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I know he’s capable of showing emotions, though, so it’s not like he’s emotionless. There were two different times last year that I witnessed two very different emotions. In June, when his uncle died in a freak car accident, I stopped by his house after the funeral without the kids to see how he was really doing. He was still in that black suit he wore for the service—I don’t think I’ve ever seen a finer looking suit, I’ll just admit it, and my former husband wore them every day—but he’d ditched the jacket and loosened the collar of his white dress shirt. I don’t know if it was how I asked or if he was just at his breaking point, but he pulled me tight against his chest and held me as he cried. That’s the only time in the history of the time we’ve known each other that we’ve hugged, and to this day I can’t forget how it felt to be that close to such a strong man while he was very physically breaking down in front of me. I never bring it up, nor does Seth, but I will never forget it. That was the time I witnessed his sadness.
It was in October last year when I got a front row seat to his anger. Not directed at me personally, of course, but let’s just say he closely resembles a bomb when he’s ticked off. Their father had just called Marshall out of the blue (it’s actually a long story, so this is a condensed version) and it seriously stuck in Seth’s craw. He wasn’t going to stop to say hello to me when he came out of the coffee shop and I was going in, so I hurried after him and forced him to talk to me when we reached his truck. He knows better than to dodge the truth with me, and I’ll spare you the colorful description he used for his father, but he was angry. Rightfully so, in my opinion. I’ve never met Jude Johnson, never actually seen a picture of the man, but I can’t say I care to. Let’s just say that my BS Meter is not broken, and I use it to my full advantage. If someone isn’t going to give me or the people I care about the time of day, so be it. I just won’t have anything to do with them.
“Maybe,” Seth finally says in response to my question, his voice quiet. “I think everyone is, to a certain extent.”
“Do we have to be, though?” What’s with my sudden interest in these philosophical questions? “Never mind—That’s not why you’re here, and I don’t want to keep you. To answer your question, I’m not sure. I appreciate you asking me, but what knowledge will I bring to the table? Unless you know something I don’t, my renovation skills are about equal to Justin Bieber’s country music.”
“I didn’t know Justin Bieber sings country.”
I let out a groan. “No, I know. He doesn’t. And yeah, that’s a terrible comparison. Okay, let me put it this way: my renovation skills are as bad as my metaphors.”
“Ooh. Yikes.” One of his dark brows raises as he tries to resist a grin. “You’re right. Why did I ask you?”
Since he’s quite clearly joking, I give him a look similar to the one my Slothies gave me about thirty minutes ago. What does it say about me that their look inflicted this whole seeing-Seth-when-unprepared-for-it-thing, though?
“I asked you because I think you could be a good influence to these kids, renovation skills or no renovation skills.” The abrupt change in his tone has me about catching whiplash, but I force myself not to jump in and say I think he’s wrong. “There’s two girls—Alessia and Mazzy—and believe me, they need a positive female role model as much, if not more, than a male one. And I know this would cut into your free time, so I can compensate you out of my own pocket or something. Ella and Eli are free to be there with us, too. If any of these kids posed what I think is a serious threat, believe me, I wouldn’t ask you to be around them. And I sure as hell wouldn’t put your kids in harm’s way, if you’re concerned about that. It’s just… I think you could bring a lot into their lives. That’s why I asked you.”
I close my eyes for a moment and exhale, trying not to let the memories I’ve buried for so many years resurface. The last time someone said that to me—I think you could help—my world was completely rocked. It’s something I don’t talk to anyone about, and something I try not to think about either. Why focus on what happened ten years ago if I can’t do anything to change it now? What’s done is done.
“Jen?” Seth says, and I can feel the weight of his questioning gaze even before I open my eyes. “What’s going on? You look pale.”
“No—I mean, I’m fine. It’s, um, nothing.” I know this doesn’t convince him (or myself) but I keep going anyway. Fake it till you make it. “I don’t expect you to pay me, Seth. But the last time someone wanted me to help with something like…this, it didn’t end well. I really don’t know what I can offer these kids, Seth. I’m sorry.”
“Hey.” Seth’s hand closes around my wrist as I try to stand, and this time my gasp is audible. It’s not like we’ve never touched before—remember the aforementioned hug? —but right now I feel too vulnerable to continue facing this man tonight. The one who is endlessly braver than I’ll ever be. Who faces his battles head on and charges ahead anyway. The one who doesn’t run off to college. “Jen, it’s not like I know what I’m doing either. Maybe we’ll be able to make a difference in these kids’ lives and maybe we won’t. We can’t decide that. I don’t know what I said that hit a nerve, and I’m sorry for whatever it was, but please just trust me when I say that you’re an incredibly strong person. Nothing you say or do will convince me otherwise.”
He’s still holding my arm and I’m still turned away from him, but it’s only because I haven’t pulled away. His grip is lighter than a feather, and yet the mere touch of his warm palm to my skin feels weighted. “If you don’t want to help, just tell me. I’ll understand. Please don’t pretend like I’m immune to the hardships in life, though, because we both know that’s the furthest thing from the truth.”
I blow out another shaky breath before I turn to face Seth, pulling my hand from his grasp. He’s still seated, but we’re practically eye level this way, and his eyes are focused so intensely on me that I can barely breath. But I do because otherwise I would die, and with a silent prayer that I’m not sure had any real substance other thanplease help me, I force these words I swore I’d never say out of my mouth.
“Okay. I’ll help you.”
Chapter Seven
Seth
I’d like to be able to say that convincing the teens to help with this project went better than with Jenna, but considering it took a little over a week to get everyone on the same page, I’m afraid that’s not the case. I wasn’t necessarily expecting the kids to jump all over the idea like some new social media trend, but I also wasn’t expecting one of them to close the door in my face, two of them to straight up sayno, and the fourth to give me no answer.
Unfortunately for them, their glares don’t make me shrink and it’s not the first time I’ve come face-to-face with a closed door, so here we are. I managed to get all four of them and Jenna to come at the same time on this Thursday evening to do a walkthrough of the house, and I don’t think any of them could look less enthused.
Well, Jenna looks more uncomfortable than anything else, which is why I’m keeping a careful eye on her. I have no idea what I said the other night at her house to make her turn so white, but I also won’t pry it out of her. I’ll just make sure she’s not going to faint on us or anything. At least she left Ella and Eli with Alice. That’s one less thing to be concerned about for this first meeting.
Concerning the teens, there are four of them, and I wasn’t lying when I told Jen they come from vastly different walks of life. Luka’s the oldest at nineteen, and he’s the classic “pretty boy” with his dark brown hair, blue eyes, and his burgundy and gold Balsam Falls Bears football jacket despite the day’s mild temperatures. I don’t love that he pulled up in his lifted Jeep Wrangler with the music a little too loud, but I didn’t comment on it. Especially because Colin, age eighteen, arrived on his Harley dressed in full biker attire (though I advised through text to wear renovation-ready clothing) three minutes after. He’s the rebel of the group, and heknowshe’s on my radar after his little fake I.D. stunt a couple weeks ago.
As for the girls, Mazzy’s eighteen with curly red hair, bright green eyes, a nose piercing, and a tattoo on her left inner forearm. She drove a normal, if not a little beat up, sedan. Her parents are divorced, her father has sole custody. Alessia, the youngest at seventeen, is the poorest monetarily, which is why she doesn’t have a license or a vehicle to drive. The clouds overhead looked as though they could let loose at any point, so I personally picked her up with my truck on the way over. I don’t care how resistant someone is to rely on another person for help. I’m not about to let a seventeen-year-old get stuck in a downpour. I know how Nebraska storms in June can be. Even if it only rains for five minutes, that rain can be torrential.
That’s why I moved this walkthrough up by half an hour after checking the forecast.
“Well, are we just gonna stand here all day?” This is from Colin, who has his hands stuffed in the pockets of his black jeans and his dark eyes narrowed at me.
Have I mentioned what a lovely kid he is? “No,” I say evenly. “First of all, I want to introduce you all to each other. Luka, Mazzy, Colin, and Alessia, this is Jenna Williams. She’s graciously offered to help us renovate this house, and I’d appreciate if you show her the respect she deserves.” I gesture to Jenna, then each of the kids. “Jenna, this is Luka Porter, Colin Maks, Mazzy Young, and Alessia Moore.”
Mazzy blows an obnoxious bubble with her gum. “Yeah, yeah, I think everyone knows who everyone is. This is a small town.”
I choose to ignore the sarcasm for now—believe me, it’ll be addressed at some point—and clap my hands together. “Well then, if that’s the case, I guess we can move on. I’ve got the key.”
“You sure this place isn’t going to just fall in on us?” Luka eyes the house uncertainly as we approach the sagging porch. “Why don’t they just bulldoze it?”
“’Cause they gotta have the good guy cop do some project with us dumb teens.” Colin hops up onto the porch—it’s missing its steps—and the fact that he doesn’t offer a hand to any of the girls irritates me. The kid’s gonna learn a thing or two or ten over the next couple months if I have any say in it. And unfortunately for him, I have nearly all the say. “What they don’t realize is that cute little mentoring sessions and a few tissues ain’t gonna fix the shit in our lives.”
