Chapter 26
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
“There’s no way,” Carla groaned for the third time that night.
Jack reached for the open bottle of wine and topped off her glass.
“Getting me drunk isn’t going to help,” she chastised, but reached for the glass anyway.
“It’s helping me,” said Jack, who had finally managed to forget the way his stomach plunged straight to the asphalt when the sedan disappeared. “Being drunk, I mean.”
Jack drove them back to the castle on the cliff.
White-knuckled it the whole way, stomach twisting into ever more complicated knots.
Carla sat in stunned silence, staring blankly at the road in front of them.
When they arrived at the house, she began pacing, shouting, waving her arms as she made laps around the basement.
For his part, Jack listened to her rant and kept watch for any nosy servants.
Finally, when she started to cry, he went and selected a bottle of wine from the shelf and uncorked it with the gusto of an inexperienced and overly enthusiastic waiter.
She laughed when it spilled down his shirt and all over the carpet, told him not to worry about cleaning up.
“It’s not like it’s going to matter,” she said.
“Which is why I picked the most expensive-looking blend,” said Jack, grinning conspiratorially.
She rolled her eyes and took a swig directly from the bottle. “Blends aren’t expensive, dummy."
They spent the next hour watching comedy skits and getting progressively drunker, until Carla remembered why she was upset and started pacing again.
“How are you so calm?” she demanded, fingers twisting in her hair. When her hands lowered to her side, her curls were mussed, wild. Jack felt a little lightheaded at the sight, but maybe that was just the wine.
He shrugged. “It’s not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.” Wine dripped over his fingers as he raised his glass. “Also, I’m pretty drunk.”
They were on their second bottle, and his words were beginning to slur. Only now did he realize that the couch was incredibly comfortable. The drone of the television was reassuring, Carla’s footsteps hypnotic. His eyelids drooped.
“Are you falling asleep?” she squawked, stopping in front of him.
Jack opened one eye. “Maybe.”
“How can you sleep? I feel like someone replaced my blood with electricity.”
“Maybe you aren’t drunk enough.”
“No,” she said, narrowly avoiding a collision with the coffee table as she stalked past. “That’s not it.”
“Too drunk?”
“I just saw a car going at least three hundred miles per hour. I’m not going to forget that any time soon.”
“Maybe next time he’ll slow down and yell at us,” Jack suggested.
Carla burst into tears. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d staggered to his feet and made his way over to her. “Hey, hey, it’s OK…”
“No, it isn’t!” she sobbed, spinning away from him. Tears ran in twin waterfalls down her face. “Nothing is OK! I’m not supposed to be here, you asshole! This fucking time loop ruined everything!”
“Whoa, hey,” said Jack, struggling to comprehend her words. “OK, so maybe it isn’t OK. Where were you supposed to be?”
Back home, he guessed, but the consternation in Carla’s gaze made his throat clench, his heart pound. Fuck, he was way too drunk for this. He should be napping right now, not trying to hold a serious conversation.
Carla collapsed onto the couch and draped her arm across her face. “I was supposed to be gone, Jack,” she groaned. “Don’t you get it?”
Forcing himself to take deep, measured breaths, he sat beside her. “Maybe you should tell me.”
She lifted her forearm to peer at him. “It was supposed to be a secret.”
A stab of dread. He watched her intensely, anticipating her next words. “You can trust me.”
“Yeah, I know.” Carla covered her eyes again. Another sob, loud enough to crack the house in half. “That’s the whole problem, Jack.”
“Um,” said Jack, glancing around for any potential eavesdroppers. But the basement was silent between Carla’s sobs. “Maybe I can help.”
“Maybe you could,” she said, weeping properly now. Great, shuddering sobs shook loose from her lungs. The couch quaked with the force of them. “But none of it matters now.”
Right. Jack struggled to think of a counterpoint. The wine left him slow and fuzzy, half-drowned in confusion and adrenaline. “We’re getting there.”
Carla sat bolt upright, looked him right in the eye.
He shuddered, didn’t dare break eye contact.
“Every morning, for a god damned eternity, I am going to have to listen to that foghorn fart and wake up knowing that I left him. I fucking left him, Jack. I packed up my bags, and I drove the fuck away from here, and I stayed in a hotel and drank champagne until I fell asleep, and then I woke up right back here. Right back here! And at first, I thought that maybe I dreamed it. So, I fucking left him again. And you know what happened? Do you know, Jack?” Carla panted, pinning him beneath her stare.
Holy fuck. She’d gone through with it. Hadn’t just dumped him but actually left him.
For one terrible moment, he felt tiny, helpless, lanced through with pity and sorrow. He ached for her. “You woke up here again,” he murmured, trying to keep his voice low, soothing. “God, that’s—Carla, I’m so sorry.”
“And the worst part is that he doesn’t even fucking know!
I left him, and he’s not angry, he’s not sad, he’s just completely clueless!
” With shaking hands, she snatched a pillow from the couch, lifted it to her face and screamed just once, shrill and short.
Then the pillow was back in her lap, and her eyes were on Jack, distraught, pleading.
“Carla,” he said and reached for her hand. Hesitated, wondering if he should touch her. But so often she seemed to want that, and he sensed now wasn’t the time to refrain. He grasped her small, manicured hand in his and said, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea things were so bad.”
“I told you I was gonna leave him,” Carla whimpered, shoving her face into his shoulder, clutching him like he was the only thing keeping her from flying away in a hurricane.
“I know,” Jack said, stroking a hand down her back. He was too drunk to offer anything more helpful. His head spun, his limbs were unsteady, and there was nothing he wanted less than to say the wrong thing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to think.”
“You didn’t believe me?”
“Lots of people say they’re going to leave their boyfriend or girlfriend.
That doesn’t mean they actually will,” he pointed out.
Once, at a job already half-forgotten, he’d had a desk near the water cooler.
He overheard everything. Drama, intrigue, despair.
A hundred colleagues all swore they’d leave their spouse or partner, and only one or two really followed through.
The rest, as far as he could tell, were only venting, determined to stay miserable, trapped in the same patterns day after day.
“I get it,” Carla huffed against his shoulder. “You don’t wanna wrangle with a mobster.”
Jack’s lips twitched with barely repressed laughter. “What gave you that idea?”
“You can hardly stand to be in this house, Jack. You act like someone’s gonna stick the barrel of a gun through a hole in the wall and shoot you.”
He frowned, rubbed a hand down her back in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “Yeah, I—the whole thing makes me uncomfortable. But I keep coming back every day, don’t I?”
“Yeah, because I’m the only person you can talk to.”
“That’s not true,” Jack scoffed. “I like you. I mean, yeah, you’re right—I want out of this and you’re the only person who can help, but I like you. I’m not going to leave you alone.”
“You like me?” Carla drew back to blink at him, mascara running down her face in great, black streaks.
A little laugh escaped him. “Yeah, of course I do. What’s not to like?”
“I dunno, Jack. Probably a lot.”
Alright, yeah, she could be a lot to handle.
Brazen, sharp-witted, a constant whirlwind of motion and ideas.
But she was also kind in her own way, and eager and dynamic, and it would lie for Jack to think he could ever get enough of her.
That some part of him wasn’t completely enamored by her wide eyes and sly grin.
“Whoever told you that you weren’t likable was lying. ”
“Argh.” Carla flopped back against the arm of the couch. “Like my sister?”
“Yeah,” said Jack, nodding. “If she said that, she’s wrong.”
She perked up at that. “But you do like me.”
“Yeah,” said Jack slowly. Had they just found the heart of the issue?
Should he draw back, away from Carla and her wild eyes, her wild life only just hidden by a veil of finery and wealth?
If he stuck around, so many things could go wrong.
She could change her mind. He could find himself on the wrong side of the mafia.
She might not be able to leave Ronnie, even if she wanted to.
But his gaze was drawn to her mouth, full and plush, tempting even amidst her tears.
It wasn’t the right thing to do. But nothing about this was right. Hadn’t been for over a month now.
And if they did something they regretted, well, would it even matter tomorrow?
He moved toward her, until they were mere inches apart.
Carla’s breath hitched, and Jack started to draw back, but she caught him by the lapel, lacquered nails glinting in the dim light.
“If you were about to do what I think you were,” she said, staring at him with an intensity feverish enough to catch them both on fire, “then don’t you dare stop. ”
So he lunged forward, caught her mouth against his, tasted the salt of her tears and the faint traces of her berry lipstick.
Her lips parted. Their tongues clashed. The hand clutching his lapel dragged him closer until they were flush against each other, chests heaving, hands roaming amidst fabric and skin.
When they parted for breath, she smirked at him, traced her fingers down his chest. Heat shot to his core. He caught her hand in his, stilling its path, torn between desire and regret. “I knew you liked me more than you wanted to admit,” she said, and the corners of her mouth tilted upward.
“Yeah,” Jack said, astonished at the wave of affection that rolled through him. “You’re right. I do.”
“What took you so long?”
Jack hummed. “I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea.”
She frowned. Reached to wipe the mascara from her cheeks. “Why not?”
“Because…” Jack groaned. “All the reasons we just talked about. And I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to.”
“Yeah.” She rolled her eyes. “You need a lot of direction. I’ve noticed.”
“I’m trying to be respectful,” Jack protested.
She grinned back at him. “Oh, I know what you’re trying to do. And I’m trying to tell you that it’s gonna be OK.” Her hand caught in his hair, tugged lightly.
“You have a boyfriend,” Jack reminded her, uneasy again.
“And I’m gonna leave him if I ever get out of this fucking time loop,” Carla growled.
“What if you can’t away from him? What if he keeps chasing you?”
“You think I haven’t learned a few things? You think my life has ever been easy? Baby, I’ve been dodging shady men since I was a teenager. Ronnie and his crew can choke on my dust.”
Something dark and foreboding settled in Jack’s stomach, eclipsing any arousal he might’ve felt moments earlier. “What happened?”
Carla shrugged. “I used to get a lot of unwanted attention. I started dancing at clubs when I was way too young. Had a lot of interest, if you know what I mean. Some of it wasn’t good.”
“Stalkers?” Jack guessed.
“Yeah, and perverts,” Carla said, brushing hair behind her ear. She sighed. “I guess it’s a good thing you aren’t pushy. I think I like that about you. Most men jump at the chance to kiss me. You fucking hesitated.”
At last, he’d done something right. “I don’t want to jump you without your permission,” he said. “It’s only common decency.”
“Yeah,” Carla rolled her eyes again. “You’d be surprised how many men don’t have it.”
Jack wouldn’t, actually. Had overheard enough locker room talk to know otherwise. “Listen, I—”
“Oh my god,” she groaned, throwing her head back in exasperation. “I’m tired of talking. Come over here and kiss me, already.”
Jack was only too happy to oblige.
He woke in a daze to sunlight streaming beneath the curtains, the phone ringing relentlessly in his ear.
Carla was gone.