Chapter 10

 Janelle

 

Two Years later…

 

“This coffee tastes like piss!” A shrill voice screeches behind me.

“Damn right, baby,” the harpy’s husband replies. It’s a smoker’s voice, and he also sounds like he has half a pint of phlegm stuck in his throat. It makes me want to vomit. “Can we get another cup, darlin’?”

He’s talking to me, of course. I thought that when I left my old job and came here, to Maggie’s Diner, things would be different. It’s across town and a longer drive, but the hours are better, which means I get to spend more time at home with Max.

He’s two now and looks just like his father…the bastard.

Two years. Two years and not a single word from him. I saw him on TV, being a superstar, and I know he came back to town. But did he ever come and find me? Nope. Not once.

I kept the baby. I don’t know if it was the right or wrong decision, but it’s the only one I could make so I made it. I named him Max – not after anybody, just a name I like. And while Chris Mitchell might be the worst thing to ever happen to me in my life, Max is undoubtedly the best.

Watching him grow was the happiest I’ve ever felt. Watching him open his eyes for the first time, hearing his first cries, his first laughs, watching him sleep, speak, crawl and finally walk...I built a new life with him. A life I love.

I quit my old job and came to Maggie’s. It’s busier and they give me better hours, which means more money and more flexibility. I get to spend time with Max during the day, put him to bed at my mother’s in the evening while I work, and be there for him when he wakes up in the morning.

And then of course Max’s nap has become Max and Mommy’s nap.

“Coming right up,” I growl over my shoulder to the customers in the booth by the door. Maggie’s isn’t much different inside. One long room, a ‘50s-style diner with red stools at a chrome counter and red booths lining the wall that looks out onto the road. There’s an old-fashioned miniature jukebox at each table the kids always play with during the day, but here in the evening we mostly get truckers and their “dates.”

Strippers and hookers basically. I’m not sure which the girl is tonight that just yelped at me with a voice that could kill, and just might do me in if I don’t get a break tonight.

I bump the kitchen door open with my butt and step over to the grill. Brand shouts at me through the steam.

“Order up. Table six.”

It’s the dreadful table’s order and my brain instantly wonders, “What would happen if I dumped rat poison all over this!?”

You know it’s been a long night when homicidal thoughts start finding their way into your mind.

“Got it,” I say, trying to sound cheerful. I grab the burger and the meatloaf and balance them on one arm, and take the extra order of fries in the other hand. The smells are overwhelming tonight. It’s not as bad as when I was pregnant though. That was the worst. I swear I could smell a steak cooking two blocks away when I was in the bathroom taking a shower.

But tonight, the smell of the grill, the metallic scent of the air conditioner, the orange scent of the floor cleaner…all of it is invading my nose like an army. I do not want to be here tonight.

I bump the door open and step out into the main dining room and head for table six. The guy looks like a trucker, or maybe a biker. He hasn’t washed in days, that’s for sure, and his beard is beyond disgusting. But the girl he’s with isn’t doing much better.

She’s dressed for the club – I’m not sure which one, but one that doesn’t have any kind of dress code. Her roots are showing through her bad blonde dye job, probably done at home, and she’s lounging in the booth with both feet up like she’s at home.

Just make this as quick as possible, I think as I step up to their table.

“One burger,” I say, sliding the plate onto the table. “Meatloaf and an extra order of fries. Anything else?”

Before they can answer I turn away to leave. But that’s when it happens.

“I sure could use a nice peach,” the man says. And then I feel it. His fingers – a pinch on my ass. Hard.

“What the Hell!?” I shout, spinning around. “What do you think you’re doing!?”

“Relax, babe,” the man says with a throaty growl. “Just having a little fun.”

“Keep your fucking hands off me!” I shout, trying my best to appear tough.

“Yeah?” He says with a sly grin. “Or what?”

“Or you’re gonna get your teeth knocked out.” I hear a firm voice behind me and my heart almost stops.

It can’t be.

I almost go into a full-blown anxiety attack right there. I recognize the voice – but there’s no way. But I’d know that voice anywhere. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down.

It’s Chris. I know before I even turn around.

But when I do, and my eyes meet his, my legs almost give out from under me.

It’s him. Chris Mitchell. The man of my dreams and my nightmares. The most gorgeous, charming man I’ve ever met – and also the biggest lying, scumbag piece of shit to ever speak to me.

“Hey, Janelle,” he says with a smile.

I can’t. I just can’t. My feet move almost on their own and make a path straight for the kitchen. Before I even realize what’s happening, I’m grabbing my things and sprinting out the back door. I hear Brand’s voice behind me shouting.

“Hey, where are you going!?”

But I don’t care right now. I can’t. My brain can only focus on one thing right now: getting away from Chris.

I burst out into the parking lot and fumble through my purse, trying to find my keys. I hear the front door of the diner slam and footsteps coming around the corner.

“Janelle!” It’s Chris’s voice. Adrenaline shoots through me like I’m running away from a predator. But this is somehow worse. I’ve thought about this moment every day for the last two years. What would I do if I ever saw Chris again? What would I say?

And now that moment is here, and none of those thoughts, none of those imagined scenarios has prepared me for the reality of this situation. And I’m panicking.

“Janelle! Wait up!” Chris’s voice is closer. He’s in the parking lot behind me. I quicken my pace. I had to park across the street to leave room for the customer parking. I don’t even look before crossing the road, and I hear a horn blaring as someone stops to avoid hitting me.

My keys are in my hand. My car is in sight.

I can hear Chris’s footsteps chasing after me and somehow my heart rate goes even higher.

“Go away!” I manage to yell as I get closer to my car. I get my key ready so I can slide it in the door, hop in, start it and get out of here, but as I take a step to get up over the curb, my foot catches and I trip.

I fall flat and drop my key, and as if in slow motion, I watch as it sails through the air and drops straight through the grill of a storm drain.

“Shit, are you okay?” Chris says behind me. I feel his strong hands against my waist and his immense strength as he lifts me to my feet. He turns me around to face him, but as he lets me down, I know my legs aren’t going to hold me up. I almost fall, but Chris catches me.

“Whoa, whoa,” he says with concern. “You all right? You want to sit down?”

I nod, swallowing nervously. I take a seat on the curb and stare at my feet, completely frozen with shock. What do I do? What do I say? Just Chris being here is a total nightmare, let alone dropping my keys into the storm drain.

A thousand emotions are whirling around inside me. I’m panicked, hurt and furious with Chris – but at the same time, I’m completely captivated by him yet again. He’s just as handsome as ever – maybe more so. His voice still sends shivers up my spine and turns me on. I can’t control it. And yet again, back in the diner, he was my knight in shining armor, stepping in and protecting me like I am his.

But I’m not his. Not anymore. I never was. He threw all that away the minute he decided to leave and treat me like a prostitute.

“Janelle—”

“No!” I snap, speaking almost without meaning to. “No! Don’t – what the Hell? What are you doing here!?”

There are a thousand things trying to come out of my lips all at the same time and it’s like a traffic jam. When I turn to look at him, there’s a look on his face that I can’t read. It’s something in between confusion and affection, with a little bit of…anxiousness?

That can’t be. Chris Mitchell anxious? I doubt it.

After a long pause, he finally speaks. “I came to see you.”

I thought hearing him speak would somehow help. Like maybe whatever he said would somehow put all this to rest, or make up for his absence for the last two years. But that was just a pipe dream. Nothing he can say right now is going to change the facts.

He seduced me. He lied to me and he treated me like trash. Then he left me without an explanation, without so much as a word.

“Bullshit!” I shout in his face. “Two years! It’s been two years, Chris! And then you just ‘come to see me?’”

“It’s…complicated,” he tells me. “Look, I tried to—“

“I don’t want to hear it!” I snap, holding a hand up to his face. My anger finally wins out over all my other emotions and I rocket to my feet. My legs feel suddenly solid and I stand tall, looking down at him still sitting on the curb.

“You made me drop my keys, so you’re either going to get them, call me a cab or drive me home, now!”

“Sure,” he says quickly, standing up. “I’ll give you a ride. No problem.”

“And no talking,” I tell him firmly. He looks at me hard for a minute. A pained look comes over his face like he wants to say something, and I almost feel bad for a minute, but then I remind myself of just how badly this man hurt me, and I don’t.

“Fine,” he says, his voice almost a whisper. “I’m just over here.”

I follow him back across the road in silence. Of course he’s driving some absurdly expensive sports car. That’s just like him. Don’t worry about the important stuff, like a woman’s feelings, just think about the flashy ride that’s going to get you more pussy at your next house party.

I think about all the other waitresses, cashiers, baristas and all the other innocent girls this man must have gone through in the two years we’ve been apart and feel myself getting nauseous. Even though right now I hate him with every fiber of my being, I still somehow feel like he’s mine and the thought of him being with someone else is almost too much to bear.

Don’t think about that right now! I tell myself as Chris opens the door for me.

Oh, sure. Pretend to be chivalrous again.

“I got it,” I tell him as I slide inside and slam the door shut. He pauses before he goes around to the other side and opens the driver’s side door.

What is he thinking?

I want to know, but I just can’t have a conversation with him right now. I just can’t.

The car roars to life like a race car as Chris pulls out of the parking lot. The car smells new and I open the window to let some of the evening air in.

“Which way—“

I interrupt him with a finger indicating a left turn. He takes it in silence. We go on like that for a while as I direct him across town to my neighborhood. I wonder for a minute whether I should have him just drop me off down the block from my apartment. I don’t know if I want him knowing where I live.

But as much as I want to hate him and label him a bad guy and never speak to him again, another part of me wants to leave a door open for him, and if he knows where I live, maybe, just maybe, there is a chance that somehow he can make this all up to me.

I know it’s probably a pipe dream and I’m just a dumb girl with romantic dreams, but I can’t help it.

“Number eighteen,” I tell him as we turn onto my street. Most of the lights are off. It’s a pretty quiet neighborhood. I wanted one for Max. It’s safe. There’s a bright moon casting shadows through the trees that line both sides of the street and as Chris slows the car I am gripped by an internal debate.

Do I let him speak? Let him explain – if there is any way to explain a two-year absence. Or do I just get out of the car and make him wait?

I want answers, but he made me wait, and now I’m going to return the favor.

“I want my keys,” I say as I open the door and step outside. “Let me know when you’ve got them.”

I slam the door shut behind me and walk quickly up the path to my apartment. My apartment keys were with my car keys, but thankfully I’ve got a sitter with Max tonight.

“Beth!” I shout, knocking on the door. “Beth, can you let me in please?”

I can hear Max’s giggle and Beth’s footsteps as she comes to the door. She opens it and I instantly feel saved.

“Hey, Janelle!? You’re back early!”

“Nightmare evening,” I say with a sigh. “Lost my keys…you don’t want to know.”

“Momma!” Max squeals from the living room. My heart soars as he rushes over to me, arms raised above his head. If there’s anything that can make me forget about all my troubles and make my day all better, it’s my baby boy.

“Hey, Max! How are you!?”

Max is strong and must take after his father in that way. He was walking at nine months and now he’s all over the place. I can barely keep up with him half the time.

I grab him in a big hug and lift him to my chest. He’s warm and soft and irresistible. He’s my son. It’s only after I’ve kissed him a dozen times on the cheek that I remember Chris is sitting in his car behind me.

Shit!

With my back to the road, hopefully he hasn’t seen Max. I can’t imagine he would put two and two together and think he was his, but that’s a discussion I’m not ready to have. I’m not ready to have any discussion with him right now, but that one is at the bottom of the list.

“What are you up to?” I ask him, stepping inside.

“We’re playing with my trucks!” He says happily.

“Thanks, Beth,” I say over my shoulder. “You can go now. Did you get the envelope with the money?”

“Yup! Here, I’ll give you back this for the hours I was supposed to work—“

“Oh, no,” I tell her quickly. “Keep it all. It’s not your fault I came back early!”

Without being rude, I usher her out the door and slam it shut behind me. Hopefully Chris didn’t get a good view of Max. There’s no way a man like him could ever be a responsible father. Parties at his mansion, paying girls to come back to his place and dance for him, using them then abandoning them in the morning. How could a man like that ever be relied upon to be part of a family?

He couldn’t. And that’s why he can’t know about Max. I hope, more than I’ve ever hoped for anything, that he didn’t see him.