Second To Me (The Herring Girls #2)

1. Jenna

Chapter one

Jenna

The fire alarm in my kitchen blares, the sound echoing through the walls of my apartment.

Smoke pours out of the oven, and the smell of burnt cupcakes singes the hairs in my nose. Leaping toward my couch, I grab the nearest throw pillow, and jump like a madwoman, waving it around in the air.

I need the deafening noise to just… stop.

When I’m nervous, I bake. And God , am I nervous right now.

I’ve been invited to attend the most prestigious award show in film and television history as an unnamed guest.

Why, you ask? Oh, you know, because I stupidly agreed to the job when the producer sought me out.

I was in a public place—I couldn’t say no.

Well, I could’ve, but little Baby Jenna, who dreamed of being on a movie set, would’ve kicked my ass.

Am I qualified to do the job? Probably on a technical standpoint, sure.

But three months of living in a tiny town where the closest bed of water is a murky creek? Gross.

I’ve nervously pooped at least twice since I put the cupcakes in the oven. The same cupcakes that are now burnt and of no use to anyone.

Not that I had someone to give them to.

I thought about giving one to Julius, the doorman of my apartment complex, but he rarely even looks my way, and I’ve lived here for years. Good thing they’re now inedible.

“Deep breaths!” I hear my best friend’s voice through the speaker of my phone. It snaps me out of my panic-induced trance. “This is a good thing, Jenna. It’s all you’ve ever wanted to do since I’ve known you. It’s what you were made for. Go, enjoy yourself, and worry about the rest of it tomorrow.” She smiles at me through the screen. “Besides, filming means being in Grangewood and being in Grangewood means being closer to me,” she says with a squeal.

When Cassandra lived in California, she and I used to live three song lengths away from each other. Then she got her heart broken and moved back home, turning those three song lengths into two and a half movie lengths by plane.

The distance felt impossible to deal with, and I hated it at first. But watching her find herself and rekindle a relationship she almost had in the past…it just made everything worth it.

“You’re right. This is my thing. I thrive at these types of events. Now, help me pick a dress.” I throw the pillow that was clutched to my chest back onto the couch, pick up my phone, her face taking over the entire screen, and make my way back to my bedroom.

“What about that black dress you always wear?” she asks. I’ve put on a New York Fashion Show type of performance for her to help me choose my outfit, but have been unsuccessful so far.

I guess I can blame her for the burnt baked goods.

This is my first ever real event as a guest and not just someone who styles the hair of celebrities walking the red carpet.

I want to make a good impression, so my outfit needs to be good enough for a double take, but not too good that it sparks conversation.

I plan to be in and out, and pull a Houdini before the night ends.

“Key word in that sentence there, C, is always. Because I always wear that godforsaken dress.” I sigh, taking it out of my walk-in wardrobe to admire it. ??Its skin tight, black satin, with fabric that bunches around my stomach and ass to give the textured look, but I bought it because the extra fabric disguises my tummy, and the dimples in my thighs.

“Sure, but no one that will be there tonight has seen you wear it.” She shrugs, taking a sip from her bottled water.

“You think? I feel like that dress is to be kept strictly for Becky Rogers’ weddings.” I laugh to myself. My mom could be married in a matter of months, so the dress needs to be kept pristine, or I won’t hear the end of it.

Though, I think she is single these days.

I make a mental note to call her and check in after Cassandra’s surprise wedding tomorrow, not that she’ll answer.

“She’s been married four times since my dad died, and each time she’s begged me to wear that dress. Like, a full on hands and knees grovel,” I say, laying it out on my bed, flattening it with my hands. The chances of me wearing it are pretty high.

It’s a stunning dress. It compliments my curves and hides the imperfections I was taught to hate.

“Married? Again ?” Cassandra’s eyes almost pop out of her head, while I sneak off camera to peel the purple, floor-length gown off my body. Shimmying into the tight fitted, cleavage inducing, black dress, I zip it up on the side.

“Yeah, again,” I shout back, slipping on a pair of red bottom, strapless heels. Wincing, I force the needle of my giant silver hoops to pierce through my almost-closed earring holes and apply a bright red lip that I almost wipe off just as quickly.

It’s okay to not always blend in, I remind myself with a shake of my head.

The red stays.

My ash blonde hair is up so high and pulled so tight, I’ll no doubt have a headache by the time the night is over. But that’s future Jenna's problem.

Tonight is about networking: meeting my new colleagues, letting my hair down—figuratively, of course — while drinking expensive vodka that I would usually steer clear of.

“Jennifer Rogers, you absolute smoke show!” Cassandra whistles with a grin spread wide across her face. “That is definitely the dress! Wingrove, don’t you think?” Harley, her boyfriend, pops over her shoulder with the same reaction.

“Go get ‘em Rogers,” he tells me, disappearing quickly, and I chuckle to myself at the way they’ve just made me blush. My best friend knows I don’t enjoy compliments at the best of times. They make me feel uncomfortable. But, internally, my mood always shifts when anyone praises me.

I’m just not used to compliments, so the pep in my step happens on the inside.

“Go get who?” I call out to him, only for his head to pop back into view. His eyes aren’t on me, though. They’re on a screen that I can’t see, presumably watching a sports game.

“I don’t know. Anyone. Just…someone, please . I’m the only dude in this group and believe it or not, I don’t love hearing constant gossip or watching bad reality TV about couples stranded in an expensive villa.” He rolls his eyes and Cassandra giggles, shooing him away.

Harley and Cassandra got together almost exactly a year ago, after her relationship with her ex went bust. The reason I know it’s been exactly a year is because tomorrow is their anniversary, and he’s planned a whole secret wedding for her as a surprise.

Just how she always wanted.

My bag is already packed and ready to go by my front door. All I have to do is remember my charger and toothbrush before I catch my flight first thing in the morning.

“Are you excited to be in Grangewood Creek in three weeks?” she asks me as I check my appearance one last time, unfortunately deciding that she’s right. This is the dress.

I just hate that it’s a constant reminder of my mom, and all the men she’s chosen to love, while I sat idly by waiting for her to love me, too.

There are three things in this world that my mom chooses : alcohol, men, and then me.

Mostly in that order, with numbers one and two alternating frequently.

It’s why her relationships never last.

Men marry her, thinking she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to them, and for a while, she is. But eventually they realize that her love for booze is stronger than anything she could ever feel for them.

Or me.

But I’ve grown used to it. It doesn’t affect me in the way that it used to.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

“Am I excited to do the whole small town living thing? No, not really,” I admit with a shake of my head. I love California and the life I live way too much to be away from it for three months. “But am I happy that I get to see you whenever I want?” I almost squeal. “You bet your sweet ass I am! I’m so fucking excited! I’ve hated not being as close to you as we were, just three song lengths away.” I huff, shoving all the necessary items into my tiny clutch before clipping it closed. “Not only do we get to be one song length apart for three whole months, our Thursday night catch-ups can finally be done in person, instead of FaceTime.” I chuckle lightly. Ever since she moved back home to Grangewood Creek, she and I haven’t missed a single Thursday. Not even when she and Harley first got together. He understood very quickly that we were each others platonic soulmates in this life, and has never once tried to come between us.

“And, I get to work on set for my dream job!” I try to sound enthusiastic about it, I do, but she can read me like a book. She can see that I’m putting it on, but she knows better than to push.

Ever since I was a kid, I would daydream about working on a movie set, but never in front of the camera. Not because I didn’t have the face for it, but because I just never liked that much attention on myself.

A room full of people staring at you, waiting for you to fuck up, and an arrogant man calling you out on it?

Hard pass for me.

But when my dad died and we could no longer afford our home, Becky and I were forced to move into a trailer park, and all of my dad’s life insurance money went to alcohol. My mom became a drunk not long after his death, and the options for schooling became limited. I did the best that I could with the cards I was dealt.

Once I’d graduated high school, I moved to California, signed myself up for beauty school, and never looked back. I was about to start my second year of classes when my mom called me, asking for money. “I went into your room, but all of your stuff was gone,” she’d said to me. She didn’t believe me when I told her I’d been gone for an entire year.

And even then, I kept telling myself that one day she would put me first.

That one day she would remember all the ways she loved me.

I hoped with every fiber of my being that I would eventually become a priority to her.

I’m still waiting for that day. Still holding out hope.

I visited her at one point, but she was too wrapped up in her new man to pay me any mind. She didn’t marry him, though, thankfully. He was a real thorn in my side and hit on me every chance he got. But she didn’t care. Things with them only ended when she realized he couldn’t afford to pay for her habits.

I’d known almost my whole life that I wasn’t important to Becky Rogers. When I had been gone for a month, two months, six, and then twelve without hearing a word from her, it became abundantly clear that the only person I could depend on to not let me down in this life was myself.

She’s your mom. She loves you, just in her own, non-maternal type of way.

So I did what any abandoned teenager would do: I found a shitty, tiny apartment above a cafe, stuck a flier up on the corkboard with ‘roommate wanted’ written in big, red letters, and my phone number attached beneath it.

I had a call from Cassandra the next day. She moved in three days later, and the rest, as they say, is history.

“I’m proud of you, Jen. This is a huge deal. I hope you lap it up tonight. Take in the life that could be yours in a matter of months.”

“I mean, it’s not that big of a deal. They could have picked any hairstylist to do the job.” I shrug it off like it isn’t a big deal.

“Don’t downplay your success. They sought after you because you’re who you are. I can guarantee they’re bragging about you to anyone who will listen. You’re the hottest hair stylist in the country, Jen. Remember that. No one else at your level would have accepted this job, and if I’m honest, I think you only did it because you owe it to teenage Jenna to try.” She smiles softly, blushing at her own words. Cassandra knows just how right she is and how what she’s just said has made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. But we both know I only accepted the job to be close to you again,” I tease, and she rolls her eyes.

“Have you changed your mind about staying with Harley and me while you’re here?” she asks, batting her eyelashes at me through the phone as if I’m the man she loves, and she’s desperate to get her way.

“No.” I shake my head. “The entire cast and crew are going to be staying at the old Mercury Hotel, remember?” I tell her, but it’s a little white lie. I just don’t want to live down the hall from newlyweds who are disgustingly in love, fucking each other’s brains out in their brand new home.

“Damn.” She sighs. “Well, I have to go. Harley says he has a huge surprise for our anniversary tomorrow. Apparently, it requires a full night’s sleep.” She giggles. “The black dress looks sexy on you. Don’t-let-anyone-in-your-panties-who-isn’t-worthy-of-you, Jenna!” she blurts out. It’s her way of ending the call quickly. I laugh as I lock my phone and slide it into my tiny clutch.

Checking the contents one last time, I make sure I have everything I need.

“Phone, keys, money, lipstick. Check, check, check and check.” I close it and lock the door behind me, stepping out into the warm, Californian air.

I feel the sun kissing my bare skin, already melting the makeup off my face, and I’m suddenly all too grateful that the production company sent a car to collect me.

The cool leather seats of the car grace my skin, and the partition is already raised to separate me from the driver. We take the journey to downtown L.A. with limited communication.

So far, the night is off to a good start.

I remind myself to let loose, and to set no expectations.

Enjoy yourself, my mind tells me on a loop, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing.