Loaded, p.16
Loaded, page 16
A lot.
And whenever he showed up, my mom got angry. She also always got stuck in rehab, which meant that I went home with Grandpa. No one could see me while I was staying with him unless I was dressed and pressed like a doll, and I could never do anything but smile and nod. He was very clear on that. I’ve since wondered whether the people we met thought I was a halfwit.
I’ll never know what Dave and Seren said to convince him that they could be adequate foster parents, but he kept them on a very short leash. The promise he extracted from me as my part of that deal was that under no circumstance would I ever call Dave and Seren Mom or Dad—no one could know that I was their foster child. The world could know that I was staying with them for a short time, and that was all.
Anything else would result in my removal from their care.
I could probably call them whatever I want now, but some habits die hard. I’m afraid of the dark. I’m still irrationally worried that there might be monsters under my bed, and I’m still afraid of my grandfather. I know too much about what he’s capable of, and I’m under no delusions that he’ll go easy on me because we’re related.
Grandfather will always do whatever is best for him. Period.
“I will never run for office.” I block him from coming inside. “I don’t think we have anything else to discuss.”
He frowns. “I’m coming inside.”
I shake my head. “My roommate’s sleeping.”
“You mean the Fansee’s troubled foster kid?” He scowls. “That Jake boy should not be your roommate.”
This isn’t a new argument. He’s always hated Jake. It’s not personal. He hates anyone being near me who might attract attention that could possibly circle back to him. He dislikes anything he can’t control.
“I’ll provide you with an apartment—a nice one, in The City.”
I hate when New Yorkers call New York City The City. It’s so arrogant, like comparatively, no other cities matter. “I’ll pass, but thanks.”
His lip curls. “You know what your problem is?”
“Wait, I only have one?”
Now he’s really annoyed. “Right now, your smart mouth is not appreciated, miss.”
“I’ll make note of it.”
“You were taught better than this.”
“Was I?” I cross my arms. “You taught me never to let anyone push me around.”
“That doesn’t apply to me.” He narrows his eyes.
I shrug. “That part of the lesson didn’t take. What else did you want to say?”
“You will not see that boy again.” His eyes harden, which is impressive since they were already downright flinty. “Am I clear?”
“See him, as in clap my eyes on him? Or see him as in go on a date and kiss?”
The wrinkles around his lips deepen. “What did I say about the smart mouth?”
Egging my grandfather on is always a bad idea, but if I don’t push back at all, he gets even worse. It’s a delicate balance, pushing back just hard enough to get him to leave me alone. “I apologize,” I whisper. “I just didn’t get much sleep with all the drama over the video, and I don’t want to wake up Jake. He has a shoot later.”
He sighs. “Well, if you’re going to bed, I’ll assume you heard what I said, and you plan to listen.” He waits for me to disagree. After a moment, when I don’t argue, he nods and huffs before leaving.
I never promised him a thing, but in his mind, I sure did.
Not that it matters. Whether I do what he insists or not, all Grandfather cares about are the results. People liked me in that video—only rich people got annoyed. And they’re mostly annoyed at themselves for being soulless, not at me for pointing it out. Which means it’s good for his image to be connected to me. It could have just as easily gone the other way.
That’s what makes me a wild card.
Nothing I do is premeditated, and I certainly never know how people will take it. My safest play is the same as it’s always been. Stay home, keep my mouth shut, and stay away from any kind of attention. Emerson—the Richmond heir—and Jake do not make it easier. The last thing I need to do is start dating the latest fashion wonderboy, but he’s just so cute.
Waking up to a dozen messages from friends and coworkers about my internet fame wasn’t wonderful. But Easton rushing over here to make sure I’m okay? Reassuring me that he’s still interested, even though I was a complete mess? Telling me that he doesn’t care what his board thinks?
It’s pretty cute.
Even so, it’s early, and it has not been a great day.
Thankfully, Jake’s not actually home. That means I can go for a run alone, which I do. I feel a lot better once I’ve worked up a sweat, and while I’m in the shower, I have an idea for a song. When Jake finally does walk through the front door, looking like maybe he had an early morning shoot, I’ve got almost the entire chorus worked out.
“Hey, listen to this.”
I start banging away without thinking or even really more than glancing his way. “And then I was thinking I’d transition like this.” I play my coda, and then the first two lines of the verse. “It’s blocky, but maybe if I. . .” I trail off, erasing a line and cleaning it up.
“You are—”
I snap my head back, surprised Jake’s standing just behind me. He crossed the room without me even noticing.
“What?”
His hand brushes the hair hanging down my back. “Your hair’s sopping wet. The entire back of your shirt is soaked.”
I shrug. “I had this idea while I was in the shower, and I just wanted to get it down.”
“It’s even better than the one you wrote the other day,” he says softly. “I’m impressed.”
“Do you really think so?” Then it hits me, how to finish out the opening lines. “Oh! What about this.” I play them all together, and then I plunge into the chorus. “I even had an idea for words. What do you think about these?” I clear my throat. “Don’t judge my voice, because I just had a yogurt.”
“Bea, stop with the self-deprecating crap about your voice. You sound amazing. Just sing.”
That surprises me, but I shake it off. “Okay. Here goes.” I swallow, and then I launch into it. “Walking that fine line, but it’s never enough; When the one who makes you small is so rough; Nothing you do will ever earn a smile; You should really quit caring, at least for a while.”
I hunch my shoulders then, hearing just how corny it sounds.
“You know what? Never mind. The lyrics need work.”
Jake drops a hand on my shoulder. “That was—it was really good, Hornet. I mean it.”
I turn around slowly. “Are you just being nice?”
He shakes his head. “Not even a little. I know your grandfather came today. Is that what inspired this?”
“How do you know—” It doesn’t matter. “It was and it wasn’t, actually. I am talking about him, kind of, but I think the song’s because of Easton. You know, that video’s a mess, but he wasn’t even mad. I embarrassed him, and I criticized his company, mocking everyone who buys his brand, really, and instead of getting upset with me, he came over to make sure I’m alright.”
Jake frowns.
“I guess it made me realize what people should do. It’s what I’ve never had.”
“I don’t criticize you,” Jake says.
I sigh. “True, but you don’t push me, either. I’m writing songs, plural. Not a song. I’m halfway through my second in a week. Maybe I’ll enter that contest after all.”
“You were mad about it,” he says. “You said that woman was a jerk.”
I shrug. “Maybe I needed someone to believe in me, even when I don’t believe in myself.”
“I do,” Jake says.
I roll my eyes. “Oh my gosh, Jakey, stop. Not everything is about you.”
“This isn’t about Easton, either, though.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “If you’re writing songs, then you’re writing them. Not that guy.”
“Fine,” I say. “I’m writing them.”
Jake finally smiles. “Well, good for you. I could put in some calls to see who’s running the contest, and then—”
I shake my head. “No thank you.”
“Some things haven’t changed, I see.”
“I guess not.” But I’m smiling back at him. No matter how much he annoys me, I can’t stay mad long. Jake’s just like that. Not with everyone, but with me. Although, I do think it’s the same boyish charm that women all over the country fall in love with on the screen. It’s just even stronger in person.
I go back to the piano, tightening a few things, working on a transition and then playing the whole thing again, start to finish. It takes me a minute, but I get it all down on paper, too. When I finally finish, I lean back and sigh.
“That was really amazing to watch.”
I nearly jump out of my skin. Jake’s sitting on the sofa, doing nothing.
“Were you watching me that whole time?”
“More listening than watching, but yes. Why?”
“It’s. . .weird.”
“It was kind of amazing. Once you’re big, and I have no doubt you soon will be, I’m going to tell people at parties how I was sitting in the room next to you while you wrote this one.”
“Jake.” I roll my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And like all my other outrageous stories, this one’s true.”
“There is no way you were dropped off by helicopter and then skied your way down the Sierra Nevadas with Ashton Kutcher.”
“Don’t forget the wounded dog we found and carried to safety.”
I’m laughing now. “The fact that anyone believes that story makes me doubt the future of humanity more than anything else I’ve heard. Jellyfish have more brain cells than someone who believes that.”
“Fine, Ashton and I didn’t exactly find the dog that way, but this one really will be true.” He stands and crosses to sit next to me on the piano bench. “And Ashton tells the same story, by the way. His agent made it up. I’m just following orders.”
“What actually happened?” I ask. “Twisted ankle?”
Jake sighs. “More embarrassing.”
“Oh, now I really need to know.”
“I can’t tell you. I signed a form saying we’d stick to the same story—the one you’ve heard.”
I slug him on the shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”
“But look—the one thing about my life that’s not made up.” He points at the paper where I’ve jotted the song down. “That’s the real deal, Bea.”
I’m not good at taking praise. I have no idea what to do with it. Luckily, it doesn’t happen often, so I can usually just shrug it off. It leaves me poorly prepared for moments like this—raw, real. Thankfully, my phone buzzes. I can’t help hoping it’s Easton. Which is stupid.
When I realize Jake’s phone also buzzed, I’m a little disappointed.
ANNOUNCEMENT: WE WILL NOW HAVE A WEEKLY FAMILY DINNER ON SUNDAY. I’LL HOST EACH WEEK UNLESS SOMEONE ELSE CALLS IT. I’LL TAKE REQUESTS FOR DINNER. FIRST COME, FIRST SELECTED.
Seren’s as cute as ever.
“What is this?” Jake says. “Like anyone wants to go back every Sunday.”
Only, I can tell by his half-smile that he’s as happy about it as I am. I start texting right away. SPAGHETTI AND MEATBALLS.
Jake’s head whips sideways. “Hey, now. You’re not fighting fair.”
“She said first request gets picked first.” I shrug. “Snooze and lose.”
For someone who said he doesn’t want to go back, his fingers sure fly over the front of his phone. THAT PASTA IN A GLASS DISH WITH THE SUNDRIED TOMATOES.
Now I’m laughing. “For the love, Jake.”
“What?” he asks. “No one else makes it like that.”
“It’s because Seren made that up with whatever ingredients she had in the fridge.”
“She made it every week after that for two years,” Jake says. “I know she can make it again.”
“She calls it Jake’s Pasta Casserole, you know,” I say. But that reminds me to ask. . . CAN WE BRING PEOPLE?
IF WE CAN’T, Emerson texts, I’M NOT COMING. :P
“They are joined at the hip now,” Jake says. “Pathetic.”
“That’s kind of what marriage is, dummy.”
“Who did you want to take?” Jake frowns. “That annoying Easter guy?”
“You know it’s Easton.”
“I thought after that video, you two would be done.” He plonks at the keys on the piano, making a terrible noise.
“Stop.” I drop a hand on his. “My ears.”
He turns, his eyes intent. “I’m serious, Hornet. Are you still going to date him?”
The question surprises me. “I mean, I don’t love that he’s in the public eye, and my grandfather says I have to stop seeing him right away.” I roll my eyes.
“You won’t date anyone who’s a public figure, right?” He’s staring at me in a weird way. “You always said that. Always.”
“That was always Grandfather’s thing, but I’m beginning to wonder why I have to listen to him. I’m an adult, and I’m old enough to make my own decisions. It’s not like he can take me away from Dave and Seren anymore.” My laugh’s bitter. “Even now, I can’t quite bring myself to call them Mom and Dad without correcting myself, at least, not unless I’m talking to Emerson.”
“He always called them that so easily.” Jake sighs. “But I think your grandpa might have been right about Easton.”
“Why don’t you like him?” My brow furrows. “I thought you were kidding at first, but you really do seem to hate him.”
“It’s not that I hate him.” Jake looks back down at the piano keys. “It’s just that. . .” He drops his voice until I can barely hear it. “I hate that you like him.”
“Why?”
He turns slowly, his eyes blazing. “Because I’m in love with you, you idiot.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s ridiculous. “Jake.” I swat at his shoulder.
But he catches my hand. “And that, that reaction’s why I’ve never told you.”
I yank my hand away and slide to the edge of the bench. “Stop it.”
He shakes his head. “I’ve always loved you, Hornet. You’d know it, if you just—”
I stand up. “Jacob Kingsley.”
His frown is intense. “No one has called me that in more than ten years.”
It’s his real name. Not many people even know it anymore. “I know you, and I’ve known you so long that I know the you most people have never even met.” I put my hands on my hips. “I know you better than you know yourself.” I really do think that’s true. Insightful isn’t a label many people would slap on Jake Priest.
“And that’s why I love—”
I shove my finger against his mouth and he freezes, his eyes focusing on my finger until I yank it away. “Stop. I mean it.”
“Beatrice.” He won’t stop looking at me like that. It’s unnerving.
“I’m toxic,” I finally say. “My family. My baggage.” I shake my head. “You and I were never a good idea. Not for even one minute. Not then, and not now.”
“Even when we met, you knew what I was,” he says. “You always knew.”
“And that’s why we’re a bad fit. It’s why you’ve never asked me out before now, not even once. Not in all the years you’ve been a part of my life.”
“I was scared about losing you,” he says. “But I would do anything, fix anything, change anything to be with you.”
I sigh slowly. “Ah, Jake.” I wave him over and sit back on the piano bench. Then I drop my head against his shoulder. “You’re scared. That’s the first true thing you’ve said.”
“What?”
“Now that I like someone, and I mean, really like someone, you’re scared. Just like the little boy I met so many years ago.”
“What are you even saying?”
I’m staring at the music I wrote today, the music I’ve been too afraid to write for, well, for my whole life. “Jake, you have exactly one person you really trust.”
“You.” He nods. “You get it.”
“I do, and in all that time, if you really were in love with me, brash, brave, over-confident Jake, do you really think you’d never have asked me out? Kissed me?” I turn to face him.
He looks confused.
“Jake Priest doesn’t dither. He’s not crippled by indecision.” I press my index finger against his nose. “But now you’re worried that you’re about to lose me.”
His voice is broken when he whispers, “I can’t lose you, Bea.” It cracks when he says, “I can’t.”
“I know.” I wrap one arm as far around his shoulders as it will go. “And you never will. Not ever. Do you hear me?”
“But we’re not really family.”
I hate how small his voice is, and I hate that he doesn’t already know this in his bones. “No one on earth could be more my brother than you are.” Tears pool in my eyes. “Not even if I found out I had a secret twin whom Mom sold to the circus. You’d still be more my brother than he was. Nothing will ever change that. No matter what you do, no matter what you say, no matter who I date or kiss or marry, you will always be my brother.”
“But Emerson left.” Now he’s crying. Jake Priest, whom I have never once seen cry when a camera wasn’t rolling, is sobbing next to me. “He just left, and now we never see him anymore.”
“Oh, Jake.” I wrap both arms around him, and he cries against my shoulder. “He’s not gone. You just haven’t gone to see him, and you haven’t invited him here.”
“He’s a Richmond now.”
“He is, and he’s still a Fansee, just like you and me, in our hearts. In our souls.”
We stay like that for an awkwardly long time, but eventually Jake gets it together, and he straightens. “It would be great if—”
“I don’t need to tell anyone,” I say. “The fact that you bawled on my shoulder will go with me to my grave.”
“The Ashton Kutcher thing is more likely,” he says.
Now I’m really laughing. “You’re such an idiot.”
“And you must really like that Easter guy.”
