CHAPTER EIGHT #2
He made it up and down that slant countless times, always stopping inches short of the gutter.
Until he didn’t. And I wound up in the emergency room at twenty, trying to make medical decisions for an unconscious asshole.
One with a broken collar bone, half a shattered rib cage complete with fragments of bone coming out of his skin.
An ass with a smashed knee, possible brain damage and multiple organs bleeding internally.
And I was the one left to decide his fate.
All because his parents couldn’t be reached and somehow people never did fail to see me as a responsible adult even when I barely was one.
“It didn’t end well. He was in the hospital for three weeks, and Lena had nightmares for months after.” She’d seen the whole thing. So had Trent.
They’d both promised to rein Jovi in after that.
When I turn to glance at Holly, her eyes are wide and her mouth is agape. “Tell me he’s at least grown up a bit since then. I mean, he can’t still be that reckless if your sister and her husband left their business in his hands hoping he’d keep it profitable and supporting their children, right?”
I sigh, all the tension sweeping out of my hands and landing like a brick in the pit of my stomach.
“Truthfully? I have no idea who he is now. In the last ten years he's turned his father’s three bars into seven, four of them complete with concert venues. So he must have some level of latent responsibility. And he’s always shown up for my sister and Trent without fail.
Whatever he lacks in sense, the guy more than makes up for in loyalty.
” I shrug. “Hopefully, that will be enough.”
JOVI
It's been two days since I cleared out Trent's office. I spent all of yesterday painting the place, hoping a night of airing it out would be enough to clear the paint fumes before moving my things in today. I was right. More or less.
When I come out of the barn, the sun has traveled from one side of the property to the other and started making her descent behind the trees.
After dedicating a good chunk of my afternoon to making the small space as comfortable as I can, I'm finally getting around to taking Trent's tray of abandoned mugs back up to the house.
I avoided checking in with Liz the last few days. I didn’t want to know when she was on the road. So I’m caught off guard to see her beat-up old Honda sitting parked outside as I approach the house.
I don’t know which part I find most unsettling. The fact she still drives that old piece of shit, and it still managed to get her here, or that she’s here at all.
“So, you’re the hot disaster Liz is being forced to partner with for the next year,” an unfamiliar voice calls out to me from my right. When I turn my head, the body attached to it is quite the contrast.
Where her vocals are big and booming, this woman is tiny and downright fragile looking. Everything about her is delicate and pristine, from her soft blonde curls to her lavender nails ending in points and adorned with gemstones.
Heels like toothpicks that look like they ought to break out from under her, click over the ground as she marches toward me. Her fancy shoes stomp into the gravel driveway with every determined step.
I suppress a laugh at the sight. Then I remember what she said. “I’m the disaster? I’m sorry, have you met Liz?”
The tiny woman puffs herself up in front of me as if she could somehow inflate enough to be intimidating.
She can’t. “I happen to be her best friend. And after all the stories I heard about you on the drive down here, I’m pretty sure you’re the disaster in this bizarre twosome.
” She tilts her head to peer up at me and smirks.
“A damn fine one, but a disaster nonetheless.”
My nose twitches involuntarily. Liz’s friends don’t normally hit on me. Insult me, sure, but the flirting is a first.
Another first, an attractive woman expressed interest in me and I’m going to ignore it. “Liz’s stories are skewed. And even if they weren’t, it wouldn’t change the fact that Liz is still a train wreck in comparison.”
“Liz,” the woman starts, hands moving to her hips indignantly, “is no train wreck.”
“Right.” I move the tray I’m holding to my other hand. I guess we’re doing this. “So, she no longer keeps a spare key under her back bumper because she locks herself out of her car on the regular?”
“Recognizing her shortcomings and planning for them just proves she’s responsible.”
“Uh-huh.” I’m only getting started. “I suppose you’d also consider her responsible for counting detention as part of her high school schedule and always planning to stay an hour after classes, since she wound up there nearly every damn day of her senior year.”
“No way.”
“Yes, way.” I was usually there with her, and always for worse reasons, but that’s not the argument I’m trying to make here.
“Every day, like clockwork, she’d show up to her AP English class, be there for maybe ten minutes before Mister Diamonti said something to piss her off.
She’d talk back, they’d argue, she’d get sent to the principal’s office and then she’d get handed her detention slip. ”
Diamonti really was an ass. And I’m sure he had it coming every time she went off on him. Kind of think our principal thought so too, given she never doled out more than detention despite Liz’s frequent visits. “Fucking nut job still managed to get an A in that class.”
“I really don’t appreciate you calling my friend a nut job.” She sniffs. And I kind of think she knows I’m right.
“Speaking of, how long have you two been friends?”
The tiny woman squares her shoulders. “About three years.”
“How’d you two meet?”
“I’m one of her models.”
“Oh, so you work together? This relationship is mutually beneficial in a financial sense?”
She tilts her head slightly, mouth twitching like she can sense the trap about to snap shut on her. “Yes.”
I nod. “That explains why you’re still friends.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I sigh, stepping past her to start for the house again.
I’m tired of standing out here with a tray full of half-empty coffee mugs and a little angry lady who already knows I won the argument.
“It means Liz has commitment issues and can’t maintain any relationship for more than six months.
According to her, that’s about how long it takes before people show their true colors.
And, also according to her, she doesn’t like most people’s true colors.
” I look over my shoulder to make sure her friend is keeping up with me.
“But really, she’s just fucked up from her mom leaving when she was little. ”
“You’re saying her childhood trauma-induced fear of abandonment is the reason you consider her a train wreck?” she scoffs.
“No, I agree, it’s a legit fear to have.
What makes her a train wreck, is being an adult, knowing she has this emotional baggage, and instead of going back to therapy, she chooses to decorate her bag of emotional damage, carry it around with pride, and stuff more shit in it every chance she gets.
” I reach the front porch and stop. “And don’t go thinking I’m talking shit about her behind her back either.
She’s well aware I’m as fucked in this deal as she is. ”
Her nose crinkles and a moment later she extends her hand. “I’m Holly, by the way.”
I shift the tray around to meet her gesture. “Jovi. But you already knew that.”
She nods, the corners of her mouth pulling into a smirk. “I did know that.” She releases my hand and points ahead like she’s giving me permission to finally go inside. “What I didn’t know, is how stupid in love you are with her.”
My mouth flies open but nothing comes out, too stunned to argue but shocked enough to want to respond.
She flashes her green eyes at me and grins. “Guess it’s a good thing Liz can’t escape you now either.” Then she saunters past me and through the front door, taking her insane theories with her.