Army. I had started working a desk job I hated with the railroad. It was part of my release, but I knew going in I wouldn’t like it. I hadn’t wanted to leave the Army, and I was angry. Angrier than usual. I came home drunk that night. It was a Friday, and I’d been working at my new job all week and didn’t even go home that day. I just went straight to the bar. I barely remember what happened when I got home. I know she told me she was leaving. She had her bags packed; the kids ready to go. I put my fist through the wall, and I wouldn’t let her get in the driver’s seat. I could see the kids in the back, and I knew for some reason it was real that time. She wouldn’t come back like she had before. So, I got between her and the car door. In the end, she called the cops, and I ended up in lockup until my dad came. I was originally charged with battery. It was later dropped when it was clear I hadn’t physically hurt anyone, and Deb didn’t want to press charges. I can still hear my dad talking with the cops when he came to get me, asking if I had hit her. He said he was only willing to pick me up if they could tell me I hadn’t hit her.
