Raining Down Rules (8 page)

Chapter 16

Jemma

It’s been four long and torturous hours since I handed Jordan my phone and walked away from him. Despite finishing my morning routine, preparing the food for dinner, and showering, my mind hasn’t stopped thinking about him. Not for one second. I’ve walked that stretch of road before. Seven miles is nothing to sneeze at, but he’s had more than enough time to make it to the grocery store. Enough time really to make it there and back.

I’ve chewed my nails down to nothing, checked that the phone was still plugged into the wall, and even walked the length of the driveway a couple times. But still he hasn’t called.

By the time Gran and I are seated at the table, ready to eat dinner, the phone rings. It takes all the restraint I have to not leap across the table like a lioness about to attack her prey. I casually but quickly leave my seat and answer the phone.

“Hello?” My heart is beating about a hundred miles a minute.

“Jemma?”

“Jordan? Where are you?”

The line is silent for a second, then two, and then five. “I couldn’t do it,” he finally says softly.

“Couldn’t do what? Jordan, where are you?” He’s been gone for almost eight hours. He could be anywhere.

“God, I don’t know. I found the store and stood outside, arguing with myself. I’m sure anyone who saw me thought I was a drunken idiot.” He laughs, not as though what he said was funny, but a laugh plagued with hurt and disappointment. “Isn’t that ironic? I am a drunken fool and a goddamn drug addict.”

Tears sting the corners of my eyes and something in my chest tightens. I need to find him, bring him back, and help him through this.

“Jordan, open up the maps app on my phone and push the little arrow thingy. That will tell you where you are.” At least I hope it will. Cell reception can be kind of tricky outside of Torrance.

“I’m near a cemetery, off of Highway 15,” he says dryly. “The view from this hill is breathtaking. I had no idea the Earth could look like this.”

I know right where he is, it’s the cemetery that Grandpa is buried in. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Don’t move.”

The call ends and I excuse myself from dinner. It’s late February, and even though we’ve had a very mild winter, it can be bitterly cold as the sun goes down. I grab my coat and a heavy blanket for Jordan and drive like hell to the cemetery.

It’s funny how when you’re trying to get somewhere it feels like it takes twice as long as it really does to arrive. I told Jordan twenty minutes, and even though the clock on my dash says it’s only been eighteen, I feel like I’ve been driving for almost an hour. If he’s sitting somewhere overlooking the town of Torrance, then he won’t be near the road that lines the cemetery. I stop my car at the furthest edge of the cemetery and get out, hoping he’s not on the other side. The cemetery sits on the top of a very large hill, helping to make the valley Torrance is nestled in. It’s times like this I wish Gran would let me buy her a cell phone. I could really use a spare to call Jordan right now.

It’s funny how a cemetery feels like a library in that you have an overwhelming sense to whisper and take reverence to a whole new level. But I don’t have time for that now. Especially with the sun beginning to set, I don’t want to get caught out here alone trying to find Jordan. I don’t believe in ghosts necessarily, but why take the chance, right?

“Jordan?” I call loudly. There’s no response so I walk deeper into the older parts of the cemetery, past the hundred-year-old statues of angels and gargoyles that look dry to the point of crumbling, yet are covered in furry, green moss. I pass a row of tiny markers and stop to see what they say. My heart stops briefly in my chest and I gasp. They are markers of infants who died at birth in the year 1915. My hands begin to shake and tears spring from my eyes. I wrap my arms around my midsection and force myself to move forward.

“Jordan?” I call again and still receive no reply. I’m at the edge of the cemetery now and I think I can see an outline of a person in the grass about a hundred yards away. I wipe away the tears that have stained my face, take a deep, cleansing breath, and walk up to him.

“I wasn’t sure you’d really come,” he says as I sit down next to him.

“I said I would.” I wrap the blanket around his shoulders, tuck my knees to my chest, and look out over the valley. Torrance is a very small town, but when you look at it from way up here, it’s amazing how spread out it is among the hills. Jordan and I sit in silence as the sun dips over the hills and the sky turns from a wintery blue to nearly black. It’s not until my stomach starts to grumble that I remember I left Gran at home with dinner on the table and a mess of dishes scattered around the kitchen.

“We should go,” I say, and begin to stand. Jordan’s hand reaches out from under the heavy blanket and grabs for mine. He pulls me down next to him and stares up at the starry sky.

“I think I should check myself into a rehab program.” He sighs heavily and his shoulders sag. I know I’m not qualified to help him through this, but disappointment still settles in my chest. I nod slowly and listen as he continues. “I thought addiction wasn’t something that would ever catch up to me. It’s stupid to think that. I know that now.”

I rest my palm on his broken hand in a small gesture of comfort. His eyes look to my hand and a narrow smile forms on his lips. He places his good hand on top of mine, and even though it’s cold to the touch, tingles of heat shoot up my arm and sink down to my stomach. I should pull my hand away; this breaks my rules on so many levels.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such an asshole,” he says quietly.

“I don’t think it’s all your fault. In a way I did force you into staying with Gran and me. I was only trying to help and I think I went too far.”

Jordan laughs, well, it’s more like a chuckle, and then he stands, helping me to my feet. “Let’s go, blondie. I’m starving.”

My cheeks flush at the nickname and the fact that his hand is still holding mine. Inside I’m freaking out a little bit—
Jordan Capshaw is holding my hand!

Chapter 17

Jordan

Jemma and I work together to clean up the kitchen after we’ve both filled our stomachs. It’s a mundane task, but one I haven’t done in years so it’s not surprising I get sidelong glances every now and then from Jemma when I try to put a dirty plate in the dishwasher.

“You have to scrub the plate first,” she says, handing me the dish scrubby thing. “The dishes won’t come clean if you don’t scrub them.”

“It’s a dishwasher,” I argue. “That’s its job.”

“Fine, I’ll scrub and you load.” She bumps me out of the way with her hip and we trade places. When all the dishes are loaded she fills the sink with water and dish soap to wash a couple of large pots. The bubbles call to me, like they’re telling me they need to be scooped up and placed on Jemma’s nose and cheeks.

“Hey, what’s that?” I ask, pointing out the window. When she glances out the window, I dip my fingers in the bubbles, submerge my hand, and pull out a good palmful. When she turns around I fling the bubbles in her direction. They fly and land in her hair, on her cheeks and forehead, and, of course, on her nose. Her eyes widen in shock and I can’t hold back the laughter. I bend at the waist and laugh until I hear her turn on the faucet. When I look up, the sprayer is pointed at my face, and before I have time to turn and run she sprays me. Water is getting everywhere, and when I wrestle the sprayer from her hands and point it at her, I aim for her shirt. Wet t-shirts are the best.

We collapse to the floor in a heap of laughter. Jemma’s shirt is soaking wet, my face and hair dripping.

“What is going on in here?” Gran exclaims from the doorway. “Get up, both of you.” She stands in the doorway with her hands on her hips and a facial expression one can only describe as a scowl threatening to turn into a smile. And I have to do it. I can’t hold back. My hand reaches for the sprayer and I point it in her direction.

“Jordan, don’t you dare,” Jemma says as she starts to stand.

“Young man, you had better—” Gran starts, but doesn’t get a chance to finish. The water streams from the nozzle, soaking her shoulders to knees. Her face brightens, her mouth is stuck open, and I drop the sprayer. Jemma stares at Gran and then turns to me, her lips pulled between her teeth and her cheeks reddening.

And then it happens. Gran coughs, or maybe it’s a laugh. We both turn to Gran, who is trying so hard to hold back her laugh that what’s escaping her mouth is something between a laugh and a snort. Jemma stands and walks to Gran with her chin quivering. She too is trying not to laugh.

“Get upstairs, you two, and put on some dry clothes,” Gran says when we’ve all recovered. I watch as Jemma kisses Gran’s cheek and she pats Jemma’s hip. A tug of wanting grips me. I want what they have. As I pass Gran, she pulls me aside.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, young man,” she says quietly. “My Jemma has had her fair share of struggles and heartbreak. I don’t want you making things worse for her.”

“I understand,” I say, and move away, but Gran’s hand pulls at my elbow.

“I’m not sure you do. I’m not a healthy woman. The cancer is spreading, I can feel it. I won’t stand by and watch Jemma’s heart broken by you as well as me.”

“Gran?”

“The experimental drugs aren’t working, I just haven’t had the heart to tell my granddaughter. I don’t know how much longer I’ve got with her.” Tears well in Gran’s pale blue eyes and an urge to hug her seizes me, but I don’t act on it. I haven’t hugged anyone in years, at least not a real hug. I don’t even know if I can do it right.

“I’m sorry,” I say instead. “You really should tell her. And I promise I won’t hurt Jemma.” At least I hope not to.

Gran pats my arm and shoos me upstairs, where I find Jemma standing in the doorway of her room with her arms folded across her damp chest.

“What was that all about?” she asks.

“Nothing,” I answer, and excuse myself to my room where I pull out my black jeans and tank. I slip them on and as I’m pulling the tank over my head Jemma steps through my door. “You ever think of knocking?” My tank slides down my stomach and I smooth my hair with my hands, the signature Jordan Capshaw look.

“Sorry,” she says sarcastically, and walks back out. Okay, it was a jerk thing to say, but Gran is right, I hurt everyone in my path, and I don’t want to hurt Jemma. She doesn’t deserve it. But why do I have to be such a dick? Groaning at my idiocy, I walk across the hall and knock softly on Jemma’s door. Her door opens and she greets me with pursed lips and arms folded across her chest.

“What?” she asks bitterly.

“Sorry for that back there. I was a jerk.”

“Yeah, you were.”

“Can I come in?” She drops her arms and gestures for me to enter. She sits on the edge of her bed, and since the room is void of any other sitting surface, I decide standing is the safest option.

“Did you need something?”
Smooth, Jordan
. “I mean, when you came to my room, did you need something?”

She sighs and rests her elbows on her thighs. “I was going to see if you wanted to use my computer to buy some new clothes. I don’t feel qualified to take your money and buy you anything.”

“Um, well, I guess that would work.”

“If you use Amazon, you could have clothes shipped overnight or…”

“Overnight is good,” I say as I move closer to her. Her breath hitches in her chest as I come even nearer. What am I doing? Jemma isn’t like the hundreds of other girls who flocked to me like a moth to a flame. She’s different, shy, and tentative, even. I should walk away but I find myself more than curious to know what her pale pink lips would taste like and how her small hands would feel on my skin.

“My laptop,” she breathes, “is over there.” She points to a corner in her room and I take advantage of her outstretched hand and pull her to her feet. Her pulse quickens at my touch and the apples of her cheeks blossom pink. She looks up at me with her stormy blue eyes, licks her lips, and then pulls her bottom lip into her mouth with her teeth.

“I never noticed the particular shade of your eyes until now.” I have to swallow against the hoarseness of my voice. God, I want to kiss her so badly there is a physical ache in my chest. Her eyes wander down to my lips and she gently pulls her hand from mine.

“I’ll go get my laptop.” She moves around me and walks to the corner of the room. She picks up a pink leather case and walks around me again to the side of her bed. I can already tell this is not a good idea. She sits against her headboard and pats the space beside her. The bed is a full at best, so when I sit next to her I feel as though I’m sitting on her lap. There isn’t room enough for air to pass between us.

She sets the laptop on her lean thighs, opens the top, and types in her password, then opens the Internet browser.

“We’ll start with Amazon and go from there, sound good?” All of the sudden her voice sounds…chipper, as though whatever there was between us a minute ago is gone.