Jinxed (21 page)

“You said Becca had a soft spot for kids. Making children’s dreams come true through the Make-A-Wish program in her name seemed a fitting memorial. I chose three children for her, two girls and a boy, just like she wanted. She made a huge difference to three lives, granted wishes for three kids who had no other hope. It’s kind of like making her their guardian angel. I don’t think she’d have minded, do you?”

Lips bit against emotion, Jinx pulled her into his lap. His strong arms embraced her and he stroked her hair. She squeezed him back, delighted her gift made him happy. She had found a way to use her bonus without taking what didn’t belong to her. Because she knew she had no claim to Jinx, she’d never felt a second’s resentment towards his first love. Becca was his past, she was his now and someone else would have his future. But for this minute, she had touched his heart. It was enough.

“Frannie, you have no idea… It’s perfect. She would’ve loved it. I love it. Thank you.”

Eyes closed tight, she hugged him a little harder before pulling back. The “Little Drummer Boy” barumpbabumbummed in the background as she stroked his cheek. His hands holding her face, he pressed a soft, sweet kiss to her lips. The gentle touch held countless emotions and flavors. She tasted the bittersweetness of remembered love, the tang of gratitude and the savory essence of attraction. The magical fragrance of Christmas hung in the air and stretched the moment until the devilish lift of his lip shifted the night.

“Ready for your big present?” Eyebrows wiggling, the tease in his tone was full of mischief and she laughed in his face before leaping to her feet. She approached the gift slowly.

“Does it bite? I’m almost afraid of it.”

“I don’t think so. Open it and see.”

Excitement shivered down her arms and she rubbed her hands together gleefully. Jinx was so unpredictable she had no idea what could be behind the monstrous paper. He had obviously wrapped it himself because it was hideous. Bits of scotch tape strained to hold together crookedly cut ends, and at least three holes had been patched. He couldn’t make paper ends meet to save his soul. It was another tender tidbit to store in her mind. He had tried, though, and the effort softened her heart.

Joy erupted in her and spilled out with a warm giggle. She snatched the big red bow off and looped the ribbon around her neck. The ends fluttered against her thighs as she stretched to reach the highest point of the paper. It tore with a loud roar and she gasped.

He got me a unicorn
.

Filled with sweet elation, she couldn’t take her eyes off the gift of magic. The white merry-go-round horse stood frozen in a full reared-back position, its black hooves captured as it pawed the air. The shiny pole in its back was eclipsed by the tall purple spiraled horn on its head. The red-and-gold saddle glinted in the firelight against the hide of painted alabaster. Glassy sapphire eyes flickered, almost alive in the fire’s glow. It was pure childhood imagination.

Enchanted, she stroked the glossy coat. “
Your wish is my command,”
he’d whispered and he had delivered in a huge way. She’d set him an impossible task and he’d come through. Like a knight on a quest, he offered her requested longings. She couldn’t stop touching the sleek lines. It was exquisite. He stood and she launched herself into his arms. He held her with solid arms, smiling into her face.

“Jinx, I love it! You found me a unicorn.”

“Look at his horn, Frannie.”

Traveling up the silvered horn, she spied a glimmer of gold at the very tip. Her breath slammed to a stop and her heart knocked in her ribs.

No!

Jinx took the diamond ring from the unicorn’s horn and knelt before her on one knee. Her hand in his, he slid the jewelry on her heart finger and kissed her fingertips. There was no earthquake but Frannie felt herself pitch to and fro. A kaleidoscope swirled in her vision and she couldn’t focus on anything but the shiny bauble on her hand.

He still believed in fairytales.

He couldn’t do this.

He’d done it.

It was over.

I love him
.

I lost him.

“I love you, my Frannie. Will you marry me?”

“No.”

The smile slid from his face like ice cream drips down a cone. Deep grooved lines appeared on his forehead as he screwed up his eyebrows in confusion. “What? What do you mean no?”

“I mean no.” Struggling to prevent her voice from cracking, she wrenched the ring from her finger and put it in his palm, curling his fingers around it.

Still on one knee, his chest began to heave. Silently, he shook his head and stood. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do mean it, Jinx. I’m sorry.”

Almost frantic, he gripped her upper arms and shook her slightly. “I don’t understand. Why?”

Her eyes closed in agony, she bit her lip and steeled herself.
This is where the lying begins. The truth is too humiliating. This is where I hurt him so he can move on, find someone who deserves him. Cold water on a hot fire. Like taking off a Band-Aid, do it fast. Get it over with.

“No.”

“No what? Frannie, what’s going on?” Puzzlement clouded his gypsy eyes. Her fingers itched to stroke his brow but she held them stiffly at her side.

“No, I won’t marry you.”
Please don’t make this harder. Just go.

“Look me in my face, straight into my eyes, and tell me you don’t love me.”

His words surrounded her and shards of her heart began collapsing.
Yes, I love you. But I’m not good enough. You’ll leave me. Destroy me. Hate me. I can’t live with that.
Cries of mental declarations sounding in her ears, she drew a deep breath and stared directly into his eyes. Her voice never wavered.

“I don’t love you.”

Heartbreak has a physical form. It catches you like a gunshot and rips into your soul.

Jinx jerked as if he felt the emotional bullet slam into his chest. He actually took a step back and stumbled. A gaping wound opened in her heart and pain poured out rather than blood. The ribbon around her neck felt heavy, chain-like, and she welcomed the slight scratch on her skin. Anything to distance herself from his obvious suffering. His incredulity robbed his skin of color and he made a painful sound of despair. The ring slipped from his hand, bounced on the rug and lay there.

His eyes locked on her face, he stared at her. One lone tear glistened in his eyes. It slipped over the ridge of his lashes then his mouth hardened in anger.

That’s it. Get mad. Get so angry you can’t feel the pain. It’s not real anyway, it’s an illusion. It will pass quickly. I promise.

“You’re lying.” The words flew at her like darts from a blow gun.

Of course I am. It’s called self-preservation
.

“No, I’m not.”

“Damn it, Frannie, you’re wrong. You
are
lying. To yourself.”

She simply shook her head, unable to voice the lie once again. With a growl like a wounded animal, he spun around, raked his hand through his hair and paced. Once she had seen a lion pace the limits of his cage and that image sprang to her mind. Caged. He wanted what she couldn’t give. He already had her heart, but she couldn’t give the last bit of self-worth.

Without warning, he whipped around and pointed at her. Like razor wire, his voice bit into her heart, slicing pieces away.

“You’re afraid. You’re afraid to let down your guard and believe in us because of Mark. You’ve got your tidy little world all wrapped up in a safe little package and I make you want to step out of it. I’m not going to hurt you, Frannie. But you’re too damned scared to trust me. I’m not your fucking ex-husband!”

She said nothing, just looked at him with dry eyes. The knot in her throat couldn’t be swallowed so she didn’t even try. Woodenly, she allowed him to vent his frustration, to use her as a verbal whipping post. It was the least she could do. She deserved every lash.

The pacing continued, fast and furious. Turning on her once more, she flinched at the icy bitterness in his normally laughing eyes. Bitterness she had put there. But bitterness was better than hatred. And better than resentment.

“You can’t tell me you feel nothing for me. I don’t believe that, not after last night. I held you, heard you scream my name, felt you give in while I was inside you. That’s not a lie. That’s love.”

Deliberately, coldly, she fired the last shot. The kill shot. The one meant to end it all. To put them both out of their misery.

It sounds cruel, but it’s a mercy killing, I promise.

“Don’t flatter yourself. The sex was great, but I don’t have to give my heart to my lovers to have an orgasm. If that were the case, I’d end up married to my vibrator. But the sex
was
incredible, Jinx. That part doesn’t have to end. You’re good in bed. That’s enough for me.”

The insult sank home. He recoiled as distaste flashed on his face. A hood of revulsion spread over him and he grabbed his jacket. Shoving his feet into his boots, he glared at her. “No, thanks. I don’t give stud service.”

“Your choice.” The nonchalance in her words made him wince. They might have done the same to her had she not been numbed by utter misery. Nothing was left of her heart except a hull, an empty casing.

“Yeah, my choice, but your loss. You want to be alone? Be alone. Buy some rechargeable batteries and knock yourself out. Sit here alone with your two cats, your romance books and your ball-less tree. You call me crazy? Fine, but at least I live life. I don’t hide from it like it might bite me in the ass.”

Her vision narrowed, she saw through a pinhole as he jerked his arms into his jacket. The zipper grated upwards with a shrill whiz. Lips dry, she licked them with a parched tongue.

“Merry Christmas, Jinx. I had fun.”

Hot as hellfire, his angry eyes whipped to hers. The “fun” of last night leapt to her mind and she winced. She hadn’t meant to degrade that special moment, it just came out wrong. It came out like a bullet shot directly into his heart. The impact obliterated his control.

“Fuck you, Frannie.”

The force of the door slam rattled the windows and shook the lampshades. Frannie didn’t jump. Her soul was too busy screaming. Shoulders slumped in defeat, she heard the screeching peal of his tires as he gunned the motor. He was gone. It was over.

Stiffly, she walked straight to the bathroom and threw up.

Chapter Eleven

“I was born when she kissed me.

I died when she left me.

I lived a few weeks while she loved me.”

—Dixon Steele in
In A Lonely Place

“Screw Bedford Falls, screw George Bailey and screw Zuzu’s petals.”

Jinx saluted the TV with his Irish coffee—light on the coffee, heavy on the Irish. Sitting in the same seat for hours, he’d stared unseeing at the mindless flashing pictures. The Boys, awake only minutes, had wandered in and flipped to the holiday classic. From the floor, Derek, still sleep tousled and groggy, peered at him with a bemused look.

“And a Merry Christmas to you, too. Feeling a little humbuggish, Uncle Jay?”

Matthew kicked him with a warning expression and shook his head.
Great, I’m being pitied by a bunch of teenagers in their pajamas. How fucking pathetic
.

Grit and exhaustion made his eyes itch and he rubbed them fiercely. He wondered if having a real drink before nine in the morning after you’ve had your heart torn out was considered bad etiquette. Somehow he doubted Emily Post ever discussed that particular situation. However, he was pretty sure being drunk would ruin Christmas morning for everyone.

In the kitchen, his mother and sister were whispering and he knew he was the topic of conversation. When he’d come home last night, they’d been waiting up for him, eagerly awaiting his announcement. His mother, God love her, had taken one look at him and sent everyone to bed so he wouldn’t have to deal with pity on top of heartbreak.

The silence had been almost too much to bear. The night stretched too long and his mind filled with images of Frannie—Frannie laughing in her kitchen, Frannie snuggled in his bed, Frannie naked in the bath. A hole existed where his heart used to be. He’d finally given up on sleep and sat staring at infomercials all night long. Frannie had said fate was a twisted little shit and damned if she wasn’t right. The bastard had showed him Happily Ever After twice and both times snatched it out from under his nose.

A smooth, cold bump on the hand covering his eyes made him look up. Alex, still unshaven and hair all askew, handed him a straight shot of whiskey. Understanding shone in the young man’s eyes and Jinx bit the inside of his jaw.
Merry Fucking Christmas
.

Tossing back the liquor, he grimaced.
Screw Emily Post, too.

{

She hadn’t cried. She was strong. This was for the best. She would make it.

After vomiting until she dry heaved, Frannie had washed her face, cleaned up the torn wrapping paper and sat on the couch. The diamond ring winked at her and she shoved it under the tree skirt with her foot. She wasn’t ready to touch it yet. The bed seemed too far to travel and she was too drained to move, so she lay on the sofa. Still dressed, she slipped into a dreamless, numb sleep.

Sunlight brought no reprieve from her gloom. Dry eyes blinked against the harsh winter light that woke her. Steve and Tracey would be there any time so she started brunch. Still in last night’s clothes, she was on automatic. Whipping eggs and making pancakes, she kept her mind blank. Every time her thoughts slid to coal black eyes, she yanked them back, berated herself and moved along. She could do this.

She was perfectly fine until Steve and Tracey came up her walkway holding hands. The simple gesture of love was her undoing. Dropping Tracey’s hand, Steve ran up the steps and caught her just as she collapsed in harsh racking tears.

She cried in the hallway.

She cried into the living room.

She cried through her story.

She cried through a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

She cried through a hot toddy.

She cried.

And then she cried some more.

“Want me to go beat him up for you?” Steve’s lighthearted question made her cry through her half-laugh.

“No. I’m the one who hurt him. He didn’t hurt me.”

“You made sure of that.” Tracey’s low comment was barely audible. She was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, staring into the antique doll’s face. Her black hair was spiky and wild, like a rabid porcupine. The chunky sweater and tight leather pants gave her a whimsical biker-meets-Junior-League look. But her eyes, those older-than-Methuselah eyes, were cold.

Frannie wiped her runny nose. “What are you talking about?”

Ice blue eyes snapped to Steve with a measuring look. He must have given her some unreadable sign because she turned her gaze on Frannie. “You just piss me off, that’s all. Loverboy worshipped the ground you walked on and you tossed him aside. For what? Because of some screwed-up message your asshole ex-husband pounded into your head? You’re better than that, Frannie. Loverboy loves you despite the fact you were a crabby bitch to him most of the time. All this sanctimonious crap about how it was for his own good’s a copout. You’re scared shitless. You want a guarantee of a happy ending. Well, maybe Happily Ever After is asking too much of any one man. Maybe you have to settle for Happy Enough For Now.”

Shocked and wounded, Frannie felt her lips curl into an ugly grimace. “You don’t understand. When he leaves—”

“What if he doesn’t? What if you have ten happy years with him before it ends? What if he gets hit by a bus before he walks out on you? I understand about fear, but damn it, Frannie, face it head-on, don’t run from it before it happens.”

“Tracey, I can’t be his Cinderella. It’d be a lie. I can’t stand to have him look at me and think, ‘What in the hell did I ever see in her?’”

Carefully Tracey picked up the doll and held it out to Frannie. “He saw his destiny. Even if you don’t believe it, he did.”

Unable to breathe, Frannie blew her nose and let Tracey’s words circle her brain. Jinx
had
believed he loved her. He believed it with his entire being. That was why her words had hurt so much. He believed. But could she?

Seated at her feet, Steve ran his hand over her bent knee. Silent support shone in his eyes. “Tracey’s right, Fran. You know you love Jinx. He says he loves you. All you have to do is decide to believe him.”

If she allowed herself to believe in Jinx’s love, she opened the door to so many things—love, happiness, marriage. But also to rejection, pain and emptiness. That step seemed so scary.

Deep in her agonized thoughts, Frannie barely noticed when Tracey and Steve headed for the kitchen. The muted sounds of the microwave, low conversation and the scrape of cutlery didn’t penetrate her mind. Stuck in a loop of memories, she clutched her chest and curled into the couch. Tears were beyond her now. She had no more. Now all she had was an empty ache. Phantom pain. She sighed.
A wound that hurts because it’s missing
.

A set of knees drew her gaze. Steve squatted down beside her and stroked her hair. Warm and large, his hands brought a sudden flash of Jinx stroking her hair last night and her eyes filled again.
I miss him so much.
Wordlessly, Steve picked up the doll and laid it on the pillow beside her head.

“Cinderella risked getting into a coach made out of a pumpkin, in a dress made out of air and only had one dance with Prince Charming. But it paid off.”

The smooth porcelain face that stared back at her was her own, stuck in a permanent pout. It held her attention as Steve slipped away. She was going to end up just like that doll. Lifeless but intact, with a few battle scars to show she was once loved. The thought sent fear racing through her veins. Reaching out, she hugged the doll close. Could she lie well enough to pull off a temporary fairytale?

Scents of coffee, bacon and potatoes assaulted her nose. She shuffled into the kitchen, still clutching the doll. Her friends’ eyes jerked to hers and she drew a shaky breath.

“I want him. For as long as he wants me, I want the fairytale. If he’ll take me back, that is. Somehow, I have to convince him I do love him. Some of the things I said last night… I hurt him.”

Steve plopped his plate down with a thunk before taking her in his arms. “He’ll take you back. Or I
will
beat him up.”

The humorous remark was what she needed and she snorted into his shoulder. Tracey grabbed her hands and dragged her to a chair. Whipping around the kitchen like a Tasmanian devil, she poured coffee, slapped food on a plate and shoved it at Frannie.

“Eat, you look like shit. Then tell me what you have planned. If you really busted his balls, you have some major crawling to do.”

Mouth full of cold toast and lukewarm coffee, she froze. Her decision was so new she hadn’t thought of anything else.

Correctly reading the bewilderment on Frannie’s face, Tracey rolled her eyes. “You have to really show him you mean business. Dramatically. The man gave you a unicorn and you rejected him. That alone deserves some humiliation on your part.”

Mind racing, Frannie nibbled more cold toast. One wacky idea popped into her head and she pushed it away. It came back. Even though she shied away from it, it stomped its foot, demanding she pay attention. Jinx deserved to see her crawl. Sighing in defeat, she accepted it.

“I’m going to give him his Cinderella.”

Interest sparked in Tracey’s eyes. Frannie explained and with each word the sparkle grew until she was hopping in her chair. With a squeal, she bounded to the phone to make some quick arrangements with friends.

Quieter, more solid, Steve sat beside her and squeezed her hand. Steady support flowed from his skin to hers. “It’ll work out. He does love you. I really believe that.”

“I don’t.” Swallowing her fear before it erupted again, Frannie straightened her shoulders. “I don’t believe it. I still think he’s deluding himself and will wake up one day. But I love him and that might be enough. And if not, well, I’ll just have to deal with whatever happens.”

“How are you going to make Jinx think you believe him?” he asked.

“She’ll fake it,” Tracey announced, flouncing to her side. “Women fake it all the time. Men are clueless. Now, go shower. I have to run home and get some stuff but I’ll be right back.”

Hope built in her chest. Frannie was halfway up her stairs when she heard Steve’s question.

“You fake it?”

{

He went through the motions. Christmas morning seemed like a never-ending cycle of fake smiles, forced laughter and yawning despair. Although he loved his family, he wanted them to leave. Wanted nothing more than to be alone to cave in to the searing pain eating his gut. The adults tried to hide pitying looks but he saw them. The teens were less aware but still treated him the same as they did after September 11—cautious, careful, fearful of upsetting him, as if he was teetering on the edge of insanity.

Smart kids.

When the last gift had been opened, he escaped to his bedroom. The dark soothed his burning eyes but did little for his dying heart. The bed stretched for miles, empty without Frannie. Arm across his eyes, he tried to forget.

“Honey, are you okay?”

No, I’m not. I’m a walking dead man.

Biting his lip against the sharp retort, he nodded. “Yeah, Mom, I’ll be all right.”

The mattress dipped as she sat beside him. For one brief panicky moment, Jinx felt his hold on everything quiver. He wanted to bury his head in his mother’s lap and bawl like a kindergartner with a scraped knee. But it would do no good. No amount of magic mommy kisses, Band-Aids and popsicles would bring Frannie back. Broken hearts only bled on the inside. In the knowing way mothers have, she didn’t say anything. She just rubbed his arm, kissed his forehead and then left the room, closing the door with a soft bump.

Punching the pillow, Jinx rolled onto his side. The unique scent that was Frannie in the throes of passion assaulted him. Heady and intoxicating, the sexual fragrance seeped deep in his brain. His body reacted even as his heart screamed. The smell triggered the memory of her in his bed after McGee’s party. He thought something special had happened that night. He’d really thought she let him into her soul.

He thought she’d say “yes”.

Pain he could handle, he’d proven that before. God, Becca’s death had nearly killed him. But Frannie…Frannie was worse. She had the power to change things and didn’t. She was too afraid. Afraid of what? He couldn’t figure it out. What the hell had screwed her up so bad that she couldn’t trust herself enough to trust him? According to Steve her ex hadn’t hit her. He’d cheated but how could that scare her? There had to be a reason for Frannie pushing him away.

His heart skipped a beat.

Unless Frannie really didn’t love him
.

No. He refused to believe that. She did. And it pissed him off that she couldn’t admit it.

Hot and blinding fury rushed through him. Jumping up, he yanked the blankets, the sheets and the pillows from the bed. With a grunt, he pitched everything into the bathroom and slammed the door. His body shook like a dog passing razor blades and he fought the urge to punch a hole in the wall. A few cleansing breaths and he was able to turn away from the door. Unfortunately he knew from experience that heartbreak is harder to repair than drywall.

He drifted into an uneasy sleep on a bare mattress.

{

“Tracey, this is the most hideous dress I have ever seen. Dear Gawd, it has mutton sleeves. Where on earth did you find it?”

“My neighbor’s sister had to wear it as a bridesmaid a couple years ago. Kinda freaky retro, isn’t it?”

“Tracey! It’s powder blue organza with rhinestone accents. It looks like a cotton candy factory exploded!”

“Yeah, it’s perfect.”

“Don’t move, Frannie. I just about have the pins finished.”

“Your neighbor’s sister wears a double-D cup, doesn’t she?”

“Oh, quit moaning. At least she didn’t have lice.”

“Ouch. These are too tight, Tracey. What size shoe do you wear, a five?

“They’re a seven. Suck it up, buttercup. Clear jellies are the closest thing to glass slippers I could find. It is Christmas Day, ya know.”

“Good Gawd, I think a tiara’s overkill, Trace.”