Damaged In-Law (2 page)

I hurry down the steps and around the corner to my car, not
at all in the right frame of mind to be intercepted by Bernadette and her
coterie of corgis. Chucking my backpack onto the passenger’s seat, I sink down
behind the wheel of my ancient Toyota. I can see my breath billowing out in front
of me, steaming up the windshield as I crank the radio as high as it will go. I
don
’
t want to listen to my own careening thoughts as I
peel out onto Main Street and set off on the route I never thought I
’
d be traversing again—the way back to my old hometown.

It isn’t until the radio announcer rattles off today
’
s date that it hits me: tomorrow is February 13th. My
twenty-sixth birthday. The first birthday that won
’
t also
be my sister
’
s. As kids, Avery and I used to hate the fact
that we didn’t get our own birthdays to celebrate. But now, I
’
d
give anything to be able to share mine again.

Chapter Two

Ten years earlier

Westchester, NY

The Benson home

I swallow down huge gulps of fresh winter air as I slip out
onto the balcony that leads off my bedroom. The atmosphere inside is a stifling
cocktail of heady perfume, boozy breath, and stilted laughter. It
’
s
the same overpowering combination that fills my parents
’
house
every time they throw one of these decadent soirees. And even though tonight
’
s party is ostensibly in celebration of my and Avery
’
s sixteenth birthday, the whole arrangement is anything but
sweet. I know I should feel grateful that my parents, Howard and Sylvia Benson,
are marking the event at all...but the fact there are only about five party
guests under the age of forty inside is pretty telling. I wonder how long I can
linger out here before anyone even realizes I
’
m gone?

Wrapping my unwieldy winter coat around my bare shoulders, I
gaze out across the neatly manicured grounds of my parents
’
house.
Though this place has been in the Benson family for some crazy number of
generations, it
’
s always felt less like my home than The
Family Estate.  It
’
s hard to feel all warm and fuzzy
about a place that boasts a servants
’
entrance and
honest-to-god gargoyles.
But in two short years, I
’
ll
be off to college
, I remind myself for the umpteenth time. I
’
ll
be free and clear of this house, this town, this whole WASPY scene. 

“Waiting for that punk-ass Romeo to show up, or what?” asks
an amused voice from over my shoulder.

I whip around, accidentally casting off the heavy parka in
my surprise. A tall, familiar form is backlit in the balcony doorway. I didn’t
even hear him slip out after me. But then again, he
’
s
always been pretty light on his feet—whether on the football field, the high
school stage, or booking it away from the house party that
’
s
just been busted up by the cops. That
’
s Jackson Cole,
alright. The guy you want by your side in any situation...or maybe that
’s just me.

“
Well?
” Jack grins, taking a loping
step out onto the balcony.

“Well...what?” I ask, tucking a loose curl back into my
elaborate up-do. I
’
d begged my mom not to doll me up for
the party tonight, to no avail. With my glamour shot makeup and starchy hairdo,
I don
’
t feel anywhere near cool enough to be within ten
feet of Jackson Cole.

“Has Romeo made his entrance or what?” Jack asks, leaning up
against the railing beside me. “You
’
re on a balcony,
aren’t you? I figured it was just an automatic thing.”

I steal a quick once-over of Jack, trying not to let my mind
linger on how good he looks in his navy blue suit.
Romeo certainly
has
made his entrance
, I think longingly. I
’
d tell him so
if I could work up the courage. But I
’
m not exactly the
Juliet type. Nope. No
Romeo and Juliet-
style balcony confessions of love
for me, no matter how good of an opening I may have.

“I
’
m afraid that Mr. Montague had other
plans tonight,” I reply to Jack, tearing my eyes away from his
perfectly-balanced form. It
’
s not any guy who could look
that good
and
keep up with my preferred brand of literature-based
banter. But then again, Jack
’
s not just any guy. 

“Bummer,” Jack grumbles, reaching into his jacket pocket for
a pack of cigarettes, “Though I have to say, I can
’
t blame
the guy. This party kinda blows.”

“Gee, thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Come on,” Jack laughs, tucking a cigarette between his
perfectly full lips, “
You can
’
t tell
me this isn
’
t a total bust.”

“It
’
s my sweet sixteen, technically,” I
remind him, “I
’
m trying not to utterly despise it.”

“Yeah. Good luck with that,” Jack replies, lighting up his
smoke.

The tiny burst of red light illuminates his face, casting
his gorgeous features in sharp relief. I can
’
t pinpoint
the moment when my affection for Jack went from little kid best friendship to
pure, uncut desire. Probably it was the precise moment when I realized that I
did, indeed, like boys, and one boy most of all. The only trouble is, just
about every other girl who attends our insular private high school feels the
same way. And as a skinny, artsy, sometimes too-sarcastic-for-my-own-good
misfit, I doubt I
’
d be anyone
’
s first
choice—least of all Jack
’
s.

“I can
’
t think about how much I hate
this place all at once,” I sigh, shaking my head. “I
’
ve
still got to take it through the next couple of years, y
’
know?
Until college.”

“I feel that,” Jack nods, “Well, not the college part. But
the hating this uptight buzzkill of a town? I
’
m right
there with you.”

“Wait. What do you mean ‘not the college part
’
?”
I ask, jerking around to face him.

“I
’
m just not into that scene,” he
shrugs. “I
’
ve got other plans.”

“Jack,” I groan, “
You can
’
t
just be one of those asshole trust fund kids who never works a day in his—”

“Hey,” he cuts me off abruptly, “I
’
m
not
going to be one of those kids. You were born into the same kind of money I was,
Callie. Don
’
t go getting all high and mighty on me. I
’
m not going to college, but I
’
m still
getting the hell out, make no mistake about it.”

“Oh...Shit. I
’
m sorry,” I tell him,
daring to lay my hand on his muscled shoulder, “I didn’t mean to accuse you of
anything. It
’
s going to sound lame as hell, but...I guess
not going to college never really occurred to me as an option.”

“Nerd,” he replies, his indignation dissipating as I let my
hand linger on his arm.

“What
’
re you going to do instead?” I
ask, wanting this conversation to go on as long as possible. Wanting to keep
him here.

“Promise you won
’
t get all judgy on
me?” he replies, searching my face for skepticism.

“Promise,” I assure him.

“Alright,” he says, with a conspiratorial gleam in his blue
eyes. He leans in close to me, and I feel a thrill race through my core. “I
’
m going to be an actor,” he tells me. “I mean a
real
actor, Callie.”

If it were anyone else in the world, this is the point where
I
’
d have to start feigning enthusiasm. But this is
Jack
.
Call me crazy, but I have absolutely no trouble believing him. If he wants to
set out to become an actor, that
’
s exactly what he
’
ll do. He
’
s been amazing every time I
’
ve seen him perform—in all of our school plays, our friends
’
no-budget indie films, and even at the occasional community
and regional theater. Jack is a natural. And I
’
m not just
saying that because I want him with every fiber of my being.

“So, what do you think?” he prompts me.

“I think...that
’
s awesome, Jack,” I
tell him sincerely.

“For real?” he asks, surprised but excited.

“For real!” I assure him with a smile. “But you know...you
can
go to college for acting...”

“Don
’
t start,” he groans, laying a
playfully accusing fingertip flush between my collarbones. I have to grab hold
of the railing to keep from falling over in glee. “Jesus, Cal. You
’
re gonna freeze your ass off,” he says, cutting off my
rapturous train of thought. Only now that he mentions it, do I realize that my
parka is still hanging out around my high-heeled feet. Closing his teeth on the
cigarette, Jack leans down to pick up my fallen coat.

“Oh, you don
’
t have to...” I start to
say, but trail off as he straightens up before me, not three inches of space
between us.

I gaze up at him—all the way up, as my five-foot-four frame
doesn’t exactly rival his in height. Jack is standing so close to me that I can
feel the heat radiating off of him, cutting the frigid air. My hands ache to
reach for him as he wraps the coat around my shoulders, his eyes skirting down
along my body all the while. For once, I
’
m actually glad
that I took Avery
’
s fashion advice this evening. I
’
m wearing one of her little black dresses, with a classic
silhouette and a neckline that plunges low enough to show off my newly-acquired
cleavage.

“There you go,” Jack murmurs, resting his hands on my
shoulders for a moment that may as well be an hour.

“Um. Thanks,” I breathe, feeling something like physical
pain as he lifts his hands away and takes the cigarette between his fingertips.
I could swear he looks just the tiniest bit disappointed to let go.

We turn back toward the railing and look out across the
property, standing side-by-side but
much
closer now. Daringly, I press my shoulder against his arm, feeling the muscle
there even through our many layers of clothing.

“You know something? You clean up pretty good,” he tells me,
casting a sidelong glance my way before taking a long drag of his smoke.

“Because I
’
m a hot mess the rest of the
time?” I reply with a snarky smile.

“Yeah. Pretty much,” he laughs.

“
Sorry, I don’
t go out of my way to
dress up for guys,” I shoot back, “I
’
m usually pretty
preoccupied with, you know, things I actually give a shit about.”

“Trust me. The guys are sorry too,” he grins, shooting me a
wink. “You
’
d be a pretty hot commodity if you tried a
little harder.”

I bristle at his words. I know he
’
s
just trolling me, saying the exact thing he knows will piss me off the most. He
’
s trying to be the charming, devil-may-care guy that the rest
of the world wants him to be, but I hate it when that kind of arrogance creeps
into his voice. I
’
ve known Jack long enough to be sure
that there
’
s a lot more to him than swagger and smug
superiority. But my impossibly huge crush on him has kept me from telling him
to cut it the hell out...Until tonight, that is.

“You
’
re not fooling me with that shit,
you know,” I say quickly, before I lose my nerve. I can feel my cheeks burning
red as Jack raises a perfect eyebrow, but I press on anyway. “And if you ever
refer to me, or any other woman, as a ‘hot commodity
’
again,
I might have to punch you in the teeth. Just saying.”

“Duly noted,
Ma
’
am
,” he
smirks, flicking his cigarette off the balcony. I watch as the slender stick of
white careens through the air, landing somewhere among my mother
’
s
prized rose bushes.

“Seriously, Jack,” I go on, lifting my eyes to his, “I know
you too well to buy that crap.”

“Is that so?” he counters, turning his body to face mine. I
swallow hard, squaring off against him. Now that I think of it, this is the
most time we
’
ve spent alone together in years. This is my
chance to really get through to him, to tell him how crazy I am about the
Jackson Cole I know is buried under all the ‘Rebel Without a Cause’ nonsense.
But wouldn’t you know it...I seem to have forgotten every word I
’
ve
ever known under the sudden intensity of his blue-eyed gaze.

“Well, yeah,” I finally manage to say, surprised by the
lusty rasp of my own voice. “I mean, we
’
ve always been
close. Haven
’
t we?”

“Sure,” he murmurs, his own voice swooping low in his
register. “But there
’
s close, and then there
’
s
close
. Right, Cal?”

There
’
s barely an inch of space between
us as we stand on the balcony, eyes locked. I force myself to keep breathing,
trying desperately not to lose my head and do something stupid. But I
’
m not sure how much longer I can keep my hands, or my adoring
thoughts, to myself.