Until We Crash - Michele G Miller Page 0,56

Jess’s spine straightens beneath my hand. “You’ve heard, huh?” She curses, mumbling loud enough for my ears only. “I came home to help my dad. I had no idea I’d be dealing with the fallout of her life.”

Finn clears his throat. “Your parents’ transgressions aren’t yours. Don’t be ashamed, lass.”

I nod in agreement. Hoping she’ll grasp his words as truth.

“Oh, aren’t they?” Her laughter belittles her anger. “I’m in Rossview dealing with this shit because of my father’s weakness. I’m getting fired because of my mother’s.” She whirls out of my embrace and circles in place.

“Dammit.” She stops and digs into her bag, muttering low.

Fired. I meet the twins’ stoic stares.

“He made a disgusting innuendo. I should have ignored him, but after the last time, I wanted to show him he couldn’t screw with me. I asked if he thought I was someone who could be easily played with?”

My molars grind, my mind forming easy—and assholish—answers to that type of question.

Her keys clatter as she removes them from her purse. “He said my mother was.” Her eyes clench then open. Finn curses in Gaelic, which draws Jess’s attention. She chokes a laugh and huffs. “Of course, he sealed his fate when he said he bet I’d spread my legs just as quickly.”

The tight ball of anger I’ve nursed since the moment I arrived explodes. Red fucking sparks fill my vision and propel me toward the restaurant.

“Carter!” Jess’s shout is drowned out by the ringing in my ears. Heavy steps hit the asphalt behind me and arms grab hold.

“Not here, Coop.” Finn and Frey struggle to hold me in place. “Not now.”

“Are you kidding me? That piece of shit is not gonna threaten her like that. He’s—”

Finn jerks my arm and gains my attention. “No, he’ll pay,” he says between gritted teeth, his eyes leveling on mine. “But, not here.”

Frey’s eyes thin. “She’s got enough shit to deal with right now, Coop.”

Yeah, she does. She’s supporting herself and her Dad, and she just lost her job. “Jess?” I shake the guys off. Thinking with my fists isn’t going to help her. “What can we do?”

She runs a finger under her eye and sniffs. “I need to get out of here.”

Nodding for Finn and Frey to head out, I lean against her Acura while she kisses their cheeks, thanking them for the rescue. Frey flushes while Finn cradles her head and whispers in her ear with his eyes focused on me. Her head shifts side to side, and Finn grins and whispers more.

“Really?” she asks when they part.

He walks backward, throwing me a two-finger salute, and I’d kill to know what the fuck he said. Especially when Jess faces me, her eyes searching.

“Do you have to go home?”

She matches my pose and leans against the driver’s door. “I should change and check on my dad.”

Where I want her doesn’t require clothes, but I can’t blame her for wanting to rid herself of her uniform. “I’ll follow you. If everything is good with him, we can hang for a bit?”

With a nod, she slides into her car, and I cross the lot to mine, smiling at my boys as I pass them sitting in their car, waiting for us to head out. We leave Bleachers in the rearview mirror; Jess and I turn left, Finn and Frey head right.

Jess

I bawl the entire way home. Not because I loved working at Bleachers, but because I'm pissed as hell that assholes like Sonny and his buddies earn free damn drinks and food for being dickheads while I work my butt off and lose my job. What I did was wrong, but it doesn't ease the blow any less. Amy didn't want to fire me, I give her credit for that, but they can't employ a waitress who strikes a customer. It's protocol. Plain and simple.

So, I cry about my new predicament until I arrive home. Carter pulls up behind me, and I rush from my car, waving for him to wait while I run inside. He doesn't need to see more tears from me today. Jumping in the shower, I rinse the perfume of beer and grease from my body in record time, being sure to scrub my face to rid evidence of my breakdown. Leaving my damp hair loose, I pull on a summer dress and sandals before heading into the living room.

"You're all dressed up." Dad spares me a cursory glance between pitches on the old tube television he says he pulled from

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