Bad Wolf(37)

"Nice?" My ears perk. Clues, clues. That's the first time anyone has referred to Jarett that way. "Why you say that?"

"Why do you look so shocked? Goodness." Mom shakes her head and starts packing one of the cakes in a cardboard box. "You liked him, back then."

"Yeah, but … "

But now I'm not sure I ever really knew him.

"Well, I don't know what he's doing now," Mom says, wiping her hands on her apron. "But I remember that boy. He helped me carry the groceries sometimes from the car, especially if it was something heavy. And helped poor Becky so much after her husband died."

My heart is thumping madly. "Mr. Lowe died? I don't remember that."

"It was after we moved. My friend Alice told me all about it, and that was about the time Becky was diagnosed with the Alzheimer's. Progressed pretty fast, too."

Oh God. "What about Jarett? Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"Not much, honey, sorry."

"Oh come on, Mom …  Anything at all."

She tsks. "Help me pack the cakes, and I will think about it."

Pouting, I put down the spatula and help her place the finished cakes into boxes. "Are you thinking hard?"

She lifts a brow at me. "I just don't know much about him. Becky said she had to take him in when she met him. Such a good boy, she said. And so unlucky in life. He deserved another chance."

"Why unlucky?" I put the last packaged cake inside a bag. "What did she mean?"

"Lost his parents early, then got adopted, and that family got rid of him for some reason, or so she said. Can't remember very well." She sighs. "That poor boy. And now Becky is fading, too. Such a pity."

I nod, dumbstruck, her words spinning inside my mind like small hurricanes.

That poor boy.

A nice boy.

Wait a sec. I decided it was over, right? This crush, this infatuation, this conviction he's more than he shows to the world. That he's a good guy, and even more …  that he feels anything at all for me. Anything like what I feel for him.

Which I shouldn't feel. And in any case, what does it all mean? That's Jarett's past, not his present. What do I do now?

"Let me take the cake to Mrs. Lowe," I tell Mom. "Please?"

It's a split-second decision. I'm good at those, it seems-like asking Jarett to watch out for Sydney. Like having sex with him whenever I see him.

Mom gives me a suspicious look. "Why the sudden burning desire to run my errands?"

"Just want to help. You said you have no ride today. I'll just Uber over and deliver them all."

"Gigi … " Mom glares at me. "The truth."

"What, you don't believe I want to help you?" I make puppy eyes. "Please."                       
       
           



       

"Oh God." Mom says, and her gaze softens. "Since you were a baby you've had me wrapped around your finger, missy. You can go, sure. But I still want to know why."

I square my shoulders. "Because you were right, I remember Becky Lowe. I knew her. And I knew Jarett. I want to see them."

"Honey … " Her expression twists a little. "She won't recognize you."

"It doesn't matter."

She looks like she wants to say more, but thinks twice about it and stops herself.

That's good. I don't even know what my arguments are. Don't know what I expect. But this is my clue, my only real clue so far, and I'll follow it, see where it takes me.

"Let me help you with the bags," she says finally, and I walk out with her as if in a dream. I ask for an Uber, and it's there in three minutes, not giving me time to gather my thoughts or question myself any more.

A good thing, as it's all kinda crazy. Going off to deliver a cake to Jarett's adopted mom who won't even know me.

What do I expect to find?

The Uber arrives, and I climb inside, Mom passing me the bags and pressing a piece of paper in my hand.

"The names and addresses," she says. "Good luck."

Maybe she senses what's going on inside me better than I do, that this is more than passing curiosity, or a whim. That this is important to me.

Then we drive away, and I'm alone and free to finally sit back and marvel at the things I'd do when it comes to Jarett. Just for a chance to find out more about him and what makes him tick, a chance to understand him and figure out why I feel the way I do about him.

To prove I'm not so crazy to still want him after all.



Mom has baked five cakes total. I deliver them all, but deliberately leave Jarett's mom for last.

You won't find out anything else, I tell myself again. What else is there to find anyway? So his mom is sick. What does it change, huh?

Holding on to the cake, the coffee cake Becky Lowe loves-does she remember that, I wonder?-and sit still and tense in the backseat of the Uber as we roll toward the nursing home. It's starting to rain outside, a drizzle and wind, and heavy dark clouds that promise more water.

I'll just drop off the cake and go home, crawl under my favorite fluffy blanket on the sofa and watch something on TV. Something funny, to take my mind off my heart's troubles. Maybe a rerun of Teen Wolf, or a new episode of Shadowhunters. Something with hot guys running about, preferably shirtless, to take my mind off a specific real-life guy who might as well be a ghost, for all I know about him.

A very sexy ghost, to be sure, with a very solid-

God, forget it. Better get this over with and head back home, to my familiar routines, my brother and my mom and all the good things in life. Maybe hit the books for my classes, read a good book, listen to the new playlist Merc made me instead of chasing after bad boys, no matter how handsome.

I'm so frigging nervous.

The Uber drops me off right outside the entrance, for which I'm grateful as the rain has grown stronger, pelting down on us. I quickly step inside and drip my way to the front desk, equally grateful for my favorite red waterproof jacket.

"Hi," I tell the receptionist, a pretty woman with a bob of dark hair. "I have a cake for Mrs. Becky Lowe? From Maggie Watson. I'm the delivery girl today."

Shut up, Gigi.

Nerves. No reason for nerves. Come on.

"You can leave the cake here with me," the girl says. "Or did you want to visit Mrs. Lowe?"

"I … I'm not sure." Shit. For some reason, it feels like cheating, visiting a person I remember when she wouldn't remember me. "It's okay. I'll leave it here. You'll take it to her?"

"Sure. Don't you worry about it. Poor lady, she's been getting worse and worse. Her son comes by almost every day, and he's devastated."

"Really? Sebastian?"

I can't picture him caring, though this is his mother we're talking about, so …

But the girl shakes her head, and her cheeks turn red. "Sebastian? No, his name's Jarett."

I stare back at her and two things occur to me:

One, she has a crush on Jarett, and I want to headbutt her for it.

And two, Jarett has been visiting his mom, when her own flesh and blood hasn't. Why doesn't that surprise me?

Then it hits me why. Not just because Sebastian is a prick-but also because Jarett isn't. He's kind and protective. I knew that back when we were friends.

Looks like that side of him is still there.

"Do you know when he'll come by next?" I place the cake on the desk, in its box and plastic bag, and do my best to sound nonchalant and only vaguely interested in the answer.                       
       
           



       

"Oh, he used to come in the morning or noon, but now he got a different job, and he comes in the late afternoon. In fact, you just missed him. He left a minute ago."

He did?

"Thanks." Forgetting all about the cake and appearances, I hurry back out into the rain. I have a feeling it's important to see him now, right now.

A rational voice in my head says he must be far away by now, by cab or Uber or the bus, or even on foot. How will I catch up with him?

Dashing through the rain, my purse held over my head, I scan the street right and left, barely able to see in the downpour. My excitement starts to fade when I realize the rational little voice was right. No way can I find him. I was a little too late-and I don't even know what I'd tell him, just …

There's a guy standing in the rain on the sidewalk. Despite the rain that's blurring my vision, something about him feels familiar.

Blinking cold water from my eyes, I start toward him.

"Jarett," I whisper, and as I take a closer look at him, my heart starts to pound. "Jarett."

He's soaking wet, standing there like he doesn't know where he is, water sluicing down his dark hair and over his face and clothes. I grab his hand, and it's ice-cold.

His gaze slowly swings around to me. He blinks, long lashes wet. He blinks again, as if trying to wake up. "Gigi?"

"What are you doing out here?" I tug on his hand. "Are you okay?"

He just keeps staring at me, and yeah that was a dumb question. He's obviously not okay.

"Come with me," I tell him. "We're going home."