Chapter 7 About-face #2
“It actually took me a few years to get that part out of my parents,” Jenna said with a small laugh. “They were afraid I’d take it to heart, I think.”
He wanted to ask if she had, but he bit the question back.
The accusation itself hadn’t been fair. He could only hope Jenna—the entire Hodge family—knew that.
He killed the engine once the truck was parked again at her curb, released his seatbelt, and turned to face her.
She still hadn’t gotten to the most crucial part.
Jenna didn’t turn to look at him. “It wasn’t until my parents drove Mama J home that they heard the story themselves,” she said.
“George came out, ‘grumpier than usual’ my dad said, and of course they asked him if something had happened.” She trailed off and rolled her lips between her teeth, the memory obviously distressing her.
Jon reached out and curled a finger beneath her chin.
“He’s a piece of shit.” He held her stare.
“I know whatever the story is, it hurt you, and I’m sorry for that.
Sorry for him.” His thumb stroked along her skin, beneath her abused lip.
“But I’m right here, Jenna. So, whatever it was, it was bull crap. ”
She offered him a small smile and reached up, catching his hand and pulling it into both of hers.
“George said they’d gotten a call that morning from the Marines, from some ‘multi-star General’ is how I heard it, informing them that you were gone.
The story was that you had stepped onto an old minefield, like we’d heard about back from Vietnam or something, and before anyone even knew what had happened you were”—her hands clenched tighter to his—“in pieces. George claimed they’d been told it wouldn’t be possible for your remains to be returned, but that your tags would be shipped home for funerary services.
” She sucked in another deep breath. “Which, obviously, never happened. I heard over time that he followed that story with grumblings about shipping delays, tales of apologetic phone calls, until finally he was cursing about what a poor mail delivery system our country has.”
Jon curled his fingers around Jenna’s hand and held his jaw locked tight as he replayed her story.
It was shit, of course, but that was what pissed him off.
George couldn’t have just forgotten about him.
He’d had to go and tell some cliché, unprovable story to garner himself sympathy and discredit the entire Corps in the process.
He could only guess at his father’s reasons, but none were justifiable.
It’d been a long time since Jon had had quite such a strong urge to punch the man.
“The thing is,” Jenna said, her strained voice drawing him out of his darkening thoughts, “I think … I think that might also be what killed Mama J.”
Jon’s eyes widened. “What?”
Sadness and guilt danced in Jenna’s expression.
“Her drinking got so bad. From everything I’ve heard, it’s like she was just never sober anymore.
One day, not even a year after George told everyone that lie, she was apparently stumbling down School House Road and she just collapsed.
My parents heard from Mrs. Bell that there was a broken bottle of whiskey next to her, and the county coroner confirmed she died from alcohol poisoning.
She wasn’t in great shape in a lot of ways, but that was what did it. ”
Jon sank back and dragged a hand down his face, his mind threatening to spiral with all the information.
Information he’d asked for. Information he knew he’d needed. Information he’d never wanted.
His mother had drunk herself to death rather than be trapped with George, because she saw no other way out.
Maybe she even blamed herself for his supposed death, because his terrible relationship with his father—with both of them, really—was what had pushed him to bond so closely with his grandfather and, in turn, to join the Marines.
It wasn’t like he’d expected to come home and suddenly have a positive relationship with his parents. He simply hadn’t been prepared for the layers of shit that had grown over his family name while he’d been away. The lies, the hurt, the … whatever the hell that was.
Jon felt himself scowl. Then why did she leave me a letter?
It was time he stopped stalling.
“I’m really sorry you had to hear all of that from me,” Jenna said on a whisper.
He blinked hard, pushing the emotion back, and focused outward again.
His focus settled on Jenna’s visibly struggling, guilt-ridden expression.
Fuck that. Jon reached over once more, leaning as he moved, and caught the back of her neck with the hand she’d been clinging to seconds earlier.
Her eyes widened, flashing up to his, glossy with unshed tears.
He didn’t say a word before he sealed his lips over hers.
Even knowing it was a lie, knowing Jon was not only alive but having him beside her, Jenna despised reliving the story of the death she’d so long believed.
She’d done her best to edit it to only the important and necessary pieces and she wished she could have spared him those, too.
But, really, he needed to hear them. Sooner or later, he would.
She hoped he never learned about the disgusting exploding watermelon joke some of their former classmates had tossed around in the aftermath.
She had still been struggling to pull herself together, actively reminding herself that her emotions were simply overactive for other reasons and she was being too dramatic, when Jon suddenly tugged her forward and kissed her. Not on the hair or even the forehead, but firmly on the lips.
For a beat, she was shocked into an almost juvenile stillness.
Then a humiliating sound, like a whimper or a moan, somehow escaped her and her body melted.
Her fingers abandoned her purse in favor of his toned chest as his tongue pushed into her mouth.
He vibrated with a groan that had her squirming to get closer.
Heat coursed through her with every swipe of his tongue and she curled one arm around his neck.
His kiss was ruthless, devouring, and Jenna lost herself completely to it.
She clawed at the back of his shirt as he sucked her tongue into his mouth, her body already aching.
Then he broke from her lips, trailed open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, and sucked on the lobe of her ear long enough to draw one more moan from her soul.
“The next time you look at me with those sad eyes,” he breathed, lips brushing her ear with every syllable, “I don’t care where the fuck we are or what the hell we’re doing, I will drop to my knees and bury my face in your pussy until ecstasy is the only thing that shows in your expression.”
Jenna gasped, a spark of indignation lighting somewhere beneath the avalanche of lust.
He pressed a kiss to the underside of her jaw. “Do I make myself clear?”
Her breath faltered. “Jon…” That was far from the admonishment she should have gone with.
He continued to trail his kisses across her throat. “It’s a yes or no question, Jen.”
She had to unlatch her hand from the back of his shirt before she could semi-effectively push at his chest. She pretended not to understand that he only eased back by choice.
“That’s ridiculous, Jon. We’re not—” The words caught in her throat and she ducked her gaze, her face burning as if she were half her age.
Jon’s fingers brushed the side of her blazing skin as he tucked a strand of hair behind her neglected ear. “Guess I know what we’ll be talking about tomorrow, then.”
She didn’t know how to define the way her stomach flipped. It may have been more than her stomach, even. Larger, deeper, like her entire soul. “What?” she croaked.
“The day’s winding down, you’ve been up for hours, and I still need to read that damn letter,” Jon said. He popped his door open.
Jenna sucked in a breath as the cab filled with fresh air. She’d already forgotten about his mystery letter. “Right, you do.”
“So, quit distracting me,” Jon quipped as he hopped from the truck.
Her jaw dropped. She stammered half words for two or ten seconds, her eyes tracking his movements as he rounded the front end to her side and pulled open her closed door. Then, finally, she blurted, “Me? Distracting you?”
His smirk was shameless and searing. “At least you’re aware.”
She was aware of nothing, least of all her sense of sanity.
What was even going on? Had she fallen asleep at the table between phone calls?
She barely remembered to dig out her keys and unlock the door when they made it to the front stoop, still shaking her head.
“I’m glad your sense of humor’s still in there, at least.” She paused as she transferred her phone from purse to pocket. “I think.”
“You think it’s still there? Or you think you’re glad?” He arched a brow at her as he threw the locks again.
She made a thoughtful sound and continued inside. “Well, since we’ve confirmed one…”
Jon chuckled. “Oh, she wants to play now, does she?”
A shiver rolled through her that she attempted to disguise by dropping her emptied milkshake cup into the trash with a flourish, then spinning and gesturing to the counter—and Jon’s.
“You let it melt again!” She shouldn’t have been surprised.
The psycho always had preferred his ice cream treats more soupy than frozen.
It’d been his biggest flaw as a teen. Well, that, and his absolute disregard for personal consequence if he felt she’d been slighted, but in truth she’d always been conflicted on the latter.
It wasn’t a smart or safe behavior, but it was hard for a once-shy, always-overweight girl not to be flattered by that kind of devotion.
Jon started to laugh, but the sound abruptly cut off, the amusement disappearing from his face just as quickly. He narrowed his eyes at the cup. “Did you forget to tell me you have a roommate?”
Jenna blinked, glancing at the cup he continued to glare at, then back at him.
“I haven’t had a roommate since—” She cut herself off.
She generally preferred not to say his name, and for whatever reason, the idea of telling Jon she’d been married for a brief time in his absence felt heavy.
Like a betrayal. It hadn’t been, it couldn’t have been, but especially after that kiss they’d just shared, the stupid part of her struggled to balance the feelings.
His stare snapped to her, the glare softening with understanding. “Since the bastard who hurt you.” Not a question, because he was a smart man, and not inaccurate.
Jenna nodded faintly.
Jon took a large step forward and pulled her sharply to his side, his fingers curled around her arm in a firm grip that stopped just shy of hurting.
He turned his gaze slowly outward and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, quieter, and Jenna immediately wished he hadn’t spoken at all.
“Someone’s been here while we were out. That’s not where I left that. ”