AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He doesn't answer immediately, and I can hear Kenny Chesney playing softly in the background. The same CD he's been playing on repeat since we saw Kenny at Summerfest last fall.
“Aren't you sick of Kenny Chesney yet?”
“Never. He’s better than too much love, or whatever the hell her name is.”
“Tove Lo. She’s amazing and you know it.” I know for a fact he knows her name, and he probably knows all the words to a handful of her songs since I make him listen to her all the time, but our ongoing joke is one that always makes me smile.
He forces a quiet chuckle. “Okay, I'm by the tree.”
“I'll be there in a minute.”
I toss my phone into my purse and sling it over my shoulder before opening my closet for the last thing I need. Standing on my tiptoes, I reach up to move over my stack of yearbooks and photo albums to the shoe box hidden in the back. Taking it down, I run my pointer finger over the gold macrame lettering that readsJenna’s Dream Box.
What a stupid fucking concept. Dreams are for people who think that if you believe enough, if you manifest the shit out of your future, good things will come to you.
Dreams are for people who aren't stuck in this dump of a house with their alcoholic mother.
I pull the lid off and toss it in the bottom of my closet, staring down at the wad of cash inside. While most teenagers are saving their money from shitty summer jobs and babysitting to buy a car or plan for college, I've been saving mine to get as far away from this place as I can possibly get. Each cone I scooped at the local Frostie Berrie equaled freedom. I offered to work the closing shift—no other teenager in their right mind would agree to work their summer evenings inside an ice cream hut. It paid well and Emmett stopped by once during every shift to keep me company and drive me home afterwards.
I gather the wad of bills and shove them into my purse, thankful I decided to forgo putting it in a bank where my mom could get her mitts on it.
Opening the bedroom window, I peek my head out to check up and down the street, making sure the rest of the block is still asleep. I heave my duffle up over my shoulder and out the window. It hits the frozen lawn with a heavy thud before the world goes silent again. Down the street, I can see the red lights of Emmett’s truck and the exhaust pouring into the crisp air.
I slide my nightstand along the wall then climb up and sling my leg over the ledge so I’m straddling the window. I turn around once more, scanning my bedroom to see if I forgot anything else and my eyes catch on the photo tucked into the corner of my mirror.
Last year at junior prom, my girlfriends and I circled Emmett, laughing uncontrollably and doing our best booty-drop dance moves as he stood in the center, refusing to move. He promised me he’d dance if they played a country song, and while he probably meant a slow song, I asked the DJ to play the most fiddle-infused, honkey-tonk country song he had, and proceeded to drag Emmett out on the dance floor by his necktie.
His arms are linked across his chest, face flushed with embarrassment in the photo, but he held onto his promise of dancing with us even if he technically didn’t move a muscle.
At the last minute, I hop down and snatch the photo from its hold and tuck it into the inner pocket of my jean jacket. Stepping back up on my nightstand, I once again straddle the window and hop down without another thought at what I’m leaving behind.
I don’t stop moving once my feet hit the grass. Grabbing the handle of my duffle and cursing under my breath that it’s way too heavy, I race to Emmett’s truck. I swing open the passenger door and he squints in the light of the cab dome, his expression shifting from a grimace to sorrow the moment he sees my face in the light.
“Jesus, Jenna,” he says softly as he reaches to grab the top of my bag, hauling it into the cab and next to him like it's filled with feathers and not my life's possessions. “Now will you tell me what's going on?”
“Can you drive?” I choke out, as I slam the door closed behind me.
He shifts his truck into gear and drives. He doesn’t ask me where I want to go, where he should drive us, he just drives.
We ride around in silence for an hour, and I prop my elbow up on the window frame, resting my chin in my palm. Each house we pass is dark, businesses closed, the only light coming from the glow of the street lamps as Emmett twists and turns through the neighboring residential areas. I can feel the adrenaline dissipate, all the energy I spent crying and rage-packing leaves me weak and my eyes heavy. I fall asleep wondering what the hell I’m going to do with my life.
I don’t wake up until I feel a warm hand on my shoulder, gently shaking me. I sit up abruptly, looking around, not recognizing the scenery.
Emmett shifts the truck into park and we both stare forward, looking out the windshield at the moon and its reflection on the water. The wind picks up, rustling against the sides of the truck and I wrap my arms around myself.
“This is Mattson Park. My parents used to take my sister and me here a lot when we were kids. We’d swim, have a big picnic, and get burned to hell but always had a blast.”
I keep my eyes glued to the windshield, but can feel Emmett turn toward me, his swallow audible as he gets the courage to ask me what happened.
“My mom's drinking again.”
He exhales loudly, scrubbing a hand over his head in frustration before letting his arm sling over the steering wheel. “How bad?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. She’s been hiding it for a while, I think. So, I assume it's pretty bad.”
I don’t tell a lot of people, or anyone really—besides Emmett, about what my home has turned into. Home is a loose word. We haven’t seen my dad since my first day of school here. He returned from his latest deployment last year, settling at a base in Hawaii. The phone calls come less often, each one shorter than the last, usually ending in an argument and my mom hanging up.
I’ve been spending more and more time at Emmett’s house, surrounded by his family. Seeing how a real family unit should treat each other makes me question everything I thought I knew.
