We rode with the windows down, the sounds of the engine drowning out any self-doubt. I was free here as I played with the air that rushed by with my hand out the window. For us, freedom was Jordan accelerating through town in the restored truck.
Never once was I worried that he would lose control. Even when he drove fast, always too fast. That was as far as his rebellion went, that desire for speed. In everything else he was so careful, even with me. I needed the speed then, I needed the freedom of his rebellion and Jordan always seemed to know what I needed.
I slid across the seat and pressed my lips to his cheek.
“What was that for?” he asked as he slowed for a stop sign.
“For being you.” I settled in beside him. I stayed pressed against his side, enjoying the warmth of his large body beside me, until he pulled into a practically deserted barbeque restaurant outside of town. I’d been there before, a time or two, as it was one of Breanna’s favorite places.
“Feeling better?” he asked as I put the last bone from my ribs down on the mostly cleared plate.
“Oh yeah.” I wasn’t sure if I’d needed the food or the ride more. I felt as if I could climb a mountain. Or Jordan.
“Good.” Though, from the way he looked past me as he said it, I didn’t think he heard me.
Jordan was far away, as he had been through most of the meal. My sister would just needle him until she found out what he was thinking. She’d never been one to beat around the bush.
I wasn’t Breanna and I had my own secrets to keep. I fingered the charm on the chain around my neck,
that Jordan had salvaged from the yard. I contemplated all my own secrets and how I’d overcome the scars left behind.
“Broken…” He swallowed thickly. “Because my father did his best to break me, even when I was little. He’d smack me around, yell a lot, flick his cigarettes at me. As I got bigger, it got worse. When he got high, he’d rough Mom up pretty good.”
He pushed his plate away. “I hated that the most, watching him go after someone so much weaker than himself.”
“You were a child.” It was a sickening, putrid feeling that settled in my stomach. That anyone would hurt a child, their own child, was unfathomable to me. I was pained for his grandfather who had to know at some point what his grandson and daughter were enduring.
He laughed without humor. “As I got older, I wanted to hurt him, but he skipped out before I had the chance—Don’t look at me like that Rae, don’t pity me.” Instead, I studied the scarred glass top of the table.
I didn’t pity him, I could never pity him.
“I’m not that kid anymore,” he said quietly.
There was the loud clang and rattle of dishes being washed and tables being cleared. “Beat?” I asked even though I was pretty sure I could guess the answer.
“That one is for the years after he left, those were the worst. I could read him, I knew him. But, my mom had a steady stream of others that I couldn’t read. I can’t tell you how many nights I spent with the dresser pushed against my bedroom door to keep it closed and keep them out, or the nights at the shelter, or cold ones sleeping in the car.”
The bells on the door jangled as people came in and out. I didn’t see them, I saw the boy he’d been when I’d met him. The twinkle in his eye and the quick grin I’d fallen in love with. What Caleb had done to me didn’t even begin to compare to what Jordan had overcome.
I’d never known. I hated that. I was just a kid, I couldn’t have done anything to make it better. I wished I had possessed that kind of power.
“Before he died, the old man told me he paid her. He bought his own grandchild from his daughter. That’s why she didn’t look back. She had her money, she was gone.”
My soul cried for the man who watched his daughter treat her child with so little concern. Rather than risk looking at Jordan, letting him see the Casey anger welling in my eyes, I picked at the cracked red vinyl of the booth I sat in.
I remembered the fearless boy on the bicycle calling to my brother from across the street. The dark skin and the bright smile. How he’d skipped his awkward stage and slammed right through puberty to the man I found myself loving. The way he loved his friends like family and the way he chased adrenaline with each race.
He was a man who responded to a threat with his fists, not his words. A man who’d made love to me more than once and held me after with the gentlest of hands.
There was no weakness when I thought of him. When I sought his face across the table, there was nothing weak. The wounded boy and the boy from my memories stared back at me. I respected the man who’d grown from both.
More, I loved him.
I smiled slowly as relief filled his eyes. “Money well spent.” I squeezed his hand.
He gave a nonchalant shrug. “I paid her too, when he was dying.”
I had to shut my mouth quickly, to keep it from falling open. “For what?”
“To leave and never come back. I wanted his last days to be happy, to be good.”
This time I had to look away and brush the errant tear from my cheek. “It’s not pity,” I whispered and held a hand up. “I miss him.” I did, I missed Mr. Slater. The old man with his skin like worn leather and a deep rumbling laugh, so much like Jordan’s. The man who had crafted the man that sat across from me. “I remember when you’d all leave me at home, go off and do teenage boy things, I’d walk with him. Up and down the road, time and time again as the sun set. He’d listen as I complained and whined and do it with a laugh.”
“Yeah.” He discreetly paid the tab. “He was pretty great.”
I caught his gaze and held it. “So are you.”
Outside the day had grown warm and the sun high. I was lighter, not because I spent the night with Jordan. Because of what I’d learned about him. He’d trusted me enough to tell me his secrets, that wasn’t lost on me.
He slid on his shades as he held open the driver’s door for me. “For the record, I imagined every other woman was you.”
Special, indeed.