Fate of the Fathers

The first thing Jenna saw when she emerged from her bedroom was the giant pile of crap on the dining table. Maybe if she had been a detective it wouldn’t look nearly as menacing, but she wasn’t.

She didn’t dare a second look until she had a cup of coffee, steaming next to her, as she sat at the table, sifting through the assortment of items she had left for Chase.

Half-expecting pain or sadness to consume her at the sight of items that had belonged to her parents, she was surprised at the emptiness she felt instead. She sifted her fingers through books, papers, pictures, sketches, and junk. As a scientist, her father had kept everything–never knowing when something would deem important or useful in the future.

It was one of the things that had convinced her to help Chase. If there was evidence, it would be here.

Hauling another box onto the table, Jenna swiped a hand across the dust and folded back the top. And froze.

Journals. At least a dozen of them filled the interior. Whether any of them were the journal, would yet to be seen.

Jenna lifted the top one, flipping it open to look for dates. Hand-drawn sketches and equations met her eyes. Science that she would probably never understand stared back at her. There was something ancient and dated about what she was looking at. It wasn’t just science. It was somehow more than that.

Even when she came across a date, reading four years prior to the accident, she kept reading. Sitting back in the chair as she flipped through the pages.

“Find something?”

Jenna felt her insides clench at Chase’s voice. She forced her voice to sound nonchalant, as she said, “Just some old journals, I think.” Gods. She didn’t even want to look him in the eyes this morning–not after last night’s events.

She wouldn’t allow herself to feel mortified. He had returned the kiss. Maybe even wanted it. Until he had stopped her. Stopped–both of them. She’d never understand the male species. Not as long as she lived.

He might have said it had nothing to do with him being a vampire and her a werewolf, but gods. . . there was so much she didn’t know about this new universe. Who knew what sort of rules existed that she’d only find out by breaking them first.

“Jenna–” Chase’s voice was low, soothing even.

She fought an eye roll. “It’s fine, really.” She thrust the journal into his hands. “I’ll grab another box.” She didn’t want pity, or concern, or whatever that damn look was in his eyes. She didn’t like that he had rejected her, but wasn’t going to dwell on it. He hadn’t wanted to have sex with her and that was that.

“Can we talk about last night?” Chase asked, putting the journal down on the table.

Jenna halted at the hall archway to the bedrooms. She still wore her pajamas–a large tee-shirt and shorts. Maybe she should start putting on clothes before entering the ‘public’ spaces of the house. At least with Chase staying here.

At least she thought that had been the plan. She still hadn’t seen exactly where he was sleeping.

And maybe that was for the better too.

Jenna sighed and leaned against the wall, hyper aware of her lack of a bra and the shorts hiking up around her thighs. “I don’t think there’s anything to talk about.”

“You’re barely making eye contact with me.”

So he had noticed. “Can you blame me?”

He stepped forward. “It wasn’t you–”

But she held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t give me that ‘it wasn’t you, it was me’ shit. I crossed a line and it won’t happen again.” She turned towards her bedroom door, but added over her shoulder, “My brain feels all over the place right now. Let’s chalk it up to that and move on.” It wasn’t just her brain but her fucking body. Maybe tomorrow she would attempt a slow jog and see how her ankle did. She really needed to release some tension and since sex wasn’t an option, jogging would have to suffice.

She threw on a pair of skinny jeans and a sweater before sitting on the edge of the bed and hitting the call button next to June’s contact information in her phone.

Two rings later, a familiar voice said, “How’s my Jenna-girl today?”

Jenna felt some of the tension ease from her, as she reclined back into the pillows, and began to tell June all about the trip with Chase and the status of the packing.

And of course, one of June’s first questions was to ask if Chase was hot. Like hell Jenna was going to comment on that when Chase could possibly hear her–even in her bedroom with the door closed. She was not going to take that chance.

So instead she said, “It’s not like that. He’s like–super old anyway.” Not a lie. Then it dawned on her how that must have sounded, and quickly added, “Like 30.”

Aunt June chuckled, then grew quiet as she asked, “How are you doing–being back at the beach house?”

Jenna chewed on her lower lip. She couldn’t bull shit–not with June. “Frankly, I’ve been better. It was more difficult than I thought it would be.”

“I’ve noticed how you don’t like to talk about your parents–about the years before you came to live with us. I get it–I really do. I bring them up in the hopes that you would open up to me or Dwayne about how you feel.”

“I’m sorry,” Jenna said, quietly. She meant it. She had always pushed June’s attempt at conversation regarding the beach house and her parents away.

“No, honey. Don’t be sorry.” Aunt June let out a breath on the other end of the line. “You’ve been through more than any twenty-one year old should have, but you’re strong and resilient. You’ll get through this too.”

Jenna smiled softly. “If I’m strong and resilient it’s because I’ve had you as a role model.”

“Now don’t go getting all sappy on me.” But Jenna could hear her aunt’s smile. “I’ve found that it can be easier to push everything down so you don’t feel anything at all, rather than risk exposing vulnerability if you open up. But strength comes when we let people help us–instead of trying to do everything ourselves.”

Jenna knew June was right. She had seen it everyday since June had undergone battle after battle with cancer. She had seen her aunt rally in the good times; cry when the news was devastating. There had been nights when they had sat on the couch, holding each other; and days when June had bent over in the kitchen, gripping the counter with bouts of nausea. Uncle Dwayne would pick her up and carry her to the bedroom or living room to rest. He’d sit with her, bring her cold washcloths and medication.

“You and Dwayne are the reason I want to get out of bed each morning,” June went on quietly. “There are too many people in the world who go through the same thing I have, and don’t have a loving husband and niece to help them do it.”

Jenna had seen some of those very people throughout June’s chemo treatments. June would always ask to sit next to the ones she knew didn’t have support. She’d hold their hands and be their friend–even if she never saw them again.

“The world needs more people like you,” Jenna said.

“It does. . . it has you, Jenna-girl.”

Jenna felt the pricking at the corner of her eye, and said hastily, “I need to go get realtor stuff figured out, but I love you.”

“Love you too, honey.”

Even after Jenna ended the call, she felt the tightness in her chest at her aunt’s words. Like any good family member, June saw what she wanted–what Jenna let her see. The penance that Jenna paid every damned day for the past ten years.

The world might need more June’s, but it didn’t need more Jenna’s.

Images flashed. Claws. . . teeth. Blood.

The tightness was palpable and deafening as Jenna pushed down on the memories. They fought and thrashed against her, but she had spent ten years leashing them. She would not fail now.

Focus. . . Control.

She repeated the words, over and over, until stillness consumed her and the tightness in her chest lifted.

Then she rose from the bed and called the realtor.