She shut her eyes and hated herself for wanting him so much.
Jesse stood, jammed his fingers through his short military hair as if he wished he could pull it out.
“I can’t stay here,” he said.
Julia didn’t stop him and when she heard her front door click shut the tattered, threadbare life she’d managed to hold together split at the seams, falling in terrible ruin around her.
Julia closed her eyes wishing the memory away. Wishing it on another person. She’d arrived in New Springs looking for a family, to set down roots…and finding Jesse was like a dream come true. She was so close to all she ever wanted, only to have it ripped away.
Don’t come back here.
It’s because you expect other people to make you happy. Mitch’s voice revealed her worst fears about herself, the bitter truth she’d always suspected but never wanted to admit. You expect other people to do everything for you. You’re useless. You’re worse than useless.
The pain burrowed into her chest and made a home in the soft tissue surrounding her heart. She’d thought she was tougher than this, that Mitch’s lies and infidelity had turned her cold and hard. But she was wrong. That pain was nothing compared to what she felt right now.
Jesse’s rejection ruined her.
Such a fool. Such a sucker.
She rolled to her side and punched her pillow, trying to get comfortable. The wonderful mattress that had cradled her last night now seemed too soft. Lumpy in places. Hard in others.
You’re impossible to please. You want too much.
Ben sighed, murmured something in his sleep and rolled toward her, curving himself into her body, into that little space against her chest that had been made for him.
She had to get her act together. She had to make a life for her son. She couldn’t expect other people to help her with this anymore.
“No more,” she whispered.
What are you gonna do? Mitch’s voice asked and she could practically see his sneer, the snide superiority in his eyes that had made her feel two inches tall for most of her married life. Live off my folks? Sleep with my best friend? You heard him, he’s sorry for that morning. It was a mistake—
“No more!” she said, louder this time to shut up the voices in her head. To convince herself that she meant it.
Things were going to change.
She was going to get a job. Tomorrow. And she’d only stay with the Adamses as long as was absolutely necessary, until she’d paid off the last of Mitch’s debts and could save some money for a place of her own.
And she’d stay away from Jesse—just as he’d asked. She’d remove her heart, set it someplace else where she couldn’t feel its pain.
JESSE DIDN’T SLEEP. He was no fool, he knew the nightmares waited on the other side of consciousness. And frankly, tonight he had no taste for fire and the crash and Mitch’s knowing eyes.
He sat on the porch for a good long time, his eyes open and the image of Julia—sitting so close…right there…within arm’s reach—burned into his retinas.
He leaned his head against the old rocker he’d made in high-school shop class and imagined standing up on two good legs, walking down the street, jumping the ditch, crossing the yards. He imagined circling the Adams’ house and climbing the rainspout up to the roof of the kitchen. From there he could walk up to Mitch’s second-floor bedroom window. It was easy. He’d done it a thousand times.
It would be so simple to open that window, to ease into that dark hushed room, warm and alive with the scent of Julia, sleeping on that old bed. There’d be moonlight and silence and—
Jesse stood and the rocking chair slid backward, crashing into the house.
This has got to stop.
The world swam from the drugs and he gave himself a moment to get his knee under him before he stalked into the dark house.
He had been right to tell her to stay away. She had to or he wouldn’t survive. He was moving on with his life, putting the accident and Mitch and this town behind him.
So he grabbed another bottle of water and headed out the rusty aluminum back door that had not been changed in all of Rachel’s meddling renovations.
He’d been here two days and one night and so far all he’d been able to get done was write a list of all the things that needed to get done. The roof, the back porch, the kitchen floor—the list was a long one. And he was more tired than he’d thought. His long stay at the hospital had worn him down. The weakness was aggravating, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Slowly, each day he felt a little better, a little more as though he could get the work done.
The only reason he’d needed the painkillers tonight was because he’d spent most of the day on the roof, climbing up and down the ladder.
His knee was getting stronger and the work helped. He thought of it like conditioning for San Diego and the construction he and Chris were going to do. Preparation for his real life.
The night was cool, the sky clear and deep, and the air seemed damp. Everything seemed damp after the Middle East, where the desert turned everything into grit. Human beef jerky is what Dave Mancino used to say.
That’s all I am, walking beef jerky.
Jesse smiled—Dave had been a funny kid. Cocky as all get-out, but funny. Five months after the accident and Jesse was just now getting to the point that he could remember anything about those boys other than their deaths.
A million times a day he wished he’d backed Mitch instead of listening to his gut.
The one time in my life I decide not to do things Mitch’s way and the guy dies.
Jesse didn’t know whether to laugh or put a bullet in his head.
He stepped onto the long grass and left footprints in the dewy lawn as he crossed the backyard to the garage nestled back amongst some pines and more weeds. The door had once been red but now was the faded gray of weathered wood. The whole structure leaned slightly to the left and Jesse figured gravity would soon take care of the rest.
The garage had never housed a car. Inexplicably, his dad had once come home from the bar driving a golf cart and it had stayed in the garage for a week until the cops had come looking for it.
They’d all laughed over that.
What had always been housed in the garage—and Jesse was half hoping had been sold or lost or stolen over the years—were Granddad’s old woodworking tools. The planers and awls and chisels fit Jesse’s hand as though they had been born there. He had spent a lot of years in this garage with the tools, pretending that the world outside the sweet smell of fresh oak didn’t exist.
He could do with a little of that pretending right now.
The heavy door slid back on the nearly rusted rollers and the odor of sour, rotting wood poured out. He reached for the light switch, and was surprised when it flickered on, illuminating the cracked cement floor.
Along the back wall was the workbench he’d made himself a million years ago and on the wall above it, still as neatly arranged as he’d left them, were the tools.
When he was younger they’d offered him, if not a way out of his family and his home, a way to survive.
Jesse took a deep breath and stepped into the musty familiarity of the garage looking for something, anything, that could be saved.
CHAPTER FIVE
“YOU’RE