Chapter Three Jack
Chapter Three
Jack
Emily and I have only shared a table once before. It was sophomore year of college and we were paired together for a history presentation because whoever runs the universe apparently needed some entertainment. Reluctantly, we both decided it would be in our best interest to mend our broken bridge and move past our feud. We met at the library, where we attempted to find some common ground before discussing the assignment.
We made it all of thirty minutes before the arguments began about the topic for our presentation. Neither of us would budge an inch. Ultimately, we got kicked out of the library for disturbing those around us, and Emily and I decided it was better to split up and do our presentations separately. We both received an F. As it turns out, the point of a group project is to actually work as a team.
I’ll admit, when I first met Emily after running into her on our way to class, I thought she was gorgeous. I couldn’t believe my luck that I would crash into such a beautiful woman on my first day of classes. I did hit on her—and admittedly it was the wrong moment. But she was so combative, and she had decided within two seconds of talking to me that she hated my guts, and she would not forgive me for spilling my coffee on her. Something happened that day. For the first time in a long time, I gave in to the urge to argue instead of trying to smooth things over.
That fight set the precedent for the rest of our interactions, and not a day has gone by in each other’s presence that we haven’t bickered, verbally sparred, or picked at each other over something. Usually, I’m unbearably annoyed by her. But today, it’s oddly comforting to be sharing a table with her again. My life has been upside down the last few months, and I didn’t feel settled again until about twenty minutes ago when I saw her walk through the door. Because as weird as it is, our rivalry has been the one constant in my life the last several years. She’s the only person who never needs, wants, or sees me as anything other than her nemesis.
I think that’s why she was the first person who popped into my head the day after I moved to Nebraska with Zoe. Coffee was on the table, Zoe was on her phone, and I was on the road to ruin, and I knew it. Clear as day. I hadn’t realized until I was sitting at the breakfast table in the wrong state with the wrong person that my life had gotten way off track.
And when my chest caved in at the thought of breaking Zoe’s heart by telling her this wasn’t right for me and I couldn’t go through with it, when I nearly backed out from fear of hurting her, Emily’s smirking face popped into my mind and I could perfectly picture her saying: Do it, Jack. I dare you.
I needed that. I needed her in some weird, twisted way.
The months following the breakup were rough too. I was lonelier than ever. And I’ve been blaming that loneliness for my constant thoughts of Emily. I haven’t been able to get her out of my head. Which is essentially why I’m back in Rome. Not just because I’ve always liked this town and wondered what it would be like to really be involved in it, but because I need to prove to myself that this weird tug I’ve been feeling to come back to her is a fluke—like how people lost in the desert will hallucinate and see visions of water when they’re dehydrated. I was just lonely and so my creative mind concocted a ridiculous narrative where Emily seems to mean something to me. I’m back here to squash that idea once and for all. To remind myself of just how much I hate Emily and then I can put it behind me.
But it’s not lost on me that the people who end up chasing those visions of water in the desert usually follow them all the way to their death.
So on that happy note, I’m fresh out of the realtor’s office where I just signed on the dotted line to purchase the shittiest house of all time. Ah—it’ll be good as new after you give it some paint, said Carol, whose nameplate on the desk claimed she was voted number one realtor in Rome, Kentucky, even though she is apparently the only realtor in Rome. (Her business cards for her party planning company were situated next to the nameplate.)
Well, Carol, it’s going to need a lot more than a coat of paint, seeing as how the siding is falling off and the porch looks seconds from collapsing. It’ll be a complete renovation, but I really had no choice. There was nothing else for sale within a fifty-mile radius, and after driving an hour into school every morning from Evansville, I’m ready to have less of a commute. Ready to put down official roots in this odd town.
Carol seemed unfazed about the state of the house and said that someone named Darrell had a construction crew who handled all the renovation projects around here and could get it done in no time. One quick call and he confirmed it.
“So…what did you do?” Emily asks after ten minutes of sitting in silence drinking weak-tasting coffee and trying not to notice how her hair is apparently some kind of naturally curly. I had no idea.
“Excuse me?”
She tsks. “Feigning ignorance doesn’t look authentic on you. Why are you back and unmarried? Signs point to you screwed up.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” I take a sip of coffee and set it back down. “But I didn’t do anything wrong. We just weren’t right for each other.” And even though I should stop there, I can’t seem to keep myself from saying more. “It wasn’t until after I told her this that she informed me it was okay because she already had someone who was right for her.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say that it’s sympathy on Emily’s face right now. For a split second, her expression softens to a look I’ve never seen on her before. It’s open and smooth. And of course, I have to exploit it because that’s just what we do. Also because it pinches something raw inside me that I wish didn’t exist. “Is that concern I see in your poison-ivy eyes, Ms. Walker?”
Those eyes shutter. “Only for your students. I’m worried you’re going to get their hopes up and then suddenly bolt when you and Zoe get your shit together and you take her back.”
My jaw tics. “Don’t worry about that.”
Zoe and I are finished. It was something that didn’t feel right from the beginning, but I was so lonely and desperate for someone to wake up to in the mornings that I overlooked too much. Loneliness will make a person do scary things. Like convincing myself I’m in love with a woman I never even felt safe enough with to share my biggest secret without making her sign an NDA first.
I do think Zoe and I had something genuine in the beginning. We had fun. She returned my kindness and affection—both things I really needed at the time. But then things started breaking down pretty quickly, and instead of ending it like I should have, I allowed it to drag out. In hindsight I should have been concerned that she would never leave her phone unattended. That I was getting random massive charges on my credit card for lunches and dinners. That she always seemed to encourage me to hide myself away and write because she used those times to disappear for most of the day. I didn’t know what she was doing, and most alarming of all, I didn’t seem to wonder either.
It took moving with her to Nebraska where she got a new job to realize I felt lonelier with her than I ever felt by myself. It took being stripped of my work and…Emily…to see the truth. Zoe didn’t love me—she loved the lifestyle I could provide because of my writing career, but not me. And I didn’t love her either. I loved the companionship she could offer when I needed it. The wedding was going to be a Band-Aid for something that was hemorrhaging from the start. Even the proposal was born from an argument where Zoe said we weren’t moving fast enough. I kept thinking she was fighting for us, but now I know she was fighting to keep my money. Embarrassing to realize. Even more embarrassing to remember how comfortable I was remaining distant from her.
It was just a mistake…all of it. And I stuck with it for so damn long because I clearly have issues I need to deal with.
“I do worry, though. For your students,” says Emily, sitting forward. “And you would too if you were in my shoes and anything close to professional.”
I balk at that. “I’m always professional.”
“Your shirt says you’re not.” What a very specific and random attack. I like it.
“What the hell is wrong with my shirt?”
“Why are the top two buttons undone like that?” She looks disgusted at the sight of my skin. Or maybe my necklace. “Are you trying out for an island love show?”
“Came up with the answer pretty quickly. Either you’ve been thinking about my clothing for some time now, or it’s on your mind because you’re currently applying for one of those very shows yourself.” I nod toward her laptop. “Let me see if you’re innocent.”
Her eyes are pancakes and she quickly lowers her laptop screen until it’s only cracked open. “No. I mean…no, I’m not applying to one of those annoying shows. I don’t even want a relationship. And also, I don’t have anything to prove to you by showing you my computer.”
I scrunch my nose obnoxiously. “You seem pretty guilty.”
“I am not. Show me what’s on yours.”
“No.” I inch it shut too.
“I guess I’m not the only guilty one, then. See you on Love Island.”
It’s a struggle not to laugh. I enjoy our fights more than any emotionally healthy person should. They don’t always make sense. They’re a little unhinged. They reek of pettiness. But there is also a realness to them I don’t tap into easily with other people.
And what would Emily think if she knew I was actually writing a book on this laptop? Too bad I’ll probably never get to tell her and see the shock on her face.
My dad is Fredrick Bennett, a world-renowned mystery writer for the last three decades. He has hit number one on the New York Times bestseller list with thirty-one out of his forty published books and usually holds one of the top coveted spots for months at a time. He’s brilliant and is touted as one of the best mystery writers ever. But what none of his readers know is that most of the time, he’s an absolute bastard. Especially to my mom, and especially when he’s on a deadline.
The thing is, I understand deadline stress. The occasional blowup or snippy attitude from time to time would be normal. Especially if the man knew how to apologize. But this is different. This bleeds into every corner of his life. He faces each day thinking the man who looks back at him in the mirror is the most important person in the world.
I want my mom to leave him once and for all, but I don’t think she ever will, because like me, she has issues. And that’s why my dad has no idea that the only other mystery writer the media and readers have ever deemed as his rising equal—is me.
Growing up with Fredrick as a dad really should have made me hate writing, but I had a story in my head I needed to get out. So I wrote it in college, and I loved every second of it. And when it was done, I thought it was maybe okay, so I pitched it to several agents under a pen name so I could know for certain that if I made it, it was by my own merit and not because of who my dad is. I was only hoping to hear back from at least one agent, and was floored when I was offered representation by all of them. I hadn’t even told anyone I was writing a book because I wasn’t sure I believed in myself—and there I was, on the brink of success.
And then I thought of my dad finding out. I thought of all the ways I would either fade into his shadow as Fredrick’s son who also writes, or he’d suck every last drop of joy from my writing process by insisting he was the reason for my success, or he wouldn’t be able to handle the competition and it would send him spiraling back to alcohol, which would in turn make my mom’s life miserable. Most likely all of the above.
So I signed with my agent and together we got that book plus two more published—but I kept it a secret. My entire identity is hidden, and no one (other than my agent, Zoe, and my core publishing team, who have all signed NDAs) truly knows who the man is behind AJ Ranger, New York Times and Sunday Times bestselling mystery writer. My writing has become my safe haven. A place where no one can reach me. I’ve never felt that kind of security in my life before, and it’s hard to want to risk giving it up.
Before I can challenge Emily further, Carol, my favorite realtor/ party planner, rushes into the coffee shop and looks around quickly until she spots me. Her shoulders droop with relief and she makes a beeline to my table.
“Good! You’re still in town!” she says while walking at such a sharp clip that her bouncy, very fluffy hair bobs with every step.
At the sound of Carol’s voice, Emily’s head whips in her direction and she snaps her laptop shut. Guilty indeed.
“Did I forget something in your office?” I ask when she approaches the table.
Carol does a double take between me and Emily sitting here together and seems to be pleasantly surprised. Actually, hesitantly happy might be a better way to put it. I haven’t been in Rome very often outside of school hours, but I’ve attended enough community events to have made an impression where Emily and I are concerned.
“Emily, hi, hon! Good to see you.” And oddly, I know she means it. Everyone around here likes Emily for reasons I’ve never been privy to. Her gaze swings to me as she sets a piece of paper and a pen in front of me. “Jack, you left this page in your contract unsigned.”
“Oh—sorry about that.” I pull it to me and click my pen open. It’s a struggle sometimes to remember to sign my real name and not my pseudonym. Which sounds like a douchey thing to say, but it is what it is.
Emily is watching me closely—her blond bangs, the same color as melted gold, curling up tighter and tighter on the edges with each passing second. “What contract?”
Carol smiles at her. “For his new house here in Rome. We just closed this morning.”
Emily looks like she might be sick, and that thought gives me far too much joy. “Here? In Rome? You’re moving…to Rome? Permanently?”
“Correct.” I hand Carol the paper with a smile that makes her blush. “And Carol, you’ve been incredible to work with. Thank you for your attention to detail.”
Emily butts in again. “Are you sure you didn’t mean to move to Rome, Italy? No one would fault you considering your IQ,” she says, batting her eyes with over-the-top innocence.
“Why would I move to Italy? My favorite corner table is right here.”
Carol’s shoulders are growing more rigid by the minute. She would rather be anywhere but here. “I guess this is going to be interesting for you two, isn’t it?” Carol asks, gesturing between me and Emily.
“Oh no…there’s no you two where Jack and I are concerned.”
“Well, no, I meant with you two being neighbors now and all.”
Both my and Emily’s eyes zero in on Carol. I lean forward slightly. “Come again?”
The longer she looks between us, the less I like the expression on her face. It’s slowly melting—like a realization is dawning that she doesn’t want to share. “Wait. You didn’t know?”
I shake my head at a loss. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”
“Oh god.” Carol grimaces.
Emily seems to reach an understanding first. She sits back heavily in her seat. “Carol…don’t tell me…”
“He bought Old Pete’s place.”
“ No, ” Emily whispers hauntingly.
“Yes.”
I look at Carol and then Emily. “Who’s Pete?”
No one acknowledges me.
“Carol! You’re joking! That place is half-rotten and falling down.” Well, now I know we’re all talking about the same place at least.
“Who is Pete?” I ask again, this time getting Carol’s attention.
She looks at me with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Jack. I thought you knew.”
“Knew what ?”
“The house you bought…it’s directly next door to…” Her eyes slowly trace a line to the woman who would like to scoop me out of her life with a melon baller.
“ Dammit. You’re my neighbor?”
“Like hell. Just cancel the sale.” She gestures toward the paper Carol is holding, which she clutches tightly in her fingers and pulls protectively to her chest looking for all the world like she’s already spent the cash offer I used to buy the house. “Just rip up the papers and find a new house.”
There she goes again—barking orders at me as if she owns me.
I sip my coffee. “No—that’s not how it works, and you know it. Also this was the only place available in town.” I’ve lived on the fringes long enough. I’m ready to be here.
“Okay! Well…it was nice seeing y’all but I’ve got to—” Carol is backing away but Emily’s hand juts out and stops her, eyeballs still pasted to my face.
“No, no, no. This really can’t be happening. I can’t live next to him and work next to him every day of my life too.” Her eyes finally slide up to Carol. “Surely the house is unsellable anyway! I mean…it’s practically falling down. There must be a loophole to cancel the deal.”
It’s not that I would have expected Emily to be happy to live next to me, but I didn’t expect her to look like she just stepped out of a haunted house either. Living in Nebraska for the past few months and constantly expecting to see Emily around every corner, simply because life has repeatedly brought us unexpectedly together, must have caused some irreversible damage. Because suddenly, I don’t want her face to look like that when she thinks of me as her neighbor.
Carol waves off Emily’s words like she did mine. “The house isn’t too bad, really. Darrell is going to fix it up. A few weeks of renovation and it’ll be gorgeous!”
I don’t miss the moment Emily’s eyes sharpen on Carol. “Wait. Darrell’s company is going to do the reno?”
“Sure is. I talked to him this morning on the phone and he said although he’s slammed, he’d be willing to make it work. And since Jack is able to pay out of p—”
“Your house is the white one with the obsessive-looking flower garden?” I know where Carol was going with her sentence, and I don’t care to have her finish it in front of Emily. She has always been suspicious of my lifestyle. She’s made more than one pointed comment about my “nice things.” I don’t need her sniffing around this too.
Emily narrows her eyes. “You could have just said the house with the beautiful flower garden. But yes—that’s mine. Jealous?”
Of course it is. Of course it is. When I went by to look at the crapshoot that is now my home, I all but drooled over her house. I even asked Carol if the owner would be willing to relocate if I offered them double the estimated value. She said there was no way that particular homeowner would be open to selling. Now I know why. Emily will live in this town until her last breath. I’ve never known anyone to love a place or its people more.
“Emily…” Carol says carefully, her eyes dropping to the hand keeping her from moving. “If you don’t mind, I’ve gotta get going.”
With a defeated sigh, Emily lets go and I see the moment she doesn’t want Carol to feel bad, because she plasters a soft smile on her mouth and aims it up at her. “Sure thing, Carol. Tell Billy I said hi and I’ll see y’all at Hank’s next Friday.”
“Will do, hon! Bye, Jack! Oh—and you’ll get keys for move-in by next weekend.” And with those parting words she’s off, rushing out of the coffee shop as quickly as she entered.
I expect Emily to immediately pounce on me, suggesting that if I don’t cancel the sale of the house, I should lie in front of a moving bus instead. Which is why I’m surprised to find her completely silent and staring off in the distance at nothing in particular. One soft little frown between her brows. Shit. I’ve known her long enough to recognize that the line between her brows is not good. Last time I saw that frown it preceded her going after the same editorial job as me for our college paper junior year after my friend Harris frustratingly asked about my interview while Emily was nearby. I wanted that job so bad, and she knew it. And then she went and interviewed for it too—and beat me. (I got her back, though, when I talked to our professor and snagged the student teaching placement I knew she wanted at Rome Elementary. Jeez, are we cruel people? )
Bottom line, that is an Emily Walker scheming frown.
And when she suddenly looks back at me and her lips curl into a devious smirk, I know I’m about to have some sort of hell to pay.
“I’ve gotta go,” she says quickly, shoving her laptop back into her tote bag and standing.
“What happened to needing this table so badly?” I don’t trust whatever is going on in that head of hers but I’m excited for it all the same.
“Something more important just came up.” She smiles another smile that tingles up my spine. “Enjoy your coffee, neighbor,” Emily says before walking away and leaving me with an eerie feeling. One that instinctively has me throwing this coffee out and ordering a new one.