The Long Way Home (7 page)

"Yeah, I got that. I hear a lot of blue bloods do
that." He played with the sand, “How do you know France?”

I laughed and
hiccuped
at the same
time, and then drank a large sip. The wine was hitting harder with the addition
of the marg. “We grew up together. He was a badass kid who played sports and
did naughty shit. Our hockey team actually paid for him to go to our prep
school because he was such an amazing player. I think his mom hoped we would
straighten him out. You know, a bunch of snooty brats would keep him in line.
But honestly, I think we just helped him learn to be corrupt on the
down-low
. He was lost and we sort of helped him find
himself, and at the same time, somehow helped him avoid becoming one of us.
We’re broken, always have been. The new money is so desperate to be accepted by
the old money, they won't do anything that’s frowned upon. The old money is
getting fearfully broke in comparison to the newly rich, so that they fear the
end of their empire is over. They hang onto the reigns very tight. France
ignored it all. He’s always been real and alive and crazy. Not like the people
in our cliques. Most don’t have human hearts, probably all the inbreeding to
keep the blood blue.”

He laughed, “You’re very deep for a drunk on a beach.”

I laughed, “I have a lot of practice at being polite and put
together while under the influence.”

He laughed and I realized something about him made me
comfortable. It might have been the wine and
margs
that did it, but either way, I felt compelled to tell him my something horrid.
I took a deep breath and muttered, “My fiancé isn’t just a regular philanderer.
He is a pervert who likes younger girls—you know, the barely-legal types.
I discovered it today. I suspected he might be having an affair the other day,
but today I caught him having sex in my bed with our much-younger neighbor, in
a cape.”

“A cape? That was with that the Ashley girl you mentioned on
the phone?”

I looked out at the water and answered robotically, “Yes. She
just turned nineteen. I hate him.”

“Well J.D., he’s a damned fool.”

I held my glass up, “Fuck him.”

He choked and laughed as I finished the glass. I looked at
him, “Tell me something horrible.”

He smiled, making his eyes squint. “My parents’ divorce was a
hard year. I got arrested a bunch of times for drinking, and then when I got my
license, I drank and drove. I crashed the car and hurt my friend. I never got
charged because I was a good player and they didn’t want to ruin my career.
They made my friend take all the blame, even though he was the one who was
hurt. He took the charges and they told him he would get off. He didn’t. He
went to
juvie
for two months. He’s a drug addict and
a career criminal now. He was the good kid. I was the trouble. I ruined his
life and mine is awesome.”

I frowned, “That’s awful, but you can't take responsibility
for the fact he got in the car with you, took the blame for you, or turned to
drugs afterwards. Had he done the time that wasn’t fair for him to get, and
been a good kid when he got out, he would have been fine. Kids’ records are
sealed when they’re eighteen. No one would have even known it had happened.”

“You know a bizarre amount of shit about youth criminal
records and that’s a creepy way of looking at it.”

I laughed, “I volunteer with kids like your friend. We try to
get them to stay on the good path so when they’re older, they can have normal
jobs. It’s all about making citizens, not coddling them and making criminals.”
I shook my head, “You can only take responsibility for the fact you let him
take the blame.”

He nudged me again, as if we were old friends, “We should get
back.”

I gave him a smile, “Okay. Yeah, France is probably looking
for me.” I looked around at our little spot, “What a weird couple days.” I
stood on my wobbly legs and took a second to get my bearings.

He got up fast, grabbing my arm to steady me, “Maybe no more
liquor tonight.”

I shrugged, “I’m well past the point of return on this. I’m
drunk. I can feel it now.”

We walked back to the house. I saw my bag, still on the back
deck, and rolled my eyes. Of course France hadn’t grabbed it.

I smiled at Will, “I’m just going to grab my things. I’ll
meet you inside.”

He nodded and walked into the house. I dropped to my knees to
shove the things that had fallen out of my CHANEL bag back in.

I heard a noise and looked up. France was behind the barbecue
and a couple chairs on the far side of the patio. I was about to say something
to him, but the blonde girl leapt at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. I
wrinkled my nose and grabbed my belongings quickly. I jumped up and ran down
the beach.

“Jack! Wait!” he shouted at me but I ran harder. My boot
dropped out of the bag. I stopped and picked it up but he was there.

“Where are you going?”

I shook my head, “Coming here was a mistake. I’m going home.”

He was breathing heavily, “Maybe you should let me drive you
home tomorrow, huh? You’re pretty drunk, babe.”

I poked his chest, “Don't call me babe. I don’t want to get
in the way with the blonde girl. And if I stay, I might molest your nice
friend. I suspect he’s too sweet for me to do that to.”

His face tightened, “Jack, I can't let you drive, the blonde
is nobody, and if you go near Willy, I might have to kill him.”

My stomach
rumbled
as I was about to
argue my point. I held it tightly, feeling the mess. My eyes flew open wide. I
panicked as I spoke to him, “Quickly! Get my shirt and blouse from the bag.”

He grabbed the bag, dumping it. I pulled my dress off and
folded it. I placed it delicately in his hands, “Please wrap it in the tissue
and put it back into the bag.”

His jaw dropped. He stood there like an idiot, staring at my
breasts that had completely fallen out of my bra. I pulled the straps up,
shrugged on my blouse, did up one button, and pulled on my skirt. I staggered
up the beach to a grassy spot and threw up everywhere. I held the piece of
broken fence I was beside.

His warmth was behind me, snuggled up against me. He pulled
my hair back as I bent forward and heaved into the grass again, “It’s okay,
Jack. It’s okay.”

I started to tremble as I sobbed and heaved again, “I need to
lay down, France.”

He pulled me back into him, “Come on. My bed is empty, I
swear.” He took my hand in his and pulled me back to my stuff. I stood there,
swaying in the wind like the beach grass as he packed up all my clothes and
food. The warmth of his hand over mine gave me a chill. I stopped myself from
walking with him and shook my head, “
Uhmmmm
no.” I pulled
back, shaking my head and backtracking. “This is a bad idea.” I knew where it
would go. I was too drunk to go back there and suffer through loving him and
watching the blonde all over him. No.

I turned and ran, faster than I think he or I anticipated I
could. I rounded the corner of the tiki huts, pressing the unlock button on the
car. I dove into the driver’s seat and slammed the door fast. Mike was slamming
on the passenger side of the car as I started it. I heard another noise just as
the driver’s door was ripped open. Out of nowhere, there were
lights—flashing, bright-white ones. Then there was yelling and I was
jerked from the seat. It was too much for me to take in, all at once. Things
got blurry.

My face was pressed into the cement. Something was holding it
there, pressing on my back. In the dim glow of the streetlights and my hazy
vision, I saw France. He looked angry.

The voices greeted him
,
they knew him
.

He picked me up. I nodded, “Hi, Mike.”

He snarled at me and looked back at the man in the uniform,
“We good?”

The man nodded, “Get her outta here.”

Light was the enemy. I’d tried opening my eyes a couple
times, but it had ended badly. I felt something touch my arm. I jumped, opening
my eyes and groaning as the instant headache started.

I was with Mike.

That was all there was.

I looked up, seeing his light and breezy beach house and
everything was back instantly. I closed my eyes, “Oh, my shoes really are
ruined?”

France sat up from the opposite couch, “What?” He rubbed his
eyes, giving me a funny look.

I put a hand to my face, “Everything’s a bit hazy, but I
remember my shoes. My Jimmy
Choos
, she was wearing
them. They’re ruined now. He was in a cape.”

He cocked an eyebrow, “Jack, you alright?”

I shook my head, “No. I feel like death. I ate so many carbs
and sugars and drove... and I had some of those energy drinks, and then that
full bottle of wine. My body hates me.”

He laughed, “You’re dehydrated as shit.” He got up and
grabbed a Gatorade. He passed it to me with the drinking spout opened.

I moaned, “We didn’t…did we?”

“I have to admit, I was tempted last night when you were
undoing my pants. ‘Course, I had a bad feeling you wouldn’t remember and that’s
not how I see us reuniting in my bed. Not just that, but you threw up a lot and
I had this horrible thought that it would be amazing timing for you to get sick
again.”

My eyes widened, “Oh my God. I tried to take your pants off?
I’m so sorry.”

He smiled, “Not the first time a drunk girl tried to get my
pants off. ‘Course, it was the first time a girl called me sexy-lumberjack
France. Now drink up. I haven’t heard that outta your mouth in a while.”

I gripped the Gatorade and shook my head, “Oh my God. I’m so
sorry. But I also hate you for enjoying this so much.”

He knelt beside the couch, smiling. His eyes were so
beautiful and dark. His lashes clumped together a bit, making them frame his
eyes so much more. I could have gotten lost in them. Until he spoke, “So,
you going
to thank me for saving you from getting arrested
with a DUI? Those cops were pissed.”

I closed my eyes, groaning, “Oh my God. I drove drunk?”

He nodded, looking serious, “You tried to. They got you out
of the car, but you had something called care and control and they were pissed.
I took the blame for you. I told them you got scared I was going to attack
you.”

I frowned at that; I couldn’t make myself believe he would.
His eyes were sweet and kind. They were
nice,
everything about him was sort of nice. He didn’t scare me. “You told them you
scared me? They believed that?”

He laughed, “You told them I chased you on the beach, granted
it was in a muddled form of English. I had to explain I wanted your keys so you
wouldn’t drive drunk.”

I ran my sticky fingers through my nappy hair, “Oh, France. I
am so sorry if I embarrassed you.”

He sat back, chuckling softly but giving me an odd look with
those dark eyes, “Jack, you were trashed and upset, and I am not embarrassed by
anything you said or did last night. In fact, the two strip shows really made
up for almost drunk driving.”

My jaw dropped, “What?”

He pointed, “On the beach, you ripped all your clothes off
and got changed. It was entertainment at it’s best.” He pointed to the door,
“Then, after you threw up everywhere and we got back here, you did a really
nice slow one. It was classy.” His grin was also classy.

There wasn’t a single spot in or out of me that wasn’t
completely destroyed. He
hit me in the arm lightly
,
“Mellow out.
It was funny. You were drunk and fun. Except
the trying to drive, that was less fun.” He got up and started doing things in
the kitchen. I drank the blue liquid, shuddering at the sweetness.

“Don’t you have any coconut water?”

He gave me a look, “What?”

I winced and swallowed more, “It rehydrates much more
efficiently and without the chemicals and artificial sweeteners.”

He shrugged, “No and I couldn’t find any of that weird green
drink you have for breakfast, but I made you medium eggs. You can still eat
those, right?”

I laughed, “How do you remember the green drink?”

“Last Christmas when Phil went to Washington for that two
days and you spent them at my place. You drank it then. I remember trying to
find it everywhere.”

For whatever reason, that memory hurt me. Maybe because I’d
hurt him when I left.

He put the plates on the table. I got up, clutching the blue
drink and plopped into a seat.

He smiled, “So what’s the plan?” He sat down and ate
something I had to give a second look to fully comprehend. It looked like four
eggs, a stack of pancakes, a mound of fried potatoes, and several links of
sausage.

I pointed, “You can't eat all that, you're thirty. I assumed
at Christmas it was a bit of a holiday thing. You don’t still eat breakfast
like this every day? You’ll die.”

He laughed, “I’ll work it off later.”