9. Olive Branch
Olive Branch
"For the last time, momma," I whine into my phone, scooping up handfuls of bubbles and blowing them back into the warm tub, "I am not coming home yet, okay? Beau and I...we're just hanging out and getting reacquainted, okay? It takes more than three days to catch up on three years of lost time."
"Savannah!" Momma barks. "We only have a few weeks left until the pageant starts! Do you understand that? All the other girls are currently training and rehearsing, and you've over there hanging out ? You can hang out with your brother all you want after you win Miss USA."
"It's just a stupid crown, momma," I grumble. "Who cares?"
"Who cares? Who cares?!" she screeches. "We have worked for this your whole life, Savannah! Twenty-one years! Are you aware of how much money your daddy and I spent over those twenty-one years? Huh? This is it, Savannah. You only get one shot. An opportunity like this only comes around once in a lifetime.”
“Where are you getting your motivation speech material?” I mutter under my breath. “Eminem?”
"M maybe you could—" Fuming, I chuck a bar of soap at his head with all my might.
He winces when it hits him right in the center of his forehead.
"Fucking hell, woman. Okay, I'm leaving.
Jesus..." He turns around, closing the door. "That one actually hurt."
Whimpering with heavy embarrassment, I sink into the tub.
Oh gosh, did he see anything? I think the bubbles blocked any sneaky peeks.
..right? Oh no...what if he saw my boobs?
Oh shoot, he already saw one. Now both?!
I should sink deep into this tub and never come up for air again.
Although...I do have nice boobs, so I suppose it's not the end of the world, is it?
No! No. Bad thought. Go away. That doesn't matter. What matters is that Momma?—
Momma !
Ah! I sit up aggressively, water splashing from the tub and onto the tiled floor. My phone! Shoot. Where is it? Dang it, is it broken? Okay, I'm going to pretend that the last five minutes didn't happen. Whoosh . Memory gone. Disappeared. Focus, Savannah. Phone.
Once I'm wrapped in a towel and a robe (not taking any chances), I sheepishly tiptoe into the kitchen and peek my head around the corner, confused by the giant clear mixing bowl on the counter. Is that my phone inside there? Is he gonna bake it?
"Um...Jesse?" I whisper, frowning as he rummages through the cabinets. "Why's my phone in a bowl?"
Jesse spins around, grinning as he shakes a bag of rice. "Gotta get the water out somehow." He dumps nearly the entire bag into the bowl and repositions the phone somewhere in the middle. "There. That should help..." He scratches his beard. "Maybe. "
"I didn't know rice, uh—fixes phones," I mutter, swirling my finger through all the teeny tiny grains. "Would've been useful knowledge for when I dropped my phone in the pool last summer."
"Let me guess," Jesse smirks, leaning against the counter. "Daddy just bought you a new one?"
I shoot him an icy glare. "I paid for it myself, thank you very much."
"Really? That's hard to believe." He snorts, grabbing a bag of chips before heading to the living room.
"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, following behind him.
"Means that I find it highly improbable that you've ever worked a day in your life," he says, manspreading as he sinks down in the armchair and turns on the TV. He cranes his head at me, a smug gleam in his eyes. "And volunteering at a sorority house doesn't count."
"I have been a rhythmic gymnastics instructor and pageant coach for young girls since I was sixteen," I state, combative. "That's a real job, Jesse."
"A pageant coach?" He blinks. "Like beauty pageants?"
"Yes," I murmur. "Like beauty pageants."
"I assume you've got some experience yourself, then?" he asks, amused. "Little Miss Savannah from Alabama?"
"I actually am Miss Alabama," I state with fleeting pride.
Instant regret.
"My oh my..." he draws out, fanning himself. "I didn't know I was in the presence of pageant royalty . What an honor. "
"Oh, hush up, Paxton." I roll my eyes. "The point is, I've had many jobs, okay?"
Jesse chuckles. "Fine. The pageant queen thing, I believe that—but gymnastics?" He purses his lips, giving me a cheekily observant once-over. His lips curl up into a cunning smile. "Nah...don't buy it. You look stiff as a board."
"A board?" I scoff. "I am not a board. Quite the opposite, actually. You'd be surprised by just how bendy I can be. I've gotten tens across the board in the talent competition multiple years in a row."
"Oh yeah?" Jesse blinks, licking his bottom lip. "Is that so?" He shifts his body in my direction. "Okay, show me then."
"Show you what?"
"How bendy you can be," he says, popping a chip in his mouth. "Well? I'm waiting. Do a little handstand for me, huh? Maybe the splits? If you know how to, that is."
The fact I'm wearing a towel dawns on me.
What a little?—
"You wish." I scowl. "I think you've seen enough of me for one night."
"I saw nothing." He gives me a coy grin. "You, on the other hand, I think you saw plenty."
My cheeks burn up instantly as a blurry, inappropriate image of his... thing pops into my head.
Erase. Delete. Empty.
"No...I didn't see?—"
"Oh shit." Jesse chuckles. "You did look, didn't you?" He clicks his tongue. "If you want something from me, Savannah..." He tosses me a wily wink. "All you gotta do is ask."
"I—" Swallowing away a glob of pure humiliation, I attempt to keep my tone level despite the fact I could actually die right now. RIP me. "I didn't look."
"Mhmm," he hums in a knowing tone. "Sure. Whatever you say, princess."
"I didn't!" I insist. "I would never..."
"You lie a lot," Jesse notes, cutting me off. "Thought you Southern types are against that sort of thing."
My jaw drops. "I don't lie."
He snorts. "Really? Then why'd you tell your mom it was Beau that was knocking on the door and not me?"
"You were eavesdropping on my private conversation?" I ask, masking the sudden disappointment I find myself drowning in. I've been twisting the facts a lot lately, haven't I? "That's plain rude."
"Eavesdropping?" he asks, quirking up a brow. "You were practically shouting." He cocks his head. "Maybe learn to use your inside voice."
"Or maybe you should learn how to mind your own business," I retort in a quiet murmur, perching on the arm of the couch.
"Mind my own business?" He lets out an incredulous chuckle. "That's rich coming from you ."
"I—"
Shoot .
He's not wrong, is he? I've been rather demanding these past several days.
And, whether I like to admit it or not, Jesse's been fairly forthcoming in disclosing details about Beau and the club.
I hardly know enough to string a sentence together, but he's told me bits and pieces, enough for a couple of clear words to form.
"You're right." I sigh, flicking my nails. This might be a bad idea, but honestly, I'm getting tired of lying. With a breath of resolve, I offer him an olive branch. "I...um?—"
"Hey," Jesse says in a gentler voice. "I'm just busting your balls, okay? No need to start crying and shit."
"I'm not crying," I murmur. "I'm just..." Jesse watches me with a puzzled expression as I tumble over the exposed roots my fibs have grown. "My momma thinks I'm staying at Beau's right now, okay? She thinks I've already met up with him and stuff."
"Yeah, I figured as much," Jesse says with genuine curiosity as he slides to the edge of the armchair. "And why's that?"
"Well, it's because..." I close my eyes, unable to stop myself from unleashing the fountain of truth that's been dammed the past few days. "My momma doesn't know that Beau's uh, you know...part of your uh... organization ."
"Organization?" Jesse expels a rough yet melodic laugh. "Were you going to say gang, princess?"
I wince. "No..."
"There you go lying to me again," Jesse notes, shaking his head. "Come on, Savannah. It's a word; it won't kill you to say out loud." Jesse sweeps his arms across the air like a maestro. " Gang ." He grins at me. "Your turn."
"I know that saying the word 'gang' won't kill me." Sudden anger rushes through my bones. "But being in a gang can kill you."
"Lots of things can kill you, babe," Jesse says nonchalantly. "Death is the only guarantee in life. It's the one thing we can all collectively look forward to."
I cast him a frigid glower. "Your line of business tends to bring the inevitable sooner than most other professions."
"Ah...so is that why you're here then, princess?" Jesse asks, scanning my bare features as his voice dips into a hoarse tone. "To rescue your brother from possible death?"
"I'm here to..." I swallow, playing with the fraying hem of the robe. "I want to bring Beau home. He...he doesn't belong here."
"Right," Jesse hums, twisting his lips in thought. "And you think that, as his sister, you have the right to make that call?"
"I do," I state defensively. "You've only known Beau for a couple of years. I've known him all my life." I shake my head, full of conviction, as I add, "He's meant for greater things than this ."
Jesse's jaw tightens. "What? We're not good enough for your little brother?"
"He deserves the world," I say in a soft voice. I don't want to put Jesse down; I don't want to hurt him. But it's the truth. "You can't give him the world, Jesse. He doesn't belong here."
"I think Rad would disagree," Jesse says, facing the TV as he pulls up Netflix. "I think he's right where he's supposed to be." He glances at me briefly. "But guess you'll find out soon, huh?"
"He'll come home with me," I state with absolute certainty. "I know he will." Pausing, I nibble on my bottom lip as my eyes widen. "Wait...uh?—"
"What?"
"He is allowed to come home with me..." I swallow nervously. "Isn't he?"
Jesse stops scrolling when he lands on a horror movie. "It ain't a prison, princess. Rad can do whatever he damn well pleases."
"Oh," I hum, relaxing on the far end of the couch. "Well, good."
"Great," Jesse mutters. "You gonna watch this one with me?" In the corner of my eye, I notice a slight grin on his face. "Might have a lot of guns and death . I know you hate that sort of thing."
"I like horror movies.” I lift my feet up on the coffee table. "Press play."
Jesse clicks his tongue. "Might want to quit while you're ahead, Pinocchio, or else you might start believing your own lies."
"I'm not lying," I whisper, fiddling with my fingertips. "I find horror movies quite comforting."
Jesse looks back at me skeptically. "Comforting?"
"Yeah," I say with a shrug. "They remind me of how good I have it." I nod at the remote. "Start it."
He narrows his hazel eyes at me. "You're serious?"
"Yeah," I reiterate. "Start it."
"Okay..." He hesitates for a moment before pressing play, and I reach for the throw blanket and drape it across my lap. He passes back the bag of chips. "Here. Take some."
"I'm good," I whisper. "I already ate. "
"Carrots and hummus isn't dinner, Savannah," Jesse notes quietly as a barren forest comes on the TV screen. "Have some fucking chips."
"Fine," I say, pulling out a small handful. "Just a couple."
"Good girl," he whispers as I chomp down on a chip, savoring the rich flavor. Mmm . "There's more if you want some."
How can something so bad taste so dang good ?