Bent not Broken (112 page)

The water feels good and helps relax my tense muscles. Closing my eyes, my mind instantly wanders back to Jessica. It’s been six days since I met her, and I need to devise a plan to see her again, to talk to her, to make her mine. I shampoo my hair and finish my shower. After I dry off, I wrap a black towel around my waist, tucking in the corner so that it stays in place, low on my hips. Stepping into the walk-in closet that is attached to my master bathroom, I pull down a pair of black jeans and a gray button-down dress shirt. I layer a white t-shirt underneath and roll the sleeves.

I toss some gel in my short hair; the style is messy, and it takes me just a few minutes to get ready. I opt not to shave tonight, leaving my face a bit scruffy, as it’s been a full day since it’s seen a razor. I’m just going to dinner with my sister, and she doesn’t care that I haven’t shaved.

“Laaaannnnddooonnn,” I hear her yell for me from the living room.

I open my bedroom door and head down the hallway and into the living room where she’s laid out on the couch, still in her work clothes with her feet propped up on the arm of the large, brown leather sectional couch.

“Make yourself comfortable, why don’t you,” I grumble. I like having my sister here, but I love giving her a hard time.

“Looks like I already have, doesn’t it?” she fires back, causing me to stifle a laugh. She’s a firecracker. We are definitely from the same bloodlines. Neither of us will take shit from anyone. I love that she’s feisty. I worry less about her every day.

“Ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she shoots back. “Oh, I invited a friend. Don’t know if she’ll come, but heads up in case she does.”

“She better be hot,” I grumble, knowing I sound like a complete asshole.

“She’s stunning,” my sister tosses over her shoulder as we’re walking out the door.

Chapter 33

Jess

I made it through my first week at the news station. To say I’m exhausted would be an understatement. Most of my time was spent learning the ins and outs of the news business. I spend hours every day watching news feeds, assisting reporters with research, listening to scanners, and even learning how to edit. I’ve filled two entire notebooks with chicken scratch, tips, and how-tos. I know this experience will prove to be invaluable.

It’s only four o’clock, and I have my first appointment with Dr. Peterson at five. Shutting down my computer, I stand and lean over the short cube wall that separates my cubicle from Lindsay’s.

“Hey, I have to take off a bit early today. Have a great weekend. I’ll see you on Monday, right?”

“Like hell I’ll see you Monday. Girl, you’re coming to dinner with me tonight. No way are you spending the weekend alone. Remember, I am your only friend in Wilmington.” She smiles and bats her eyes.

“I don’t know if I’ll be good company tonight, Linds. I have an appointment, and I’m, uh….”

Jumping up from her chair, Lindsay cuts me off mid-sentence. “Just come to dinner. It’s just dinner. And regardless if you’re good company or not, I don’t want you to spend your first Friday night in Wilmington alone.”

“It’s not my first Friday in Wilmington,” I remind her as I smile at my sweet new friend. “Plus, being alone is okay, you know.”

“No, it’s not. I’ll text you the address of the restaurant. Be there,” she says, flashing me a huge smile.

Grabbing my purse, I just shake my head and smile at Lindsay. “Bye, Linds,” I say over my shoulder.

“See your sweet ass tonight, sister!” she yells back over hers. All I can do is laugh.

****

I pull into the parking lot of the small single-story office building. My stomach is in knots and my hands are sweating. With a deep breath, I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the headrest in my car. I tell myself just to breathe.
Take three deep breaths. Three deep breaths
. I repeat this to myself over and over. Reaching for the door handle, I pull the latch and push the door open. With a step out onto the black asphalt, I place both feet on the ground and will myself to take the small steps to the front door of the office building.
Three deep breaths
.

Step by step, I get there. My heart is racing, and my stomach knots tighten some more. I can almost taste the bile that is trying to make its way up my esophagus. I want to throw up, but the dry lump in my throat won’t let me. Tugging the door open, I step inside to the cool air-conditioned office. It’s quiet, and there is a small front desk with a stack of clipboards. There is a note instructing clients to fill out the paperwork attached to the clipboard, so that is what I do.

Taking a seat in a chair in the far corner of the waiting room, I start answering all of the questions on the intake sheet. I question if I should answer them honestly or lie. Lying seems easier right now, but I know she’ll see right through my lies, so I answer them honestly. As I sign my signature on the last page, the office door that is adjacent to the waiting room opens. Out of the office walks a middle-aged woman with light brown hair and dark eyes. She steps out and looks around the waiting room.

“Are you Jessica Harper?”

“Hi. Yes,” I barely announce, standing up to meet her. My mouth is still dry, and my hands are shaking. I’m a ball of nerves.

“Come into my office, Jessica. I’m Dr. Peterson.” She reaches out her hand to shake mine, and I take it, shaking back before we walk into the small office. The office is modern and bright with a small loveseat and two larger plush chairs, all cream colored. She has an entire wall of books, and every shelf is full.

“Take a seat wherever you’ll be comfortable, Jessica.” Nodding my head at her, I take a seat in one of the plush cream chairs across from the chair in which she sits. We’re facing each other with no barriers between us. Dr. Peterson is flipping through all the paperwork I’ve filled out, stopping to read more thoroughly on a couple of different pages.

“So, Jessica, tell me what brings you here.”

I stare at Dr. Peterson for what feels like a solid minute and look down at my hands, which are folded in my lap. My fingers are twitching from the nerves with which I am overcome. Feeling the tears I was holding in start to roll down my cheeks, I swipe a few away, wiping my hands on my pants. I can barely speak the words forming on my lips due to the giant lump in my dry throat that won’t go away.

“I’m starting over. I’m scared and angry and lost and sad and hurt and afraid. And I’m worried that if you don’t help me, I may not be able to move forward,” I say. My voice is not even recognizable, as it’s overcome with emotion. I haven’t said those words to anyone before, including myself.

Taking a deep breath, I wait for her reaction, or next question, or anything. I want her to say something. Looking at the intake paperwork I filled out, she quietly sets down her notebook and pen and just looks at me. She looks at me like she doesn’t even know where to start. I officially feel like a fucking hot mess. Maybe I’m unfixable.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, she says, “Tell me about
you
, Jessica. Tell me everything that led to you walking through my door.”

A small, sarcastic laugh slips out of my mouth. Does she have four fucking hours on a Friday night? Because I’m pretty sure that’s how long it will take to tell her my story without her asking any additional questions. She saw my intake sheet. She saw what I wrote. She saw how damaged I am.

Reaching into my purse, I grab the bottle of water I brought with me from work. Taking a small drink of water to alleviate the dryness in my throat, I place the cap back on and set it down. Grabbing a tissue from her side table, I wipe my cheeks and take a deep breath. Closing my eyes for a few seconds, I will myself to open them and look at Dr. Peterson.

It is here that I will begin to unravel the insanity of my life. It is here where I hope to get control of everything that I seem to have lost. It is here where I hope to find a shred of hope, the beginning of a new chapter for myself. With tears falling down my cheeks, I begin talking. Reaching up to my neck, I twirl the ring I’ve been wearing on my white gold chain since I left California, willing it to give me the strength I need to get through the next hour.

****

Opening my car door, I slide into my seat and place my head on the steering wheel. My head is throbbing from crying and talking and reliving details of my life that I’ve never shared with anyone. I’m mentally exhausted and drained, and closing my eyes feels good. A soft
beep…beep…beep
from inside my purse catches my attention. Raising my head, I sit back up and reach into my purse to pull out my phone.

Hi Doll! At Finn’s, 120 Main Street.

There is no way I’m getting out of this, but dinner with a chipper Lindsay is not what I want to do tonight. Flipping down the visor, I open the mirror, and the lights illuminate my almost dark car. I have dark circles under my eyes, and most of my make-up has been wiped away from the hour of crying that I just did in Dr. Peterson’s office.

Reaching into my purse, I pull out a compact and brush some light powder over my face. I toss the compact into my purse, grab a tube of lipstick, and dab some on my lips. My cheeks are still red and splotchy from crying, and it takes forever for that to disappear. Hopefully the restaurant is dark, and Lindsay won’t notice I’ve been crying.

Driving to Finn’s, I recall the past hour, and even though it was hard to admit and say much of what I told Dr. Peterson, there was also something liberating about it. A small weight was lifted off of my shoulders and, for the first time, I feel a glimpse of hope; a feeling that I
might
make it through this.

Opening the door to Finn’s pub, I glance around the crowds of people. The bar is full, and every booth and table is occupied. There are small groups of people gathered around talking, drinking, and letting go on a Friday night. When I see Lindsay flailing her arms from a booth in the far corner, I wave in acknowledgement, and I move through the groups of people, zigzagging through the tables. The booths are tall and a small pub light hangs over each booth, casting a muted light into each booth. Circling the last table, I’m almost to Lindsay’s booth when she jumps up and greets me with a giant hug.

“I’m so glad you came!”

“Me too,” I admit, pulling out of her over-eager hug.

Before I even look into the booth, I hear my name. “Jessica?”

“Officer…”

“Landon,” he says with a huge smile on his face. “Have a seat.”

Shit.
I’m pretty sure my heart just stopped.

Chapter 34

Landon

“So how the fuck do you two know each other?” I ask in between sips of my beer, looking back and forth between Lindsay and Jess.

“Jesus, don’t be such a dick. And I should be the one asking, how do
you two
know each other?” Lindsay tosses back, looking between Jessica and me. Jessica looks pale, and she is fidgeting with her hands. I make her nervous. Good. She was so confident the other day, but now I see I have an effect on her. Fucking perfect. Jessica slides into the booth next to Lindsay.

“Well, I met Jessica last week. Seems our little California girl left the lights on in her car. Matt spotted it while we were patrolling her parking lot.” Jessica doesn’t make eye contact with me, but she glances at Lindsay and offers a straight, short smile.

“So that’s it?” Lindsay asks.

“That’s it,” Jessica says firmly.

Our waiter makes an appearance and takes orders for drinks.

“What’ll it be, Jessica?” I ask, hanging on the “s” in her name. Looking at me, before turning to the waiter, she answers to him, not me.

“Just a Diet Coke, please.”

“Diet Coke? It’s Friday night; let loose, live a little,” I command. Our waiter pauses for a second to see if she’s going to change her drink order.

“Diet Coke is fine. Thank you,” she responds again as our waiter walks away. Before I can even give her shit about drinking a Diet Coke, she snaps her head at me and snarls viciously, “I’m only nineteen years old. Diet Coke is fine. And don’t you fucking tell me to live a little. You know nothing about me. Understand, pretty boy?”

Jesus H. Christ. Jessica is a feisty one, and she’s only nineteen.
Holy shit
. Why didn’t I notice this when I ran her plates?

“Got it,” I reply, taking a long drink of my beer. Lindsay lifts her eyebrows at me and smirks, letting me know that Jessica has clearly put me in my place. I don’t let women put me in my place.

“Looks like you two have worked this out. Now let’s figure out what we’re having for dinner,” Lindsay says, smiling and looking back and forth between Jessica and me.

Lindsay and Jessica make small talk across the table from me, pointing at different things on the menu while I spend the next few minutes intently studying Jessica. There is something different about her today. She looks sad; her eyes have lost some of the glimmer I saw in them last weekend, and it clearly looks like she’s been crying.

Lindsay shoots me a look from across the table again, which clearly says, “play it cool,” and I nod in acknowledgment of her unspoken message to me. After we order dinner, we keep the conversation light and friendly. Jessica seems to have calmed down a bit, and even laughs at something Lindsay whispers to her. I have a hard time paying attention to the conversation that is happening across the table, as I’m drawn into Jessica, just watching her, studying her.

“So, you moved all the way from California to work at a TV station in Wilmington, North Carolina, huh?” I say, trying to steer the conversation back to Jessica. I want to learn more about her. I need to learn more.

“Yep.”

Okay, then, she’s not going to throw me a bone here. I will fucking dig the information out of her if it kills me.

“Why North Carolina?”

“Why not?”

“Why not stay in California?”

“What’s wrong with North Carolina?”

“I didn’t say anything was wrong with North Carolina. I just don’t understand why you moved across the country at nineteen years old for an internship.”