Jinxed (24 page)

“I need a minute.”

And then she was gone. She left Steve standing in the middle of the aisle and Jinx at the altar. Derek stared but stopped playing as the back of her dress disappeared out the door.

What the hell?
Shell-shocked, Jinx blinked several times.
She didn’t just run back
up
the aisle, did she?

The guests reseated themselves, murmurs of confusion sounding like a swarm of angry bees. Steve’s mouth hung open and his head whipped back and forth between the altar and the back door. Jinx snapped his eyes to Tracey looking for answers. She shrugged. Every eye in the congregation seemed fixated on the back of the church.
This is not happening.
Rubbing a painful tense muscle in his neck, Jinx heard the drone quiet and looked up.

Frannie was back. Smile bright but too wide, she scurried back to Steve and slipped her hand under his elbow. Jinx tied to catch her eye but she wouldn’t look at him. Muscles bunched as if preparing for battle, he willed her to finish her walk. The chant returned.
Please. Please. Please.

“Sorry. Don’t get up. Just stay seated.” With a short nod to Derek, her shoulders pulled back and her spine straightened. Derek, in youthful arrogance, pecked out the wedding march with two fingers.

She made it twelve more steps.

“I’m sorry.”

Her cracked whisper floated to his ears milliseconds before his heartbeat drowned out all sound. The flapping of her long veil as she disappeared cued the guests’ conversations. Derek stilled his hands and the last note fizzled like a dying bird. Jinx shoved a hand through his hair and growled in exasperation. Mike ground out a single word that made the minister gasp. Steve shook his head in denial and shrugged at Tracey’s whispered query. Unable to comprehend what she had done, and done twice, Jinx just glared at the double doors.
Frannie, get your ass back here.

Like magic, she reappeared. Head bent, carrying her bouquet like a weapon, she strode down the aisle and grabbed Steve’s arm.

“Let’s get this over with,” she spat. She pulled him the last few steps as Derek scrambled and played the Wedding March in double time. At last she reached the end of the long papered walkway. Blowing out breaths like a laboring mother, she paled as she stared at the heavy-jowled robed figure before her.

“Frannie.” His voice both a plea and a warning, Jinx pulled her attention to him. He knew she was going to run before she moved. Fear turned her brown eyes into limpid pools of unshed tears. Hand outstretched, he unconsciously reached to hold her. Her words quivered.

“I’m sorry. I just c—”

Her sob ripped into his chest as she turned and ran out of the sanctuary. Rage flooded his mouth with an acrid metallic flavor. Brows drawn tight, he snapped.

“That’s it! Excuse me.”

Propelled by hurt and anger, he stormed up the aisle after her. The shocked murmurs of the guests were drowned out by Derek playing the theme song to
Jaws
. The
du-dunt-du-dunt
tones hung in the air like comic book lines, cheapening the torment ripping through his soul. Swiveling his head, he stabbed the sarcastically inclined teen with a livid glare. Derek smiled widely at him before the grin slipped off his young face in slow increments. He stopped playing with a gulp.

Eyes bore into his back like drill bits but Jinx couldn’t push the door open. Shuddering fury stuttered his breath and he fought for air.
Not again, goddamnit. Don’t you dare do this. You took Becca, don’t take Frannie from me, too.
If Destiny stood in front of him this minute, he’d strangle the shit right out of that little sadistic fuck. How much could one person handle in life before really going crazy?

Bowtie choking him, he sucked in as much oxygen as he could and steeled his back. Enough was enough. Either she loved him or she didn’t. This had to stop. The heavy wooden door thumped against the wall as he thrust it open. A small wooden crucifix crashed to the tiled floor as he slammed it closed. Frannie, seated on a small bench, didn’t even jump.

“You want to tell me what the hell that was all about? You’re racing up and down the aisle like a fucking yo-yo. What the hell’s going on, Frannie?”

Chapter Thirteen

“How shall I do to love? Believe.

How shall I do to believe? Love.”

—Archbishop Robert Leighton

Wracked with guilt, she couldn’t even look at him. His anger washed over her in heated waves but it provided no warmth. The foyer was cool and her internal chill sent gooseflesh over her entire body. Tears coursed down her face like a silent iridescent river.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this.” Forced past a swollen throat, her words were hoarse and fractured.

Face locked in stony control, Jinx glared at her. “Do what?”

“I can’t marry you. It’s wrong. It’s a lie. I thought I could but I can’t. I’m sorry.” Nose running, she glanced around for a tissue.
What kind of church doesn’t have a box of tissues sitting around?

A pristine white cloth materialized in front of her face. Taking his handkerchief, she sniffed loudly before wiping her eyes. Chest heavy and aching, she blew her nose and tried to quiet her crying. A flash of black passed before her eyes as Jinx lowered himself to the floor in front of her. Ashamed, she turned her head to study a reproduction print of Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane.

“Talk to me, dollface. Why is marrying me so hard?”

She snorted. “It’s not, that’s the problem. It’s too easy. Too easy to go through the motions and pretend we’ll live happily ever after. But we won’t. I can’t marry you knowing it’s all going to fall apart later on. It’s not fair to you.”

“I’m lost.” Jinx scratched his cheek and reached for her hand. She recoiled from him, fisting her hands in her lap, shying away from his touch. His eyes were tinged with sadness. “What’s not fair to me?”

“Marrying me.” Biting her lip, she used the physical pain to ground herself as she sought his eyes. Black as Hades, they searched her face for answers. “You don’t really love me, Jinx.” She pressed her hand to his mouth as he opened it to protest. “I know you think you do but you don’t. You can’t. Becca’s dying messed up your head. I look like your grandmother’s doll and you just transferred all those emotions to me. It’s not real.”

His eyes narrowed and he ripped her hand away. “Stop trying to analyze me, Frannie. You’re an accountant, not a shrink. And I do love you. You, Frances Elaine Beecham Sullivan, you. You, Frannie, you’re the one I want.”

Like a thousand tiny swords, his words pricked her heart. She shook her head. He didn’t understand. A frenzied need to explain gripped her. Tears of disgrace dripped as she bared her soul to the only man who had the power to destroy her.

“Jinx, please. I’m not good enough for you, okay? I know it and one day you’ll realize it. When that happens, you’re going to end up hating me. You’ll blame me for ruining your life. I can face most things but I can’t face that.”

Rising to his knees, Jinx took her hands in his. She tried to pull away but he held her firm. “What in the hell are you talking about? What do you mean you’re not good enough?”

“I’m plain, Jinx. Look at me. Really look at me. Men like you don’t fall in love, real love, with ordinary women like me. We Plain Janes attract car salesmen and aging high-school sports heroes and factory workers. Good, decent men who want nothing more than a stable quiet life with a woman they know won’t be out looking for more. And if we dare step out of the niche life carved for us, we get smacked back down, put in our place with a firm knock. I learned the hard way with Mark. I can’t go through it again with you. I just can’t.”

Jinx breathed noisily through his nose, his lips pressed white. Anger nearly erupting again, he grabbed her arms and shook her. “Did he beat you?”

“I wish he had.”

Her words shocked him and he released her with wide eyes. Numb now, she let the words fall like rain; steady, monotone and dreary. “Bruises heal but hearts don’t. Sticks and stones might break your bones but words will destroy you.”

Humiliation filled her and she tried to shrink into herself, to escape his gaze. The one thing more painful than walking away from him now was telling him why she walked away. But apparently nothing else would penetrate his thick head. From the darkest corner of her heart, she unlocked all her past hurt and let it spill into her quivering voice.

“I was pregnant once.” A gate swung open in her mind and she relived the horrible memories again. Empty and aching, her stomach churned and sent an acid backwash into her throat that was nowhere near as bitter as her thoughts. In the chilled foyer of a holy place, she exposed her shame in hushed tones, unable to look into the face of the one man to whom she’d dared give her heart.

She eagerly awaited each doctor visit and this one was going to be the best yet. The excitement of finally hearing her baby’s heartbeat filled her mind all day and she counted the minutes as they slowly ticked by. Greedily, she’d kept her joy hidden, waiting to hear that magical rhythm of her child’s life before telling anyone except her husband of her pregnancy. Today was the day.

But the doctor frowned, moved the Doppler all over and pressed harder. Nothing. Her tiny baby had died before it lived. Unable to speak through her shock, the nurse called Mark at his office and told him. The doctor assured her that nature would take its course. Anguished and barely holding on to her sanity, she drove home through pouring rain with blurry eyes. The sight that greeted her in the foyer ripped through her chest like a wild animal.

Two suitcases sat forlornly at the base of the gleaming stairs. The slow drip of her skirt and the splat of droplets hitting the floor echoed in her ears. Ice tinkling in a glass drew her disorientated gaze to the den. Soft light spilled from the open door. Mark sat at his desk, nursing a drink. Cold water dripped down her bangs, blending with her tears.

“You’re leaving me because of the baby?”

“There is no baby, Frannie. And I’m not leaving. You are.”

The world shifted to the left. One hand shot out to grab the door trim. The frost in his tone mixed with his steely profile and she gulped for air. She knew they had problems, knew their marriage wasn’t sunshine and roses but never saw this coming.

“Mark.” Her cracking voice came out as a whimper. Pulling back her shoulders, she tried to reason with him. “We can survive this. Doctor Callens said it was just one of those things. There’s nothing wrong with me that’d keep us from having another baby. The next time could be problem free and totally normal.”

“I don’t want normal!” Fury erupted on his face and he hurled the glass against the wall beside her. The shatter made her shriek and cover her face. A tiny sliver raked her wrist and she popped it in her mouth, biting the flesh against her agony.

“I’m sick to fucking death of normal. I’m sick of ordinary, sick of typical and sick of average. I’m sick of you. I married you so my kids would have a decent mother and you can’t even manage that. I thought it would work. You’re everything I wanted in a wife and yet I can’t stand the mediocre sight of you. Just get out of my life, Fran.”

A scream threatened to tear from her lips. This couldn’t be happening. Not today. Not now. The hand from her mouth dropped to her stomach as the first twinge hit. Stunned, her world fractured and she heard him through a tunnel, cold vile words bouncing off her skull.

“What are you saying?”

“You think I want my kids to grow up hearing the shit I did? About a mother who screws everything in sight? Hell no. I thought you’d be different. It’s not like you arouse mad lust in men so I figured it’d be all right. But it isn’t and I just want out.”

“You wanted, what, like a figurehead mother?”

“Yeah, a solid, stable, nice but boring woman to raise my children. I just forgot that in order to make her a mother, you had to deal with her every damn day.” Waves of disgust poured from his words.

The sickly stench of the spilled scotch burned her nose and her moist eyes blurred. “Did you ever love me?” She hated that she asked, that she needed to know.

Lips rolled inward, he didn’t even look at her. “I thought I did once. I was wrong.”

Dead inside, Frannie turned to leave the room when his icy words stabbed her in the back. “I’ll have Donald file the papers in the morning. You can get the rest of your stuff this weekend. I’ll make sure I’m not here. Just remember this was my house. You take one damn thing that doesn’t belong to you and I’ll make your life a living hell.”

“You already have.”

The weight of the suitcases barely touched the lead mass in her chest. She drove blindly for a long time. Wavering between crushed and angered, she punched the motor until the car flew, skidding on wet pavement.

Until the twinges became cramps. And then she sought refuge in the closest place she could find.

Heart hollowed by memories, she raised her eyes to Jinx’s and a sob tore from her throat. “I lost my baby, alone, in a dingy Super 8 Motel bathroom.”

“Oh, Frannie.”

The sadness she heard rang like a death knell. His damp handkerchief twisted in a rope, she twirled it through freezing fingers. He’d wanted the truth and he got it, every ugly, painful word. It was sure to push him away, break the spell he’d cast. Tears fell off her cheeks and snot pooled in her nose as she fought to make him understand.

“Mark hated me for the very reasons he wanted me. Every time he looked at me, he saw ordinary. And over time, it turned his stomach. His eyes were so full of disgust and loathing that I couldn’t stand it. Neither could he eventually. He tossed me out and left me with nothing inside…except for a smidgeon of pride that I hadn’t gone totally insane. That’s all I have left, Jinx. A tiny scrap of self-worth. I just can’t risk losing it too when you leave me. And you will.”

A hand reached toward her face and she jerked away.
Don’t touch me. I can’t stand for you to touch me when his words are still ringing in my ears.

“Frannie,” Jinx’s whisper was soft and compassionate. “Why didn’t you leave him?”

“I loved him. And back then, I believed in forever.”

“How could you believe his bullshit?”

Drained and deflated, she stared at him, her heart barely pumping. “You hear something every day for four years, it starts to seep in. Besides, I have twenty-twenty vision. I know what I see reflected back at me every morning.”

Jinx jumped to his feet and paced in a tight, agitated circle. Heavy-eyed, she watched him move with an almost cat-like grace. Even frustrated and angry he was stunning. One last memory, she told herself as she traced his features with her mind.

“Are you telling me that you think I’m like your ex-husband?”

“No!” Revulsion laced her words with volume and her voice echoed in the pristine hall.

“Good, because I’m nothing like that son of a bitch.” His pacing stopped and he spun on one slick heel, angry onyx eyes shining bright. “Do you want to know what I see with
my
twenty-twenty vision? I see a woman who, despite being married to a verbally abusive prick, managed to carve out a pretty damned happy, successful life. That takes strength, Frannie, and strength is not ordinary.”

“Survival is a basic instinct, Jinx. Don’t make me some heroic figure. I’m not.” Numbness melted into frustration and she leapt from the bench. “I’ve got mousy brown hair, plain brown eyes and my boobs are too small.”

“You have hair like a caramel sundae, eyes like fine Tennessee Whiskey and your breasts fit my hand perfectly.”

“I’m white bread, B average and vanilla custard. Mediocre and bland, that’s what I am.”

“Not to me.” His whisper stole into her ears and flickered her heart with hope. Forest fires started with a tiny match so she doused the hope before it got out of hand.

“There’s nothing even remotely exciting about me, Jinx. I’m normal. Plain old boring normal.”

Behind him, the sanctuary door cracked open and Steve stuck his blond head out. His mouth opened to speak as Jinx picked up the fallen crucifix and pointed it at her.

“Normal? Hell, Frannie, the one thing you aren’t is normal! You have Marvin Martian above your ass, a star in your navel, and a bare crotch.” Eyes wide, Steve yanked his head back inside the door and shut it softly as Jinx continued. “Those things are not normal. They’re exhilarating. Shit, Frannie, you’re anything but boring. You’re special and sensual and I love you for it. And if I ever see Dr. Mark Sullivan, I hope to God I don’t kill him because right now I want to rip his throat out for hurting you.”

His tender, protective words snatched the wind from her sails and she gaped at him. Reaching out, he gently took her hand in his and drew her closer. The spicy scent of his aftershave tingled her nose and she breathed deep. He made her sound…beautiful.

Struggling, she continued her list. “I’m mouthy and set in my ways.”

“So? I’m a smartass and I like your ways.”

“I’ve got one man-hating cat and a sleep-addicted one.”

“Hocus loves me now and Pocus provides comic relief.”

“You told me I was uptight.”

“You dressed up like Cinderella on crack. Does that sound like an uptight move?” Unwittingly, he made her smile. The tiny twitch of her lips made him sigh and cup her face, angling her head upward. “Frannie, do you love me? I mean really love me?”

“Yes.” Unable to resist, she turned her cheek and kissed the roughness of his healing scrapes. “That was never a lie. I didn’t want to love you. I just wanted to have a few special memories to hold tight after you left me.”

“I. Am. Not. Leaving.” He punctuated every word with a kiss to her brow. Around her, his arms felt warm and solid and oh-so-right. Her breasts flattened against his shirt, she felt his words as they were spoken.

“Listen to me.” He stepped back. Gentle fingers traced her arms as if she was too fragile to hold tight. Inhaling deeply, he closed his eyes and blew out a loud breath. “I’ll wait. Take all the time you need. Take years, decades if you have to. I’ll be here when you’re ready. Forget the wedding and the people and…forget everything. I want to marry you but only you can decide if you want to marry me. If it takes a lifetime, then it does. I’m not going anywhere. Just don’t leave me, Frannie.”