Hawk: A Stepbrother Romance Part 85

Jennifer's mind begged for a chance to spend some time getting to know Jacob. Instead, she stammered a weak excuse about work requiring her immediate attention.

What's wrong with you? You don't have anything to do. It's the first day!

"I suppose I have work to do as well," Jacob said. His wounded expression combined with her remorse from dealing him undeserved rejection, and sent her eyes downward to her shuffling feet.

Hands folded subconsciously over her chest as she walked, and the tight metal band's twisting burn dug into her finger. "I could--"

Her finger throbbed. Franklin staring at her from the honeymoon photo flashed through her mind.

"I'm sorry," Jacob said. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I'm not. I mean, you didn't, I--"

I sound like I'm in eighth grade. Just spit it out!

Spit what out? What was she going to say? Eat lunch with me, mysterious rich kung-fu math teacher?

"I'm just shaken up. I'm sorry. Maybe another time?"

A toothy smile brightened his face. Jennifer guessed dental work perfected those movie star teeth.

Probably had them all knocked out when he broke that hand and got that scar on his face.

Something about how Jacob's warm eyes s.h.i.+ed away when she gathered enough courage to face him made her feel fluttery and strange. If the pair of them standing in the hallway grew any more awkward, then she'd burst.

"Maybe another time," he said with a quick sigh. "See you between cla.s.ses, I guess."

Jennifer nodded before rus.h.i.+ng into her cla.s.sroom. She cursed herself for shutting the door so hard. Jacob probably thought she slammed the door on him.

So what? Why did she care what he thought about the way she closed doors?

You're a married woman.

Her ring itched.

Jennifer's messenger bag produced a lunch consisting of a bottle of water, sandwich, and half an apple. The lettuce and cheese on dry toast was mashed into an unrecognizable shape, probably from the corner of her textbook landing on it when she fell.

She soldiered through lunch alone. The ringing bell startled her, and she used the dark computer monitor for a quick composure check. Red puffy eyes stared back at her.

High school was still new and strange to the freshmen, and Jennifer went through the motions without allowing them to test her too much. The Advanced Placement cla.s.s was a different story. She had to cure a few cases of senioritis and explain again they really needed to read the entire syllabus.

The boy who fought with another student selling drugs was in her AP cla.s.s. Jennifer didn't know how he talked his way out of going to the ER, and she didn't ask. He sat next to Krystal, and Jennifer hid a genuine smile at how Cole obviously liked the girl.

Her last commitment for the day was an Advisory group comprised of students from her other courses plus one or two others. She only had a short time with them, so she let them sit and chat quietly after a little icebreaker activity. Seniors could mostly take care of themselves during the advisory period. Both Cole and Krystal were in this group, and continued to sit together after students pulled the tables apart. Jennifer busied herself with the entering cla.s.s partic.i.p.ation grades and other menial tasks that built up during the day.

Feeling a bit fatigued, a loud yawn spread through the room as she walked to the windows. Thunderheads rolled in, and the wind rattled the windows. A dull haze of raindrops outlined a police car in the lot, and the boy that attacked Cole was in the back seat. She never learned his name. They'd probably been at him all day, and she hoped he'd get help before he ruined his life, but she didn't want him back in school, either. The rain slid down the gla.s.s in sheets, and the sky darkened enough to cause the lights in the parking lot to turn on.

The Advisory period dragged to a close, and the small group put their chairs up without instruction, leaving the door open after shuffling out. Krystal lagged behind the others. Cole, the smaller boy from the earlier fight, hung around in the hallway waiting for her. Jennifer smirked at his reflection in the window, still wondering how he managed to talk his way out of an ambulance ride and early dismissal.

Krystal peered at her with concern. "What?"

"Nothing," Jennifer said. "Go home."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Did I p.i.s.s you off with the teasing? I didn't mean to."

"No," Jennifer said. "Do I seem pis... angry?"

"Kinda." Krystal shrugged into her book bag. "You got a little choked up in cla.s.s."

"I did?"

Jennifer blinked a few times and rubbed the bridge of her nose between her fingers. She never lost her composure in front of the students. Never. Krystal probably paid more attention than most, but Jennifer never let herself slip before. Get it together.

"Well, not choked up," said Krystal, "You just seemed freaked out about something. Like, really intense."

Jennifer shrugged. "It's just the weather."

"Do you need a ride? I have a car."

Jennifer smiled softly. "No, hon. That wouldn't be appropriate. I'll catch a ride with one of the other teachers. I'll be fine. I'm an adult. I'll live without you for a few hours."

Krystal smiled. "Okay," she sighed before heading off.

Jennifer kept an old field jacket that belonged to her father in the cla.s.sroom for such weather conditions. She zipped it up, strapped on her bag, and pulled up the hood. During a final survey of her room, the gra.s.s under the thunderheads outside reminded her of Jacob's eyes. The light was still on in his cla.s.sroom. She was tempted to knock on the closed door and ask him for a ride.

Stop that. You're being silly.

Jennifer lingered a bit after locking the door. At any moment, Rachel would probably find her walking down the hallway and demand to drive her home.

Rachel didn't show up. Jennifer stared out the doors, then resigned herself to a soaking wet ride in the stifling jacket. She pushed open the door, and jumped at the sound of Jacob's voice.

"Need a ride?"

There he was, behind her. He was a quiet one.

"My bike-"

"I have a bike rack. Come on, you'll get soaked."

Jennifer weighed the options of riding home in the rain or the Aston Martin. She ignored the chafing wedding band and picked the Aston Martin.

He rolled her bike around to the back, pulled a bike rack out of the trunk, then attached it to the tow hitch. She pulled the door shut with a soft clap, fearing she'd damage the intricate st.i.tched leather seat. He dropped in beside her and handed her a towel. Jacob wiped down his head and arms with another one. Jennifer clutched her bag to her chest, pushed her hood back, and winced at the drops pattering on the seat.

His shoulder brushed hers. There wasn't room on the arm rest until he put both hands on the wheel and rolled his shoulders. The new car smell mingled with the leathery scent of his cologne.

Jacob slipped the car into gear. "We should go to the police," he said.

She looked out the window. "There's no point."

"Elliot... I mean, that man put his hands on you."

Jennifer sighed at the hopeless situation. "Don't you think I've tried? I know what will happen to me if I make the senator's son look bad."

"What?"

"Nothing," she said. "Nevermind. There's nothing I can do. I tried."

"There's a state police barracks not far from here."

"They won't help, either. Who's going to arrest Senator Katzenberg's son?"

Jacob's hands tightened on the wheel, and the leather creaked. He peered through the winds.h.i.+eld wipers. "You know, I don't actually know where I'm going."

"Just go straight up the hill. It's the white duplex on the left, with all the junk on the porch."

"Every house here has junk on the porch."

Jennifer snorted. It was a short trip by car, less than five minutes. She looked out the window. "We're here."

He drove past the house, made a sharp three point turn, and then guided the car to the sidewalk. The rain slowed its drumming on the roof. Steam rose from the sidewalks and the air was heavy with humidity. Jacob got out and unlocked her bike from the rack.

"Okay then," he said, "I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."

Don't let him go!

"Wait," Jennifer said. "I didn't mean to brush you off, earlier. Come inside and towel off at least. I'll get you something. A drink," she added, hastily. "This way."

She took the bike by the handlebars but Jacob insisted on rolling it up the front walk. He hung it on the rack where she showed him, and kept his distance as she fished out her keys. Jennifer unlocked the deadbolt, stepped inside, and beckoned him to enter.

The outdated decor and clutter embarra.s.sed her. "It's not much."

Jacob ducked to pa.s.s underneath the low lintel, and Jennifer closed the door behind him. He stepped into her cramped living room with the air of a kid waiting to be confronted by his prom date's father. Jennifer shook out her jacket and hung it on a hook by the door. She flinched at Franklin's picture.

What are you doing?

"What are you wis.h.i.+ng for?" said Jacob.

"Excuse me?"

Gingerly, grasping the 'beak' by two fingers, he lifted one of the origami cranes from her crafting table. She had over a hundred of them scattered around the duplex, in her cla.s.sroom, and a few in various coat and jacket pockets.

"You know the story of the thousand paper cranes," she said.

"I've heard it."

She shrugged. "I don't really wish for anything. It's just a way to busy my hands. Sometimes I make them while I read, or grade papers."

He pulled the elastic holding together his ponytail and his wet hair draped around his shoulders. Jennifer scrambled to find him a towel. It had been so long since she actually washed dishes that dust fell off the one by the sink. She found a clean one in a drawer.

Her stomach fluttered when he looked at her, and it was a feeling so old, it took her a moment to recognize it. She broke from his gaze, desperately hoping the heat on her cheeks was from exhaustion, and that she wasn't blus.h.i.+ng. She stepped past him into the kitchen and pulled out one of the old wooden chairs from her grandmother's table for him.

Jacob sat down."This is kind of small. The table, I mean."

"That was the 'kids table' at my grandmother's house," Jennifer said. "Tea? I don't drink coffee."

"Please."

She set a teacup full of water in the microwave and turned it on. The inside light threw its harsh glow into the gloomy kitchen. She flicked on the overhead light and the ceiling fan lazily turned. The house was warm because the rattling air conditioner in the upstairs bedroom couldn't keep up.

"I should have offered you iced tea," she said. "It's too hot for tea." She didn't have any iced tea; she could only offer him a half empty carton of orange juice and bottled water from the refrigerator.

She felt silly for the way her eyes widened and her stomach sucked in when her gaze snapped to him. Crossing her arms over herself and looking away until the microwave chimed, she put a teabag in the cup and set it in front of him. He took the string in the tips of his long fingers and bobbed the bag in the water.

"Milk?"

"No, thank you."

Good. I don't have any milk. She stopped keeping milk in the house after the fifth or sixth carton went sour. Franklin drank milk like water and she kept it in the house of out habit for a few months after his death.

Her ring itched.

Jennifer pulled out a chair and sat down, folding her hands neatly on the table. Jacob's hands were huge compared to hers. Delicate and rough at the same time, and his left hand had bendy breaks in the fingers.

Curiosity got the best of her. "Were you in an accident?"

"Yes." He flexed his fingers. "It's wasn't as bad as all that. Miss Katzenberg-"

"Call me Jennifer," she said.

"Only if you promise to call me Jacob."

"Jacob," she said.

"Jennifer, you have to do something about Elliot. How often does he hara.s.s you like that?"

She shrugged. "It's been a while. A year or so. I thought that he was bored with me, and maybe he'd stop."

Jennifer took her wedding band and twisted it around her finger, feeling the metal rub against her skin. Why was she telling him this?

"My husband was his brother. His younger brother. He could never stand that Franklin 'won' me."

"It's not your fault."

She wanted to say something, but she felt like she'd swallowed a mouthful of sand. She was sure everyone in town knew what happened, but only two people had ever told her it wasn't her fault, Rachel and her sister, Katie. Jennifer's own mother told her it was her fault.