CHAPTER TWENTY

Why the hell didn’t she call in sick? Should have bit the bullet and lived with the guilt of taking two days off in a row. Yeah, she would have owed Monica her firstborn in return for subjecting the poor woman to Reg for that many continuous hours.

Preferable to faking it that she had her shit together. She stared glumly at her computer screen. Not that I’ll ever have a firstborn, seeing how I’m going to be a bitter spinster the rest of my life. Monica would have to settle for a case of booze. Probably more welcome anyway.

Shit knows she’d welcome some right now. Too bad she didn’t have a flask on her. Could have snuck down to the convenience store on the corner and picked up some hooch. Might as well seal this day as being the worst one in her life by becoming the official office drunk.

Her phone pinged with an incoming message. She jerked her focus toward it, the traitorous spark of hope sputtering to a merciless death as soon as she spotted the bill reminder from her cellular provider. The misery camped out in her gut got busy pitching a tent. Clearly it was in for the long haul.

She’d known damn well Jack wouldn’t call her. He had no intention of begging her to come back. He didn’t feel like his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

He didn’t love her.

Although it was nothing but the truth, letting those words bloom in her head felt like a sucker punch. Her heart was down for the count. Nothing would revive that lonesome loser.

Dropping her elbows onto her desk, she hunched her shoulders forward, battling the crushing tide of defeat. The familiar drone of the office surrounded her. Muted chatter. The occasion click of a keyboard. A phone ringing in the distance. All reminders that life went on. Today was no different than yesterday. Only it was. Today was the day she gave up the fantasy of her and Jack.

For good.

~*~

The next two hours she feigned a passing ability to get her work done and mostly succeeded. Still, when twelve o’clock rolled around, she was more than ready to blow the popsicle stand that was her claustrophobic cubicle. Unfortunately—and uncharacteristically, where she was concerned—she possessed absolutely no appetite. That status quadrupled when she exited the elevator and contemplated the forthcoming conversation with Marissa and Sid.

She didn’t want to talk about any of this. If it was up to her, she wouldn’t say a damn thing. But sooner or later they were going to find out what happened, particularly since the wedding was only a couple of days away. Better they found out from her.

Here’s the thing with good intentions. They made a nasty habit of shuffling for the door the moment they were called up for duty. A hard knot of tension wedged against her sternum, she made her way toward their table. One glance at Marissa’s slightly greenish pallor and her own boatload of troubles bobbed toward the distant shore. “You look like shit.”

Groaning weakly, Marissa slumped lower in her seat. “I shouldn’t have given into the extra glass of wine. I’m so done with this stupid detox.”

Sid rubbed Marissa’s shoulder. “It’s beyond me why you went on it to begin with. You’re the last person at this table who needs it.” Her mouth twitching, Sid slid her focus up to Jane. “My system wouldn’t know what to do without fifty million grams of carbs, fats, and sugars getting loaded into it daily.”

“I’d probably keel over dead.” She plopped into the chair across from Sid and Marissa and shoved her purse aside. A full thirty seconds ticked by of her besties intently staring at her. Crap. Had she let something slip that she wasn’t aware of? Maybe she’d put a tad too much relish on that whole keeling over dead thing. Unable to take another second of their mute goggling, she averted her gaze.

Sid broke the silence first. “Blink twice if aliens have taken over your body.”

Frowning, she jerked her attention back to her friend. “What?”

Eyes wide, Marissa leaned toward Sid. “She didn’t blink. Good Lord, what does this mean?”

Sid stroked her chin. “The alien zombie apocalypse is nigh.”

With massive effort on her end, she attempted to decipher whatever weird code they were speaking. Finally, she gave up. “What the hell are you guys babbling about?”

“It’s been at least a minute and a half and you haven’t snitched anyone’s food.” Features etched with shock, Marissa waved to Sid’s plate. “Do you not see these chili cheese fries? Who are you and what have you done to Jane?”

“I don’t want any of the damn fries.” She rubbed her temple, agony a frothing beast consuming her. “Fucking kill me now if this is all I have to look forward to.”

Concern washed over Sid’s face. “Uh oh.”

Marissa appeared equally worried. “What happened?”

“Nothing.” She caught the apparent disbelief swimming in her BFFs’ gazes and knew she wouldn’t be able to keep the ugly tangle of her emotions confined to the closet. An invisible vise constricting her chest, she spit out the words before they could burrow in their protective hidey-hole. “I broke up with Jack.”

Her friends gaped at her. After the second longest awkward silence in recorded history, Marissa slid on a frown. “I don’t understand. Things were going great between you two. You both looked so happy last night...”

“Yeah, well, apparently telling a guy you love him ruins a party even faster than hiring Gallagher to man the dessert bar.” She sent Marissa a pleading look. “Could we please not talk about this anymore?”

“But—”

“I mean it. Somehow I have to get through the rest of this day. The next three days, if you want to get technical about it. If I dwell on any of this I’m going to fucking lose it.”

“Keeping it bottled up isn’t going to help,” Sid pointed out. “Trust me, been down that road and ended up sick as a dog as the consolation prize.”

Only Sid and her Kink Geeks had worked everything out and were building a lasting future together. Same with Marissa and Trig. Jane was the only one at this table who couldn’t make a romantic relationship stick for longer than a month, and that was a damn record for her.

Bottom line, she couldn’t pour her heart out to her friends, no matter how much she loved them. They wouldn’t understand what it was like being her. Marissa and Sid didn’t keep their vulnerabilities in a lockbox.  They had their shit together way more than she did. Seriously, it was one of the greatest mysteries in life why they put up with her. One thing that wasn’t a mystery—they’d clearly gotten the bum end of this whole friendship deal where she was concerned. She pushed out a sigh. “I know I come across like I don’t give a fuck half of the time, but I do. A lot.”

Marissa reached across the table and took her hand. “We already knew that. You weren’t fooling anybody.”

“I know. It’s just...it hurts too much right now.”

Sid grabbed her other hand and squeezed. “We’re here for you whenever you’re ready to talk.”

Damn it, she would not cry. Blinking back the despicable tears, she leaned forward and three-way hugged her besties. From the corner of her eye, she spied the group of businessmen ogling them. She wasn’t remotely tempted to get up to her usual antics of supplying the perverts with some pseudo-lesbian action.

Yep, she was definitely broken.

~*~

By one p.m. the concept of sticking it out the remainder of the day wasn’t a fallacy she could continue clinging to. Biting the bullet, she pleaded a spontaneous case of food poisoning to her supervisor and then stopped by Monica’s desk with the stack of reports needing to be dropped off.

“Have an amazing time this weekend.” Monica tossed her a wink as she scooted out of the cubicle. “Do everything I wouldn’t do. Because God knows my life is boring as hell these days.”

“My bail money is being collected as we speak.” It was a pitiful lie, but she couldn’t live with shouldering the disappointment of her coworker on top of everything else. From the sound of Monica’s ribald chuckle, she fell for the con.

One person down, roughly two hundred more to go. Thankfully, she didn’t have to fool Marissa and Sid. They would have been impossible to scam. Family would be tough, though not out of the question. Everyone else at the wedding would be a piece of cake.

Except for one person.

Stomach twisting, she shoved Jack out of her head and escaped into the hallway. She made it all the way down to the lobby before caving to the obsessive compulsions of her fucked up psyche. Last night played like a continuous reel through her mind. Only this time she wasn’t merely stuck on the boiling anger and hurt of him skipping out on her. She could have handled that mental replay. What she didn’t need? The memory of his hands, mouth, and cock shattering her with bliss. Or the way he’d held her afterward, like he never wanted to let her go. That, of course, had lasted about two hot seconds.

Why couldn’t they go back to that pinpoint in time? Why did all this other bullshit have to get in the way?

If you hadn’t brought love into the equation you wouldn’t be miserable right now. The two of you could be boinking your brains out.

Damn it, no. She was done settling. Her inner Skankarella would simply have to deal with this new facet of her existence.

She made the long trek across the parking lot to her convertible. The trapped air inside the vehicle hovered somewhere between eyelid melting and roast Satan’s balls off. She buzzed the window down and fanned the worst of the offending heat with her bag before pitching it toward the passenger seat. Satisfied the coast was as clear as she’d get it, she ducked behind the wheel. She reached for her seatbelt just as the sappiest song in creation blasted through the speakers—The Sweetest Thing I’ve Ever Known. “Oh, you have got to be shittin’ me.”

Her hand automatically shot for the tuner knob, but Juice Newton and her damn sunshine, rain, and sweet love of a lifetime sank their devil claws into her like the sadistic bastards they were. By the time the chorus kicked in she was alternating belting the lyrics out and sobbing, “Goddamn you, Juice Newton. Damn you to hell.”

Clearly not one of her finer moments.

Knuckling her drippy nose, she stretched out her free hand toward the box of tissues she kept wedged between the seats. A dude sat in the SUV across from her, his incredulous expression hinting that he wasn’t overly impressed with her duet with Juice. Holding her head high, she honked her nose loudly into the wad of tissue before flipping him the bird and reversing out of her spot.

The twenty-five-minute drive home awarded her a brief reprieve from the aggravating turmoil of her thoughts. Damn good thing too, because she required all the sorely-needed calmness she could muster to survive the fresh hell she’d rolled up on.

Stifling a groan, she hit the brakes next to her parent’s 1978 Winnebago Chieftan. On the bright side, it sounded like they’d gotten the air conditioner fixed. Her condo community wouldn’t be facing a three-day buzz from the constant flow of ganja and patchouli floating through the windows.

She climbed from her car and slammed the door shut with her hip. Crossing to the RV, she rapped on the window. No way in hell she’d risk an unannounced visit after the last horrific incident of busting in on her folk’s naked yoga session.

The door popped open and her grinning pops scooped her up into his arms for a giant bear hug. “Janie.”

Despite her best attempts to curb the fresh flood of tears, she failed miserably. At least they were the good kind of tears this time. “Daddy.” She returned his hug fiercely. Yeah, her parents drove her fucking nuts, but she loved the damn hippie freaks with every bit of her heart.

He spun sideways and planted her feet down on the ugly shag carpeting. It was the same lovely shade as dog poop. Or basically any kind of poop. Grimacing, she inched closer to the couch. “When are you going to let me redecorate this hunka junk for you?”

“What are you talkin’ about? She happens to be a classic. Like your old man.”

Rolling her eyes, she plopped down onto the sofa. At least it was the color of avocados and not dog poop. Definitely a step up. “Where’s mom?”

“She took some brownies over to your neighbors.”

Uh oh.

“They were the paleo ones,” her dad amended, apparently intercepting her train of thought. “We hoard the good stuff. Want one?”

She motioned impatiently with her hand and he shuffled to the kitchen. Screw it. After the day she had, she was damn well splurging. If she was extra lucky, the Mary Jane might make the kale her mom was undoubtedly going to force on her later slightly more tolerable. “How was the drive?”

“Fantastic. We had enough time to stop at that cafe in West Rapids.”

She racked her brain, trying to conjure the joint he might be referring to. The potential candidates were numerous and weirdly eclectic, seeing how her mom’s superpower was the ability to sniff out bizarro eating establishments. The woman didn’t even require Yelp or the Yellow Pages. “The place with the attached taxidermy store or the one that sells commemorative Elvis salt and pepper shakers?”

“Neither. Petula’s Cafe is known for their veggie burgers.”

Huh. Sounded too normal for her parents. “That’s all?”

Her dad strolled back in her direction, a plate balanced in his hand. “Well, they do also have the world’s biggest collection of napkin art.”

She nodded. “My faith in you guys is restored.”

He copped a squat next to her and passed one of the treats over. “Here’s to a dad and daughter eating pot brownies together.” Didn’t take a stretch of the imagination to figure out which parent she got her inappropriate sense of humor from. Grinning, they tapped the corner of their fudgey squares together in a toast.

Before she could partake in so much as a nibble, the door swung open and her mom bustled inside. The woman took no more than two steps, and then hauled short, her wide-eyed stare pinned to Jane. “You’ve fallen in love.”

Brownie midway to her mouth, she gaped at her mom. How the hell does she know? The most likely answer narrowed her eyes. “I can’t believe Trig told you.” Forget a sock stuffed with quarters. She was going all in and getting a brick.

“He didn’t. It’s written all over your aura.” Her mom waved her hand like that should be plainly obvious. Tucking her linen tunic around her knees, she sat on the other side of Jane. Her beaming smile slowly disintegrated. “Something’s happened between you and your lover though.”

Jane grimaced. “Could you please not call him my lover? It’s making this conversation even more awkward than usual.”

Her dad cleared his throat. “Do I need to beat his ass?”

A sigh drifted from her mom. “Violence is never the answer, George.”

Hoping to dissipate some of her dad’s evident disappointment at not being able to bust out a can of whoop-ass, she patted his knee. “You can give Jack a plate of mom’s kale cookies this weekend. Nearly the same thing.”

Not the least bit offended by the substitution, Francis Campbell filched the uneaten brownie from Jane’s clutches and dropped it onto the plate, which she promptly handed over to George. “Dear, give us a moment.”

Her dad leaned closer and covered one side of his mouth. “I’ll make it a full dozen.” With that promise delivered, he obediently hefted to his feet and bee-lined for the exit.

Jane stared after him helplessly. “Can’t the pot brownie at least stay?” The door closed behind him, killing her fragile hope of being vaguely stoned enough to get through the upcoming convo.

Francis sandwiched her hand between hers. “Sweetheart, what happened?”

“Nothing. It just didn’t work out for us.” She forced a shrug. “Why the hell would I want a relationship anyway? It’d only cramp my style.”

Her mom’s gaze remained unwaveringly locked with hers. “Jane Louise, you may be able to fool others, but this is your mother you’re talking to.”

Shit. It never boded any good whenever Francis busted out the middle name treatment. The next step would probably involve chakra healing and medicinal drumming. Which would naturally lead to Jane remembering the time Jack played her ass like a pair of bongos. Then she’d start dwelling on how much she already missed him, with her entire heart and soul. And that was a pothole-riddled road she didn’t want to travel down.

She pulled the nearby toss pillow onto her lap and fidgeted with one of the corner tassels. “Okay, I might have wanted it to work out.” Hating how small her voice sounded, she cleared her throat and tried again. “I might have wanted it to work out a lot.” Damn it, the extra wobble on that last word did diddly squat to improve the situation. She sniffled as Francis cradled her in her arms and stroked her hair, the soothing touch opening the floodgate quarantining her tears. There really was no substitute for the loving comfort of a mom. Even if hers did smell like a Grateful Dead concert. “Is it supposed to hurt this much?”

“Yes. That’s how you know it’s love. If it doesn’t hurt, your heart wasn’t truly involved.”

“Love fucking sucks balls.”

“Sometimes it does, sweetheart. And sometimes it’s the greatest gift in the world. Don’t let this stop you from giving your heart to someone again.”

“No way.” She jerked her head up and furiously scrubbed her sleeve across her damp cheek. Great, now she had freakin’ mascara on her blouse. Grimacing, she transferred her focus to her mom. “I’m never loving anyone ever again. And I’m sure as hell not telling a man how I feel about him. Period. End of story.”

“Ah. You told him you love him and he got cold feet and broke it off?”

“No, I broke up with him.”

Her mom remained quiet for an endless moment while she eyed her intently. The shrewd silent treatment unnerving, Jane hugged the toss pillow to her chest. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Jane Louise, I’m going to ask you something and you better be honest with me.”

Two middle name drops in a span of minutes. This wasn’t good. Why couldn’t her dad have left the damn pot brownie? “Mom, I would never lie to you.” That lie earned her a raised eyebrow. She heaved a sigh. “Fine, I won’t lie to you this time.”

“Did you break it off because you admitted you love him?”

She gaped at her mom. “Why would I do that?”

“Because loving him scares the shit out of you.” Francis waved a hand the instant Jane opened her mouth to refute that statement. “Don’t try to deny it. Honey, I know you better than anybody. You hate being vulnerable about anything, and you can’t get any more vulnerable than giving your heart to someone.” Her gaze softened. “What did he say when you told him you love him?”

She dropped her stare to her lap and clasped her hands together. “Nothing. He couldn’t say it back. Because he doesn’t love me.”

“Did he specifically tell you that?”

“Well...no.”

“So you just assumed and you’re now putting words in his mouth for him?”

“Damn it, no.” She volleyed her mom’s calm reason with a glare. “You’re supposed to be taking my side in this.”

“Sweetheart, this isn’t about sides. This is about you. You can be your own worst enemy sometimes. I don’t want you shutting the door on a chance of happiness because you’re afraid.”

“I’m not the one doing the shutting. He is.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”

Her mom offered another of those long, evasive stares before patting Jane’s knee and pushing to her feet. “I’m going to check on your father. When he’s this quiet it usually means he’s snuck a bologna sandwich past me.”

Narrowing her eyes, she watched her mom skip out the door. She recognized a deliberate ploy when she saw one. Rather than stick around and argue, her mom had given her the last word. Which would naturally make Jane doubt every damn conclusion she’d drawn.

Except, she sure as hell hadn’t been the one running in the opposite direction of her not-quite-a-relationship with Jack. Even she wasn’t so fucked up to deliberately sabotage herself...

Right?

She scuffed her heel on the carpet, uncertainty an unpleasant taste in her mouth. Aw shit.

There were no ifs, and's, or buts about it. She was that fucked up. Massively so.

Groaning, she buried her face in the pillow. Tempting as it was to suffocate herself, it’d solve nothing. Plus she didn’t really relish the idea of her last moment on earth being relegated to her parent’s RV. Her luck, she’d end up haunting it. An afterlife of naked yoga and poop brown carpet? No fucking thanks.

She tossed the pillow aside. Sinking back on the couch, she transferred her stare to the ceiling. She couldn’t mute the damning truth that kept poking at her conscience. She’d faked sleep last night and rushed out on Jack this morning because she was afraid of his rejection. Instead of facing the possibility of him not loving her, she’d gone on the defense and ended things between them before he could. She’d even thrown one of his lines back at him just to stick that knife in a little deeper.

Yes, but he had all damn day to call you and beg you to come back. What does that tell you? Though it was an epic struggle, she gave her inner voice of logic a timeout in the corner. The point did have some validity to it, but she’d also left no open door for him. If she were in his shoes, would she be quick to pick up the phone? Yeah, that was a no-brainer. Not a chance.

“God, I’m such an idiotic asshole.” Heartsick all over again, she hugged her chest. She’d really blown it. There’d probably be no repairing this colossal mess. If he did have feelings for her, he was probably thanking his lucky stars that he got out—or rather, she pushed him out—before he doomed himself to the craziest piece of work on the planet.

She stared at the weird stain splotch on the ceiling, wisely choosing not to ponder over what it could be. Which left her mulling other difficult decisions. Like how she was going to fix her screw up. Right on cue, the maniacal butter churn revved up again. She didn’t want to do it. Didn’t want to stick her heart out there and face her fears head on. But she had to do it. She owed it to herself, and she owed it to Jack. Maybe she wouldn’t like what he’d have to say. Most likely she wouldn’t. But no more hiding from it.

Hands shaking, she pushed up from the couch and made her way to the door. Her parents were waiting for her outside, wearing twin expressions of hopeful encouragement. Evidently her dad had been filled in on what a blockhead she was. She cleared her throat. “You can cancel the dozen kale cookies.”

They both busted out the biggest damn smiles she’d ever seen. Her pops pulled her in for a fierce hug. “That’s my girl. Now go show him why he’d be a damn moron not to love you too.”

She hoped to God he was on to something there. Because she was about to put her heart in Jack’s hands again. This time there’d be no snarky parting shots.

This time there’d be no running away.