JACK: Las Vegas Bad Boys(20)

I watch her light the gas burner and set the kettle on. She grabs two mugs from an open shelf and looks through a basket.

“Any preference?” she asks.

“None.”

“Chamomile, then.” She opens a bag of loose leaves and prepares our mugs. I don’t talk, because honestly I’m not sure what Tess wants or needs at the moment. She seems so distraught; I can tell this tea making is a ritual for her and I don’t want to interrupt it.

Once the tea is finished, she hands me a mug. “It smells delicious,” I tell her.

“Sorry, I don’t have a table.”

“It’s fine.”

We sit on the edge of her bed, and I have the distinct feeling that Tess is figuring out how to say whatever it is that is on her mind. I watch her mind work as she bites her lip, looks to the ceiling than the floor, then me.

Scooting back on the bed, her tea held with both her hands, she crosses her legs and clears her throat.





TESS


I didn’t expect to reveal any part of my past to Jack. The last thing I want is to tell someone about my horrible childhood, blah, blah, blah. Real romantic. Especially since, for one solitary night, he basically made me forget about all the terrible things that happened before I moved here.

The only problem with forgetting, though, is that once you remember, it hits you like a ton of bricks.

And now it isn’t just remembering. If this story really is out there, the people I’m running from might see it.

And they might come for me.

With tea in my hands, I sit on my bed, trying to ground myself. I can’t afford therapy—though God knows I could probably use it—but I can afford the self-help section at the library. Brené Brown and Cheryl Strayed have basically helped me figure my shit out, one chapter at a time.

And as I sit here, preparing to share a snippet of my story with Jack, I try to channel my inner bravery, my deepest truth. Because even though I’ve been a victim, I don’t want that to be the story I tell him. It isn’t the one I tell myself.

Because no matter how much I’ve hurt, the truth is I’m a survivor.

“Am I freaking you out yet?” I ask. Jack is all deer-in-the-headlights, totally caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.

All he wanted to do last night was get back at Ashley, and now he’s getting dragged into my mess.

He gives me a sidelong glance. “Am I gonna need something stiffer?” he asks, raising his mug of tea.

The corner of my mouth pulls up.

“Is that a smile? Because damn, girl, it’s gotten pretty intense up in this apartment.”

“I know.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to be some girl you sleep with and then she becomes a crazy person … but my past is crazy. It’s like a movie, not real life. And that’s why the photos and the story all stress me out.”

“I don’t get it,” Jack says. “You can have a fucked-up childhood and still have a photo taken.”

I take a sip of my tea, wondering if this is all a bad idea. He never asked for this.

“It was really nice of you to come over here to make sure I was okay,” I tell him, giving him an out. “But you don’t have to stay and listen to my sob story. I won’t hold it against you if you just need to move on. You wanted a one-night thing, and I’m already taking your entire day.”

He cocks an eyebrow at me. “It was you who asked for a one-night thing.”

My heart flutters at his words. Is he implying he might want more than a night?

“Regardless,” I tell him, dismissing the sentence that makes me lose my head. “I can keep myself safe without you.”

“Safe? Listen, Tess, the press aren’t going to hurt you. I mean, it was a jacked-up thing for them to be there, but they know what crosses the line. No offense, but you aren’t really some huge story. It will blow over.”

“I can’t risk that. I think I need to leave town. Now.”

He laughs. “Are you serious? Because I think you’re freaking out over nothing.”

I exhale, not wanting to say much more, but feeling like I’ve already opened a can of worms with him.

“Jack, the truth is, I’m on the run. I came to Vegas to get lost in the crowd—and if the wrong people see the photo of me here, I’m not safe.”

Jack sets his tea on the floor and moves his body up on the bed so he can look right at me.

“What happened to you, Tess?” His eyes are filled with concern. I know that now he realizes that I’m not being dramatic. I’m trying to keep myself together. “Who are you running from?”

I blink back tears, having never said these words before. “My dad.”