Page 19 of Second Chance Ex
Dad pulls his specs down to get a better look, scanning Joey from head to toe.
Mom positively gushes as she steps off the porch, holding an arm out in invitation. “Nice to meet you, Joey.”
“Yeah, uh, hi, Mr. and Mrs. um, Watson.” Joey holds a hand out but my mother is having none of that. Instead, pulling him in for a hug he clearly hadn’t been expecting.
“Why don’t you come inside, Joey sweetheart?” Mom keeps one arm wrapped around him.
Joey glances warily at me from the corner of his eye, and I offer him an encouraging nod, helping him along the path and up the porch steps.
“I’ll make up a batch of hot chocolate,” Dad announces, turning to make himself useful.
Mom smiles at Joey, holding him steady as she guides him inside the house and down the hall toward the kitchen like he belongs here. And with my heart hammering a million beats a minute, thoughts roiling through my conflicted mind, I exhale a shaky breath, taking a moment to collect my wits as I lock the frontdoor, wondering how on earth my night took this turn.
I didn’t geta chance to ask Joey what he was doing here, why he came here, specifically to my house out of all the places he could’ve gone. Since the weekend of his party, and the letter that followed, I’ve spent the best part of the last month avoiding him like my life depended on it. I was angry. Angry at myself for falling for him so quickly. And I was hurt because I felt like he led me on. Whether intentional or not, it still stung. And I was also embarrassed, obviously. So, I thought it would be best if I just avoided him until my feelings weren’t so raw. They’re still raw, even now, but I could hardly turn him away battered, bruised, and crying in my front yard, could I?
I stare at my bedroom ceiling watching the moon shadows cast from outside dance above me to some imaginary tune. It’s so late. Or early. I don’t even know. I’m exhausted but cannot for the life of me even think to close my eyes long enough to sleep. Joey Tanner is right downstairs. Literally underneath me, sleeping it off in my father’s office. I’ve tossed and turned at least a thousand times. I’ve put my headphones in and played some music to try to block out my thoughts. I even counted sheep.Sheep, for chrissake. Nothing has worked.
My phone shudders louder than necessary from my nightstand, scaring the living shit out of me, the screen lighting up my whole room. My heart races as I reach for the device. It’s either Madison, although I doubt itbecause she’s probably fast asleep right now, or it’s Joey. And I don’t know why, but somehow, I already know it’s him. It’s as if I can sense him.
As I look at my phone, I can’t help but smile when I realize my suspicions are correct.
Joey: I can’t sleep.
I bite back my grin. Because although Joey is right downstairs at this very moment, unable to sleep just like me, I’m acutely aware of the fact that he’s going through some serious shit right now. I shouldn’t respond. I don’t want to take advantage of his fragility. I should pretend I’m asleep. But, of course, I don’t.
Me: Neither can I.
Joey: Tell me something. Anything.
I consider my reply. Part of me thinks I should keep things light, but it’s late, and I need him to know something.
Me: Why did you come here tonight?
Joey: Truth?
Me: Always the truth, Joey.
There’s a long pause, and I watch the dots appear in our text window, disappearing only to reappear again. It goes on for a few moments, and I predict a lengthy response, but then it comes through. Three words.
Joey: I needed you.
My heart stalls in my chest, but before I can even think of a reply, he sends another text.
Joey: There’s just something about you, Prue. You make me feel better. Being around you makes me feel better.
My eyes go wide at his words and frankly, I don’t even know how to respond to that. Thankfully, my phone vibrates with a follow up from Joey, and I’m off the hook. Well, sort of.
Joey: Will you come down here? Please?
I can think of close to three-hundred reasons not to go downstairs right now. But I ignore every single one of them as I switch on my lamp and climb out of bed. I check my reflection in the mirror on my dressing table. Yes, I’m in my pajamas—it’s after two a.m. after all—but I still make an effort to run my fingers through my hair, and quickly coat my lips with some Chapstick because I’m a total loser.
Tip-toeing out of my bedroom and past my parent’s door, I continue down the stairs, following the hall to the double-French doors of my dad’s office. I open one of the doors, holding my breath in case the stupid hinge creaks, but thankfully it doesn’t, and I breathe easy. But then that same breath hitches in the back of my throat when I catch sight of Joey lying there on the fold-out sofa, his hair all ruffled and mussed, face still beautiful in spite of his swollen and bruised eye and the jagged split in his bottom lip.
The desk lamp illuminates the room just enough for me to make out Joey’s naked chest, and I’m taken abacknot only by how ridiculously ripped his body is for a high school boy, but by the big purple welt lining his ribs. I avert my eyes as I continue into the room, feeling his gaze on me as I take a seat on the armchair in the corner, as far away from him as the room allows.
“Why are you all the way over there?” His low voice breaks the silence. And despite the mischievous look in his eyes, there’s a contradicting vulnerability in his tone.
With a deep breath, I stand and walk to the sofa bed, taking a seat on the side of the mattress. I look down at him, at the painful looking bruises, the only imperfection on his otherwise flawless body. Joey captures my gaze, and my heart clenches because right now, this eighteen-year-old, six-foot-four jock, who’s committed to Fresno to play Division One football looks like a lost little boy. And I can tell behind the cocky, slightly indifferent façade he’s mastered over the years, he’s really hurting.
