Reckless Hearts (7 page)

Finally, six days
after moving in, Jake had managed to get all his things out of the boxes and onto the bed, floor, and chair. He'd broken down the boxes and moved them to outside his door, though not to the garage, where Cameron had told him to put them.

Feeling like he'd accomplished something monumental, he looked around the space and, for the first time, saw how big and sterile the room really was. The brushed concrete floor felt warm and slick under his bare feet. The blond wood of the designer bedroom set had a gleam to it that reinforced the feeling that this room was made for looking at, not living in. He wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it.

Now to organize the clothes, guitar paraphernalia, graphic novels, electronic devices, photos, and random other junk he'd collected over the years (why did he need those old Pokémon cards? He didn't know, but somehow he still did) and find places for them all.

He picked up a framed illustration that Elena had given him—her avatar, Electra, scowling out from a bright red bull's-eye—and gazed at it for a moment. Just the thought of her made his heart feel like it was being poked with a thousand needles.

This cleaning binge had been meant to take his mind off of her, and until now, it had succeeded. But staring at the doodle, he couldn't help gravitating toward obsessing over her again. He sat on the pile of T-shirts on his bed and traced Electra's outline with his finger, giving in to the moody self-pity he'd been avoiding.

They hadn't spoken, or even texted, since he'd woken her up in the middle of the night two days ago. He knew he'd been an ass at the gig and now he'd made things that much worse. He knew he should be the bigger person and apologize to her, but he wasn't ready yet. What he really wanted was for her to reach out to him and say,
I miss you, I'm lost here, I know how you need me, and I need you, too
. But she wasn't going to do that.

Jake thought of her kissing Harlow. He had no idea what the guy might look like, so what he saw wasn't the kiss itself but Elena's expression, that openness, that
touching quiver between her eyebrows as she gazed up at Harlow, that expression that Jake imagined in his fantasies of kissing her himself—his lips trailing down her neck and grazing her shoulders, his hands gripping her waist . . .

He didn't know why the thought of Elena and Harlow together seemed like so much more of a threat than the other guys she'd dated in the past. Maybe it was because those guys had been so obviously beneath her. When she'd been seeing Robby Clay, she used to call him “the shrimp” because he was so short, but also because he had a sort of rumpled, scrunched-up way about him. Whether she meant it or not, Jake had always felt like she was secretly telling her that he had nothing to worry about from Robby, that she'd chosen the kid because he was safe. And it had been the same with Toby Stossel. But this Harlow guy—if he was really who he said he was, which Jake still refused to admit might be true—seemed like he could actually erase the future Jake had secretly planned for himself and Elena. The guy was witty—Jake had seen this from the comments he'd posted on Elena's videos. And he'd apparently traveled the world. And he—

No. This had to stop.

Leaping to his feet, Jake threw himself back into the details of room organization. He placed the illustration on one of the built-in shelves—the one closest to the
ceiling, so high that even he, at six foot four, had to stand on tiptoes to reach it.

As he positioned the frame, his hand brushed against what felt like crumpled paper up there. An origami swan. This was the fifth or sixth one he'd found hidden around the room. It was odd. Nathaniel didn't seem like the kind of guy to do arts and crafts. He crushed this one and threw it into the trash bag with the others.

To fend off the nostalgia and maudlin wishes that looking at more framed photos and artwork might bring, he focused on his clothes. T-shirts in one drawer. Shorts in another. In the process he collected three more swans.

He could feel someone lurking in the doorway, watching him. An aura. A tight white heat. He knew without looking that it was Nathaniel. Jake wondered how long his stepbrother had been watching him. The guy seemed to always be there, wandering in and taking up Jake's space, watching, making quasi-helpful but mostly annoying comments about the best and worst ways to do things. Pressuring him for updates on the Elena situation.

Jake ignored him. He folded his jeans and lightweight pants and placed them in stacks in the bottom drawer.

“Looking good, brother,” Nathaniel said.

Jake arched an eyebrow and glanced at him. “Thanks.”

“A clean room's important,” Nathaniel went on. “You
don't want to be one of those mama's boys who don't know how to pick up after themselves.” Jake braced himself for the lecture on how to be suave and oily that he knew was coming. “When your chicky comes to visit—Elissa? Alana?”

“Elena.”

“Right. She's going to be sizing up your room and looking for evidence. You want her to think you're interested in more than just sports and comic books.”

“I'm not interested in sports,” Jake said flatly, hoping his tone would convince Nathaniel to leave him in peace.

“Sure. Cool. But you've got that.” Nathaniel pointed one overly manicured finger at the scale model of
Serenity
, the ship from
Firefly
, lying on its side next to the stack of framed photos on the desk.

Jake took his time responding. He picked up a stack of socks and shoved them into the top drawer of the dresser.

“She's not going to judge me for that,” he said. “She gave it to me.”

Instead of looking for Nathaniel's reaction, Jake kept to his task. He carried the boxers folded on the bed to the dresser and made room for them next to the socks. Two more swans. This would be the opportune time to ask Nathaniel about them, but Jake didn't want to give the guy the satisfaction of explaining their significance.
He crumpled them in his fist and shoved them into the trash bag with the others.

“What about that?” Nathaniel said. He was pointing at the photo at the top of the stack, a blow-up of Dave Matthews and Jake's dad playing acoustic guitar together in a little club in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. It was signed and everything. One of Jake's most prized possessions. “You think she's going to be impressed by Dave Matthews?”

Jake rose up slowly from his hunker over the dresser. He could feel his face going red like it did whenever he felt like he might lose his temper. “Is there something you want? Or are you just here to annoy me?” he said, conscious that if he was really going to stake his claim on his privacy, he should have found a stronger way to do it.

Nathaniel smirked at him. “Am I annoying you?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Sorry, bro.”

He folded his arms across his chest and hugged his palms with his armpits, a smug, closed-lipped smile frozen on his face in a way that Jake knew was a dare.

Two could play that game. Jake puffed up his chest and smiled back.

They faced off like that for a minute. Every few seconds, Nathaniel relaxed his face and screwed up his smile a little tighter. He wouldn't give.

Jake's cheeks were burning up. He hoped Nathaniel didn't call him on it.

Finally, Jake said, “So maybe you could find someone else to annoy.”

“I don't think so. This is too much fun,” said Nathaniel.

“Seriously. Go.”

Nathaniel mugged his shock at this, reeling his head back dramatically, that smile still arrogantly plastered on his face. “Are you kicking me out?”

“Yeah.”

Bugging his eyes, Nathaniel clapped his hands together, once, pointedly.

“That's priceless. You can't kick me out, dude. This is my room.”

“Not anymore,” Jake said.

“Trust me. It's my room. You're living in it right now. I'll give you that. But you're only leasing it. You think you're the first person to come into
my
house and fondle
my
stuff and cuddle up under the covers of
my
bed thinking it belonged to him now? It's almost cute how naïve you are. But you do realize you're living in fantasy land, right? You have to know this won't last. Cameron and your mother? Please. He goes through streaky blonds like her quicker than Leonardo DiCaprio. Once her wind chimey, earth goddess, kumbayah thing gets stale he'll be on to the next one. And you'll be back in that
tiny ant-infested bungalow on the south side.”

Throughout all of this, the smile never left Nathaniel's face. His voice never rose. He remained infuriatingly cool, barely moving from his perch against the doorway.

“So, you know,” Nathaniel said, now wandering into the room and poking around Jake's stuff, “enjoy it while it lasts.”

With this, he picked up the framed photo of Jake's dad and Dave Matthews and studied it for a second before raising it above his head and bringing it smashing down against the hard corner of the dresser, shattering the glass, busting the frame, ripping a deep gouge in Dave Matthews's face. Lobbing what remained of the photo onto the bed, he patted Jake on the shoulder.

“See ya,” he said, and he sauntered out, leaving Jake too shocked to say or do anything.

Winter was Elena's
favorite time to go to the beach. The tourists clung to the areas around the hotels and most of the locals in Dream Point weirdly thought it was too cold to hang out all day in their bathing suits. If she stuck to the south side of the public beach, where the promenade faded out and the driftwood and sea slime were less diligently combed away, she could find pockets where she felt almost alone. She'd been lying out for an hour already today, and except for the lifeguards changing shifts, not one person had come within a hundred yards of her.

The sun washing over her closed eyes felt warm and comforting. She let the sensation carry her off into a
state of near sleep in which she was aware of the way each passing cloud affected the sensations playing over her skin.

She was aware of the squeals and shouts of distant children playing in the waves, the dense, slightly sour smell of kelp and salt water. At the same time, she felt herself floating somewhere far away where her mind retreated from the facts of her life—her sister's petulance and self-pity, her father's stern, inflexible attempts to hold their family together, and Jake, oh, Jake, what had happened to them? Everything felt far away and not quite real, and as long as she stayed here on this warm beach, she could almost feel like none of it mattered.

She could focus on the good. On Harlow and the online conversation they'd had the other day. He'd told her about the trip to Japan he'd taken last year, about how he'd made a careful plan and reached out to the biggest animators there, making sure they saw his face and learned his name.

“You can do that, too,” he'd said, when she'd mentioned that she'd be too nervous to put herself out there like that. “You've got the talent. You just have to believe you deserve it,” he'd told her.

She thought about the bold way he attacked his life, leaping toward what he desired as though the world was his to take and do what he wanted with. And what did he desire? Art! And did she dare think, maybe, her! For
now she was playing it cool. He still hadn't called her, after all.

“There you are.”

She opened her eyes and blinked in the bleached whiteness of the day. When her eyes focused, she saw Jake standing over her, dangling the yellow Cons she'd painted with cartoon monsters for him by their heels from two fingers.

“Hey,” she said. She sat up and waited to see if he was going to be the old Jake she loved or this new one who picked at her and criticized and burned with judgment.

He plopped down next to her and sat cross-legged on the sand. “I stopped by your house,” he said. He picked up a strand of damp seaweed and fidgeted with it, ripping off little pieces and dropping them into a pile between his legs. “Nina said you were here.”

“Yup,” she said, giving away nothing. “I'm here.”

He picked at the seaweed. She could tell from his awkward quietness that he was anxious. He seemed afraid to look at her.

Eventually, he mumbled something. She knew what he'd said. He'd said he was sorry. But she didn't want to let him off the hook that easy. “I can't hear you, Jake,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “I'm sorry,” he said, more clearly now. “I . . .” Finally, he looked at her and she could see real torment in his eyes. “The way I behaved
the other night. It was wrong. You . . .” She could see the words form and dissolve in his mind as he struggled to explain himself. “It was wrong,” he said again. Then he gazed at her sadly, waiting for her to rescue him.

She couldn't help but smile, just briefly. This was the old Jake she knew so well. “It's okay,” she said.

He winced and squinted his eyes at her. “It's not okay,” he said.

“It is,” she said. “But—” She gave him a soft, friendly punch on the shoulder and ducked her head playfully like a boxer. “What the hell, Jake? You know?”

Thinking deeply about the question, taking it seriously, he tore the seaweed apart some more and said, “I'm having trouble adjusting. The new house. The new people.” He gazed up at the clouds and then back down at his seaweed. “And . . .” He took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “No, you know what, I'm just sorry. That's all I wanted to say.” He looked at the seaweed again and then lobbed it away, turning himself so that he was facing her. “How are you?” he said, forcing himself into a brighter place.

“I'm good. The ladies have been calling in sick at the Laundromats like they do every Christmas, so I've been filling in. Helping my dad. How's life with Cameron?”

“I'm getting used to it. Apparently he's got a son. Nathaniel. Weird no one mentioned that to me before, huh?”

She made one of her goofy faces at him to show him she understood how jarring this must have been for him. Then she said, “What's he like?”

“Like you'd expect. Spoiled rich kid.”

“Invite me over. I'll set him straight,” she said.

“Ha,” Jake said. “I'd love to invite you over. I'm still figuring out the rules of that place. It's so . . . sterile. You know? It doesn't feel like a place where you're allowed to just hang out with your friends.”

“We'll fix that, too,” she said. “It's your house now. You can make your own rules.”

He laughed nervously at this idea, scooping up a handful of sand. He watched it dribble out between his fingers.

“How's Harlow?” he asked, the tone of his voice just edgy enough to get under Elena's skin.

“That depends. Are you asking me as a friend? Or my protector? Which is it, Jake?”

He was doing funny things with his face, like he was fighting off a hundred contradictory impulses at once. “I'm sorry, Elena. I'm not trying to be weird or mean or anything. And I don't want to fight. But I just . . . I can't let you get hurt. I feel . . .”

Suddenly he stopped talking, like something was stuck in his throat.

“Spit it out, Jake. You've gone this far, say whatever it is you're trying to say.”

“Okay, look. I'm ninety-nine-percent positive this is some sort of fake profile. I've done a lot of online searches and can't find anybody named Harlow anywhere south of Orlando.”

Elena felt the sudden desire to cover up her bikini with a towel. Flopping onto her back, she reminded herself to resist the temptation to let her emotions spin into the overwrought, melodramatic place that she and her family so often indulged themselves in at moments like this. But she couldn't help it. She spun onto her side and glared at him.

“I thought you said you were sorry,” she said. “What happened to wanting to be supportive?”

“I am being supportive,” he said.

“By Googling him? By cyberstalking him? Do I need your permission or something to talk to a boy? It's like you move to the rich side of town and suddenly you don't want good things to happen to me.”

“That's not what I meant,” he said. “Elena, I'm trying—”

Now he looked betrayed, which wasn't fair at all.

“You want to know how real he is? Okay, fine. Let's talk about how real he is.” She flipped the backpack she'd been using as a pillow over her head and dug angrily around in its large single pocket until she found her phone. “How's this for real?” She punched at the screen until she'd pulled up the page she'd bookmarked
in the web browser. “Here. Look.”

Pushing play, she handed the phone to Jake and waited for him to watch the animation Harlow had sent her. Jake leaned in on his long neck to peer at the screen. She could just hear the Sigur Rós song begin to play.

“He made that. For me. Is that real enough for you?”

Jake squinted at the screen. Elena searched his face for reactions to what he was seeing, but all she could discern was his intense concentration.

“And also, for your information, I talked to him for like three hours last night,” she lied, spinning the fact that she'd given Harlow her number into a more dramatic event in hopes that this would shake Jake off the topic for good. “On the phone. Like, I heard his voice and he heard mine. He's not some weird old man. He's not a girl. He sounds just like you'd think he would. So.”

He was still watching the video. Not responding.

“Can you hear me, Jake? He's really who he says he is. He's totally real.”

Nothing. She wasn't sure what reaction she wanted to get from him. Something more than this.

When the clip finally ended and he handed the phone back to her, Elena realized that he was close to tears.

“Okay,” he said softly.

She felt torn. The part of her that cared deeply for Jake wanted to reach out and comfort him, but the part
of her that felt betrayed by his obsession with proving that Harlow was a troll needed him to promise let it go.

“Jake?” she said.

“Okay, he's real.”

He tried to smile but she could tell it was a struggle for him and she knew he was retreating inside himself in that way he sometimes did.

“Thank you,” she said primly. “Maybe we can get past this now.”

Reaching out, she touched his hand to let him know she was ready to forget it, but as soon as her skin made contact with his, he pulled his hand away.

Elena's thoughts suddenly flashed on the conversation she'd had with her sister. Maybe Jake really was in love with her. She'd never thought of him in that way—she loved him, sure, but with a tenderness that had nothing to do with sex. She didn't get all wound up and frantic around him the way she'd watched Nina get around Matty. Their friendship was too important to let it be ruined by the crazy volatile complications that physical desire would cause.

He felt the same way. She knew he did. For one thing, he already had a girlfriend, Sarah, and he loved her enough to write song after song about her. For another thing, they'd laughed a hundred times before about how absurd it would be for them to get together. It seemed weird. It seemed icky. “It would be like incest,” he'd said
a few years ago, and she'd agreed.

Elena decided that he must be having trouble adjusting all the changes in his life, having Cameron around and this new brother, Nathaniel. She'd let him deal with it in his own way. When he was ready, she was sure, he'd let her back into his life, into his new house, and everything would be normal again.

Now what she needed to do was protect him. Protect them.

“You know what I've been thinking?” she said, making sure she projected a sparkling, impish smile. “It's been, like, years since we raced to the jetty. Come on.” She leaped to her feet, kicking up sand, and swung her arm over her head, beckoning him to join her. “Loser buys the winner smoothies.”

She ran ahead, her Docs slipping with each step, and when she glanced back fifty feet on, she saw, thankfully, that he was jogging behind her, handicapping himself to ensure that she won. Grinning, relieved, she lowered her head, churned her boots in the sand, and pushed forward as fast as she could toward the Ferris wheel in the distance.