Chapter 5 Jessie
Jessie
Click.
That’s not the sound I want to hear when I turn the key in my SUV. I try three more times with the same result before tapping my head a few times on the steering wheel, cursing.
I can’t catch a fucking break.
My week couldn’t get any worse. Trey moved in two days ago, and I’ve been able to avoid him for the most part, but sharing my space with someone has been a change, to say the least. I’ve never lived with anyone but Gran.
I grab my phone and dial Kacey. It rings, but I get no answer. Same result when I try Carson, then Lainey, and lastly Cody, Kacey’s Dad and my last-ditch effort. Not a single one of them picks up. I swallow the lump in my throat like I do every time I remember what a mess my life is.
I can figure this out, I always do. I open my Uber app and try to mentally calculate how much money I have in the bank.
Right as I figure out how much money I don’t have, a call comes in from Trey.
He is the last person I want to talk to right now, but I pick up the call in case it’s an emergency.
Plus, talking to him is better than the Uber app declining my card. But only slightly better.
“Please tell me you didn’t set my house on fire.”
He scoffs. “I’m hurt, not a walking catastrophe. I’m at the hardware store. What color doorknobs you want inside the house. Black, silver, or bronze?”
“You’re what?” I sputter. “You’re not buying doorknobs.”
“Either you pick or I do. The closet doorknob literally fell off in my hand.”
I cringe. I forgot it did that. “Fine, black. But it’s not coming out of your rent. I didn’t ask you to do this.”
“Bronze it is. Better be careful talking so sweet to me, or I’ll get the impression you like me.”
“I said black,” I growl.
He chuckles. “I know. I just like to irritate you.”
“And in your dreams. You’re like my least favorite person.”
“Ooh, are we the enemies-to-lovers trope? That would be so fun.” I hear him checking out at the hardware store.
I wonder how he even knows what book tropes are, but I ignore his comment. Taking a deep breath, I swallow my pride and admit defeat. “Since you’re close . . . can I catch a ride back to the house?” Every ounce of me hates that I have to ask him this.
“Yeah, I can do that. Are you at the hospital? Too tired to drive?” His tone turns serious.
I open my door and climb out, heading back inside to wait. “No, I’m at my gran’s. I’ll drop you a pin.” I hang up as I walk through the door.
Gran turns from where she sits in her chair, white hair perfectly styled in ‘80s vintage rolls, her classic bedazzled grandma-style top nearly blinding me. “Forget something?”
I throw myself back onto the couch with a huff. “No. Car won’t start. Waiting for a ride.”
“Oh, dear. You’re more than welcome to take my car.” She sets her sewing project down.
As much as I need a car, I don’t want to take hers. She still picks up her meds and groceries, and even drives to bingo once a week. She looks forward to her few outings each week, and I want that for her.
“That’s okay, you need it. I’ll figure it out. I have a ride coming for now.”
“You know it’s okay to ask for help sometimes, Jessie. You do so much for me and work so many extra shifts at the hospital. It’s okay to need help sometimes.”
“I know,” I half-heartedly mumble.
Gran knows me better than anyone. She knows I’m fiercely independent and hate asking for help.
But I did need Gran’s help. There’s no telling where I would’ve ended up if it wasn’t for her.
Probably as messed up as my so-called “parents.” After Gran picked me up and took me home, I never had to go back to the shack my dad called a house.
I remember long days hiding in the garage or outside, trying not to be noticed.
Like all drug houses, people came and went at all hours of the day and night, and a child was a nuisance.
I quickly learned to fend for myself, and that included food and clothing.
I stole my first pair of shoes from the dollar store when I was seven.
Going to school hungry, in clothes that didn’t fit, with unwashed hair became my normal.
I didn’t have any friends until one day a blonde-haired little girl who loved to talk about horses decided we were friends.
And we’ve been best friends ever since. In a way, Kacey saved me before Gran did.
Some days, the only food I ate was the lunch she shared with me.
The lunches I noticed kept getting bigger the longer she shared—no doubt her mom caught on quick and started packing her extra.
But once I moved in with Gran, it all changed.
My red tangles were washed and brushed daily, I never went hungry again, and I always had clothes that fit.
She let me pick out paint colors and posters for my room.
We did crafts, gardened, and baked together.
Gran came to all my school events, hosted epic sleepovers, and told me how much she loved me every single day.
No one had ever told me they loved me until she did.
Once I graduated high school, I went straight to nursing school, determined to make something of my life.
And I did. I was the first person in my family to graduate college and got a job at our local hospital.
I might owe a butt ton in student debt, but I did it.
I just wish I still loved my job now as much as I did the day I started.
Knock, knock.
The sound snaps me out of my thoughts. I heave myself off the couch to answer the door.
“Your chariot awaits, my lady,” is the first thing the goofball says. The sound of his voice gets Gran’s attention.
“Well, you’re not Kacey.”
Trey peers around me into the house. “No, ma’am. I’m Jessie’s new roommate, Trey.”
Fuck. I close my eyes and sigh. I hadn’t told her.
Gran stands from her chair, shooting me a look that says, “We will discuss this later.”
“So, you’re the famous Trey. Come in, come in.”
I block the doorway. “That’s okay, we need to get going—”
She silences me with a hard look.
Trey’s lips curve. “Famous, huh?” He moves past me to greet Gran. “Trey Bennett. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He takes his hat off and shakes her hand.
I roll my eyes. What a suck-up.
Gran knows who Trey is—she’s heard Kacey and me mention his name in stories. But since he went back to Texas over the holidays, she didn’t meet him at the annual Hart Christmas gathering.
“Dorothy,” she says.
I snort. I’m sure her friends call her that, but I never hear anyone call her Dorothy. Even Carson gave up and started calling her Gran years ago.
She ushers Trey into the kitchen, and I drag my feet, following them.
“Would you like something to eat or drink?” she asks Trey. She’s already pulling snacks from the fridge, followed by a glass from the cabinet.
I watch Trey’s gaze track her, realizing it’s already happening. “Sure, that would be great.”
“Good. No one goes hungry around here.”
My throat tightens as I pull out a chair and sit.
My stomach growls so loud I worry I’ll get caught if it doesn’t stop. I tiptoe through the kitchen towards the fridge. Mommy is asleep on the couch, and there is a man I don’t know smoking something next to her; it stinks. Thankfully, I haven’t seen Dad in almost a week.
I slowly open the fridge. I’m so hungry.
I’ve only eaten part of Kacey’s lunch the last two days.
There were more people here than normal.
Mommy has a lot of friends. I was scared to come inside because sometimes they are mean to me.
I slept in the garage and drank out of the hose in the backyard for the last two nights.
My choices are slim, as they always are.
A box of old Chinese takeout—there’s no telling how long it has been here.
I push it aside and crack open the pizza box, hopeful; I love pizza.
Sometimes Kacey’s mom packs her pizza, and she always shares with me.
Kacey has been the only good part about first grade.
There is something fuzzy growing on the edges of the two slices left.
Frustrated, I shut it and move to the Styrofoam takeout box that wasn’t there a few days ago.
Inside are some fries and half a cheeseburger.
It will have to do. I just hope it isn’t bad.
I’ve thrown up what I’ve eaten out of this fridge more than once.
I snag the box and close the fridge, sneaking down the hallway toward a bedroom.
Kacey has talked about how her mommy painted her room blue and it has horse posters and stuffed animals, but I don’t think I have a room.
I know I don’t have stuffed animals. With only my mommy and the man here tonight, I decide to risk sleeping in a bed.
It’s starting to get cold out at night and—
“Jessie?”
My head snaps in Trey’s direction. I think he asked me something.
He glances into the kitchen at my gran, who’s occupied setting cookies out onto a plate. “You okay?” His brows draw together, and there is a softness in his eyes.
“Um, yeah. I’m fine. Just tired.” I blink the glassy sheen from my eyes.
He doesn’t buy it, I can tell. But it doesn’t matter, Gran is returning to the table with her cookies, and this isn’t a conversation I will ever have with him.
In the next half hour, Trey all but has Gran admitting her undying love for him. It’s infuriating how charming he is. Men who look like him should have horrible personalities. It’s not fair to the rest of society.
“No, I swear, I rode an ostrich once,” he tells her.
She cackles, having more fun than I’ve seen her have in years. “Why in the world would you do that?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “They were looking for volunteers, and I said to myself, ‘Self, you ride bulls. How hard can it be?’ Turns out it’s pretty hard . . . and they bite.” He shudders at the memory.
Gran laughs harder, and I can’t stop myself from cracking a smile.
When we finally make our way to the door, Gran pulls Trey in for a hug. I can barely hear her when she whispers, “Watch out for my girl, will you? I worry about her.”
Trey whispers something back I can’t hear.
They pull apart and Gran says, “You’re a good young man.”
“Thanks, Dot.” He smiles.
I freeze. No one calls her that. Not since Gramps passed. I never knew him, but she’s told me tons of stories. Her eyes glass over and she presses her hand to her heart. “No one has called me that since my Edward passed.”
“Oh, I’m sor—”
“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. You can call me that anytime; reminds me of him.” A soft smile crosses her face.
“Alright, Dot. I’m going to take Jessie home, but I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”
He’s so kind to her. Butterflies fill my stomach, but I stomp them down, crushing them under my metaphorical boot. There will be no butterflies for Trey Bennett.
He opens the truck door for me, and I climb in. When he gets in, he casually says, “You can drive my truck to work tomorrow. Knox can come help me get your car, and I’ll take a look at it. I’m good with vehicles.”
“No, it’s okay. I’ll figure it out.”
“It’s not a question, Jessie. I can fix your car cheaper than any shop in town, and I literally have nothing else to do. Let me help you.”
Gran’s words flash back to me. You know it’s okay to ask for help sometimes, Jessie.
“Okay. Thank you. But I’m paying for the parts and don’t think I need you running to my rescue all the time. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”
“Aw. Jessie, you’re cute when you’re feisty. Don’t worry, I can’t run anywhere right now. Best I can offer you is a brisk walk.” He winks before slipping on his sunglasses and putting the truck in drive.
We’re pulling onto the street when he says, “I’m going to turn off the radio. I don’t want you getting any ideas.”
I punch him in the shoulder—hard.
He just laughs, which unfortunately, has me laughing.
I know I can’t sing for shit, and I don’t even care that he’s pointing it out. I’ll just use it to torture him now.