I catch it on its return to me and hold it at the doorframe. I try to lock it, but there’s no latch of any kind to keep the door in place so it just hangs between us, slightly squeaking as it struggles to stay still.
“Perfect,” I hear Jenna say through the door. “A room with no real privacy.”
I flex my jaw in agitation. “Would you relax, already? It’s not like I’m going to barge into your room uninvited. And I don’t know why you keep bitching about privacy. I’ve seen you naked, Jenna. I think our privacy boundaries were compromised a long time ago.”
“That’s exactly my point,” she mutters then huffs as her footsteps retreat. “Whatever. Good night.”
“Night,” I say to the door, then head for the shower.
The hot water refreshes me, and for the first time all day I’m able to think clearly. Being around Jenna muddles my mind, and sitting beside her for hours on end makes it nearly impossible for me to think about anything other than her. Things like what the hell is happening back home.
I don’t know how bad a shit storm I’m walking into. It could be a minor misunderstanding where Drew is just being a dumbass and hiding out of precaution. Or it could be a repeat of what happened with my father before I left Louisiana. As water falls over my head, I rub a hand down my face and flick it away from my eyes. I certainly hope it’s the former.
After I towel off and pull on some pants, I hear the air conditioner kick on with a soft hum. The hanging door between Jenna’s room and mine begins to sway back and forth as I turn off every light except for the lamp by the bed. The door squeaks with each swing. Screech, screech.
Well that’s going to be annoying as hell to sleep through.
Sitting on the edge of the soft mattress, I scroll through the missed calls on my phone.
Samson.
Samson.
Mom.
Samson.
Mom.
Mom.
Samson.
Dear God, they’re needy. I’m not a phone person but I understand why they choose to call instead of texting me their complaints. When your family participates in shady activities, you learn not to leave evidence in your wake. And text messages would be a blaring testimony to just how fucked up my situation back home is.
Bracing myself for what’s to come, I dial my mom’s number and rest an elbow on my knee as I hold the phone to my ear. She answers on the first ring.
“Jack,” she says breathlessly. “Where have you been all day? I’ve been calling and calling.”
No shit.
“Sorry, Mom. I’ve been on the road with shitty service.” It’s not a complete lie but a zing of guilt courses through me.
Lilly Oliver loves her children and only wants us to be safe. I need to loosen up and be a better son. Or at least a more comforting one.
Screech, screech.
The swinging door continues to squeak and I hear Jenna curse as my mom spills her concerns into my ear. “On the road? So Samson was telling the truth?” she says, with a tremor of panic. “You left Tempe? You’re really coming out here?”
“Yeah. Should be there in two days.” I frown. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“What? Yeah, baby. Of course. I just… I didn’t think you’d actually do it. I was hoping there wasn’t anything to worry about—that Samson and I were just overreacting—but now… I knew it,” she says with a quiet curse. “I knew bad was brewing. Drew wouldn’t just take off and not call for five days.”
He’s been gone five days? Fuck.
“He’s an adult, Mom,” I say with more assurance than I feel. “He’s probably just out getting wasted with some new girl of his.” I glance at the noisy door.
Screech, screech.
“Don’t patronize me, Jack,” she scolds. “I know he’s in trouble. If he weren’t, you wouldn’t be hauling your ass back here, especially after your promise to never return to this hellhole.”
I knew it was coming. It needed to. But if anyone has the right to call me out on bailing, it’s my mother, so she gets a free pass on throwing my decisions in my face.
“I had to leave, Mom,” I say, my lungs pulling tight with something dangerously close to remorse. “You know I did.”
Screech, screech.
A frustrated Jenna yanks the door inward and presses it against the wall then tries to kick the stopper back in place. She’s wearing a thin shirt with skinny straps that hangs to just above her belly button with a pair of tiny black shorts. The outfit shows off the many tattoos on her legs, stomach, and arms, but I know there are more hidden beneath the small scraps of material she has on.
Her eyes meet mine and neither of us moves for a second. Her hair is wet from the shower she must have taken and the dark strands cling in wild tangles to her bare shoulders and flushed cheeks. The primal part of me that wants to own her, to tame her, comes alive and claws at my rib cage. She must sense it because she instantly breaks contact, dropping her eyes to the stopper and kicking at it again. But her kicks aren’t strong enough to wedge it in place.