10. Jimmy
Jimmy
I lowered my shields, and that tiny bit of vulnerability still didn’t get me where I longed to be.
“I always hero-worshiped you,” I admitted. “Wanted you to be my dad for the longest time, was jealous of Jamie because he still had your love after his mom abandoned you both.”
A gasped exhale escaped Sutton as though my words wounded him, but I was selfish enough in my own pain not to care I’d reminded him of his own heartache. What a pair we were. Surely, we would be a perfect fit.
Right?
But piles of shit metaphorically and physically stood between us.
I glanced up the hallway toward the filthy living room at its end. The trash in there alone would fill a dumpster. I hadn’t yet stepped foot into the kitchen—couldn’t envision what I might find in there, or even worse, the memories that would assault me.
Inhaling deeply, I imagined settling my emotions into a block of ice and readied myself to face the rest of what should be done to put my past behind me. Sutton might say he was willing to help in whatever way I required, but he stood firm in denying what I needed.
With a physical connection that would ground me and lead me toward the healing I craved.
“Sorry you had to see that part of me,” I said, trying to sound like an adult. “Coming back here pulled shit to the surface I’d hoped was long gone.”
“Facing demons is never easy,” Sutton said, his low tone soothing as always, making me want to melt into his hard chest again where, for a moment of time, every negative thought and feeling had dissolved into a less intense attempt to ruin me.
“Don’t beat yourself up for getting emotional, Jimmy. It just proves you’re real.”
I snorted, thinking about how “real” I’d been since leaving. The townsfolk would judge me for sure. “The people of Pippen Creek wouldn’t like who I really am,” I muttered.
“How about you let them make their own decisions?”
Shrugging, I moved around Sutton so I didn’t end up throwing myself into his arms again and fall apart in my weakness. Chief Sutton might be nurturing as fuck, but he would never respect or give me a chance if he found out how needy I was.
Knowing I couldn’t sway Sutton toward where I wanted him to be without putting in some serious time and further planning, I drove away from my childhood house in search of comfort that would be offered without hindrance.
Gram met me at her front door, her welcoming arms and soft bosom the perfect coming home I should have sought out first thing after arriving in Pippen Creek last night.
“Welcome back, Jimmy-boy.”
Tears stung my eyes at her kind greeting and loving tone of voice. Add in the frailty of her body that used to be robust, and my heart hurt.
“It’s good to see you,” I murmured.
“It’s been too damned long,” she chided before letting me go. Using a cane to maneuver through the entryway, Mary headed toward the kitchen at the back of the hallway.
The air smelled of chocolate chip cookies, and my mouth watered. “Did you make my favorite?”
“Of course I did.” She pointed to the table once through the kitchen’s archway, and I sat my ass down, intent on the plate of deliciousness I hadn’t tasted since the last care package she’d sent to me in Boston a few months earlier.
“Mmm,” I hummed around chocolate melting on my tongue. “So good.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she stated, turning on the coffee pot. “Did you go to your dad’s?”
My throat spasmed, and I swallowed hard, needing moisture. “Yeah.”
“And?”
I shoved another cookie into my mouth to force my body onward, chewing and swallowing through the dryness before answering. “It sucked ass—and not in the good way.”
Gram admonished me, gently slapping my shoulder. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
She settled across from me a few minutes later, her brown eyes fixated on my face. “How are you doing, Jimmy?”
I shrugged, unable to hold her gaze, allowing mine to drop to my forearm. At least the unconscious scratching at my arm hadn’t broken skin or left marks. “Worse than expected, but I’m surviving.”
“You always were a strong boy.”
I huffed a snort. “Didn’t have much choice, did I?”
“No, but you do now. What’s your plan?”
“Sell that shithole and get the hell out of here again.” The second part didn’t sit well in my mind and caused my stomach to churn.
But unless I could change Sutton’s stance on avoiding my attempts to get my hands on his dick or even better yet, sneak my way into his heart and make myself as comfortable as he had in mine, I had no other choice.
“I’m thinking about moving to Florida to be with my sister.”
I jerked my focus upward to find Gram studying me intently. “What…what about the shop?”
“I’m getting too old to hobble around that place for more than a couple of hours a day.”
“Well, what about your son?” I tried again. The thought of the only semi-family I had in my life creating that kind of distance between us churned my stomach.
Gram pursed her lips. “Kurt is an absolute mess. A loser.”
“Gram!”
“Well, he is!” she insisted, and from what she’d written in her monthly letters, I had to agree. The man was a drinker, made zero time for his son, and wasn’t exactly queer friendly.
“And DJ?” I asked quietly, expecting she would miss her grandson terribly—and that the poor boy would suffer without her being nearby.
Gram heaved a heavy exhale and sat back, toying with her coffee mug, forehead furrowed, wrinkled lips pursed for a few silent minutes.
“He’s what is making this choice so damned difficult,” she finally shared.
“He’s only eight, and I’ve already stayed a couple of years longer than I wanted to.
My sister is having some health problems and would really benefit from having me as a roommate. ”
I could understand the tug-of-war in her mind and wished I had wisdom or a solution to offer her.
She glanced at the antique clock ticking on the wall behind me. “He’ll be here soon.”
“Yeah?” I asked, grinning even though a sense of heaviness lingered.
I’d heard all about her only grandchild but had yet to meet him.
Gram’s son, Kurt, and his ex-wife, Carrie, had married right before I’d left Pippen Creek.
DJ had been born a little while later, but at least I’d gotten printed pictures from Gram so I could put a face to her grandson’s name.
“He’s a troublemaker, like you were, but sweet as pie, same as you.”
I chuckle. “You’re only saying that because he has you wrapped around his little finger like I did.”
Gram smiled, but zero trace of silliness filled her wise gaze. “I’ve lived enough years that searching out the core of a person, even one as young as DJ, isn’t that difficult. He’s hurting, and while not nearly as badly as you did with that awful father of yours, his situation is traumatic.”
Gram had told me about Kurt and Carrie’s difficult divorce and her son’s turn to alcohol, so I didn’t doubt the conclusion she’d arrived at.
The doorbell rang, and her eyes lit up. She pushed to her feet, grabbing her cane. “Come meet the other boy who makes me smile.”
Once more, my eyes stung, and I followed on Gram’s heels into the entryway.
The door pushed open before we got there, and a wild, brown-haired terror came flying inside.
“Gram!” he hollered, same as I’d always done when entering into the only peaceful place I’d found inside Pippen Creek. The boy threw his arms around his grandmother’s waist, eyes closed, grinning like a dork as he hugged her tight.
She smiled down at him like he hung the moon in the night sky, her frail hands sifting through his thick hair.
My heart ached over memories of her doing the same with me.
“Mom.” Kurt greeted Gram as he stepped over the threshold and dropped a backpack to the floor. I could smell the stench of a hangover wafting off him and fought my gag reflex. “I’ll grab him tomorrow night,” he muttered.
“Okay,” Gram said without argument when she’d bitched through letters how often her son unloaded his responsibilities on her doorstep—even though she enjoyed every precious second with her grandson.
“Hey, Kurt.” I bypassed his mom to stick my hand out since it was what Gram would have wanted me to do no matter how much of an ass her son could be. “Good to see you,” I lied.
He hesitated but gave me a brief shake before wiping his palm on his jeans.
No greeting, not even a sound of agreement passed his lips.
Considering the guys in construction in these redneck towns tended to curl their noses at people like me who presented more feminine than masculine, I wasn’t surprised.
Skin toughened by years of abuse and all that.
I lifted my chin, giving him a haughty look even though he wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“See you tomorrow, Mom,” Kurt said over his shoulder as he hurried outside, shutting the door behind him.
Good fucking riddance.
I breathed a little easier, shoulders relaxing.
“DJ,” Gram said, turning him toward me, “this is my friend Jimmy, the one I’ve been talking about.”
“Gram never shuts up,” DJ said, smirking up at me, his dark eyes full of mischief.
I glanced at her then held a hand to my mouth to shield my lips while leaning toward DJ. “But she makes the best chocolate chip cookies, which makes all her stories worth listening to.”
“Right?” he whisper-hollered.
“Right!” I agreed, straightening with a grin. “Come on,” I said, nodding toward the kitchen. “She left me a plateful, but I’m not going to finish them. I don’t mind sharing.”
“Yes,” he hissed and scampered back through the hallway.
Gram grasped my hand. “I’m sorry for Kurt’s ignorance, and thank you for your kindness to DJ,” she stated quietly, her tone unsteady, her eyes watery and filled with gratitude.
I squeezed her fingers, having to swallow the thickness from my throat.
Perhaps coming to Pippen Creek wouldn’t be a waste of time.
“You shoot hoops?” DJ hollered from the kitchen, the garbled words evidence he’d shoved a cookie into his mouth and attempted to speak around the chocolatey goodness.
“Yeah!” I hollered, expecting he and I would be out in Grams backyard, intent on sinking baskets into the ancient rim still hanging above the shed door.
“You’re a sweet boy, Jimmy,” Gram said, and for once, I didn’t feel the need to argue what she’d believed of me since the day I’d first walked into her shop.
I’d been hoping to hide from Dad and the frigid air that cut through the threadbare coat from two winters before.
She’d invited me farther into the only consignment store in town, told me to make myself comfortable on an old Victorian couch, a soft throw blanket atop my thin legs and a mug of hot chocolate in my hands minutes later.
I’d fallen in love with her that afternoon and had spent more afternoons there than in my own home. But everything had changed—and continued to with every passing hour.
One day soon, I would be free of Pippen Creek while Gram would be retired, possibly lounging poolside beneath the Florida sun, but I wondered how much happiness either of us would feel considering what we would leave behind.
Her, willingly.
Me, not so much. But I’d learned that worms didn’t always get what they wanted, no matter how hard they hung onto the hope of one day being able to bask beneath the sun-flooded sky without drying to an empty husk.