I had not meant for that to come out as a flirtation, but damn if it doesn’t sound that way to my own ears. Clearly to Jenna’s as well—she blushes but manages a joke. “Maybe I’ll wear mirrored aviators around you. Wouldn’t want you bumping into walls or anything.”
I tip my head back and laugh. Squeezing her hand before I release it, I jingle the keys. “I’ll move the truck, and then I’ll be up to help with the rest of the unpacking.”
“You don’t have to,” she says as I brush past her to round the truck. “I’m sure you have better things to do.”
“Nothing better to do than help out a pretty friend,” I assure her, and I can’t help but like the fact that I make her blush again.
CHAPTER 2
Jenna
“Are you even listening to me?” Emory says.
“Of course I am,” I reply, although I have no clue what she just said. At least not prior to her pointing out that I wasn’t listening to her.
I’ve been thinking about Gage again.
He left a few hours ago, along with Baden and Sophie, after helping me get mostly unpacked. The only thing that’s left is for Emory and me to set up my bedroom, which includes unpacking my clothing and making the bed. We ordered subs to be delivered for dinner, which we’ll eat as soon as we finish this. Then we’re going to crack open the wine Baden and Sophie brought as a housewarming gift.
Emory is flying back to Phoenix first thing in the morning. She’s the VP of digital marketing and analytics for the Arizona Vengeance professional hockey team. Now that I’m working for a professional hockey team as well, our parents have been bragging to everyone who will listen and we find it hilarious.
“I was saying,” Emory drawls with exaggeration, “that the only thing making me feel okay about leaving you tomorrow is that apparently you now have some built-in friends who will look after you.”
“Uh-huh,” I murmur as I open a box with lingerie in it. All pretty silk and lace that I used to enjoy wearing but will now push to the back of a drawer. These days, I wear comfortable cotton panties and bras. Sexy lingerie is for showing off your body, and I don’t do that anymore.
I should actually throw it away. I’ll never wear it again.
Instead, nostalgia takes over and I decide to keep the items for nothing more than a reminder of something I once had that I thought was real but turned out to be the biggest lie in my life.
“What’s wrong with you?” Emory asks in exasperation, reaching out to touch my shoulder and forcing me to look at her.
I shake my shoulder to dislodge her hand. “Nothing’s wrong with me.” Emory can be overprotective at times and is supersensitive when I’m quiet.
But sometimes, I like to be quiet with my thoughts.
I get it, though. She’s worried that my quiet thoughts are bad thoughts right now. She spent months and months with me battling an insidious darkness that had taken over. Emory will be forever worried I will return there, and I don’t know how to reassure her, because I don’t know that I won’t go back.
But the truth of the matter is, my thoughts are about Gage, and those are most definitely not dark or in any way brooding.
Today was a learning experience.
I failed to give the man the benefit of the doubt, which is something I promised myself I would do with people. It’s part of the new Jenna 2.0, a woman who’s going to stop looking at the bad in the others around her and in her life in general.
After Gage confronted me about my reaction when he saw my scars, an immense weight lifted off my shoulders. He was absolutely right—when his eyes flicked to my jaw and neck, I immediately shut down and failed to see anything else. I assumed he was horrified and disgusted and would never be able to see anything else about me.
But damn if that man didn’t hit me head-on about it. Nobody, other than my sister and parents, has ever spoken so bluntly to me about my scarring. And it came across so genuine, I had no choice but to believe him.
If I’m really honest, though, that’s not what’s occupying my mind. I can’t stop ruminating about the fact he seems intrigued with my eyes. I never thought they were very special before, but he says he sees something there. And it’s been a long damn time since someone has seen something beautiful in me.
Emory sighs and reaches back into a box to pull out a stack of workout gear. I didn’t do the best job packing, so she starts refolding my clothes.
“Are you excited about starting work tomorrow?” she asks, being a good sister and changing the subject.
I love her for it as she’s learning to loosen her concern over me and stop trying to fix all my problems. She’ll never know how much I appreciate that. Especially since she’s been so worried about me moving to Pittsburgh.
She was afraid I wouldn’t flourish without her by my side. Moreover, she was afraid that without her being there pushing me, I would withdraw more into myself.
I fully intend to prove her wrong.
“I’m actually really excited,” I admit as I open a wardrobe box full of hanging outfits. Some were donated by Emory, since I have little in the way of professional attire, given I’ve been out of the workforce the last few years. “I’m also nervous as hell. I don’t know if I’m qualified for this job.”
Emory snorts. “I seriously doubt Brienne Norcross would’ve hired you if you weren’t qualified.”
“That’s probably true,” I say with a chuckle.
I think back to our Zoom interview, and I’m amazed by how easy Brienne was to talk to.
“Please call me Brienne and not Ms. Norcross,” she insisted at the start. “I’m not big on formalities.”
I’ve had employers say that same thing before and not mean it, but somehow, I believed her.
The interview lasted an hour and twenty minutes, but felt like it only lasted about five. It was so easy to talk to her, even though she was asking tough questions. Poking and prodding into my past work history to pull out and explore my strengths and weaknesses. She clearly wasn’t going to hire me just because Baden had called in a favor. She vetted me hard.
I had some reticence when she explained the job more fully. She was interviewing me to become their media liaison, someone who would serve as go-between for the organization and the media in all its various forms. It could be social media, print press, or even network news.
It was then that I had to tell her some personal truths.
“I don’t have to be in front of cameras, do I?” I asked hesitantly.
Brienne Norcross is supermodel beautiful, with nearly flawless skin, but her forehead crinkled deeply into a frown. “Why? You don’t seem like a shy woman.”
I was wearing a turtleneck… even though it was February in Phoenix and a little too warm, I wore them whenever I could. If I didn’t have a turtleneck, I wore a scarf.
I tugged at the collar nervously. “It’s just… I’m a little self-conscious of my scars.”
Baden had given her some basic background about me, including about my injuries, which accounted for much of my time out of the workforce. But that had not come up in the interview until that point, and I doubted they would have come up had I not mentioned it.