“Oh, yes, you can. You can tell me anything.”
“Mom, am I a whore? Like, legit a whore? Ask Daddy. Am I?”
Her mom was stunned. Wren knew that, and she wasn’t sure why she’d even said that. Maybe for the reassurance that the way she had been living her life was okay? Because, not two days ago, she was cool with her life choices, but now, now she felt dirty. How did she let him do this to her? Was it the hormones? Crap, her kid was making her a tragic little crybaby.
“Oh, baby. No, you’re a good girl.”
But Wren wasn’t listening. Sobbing, she shook her head as she squeezed her eyes shut. “No, Mom. I’m a fucking easy lay, and that’s why I get these shit guys because I can’t keep my vagina in my pants.”
“I didn’t realize it was detachable. That’s a talent.”
“Mom!”
“Sorry, I’m sorry. I hate when you cry. You’re so much prettier when you smile.”
Man, these pregnancy hormones were no joke. Rage filled her from the tip of her toes to the top of her head as she cried out, “But, Mom! I’m not a trophy wife.”
“Well, love, who the hell cares?”
“I do! I want to be worthy—”
“Of what? Trash? Because anyone that uses that term is trash. You’re a beautiful, smart, semi-kind girl.”
She didn’t miss the semi, but they both knew Wren had a mean streak. Though, her mom’s words weren’t helping. It was pity party time for Wren Lemiere. Pull up a chair and grab some popcorn. “But, Mom, I’m fat.”
“You’re not fat, baby. You have fat on you, that doesn’t make you fat. You’ve got fingernails too. Does that make you a fingernail?”
“Mom! I don’t need your nine-year-old logic right now. I feel worthless.”
“Why, baby? That is insane. Who did this? I’ll kill them.”
Biting her lip, Wren closed her eyes and shook her head. Why was she doing this to herself? Fuck Bradley, he was the worthless one. She wasn’t dirt like him, but she couldn’t stop crying.
“Baby, tell me what’s wrong. Is it a guy? I’ll kill him.”
“No, Mom. I can’t tell you.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t even know what to tell.”
“The truth.”
“The truth is a clusterfuck, and I’m a mess, Mom. A lonely, hot mess.”
Her mom made a sound of distress before clucking her tongue at her. “Then call Wells. He’ll call me, and then we can talk.”
“I know, which is why I can’t tell him!”
“Well, I don’t like that you’ve figured this out.”
“Mom. I seriously love your humor on any other day of the week, but not today, please.”
She sighed heavily, and Wren could just see her, sitting in her easy chair, rocking as Judge Judy played on the TV. Her mom didn’t do sadness well; she was full of life. Always smiling and happy. She was probably coming out of her skin at Wren’s attitude, but she knew if she’d called Wells or her dad, they’d be on the first flight out to kill someone. Man, she had really gotten herself into a shitty fucking place.
“Fine. Call Shanna.”
“Fuck no,” Wren muttered. “Last person I need right now.”
Which was the biggest lie imaginable. She really could use the advice of her best friend, if that’s what she even was anymore, but Bradley was Shanna’s brother. Shanna wouldn’t be any help because Bradley never did anything wrong. Really, he was a poor excuse for a human being, and his family would be sickened if they knew the truth. She should tell them. Jerk.
“Vaugh—” Her mother stopped. “Wait, no, don’t call him. He’ll crack more jokes than I do. You know who you should call? Jensen.” Wren groaned. Hadn’t he been topic enough? “He would listen, and he would come over, be there for you. He wouldn’t tell a soul either. Such a good boy, my Jenny is. Call him. He’d be there for you without any questions.”
She knew that.
She knew that with all her heart.
So why wasn’t she calling him?
Because the second to last sentence under the cons list was playing with her head.
I could love him.
But would he love her?
Or would she just be the easy lay, the non-trophy wife, the fat friend with a kid who needed a father, that he felt bad for?
“Why am I here?”
Jensen threw an annoyed look back at Vaughn as he stretched between the pipes in the middle of the Assassins’ arena. Jensen needed his happy place. His sanctuary, and being between the pipes was just that. His home. He needed the grinding of the ice from his skates. The smell, man, he needed the smell. It had only been a few weeks since they had won and finished the series, but Jensen missed it. He missed his home because if he stayed in his apartment another second, he was going to lose his fucking mind.
Letting out a long, annoyed breath, he said, “I need you to shoot pucks at me so I stop thinking.”
Vaughn thought that over. “Maybe it’s a no?”
“Surely, she’d text me or call.”
“Or she’s a coward and is taking the easy way out. Maybe she called the gigolo.”
“I will take the dude out at the wedding.”
Vaughn sputtered with laughter. “That would make the gay wedding a billion times better.”
“You’re not funny.”
“What? I’m hilarious! Can you imagine, you’re standing there, and she walks in with him. Bam, you yell, ‘He’s a gigolo!’ And then I could be like, ‘Cue the glitter doves.’”
Jensen just stared at him, no emotion on his face. “The fact that I question my friendship with you should be a warning sign.”
Vaughn waved him off. “Nah, it’s part of my charm.”
“Or you’re annoying as shit.”
“Really? No one has ever told me that,” Vaughn said, moving the puck back and forth. “But really, it’s been like two days.”
The longest two days of Jensen’s life. He just didn’t get it. He’d laid it all out there. Short of telling the girl he loved her with everything inside of him, he basically offered her the golden ticket. If Vaughn were in his head, the dumbass would say “Cue the Oompa Loompas from the factory” because Jensen was Willy Wonka. Crap, he was starting to think like Vaughn. Maybe he should distance himself from that guy. His crazy was rubbing off on him, but that was beside the point. A distraction from the fact that Wren Lemiere was holding out on him.
“Mom, am I a whore? Like, legit a whore? Ask Daddy. Am I?”
Her mom was stunned. Wren knew that, and she wasn’t sure why she’d even said that. Maybe for the reassurance that the way she had been living her life was okay? Because, not two days ago, she was cool with her life choices, but now, now she felt dirty. How did she let him do this to her? Was it the hormones? Crap, her kid was making her a tragic little crybaby.
“Oh, baby. No, you’re a good girl.”
But Wren wasn’t listening. Sobbing, she shook her head as she squeezed her eyes shut. “No, Mom. I’m a fucking easy lay, and that’s why I get these shit guys because I can’t keep my vagina in my pants.”
“I didn’t realize it was detachable. That’s a talent.”
“Mom!”
“Sorry, I’m sorry. I hate when you cry. You’re so much prettier when you smile.”
Man, these pregnancy hormones were no joke. Rage filled her from the tip of her toes to the top of her head as she cried out, “But, Mom! I’m not a trophy wife.”
“Well, love, who the hell cares?”
“I do! I want to be worthy—”
“Of what? Trash? Because anyone that uses that term is trash. You’re a beautiful, smart, semi-kind girl.”
She didn’t miss the semi, but they both knew Wren had a mean streak. Though, her mom’s words weren’t helping. It was pity party time for Wren Lemiere. Pull up a chair and grab some popcorn. “But, Mom, I’m fat.”
“You’re not fat, baby. You have fat on you, that doesn’t make you fat. You’ve got fingernails too. Does that make you a fingernail?”
“Mom! I don’t need your nine-year-old logic right now. I feel worthless.”
“Why, baby? That is insane. Who did this? I’ll kill them.”
Biting her lip, Wren closed her eyes and shook her head. Why was she doing this to herself? Fuck Bradley, he was the worthless one. She wasn’t dirt like him, but she couldn’t stop crying.
“Baby, tell me what’s wrong. Is it a guy? I’ll kill him.”
“No, Mom. I can’t tell you.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t even know what to tell.”
“The truth.”
“The truth is a clusterfuck, and I’m a mess, Mom. A lonely, hot mess.”
Her mom made a sound of distress before clucking her tongue at her. “Then call Wells. He’ll call me, and then we can talk.”
“I know, which is why I can’t tell him!”
“Well, I don’t like that you’ve figured this out.”
“Mom. I seriously love your humor on any other day of the week, but not today, please.”
She sighed heavily, and Wren could just see her, sitting in her easy chair, rocking as Judge Judy played on the TV. Her mom didn’t do sadness well; she was full of life. Always smiling and happy. She was probably coming out of her skin at Wren’s attitude, but she knew if she’d called Wells or her dad, they’d be on the first flight out to kill someone. Man, she had really gotten herself into a shitty fucking place.
“Fine. Call Shanna.”
“Fuck no,” Wren muttered. “Last person I need right now.”
Which was the biggest lie imaginable. She really could use the advice of her best friend, if that’s what she even was anymore, but Bradley was Shanna’s brother. Shanna wouldn’t be any help because Bradley never did anything wrong. Really, he was a poor excuse for a human being, and his family would be sickened if they knew the truth. She should tell them. Jerk.
“Vaugh—” Her mother stopped. “Wait, no, don’t call him. He’ll crack more jokes than I do. You know who you should call? Jensen.” Wren groaned. Hadn’t he been topic enough? “He would listen, and he would come over, be there for you. He wouldn’t tell a soul either. Such a good boy, my Jenny is. Call him. He’d be there for you without any questions.”
She knew that.
She knew that with all her heart.
So why wasn’t she calling him?
Because the second to last sentence under the cons list was playing with her head.
I could love him.
But would he love her?
Or would she just be the easy lay, the non-trophy wife, the fat friend with a kid who needed a father, that he felt bad for?
“Why am I here?”
Jensen threw an annoyed look back at Vaughn as he stretched between the pipes in the middle of the Assassins’ arena. Jensen needed his happy place. His sanctuary, and being between the pipes was just that. His home. He needed the grinding of the ice from his skates. The smell, man, he needed the smell. It had only been a few weeks since they had won and finished the series, but Jensen missed it. He missed his home because if he stayed in his apartment another second, he was going to lose his fucking mind.
Letting out a long, annoyed breath, he said, “I need you to shoot pucks at me so I stop thinking.”
Vaughn thought that over. “Maybe it’s a no?”
“Surely, she’d text me or call.”
“Or she’s a coward and is taking the easy way out. Maybe she called the gigolo.”
“I will take the dude out at the wedding.”
Vaughn sputtered with laughter. “That would make the gay wedding a billion times better.”
“You’re not funny.”
“What? I’m hilarious! Can you imagine, you’re standing there, and she walks in with him. Bam, you yell, ‘He’s a gigolo!’ And then I could be like, ‘Cue the glitter doves.’”
Jensen just stared at him, no emotion on his face. “The fact that I question my friendship with you should be a warning sign.”
Vaughn waved him off. “Nah, it’s part of my charm.”
“Or you’re annoying as shit.”
“Really? No one has ever told me that,” Vaughn said, moving the puck back and forth. “But really, it’s been like two days.”
The longest two days of Jensen’s life. He just didn’t get it. He’d laid it all out there. Short of telling the girl he loved her with everything inside of him, he basically offered her the golden ticket. If Vaughn were in his head, the dumbass would say “Cue the Oompa Loompas from the factory” because Jensen was Willy Wonka. Crap, he was starting to think like Vaughn. Maybe he should distance himself from that guy. His crazy was rubbing off on him, but that was beside the point. A distraction from the fact that Wren Lemiere was holding out on him.
