Chapter 19
NICO
This really is a nice drive. The weather is perfect, and the trees along the highway are shades of red and orange that I’ve only ever seen in paintings.
With miles of open road in front of me and Jo in the passenger seat, it’s the best day I’ve had since…
the last day I spent with Jo on my knees in the dressing room.
We’re crossing into the last leg of the road trip to her hometown, and I spent the entire plane ride home yesterday creating the playlist for today, including tons of John Denver.
Which was all worth it because I got her to sing “Take Me Home, Country Roads” until we were both giggling like little kids.
I knew Jo was anxious about going home, and I wanted to make it as easy as possible on her. Her fear of flying puts a dent in my plan for Greece, but we’ll cross that bridge with Melatonin when we get there. First, I have to get her through this weekend unscathed.
Which shouldn’t be a problem after she gave me the details of her family tree, and we came up with a safe word for when she needed a quick escape: Gus. Though, the closer we get, the more I feel tension radiating off her. Not even my horrible jokes could earn a crack.
What do you call a bra you can’t take off? A booby trap.
What does a sign on an out-of-business brothel say? Beat it, we’re closed.
Why did the snowman smile? He could see the snow blower coming.
Eventually, I give up, place my hand on her knee, and let her do whatever she needs to do in her mind.
Forty-five minutes later, following a tour through the Appalachian Mountains, we arrive at the quaintest town I’ve ever seen in real life.
At the stop sign, I remove my sunglasses and roll down the window. “Are we in a Hallmark movie? Are you about to leave your big-city job for some farmer?”
“Isn’t that what you’re here for? To show what I’ll be missing out on if I choose him?”
If she chooses him?
As if that really is an option.
That she could leave me.
I mean…
She could leave me. We aren’t even together. Not really.
That’s why I’m even here to begin with. Because she needed someone to pretend to be her fiancé to get the assholes in her family off her back.
But I’m actually here because I want to be.
Not because of my position on the team or to fix my damaged reputation.
I’m here on this Hallmark movie set with an honest-to-god gazebo in the middle of a town square because I want to be Jo’s real-life…something.
Anything.
Everything.
But I’ll settle for friend. For now.
I glance over at Jo, to find her practically vibrating with worry, her lip red and puffy and…is that blood?
I touch her chin, gently turning her face toward mine. “You’re going to hurt yourself.” When I tug her lip out from under her teeth, she leans into my palm as if it comforts her, and nothing has ever been more important than this right here. “You doing all right?”
“Not really.”
“I got you, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She nods, and I drag my thumb over her lip. “You’re not wearing your lipstick.”
“My mom doesn’t like it.”
“Well, I do, and I think you should put it on.”
The corner of her mouth tugs up. “Okay.”
I pull away from her to continue driving while she paints her lips blue with that weird coating she lets harden before peeling it off to reveal her Berry Queen lips. It’s my favorite magic trick.
On our way to her house, Jo points out various landmarks of the small town. The school she went to, the park where she took her famous trash among grass photo, and I suggest pulling over so she can recreate it, but she jokingly whacks my arm and directs me past the day care where she worked.
Finally, we pull up to her childhood home at 115 Newton Street, the brick house bigger than I expected. Set back on an incline, the whole neighborhood is different from what I imagined, and when I inform Jo of this, she tips her head to the side. “What did you think it was going to be?”
I lift a shoulder. “More… I don’t know… Deliverance…?”
“That movie is an awful stereotype of Appalachian people. We’re not backwater inbred racist hillbillies with bad teeth.”
Her sudden defense of the town she hates makes me curious. “No? Then what are you?”
She blows out a breath and turns to gaze out her window, down the slope to where we can view the center of town and the wooded mountains all around us. “We’re fighters. Wild and wonderful.”
She tucks her hair behind her ear, a new habit she’s picked up recently, and I smile even as she hands me my ass.
“We’re proud and hearty and have survived for centuries on nothing because the government has forgotten about us, even though our coal has fueled this country since it was first formed.
” She narrows her focus on me. “Did you know that West Virginia became a state because it wanted to stay with the Union when Virginia seceded to the Confederacy? We have one of the strongest histories of labor unions, with men literally fighting and dying for fair wages, and during Prohibition, we supplied all those in power with alcohol, so they could turn their backs on us. We have no reliable internet, terrible infrastructure, no help for families living in poverty, no help for those struggling with addiction, but I guess it’s our fault for being born barefoot and poor. ”
She stares at me like I’m a dumbass, and apparently I am because I knew none of this. “I’m sorry, Jo. I had no idea.”
She shrugs as if it’s no skin off her back. “You’re not the only one who thinks that way. Everyone does.”
“Yeah, but you’re right. We’re wrong.”
“Not totally,” she says with a sigh. “My teeth are messed up, and I do have a backwater racist hillbilly Uncle Randy who collects guns and lives in conspiracy theories.”
I cup her face with my palms. “I like your teeth, and I’ll avoid your uncle.” I lean in to kiss her but stop. “Just to be sure… No one’s gonna make me, like, go hunt and skin our dinner, right?”
She fights a smile. “No.”
It’s when I move to kiss her again that someone knocks on my window, and I break apart from Jo with a very unmasculine shriek, all but jumping into her lap. But we’re still in Appalachia and I could be murdered by a bear or Uncle Randy, and Jo is clearly more prepared for either situation.
Once my fear subsides, I peer out my window to find a man in a police uniform.
He bends, and I recognize him as Waylon.
That son of a bitch who broke Jo’s heart.
Or, one of them, I should say. As much as I admire how proud she is of being West Virginian, I won’t ever forgive any of her asshole family members or the town for treating her the way they did.
Jo fixes her hair, tosses me one nervous look, and I squeeze her hand, hoping to communicate my confidence and support. We’ll get through this.
I exit my car with a staredown to Waylon. He’s got an inch or two on me, but he’s built like a beanstalk. He puffs out his chest, placing one hand on his belt, close to his handgun, as if that’ll scare me.
It won’t.
I’m only scared of bears and Uncle Randy, not some douchebag with a terrible haircut and horrible taste in women.
“What are you doing here?” Jo asks Waylon, accepting my hand when I hold it out to her, linking our fingers together.
“Off work. Came to see Lizzie.” He flicks his eyes toward me because he’s not here for Lizzie. I can only guess the entire Atkins clan has been waiting for Jo to arrive, and this guy is no different. Especially when he tells me, “I’m surprised you showed up.”
I tilt my head, feigning true concern. “Oh? Why?”
He works his jaw, obviously having trouble answering. To admit he’s a dick who doesn’t think Jo and I could or should be together like her family believes, or that he’s a jealous twat because I’m with the girl he tossed aside.
What to do? What to do?
In the end, he doesn’t do anything, merely nods at Jo then pivots on his heel and heads into the house. I grab our bags from the back and curl my arm around her shoulders with a kiss to her temple. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay in a hotel?”
“I already told you, it would make everything harder with my mom. We have to stay here.”
Technically, we don’t have to do anything. Jo’s an adult and can make her own decisions, and I’d be more than happy to tell everyone to fuck off, but I understand Jo isn’t there yet. So, I nod along and follow her inside.
We’re greeted with dark wood paneling and ducks.
Everywhere. Mallard pictures, mallard lamp, mallard pillows.
There’s even a mallard statue of sorts which acts as a small side table, holding a plant on top of it in front of a window.
The man who I assume is Jo’s father stands from a plaid recliner in the corner. “Hi, Josephine.”
“Hi, Dad,” she says, accepting a quick hug from him before she motions to me. “This is Nico.”
“Your fiancé,” he says, and I remove my baseball cap before shaking his hand.
I grin, proud. “That’s right.”
“Who didn’t ask me first.”
According to Jo, Ron Atkins has been a father to her in name only.
Doing the absolute bare minimum. Everything she’s told me about him reminds me of my father, the only difference is income.
My dad developed real estate, while Ron is the manager at a mail processing center.
They’re both workaholics under the guise of caring for their families, but really, they work so much to get away from the responsibility of caring for them.
Ron sweeps his gaze over me then says no more, sitting right back down. “I’m tired, so can you go ask your mom when dinner’ll be ready?”
“Sure.” Jo leads me to the kitchen, where Tonya sweeps around to us, a big smile on her face and a spoon in her hand.
“There you are. I’ve been waitin’ and waitin’.”
“Took the long way,” Lizzie adds, popping the top on a Coke before handing it to Waylon.
Tonya kisses Jo’s cheek and then mine. “Nice to see you again, Nico.”