Page 58 of All Jacked Up

Ransom followed me, but I didn’t look back at him. The sound of his boots on the gravel was a comfort. Reminding me he was here. The demons waiting inside couldn’t touch me. At least his presence was making it feel that way.

As if she had been here just this morning, smoking a Virginia Slim on the front stoop, wearing her hot-pink wrap, the scent of her presence lingered. I took a deep breath as my eyes looked down at the doorknob, and the loneliness from my youth slowly seeped back into my bones. Weighing on me like a nightmare I couldn’t shake.

The only memories inside this place were ugly. There was nothing to cling to except Ransom. The warmth from his body closed in behind me. I let that overpower the bad. Ease me the best it could.

Then I reached for the door and turned the cold metal knob. It was unlocked, but then I had expected it to be.

My gaze slowly scanned the inside, seeing more of it than I had when I lived here, with all the boxes and items that had been stacked against the wall. Things she had ordered, but never used. Items she’d found at yard sales, only to sit and collect dust. None of it was there. The floors weren’t covered in a thick layer of neglect. They appeared freshly mopped. The fresh lemon scent that enveloped me as I entered was so out of place here that I didn’t know what to think.

Had it ever smelled this clean?

The kitchen counter was as spotless as it could be. There were cracks, like on the corner where I’d hit my head and needed stitches after my mother pushed me away from the sandwich I had been making myself.

“Your fat ass doesn’t need food!”

I winced and did my best to shove that away.

Slowly, I walked toward the sink. Had I ever walked inside to find it empty and the metal shining? Sure, I’d washed the dishes every day and cleaned it, but never had I come home to find it that way. She wouldn’t have left it like this.

“You had it cleaned,” I said as I ran the tips of my fingers over the edge of the cheap Formica.

“You didn’t need to see it the way I’d found it.”

His words made me want to laugh and cry at the same time. Because his actions were so incredibly thoughtful and kind, yet he didn’t realize that I’d never seen it any other way. Until now.

“You didn’t have to do that. This,” I said, glancing back at him, “wasn’t ever what it looked like. What you found would have been normal. All I knew of this place. Of her.”

There was a glint of pain in his eyes that struck something so deep that I knew I had to stop it, but how could I? He’d been all I wanted for so long, what I had daydreamed about, written books about—how could I not feel more? Especially when he had done something like this.

“No one should have to live like that.” His tone was husky and strained.

A sad quirk of my lips held so much that I wouldn’t say as I tore my eyes off him and looked out over the living area. “Maybe not. But I have to give her credit for one thing: her neglect and abuse gave me the drive. The push to get out of here. To become something. To be more.” I paused and sighed. “If my childhood had been happy, I might not have been driven so hard. I might not have gotten on that plane and stayed gone.”

I felt him move in closer, but I didn’t turn to him.

“You’d have been a success, no matter what life you’d been dealt. It’s who you are. What you love. She doesn’t get credit for shit.”

I smiled then, although it didn’t meet my eyes.

“You didn’t leave me much to do here,” I pointed out.

The living room was as clean as the kitchen. The furniture that had been in tatters ten years ago was gone too. There was nothing in the other room.

“Like I said, it’s all organized in the backyard. You can walk through, tell me what you want to do with things, and then we can leave.”

I didn’t need to look at the things in the backyard. It all could go. There wasn’t one thing I wanted to keep.

“We can load it all up in the back of your truck and haul it off. To the dump, or if it can be donated, we can do that. I don’t need to go through anything. I want nothing from here … her.” I took a deep breath, then turned to look at him. “And I want to know how much this all cost. This was my job. Thank you for making it easier, but I’ll pay for it. Just give me a price.”

One of his eyebrows lifted slightly. “Do I look like I need your money, Shakespeare?”

No. He didn’t need anyone’s money. That wasn’t the point.

“This wasn’t your job to handle.”

He tilted his head and leaned down closer to me. “Are we friends?”

I swallowed as his spicy scent hit me, then nodded.

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