Worth Any Risk

Ch. 26 An Unexpected Encounter

*Cole

I have to get out of town, so I spend the night in a different motel near the city. I can't sleep for several hours and I don't even try. I stare at the ceiling as passing cars make pale strips of light knife through the blinds. I drift in and out as the morning comes, but by six, I'm showered, dressed and walking out the door. I grab some to-go breakfast at a drive-through.

I can't leave, yet. My camper is at Jordan's and I have unfinished business with several people—Roberta, Javier, and Brandon mainly—in town. Whatever happens with them today, I'm never coming back. This is it. I won't bother saying goodbye to my parents. We passed that point long ago when my mother made it clear she preferred a child-abusing man over her own son.

You're not the man for me.

Damn. I rub my chin, and roll the window down to let in the cool air. Jordan's words haunt me, but I can't stand to turn on the radio and listen to whatever annoying crap they have playing.

She's wrong. The worst part is that she's simply wrong about everything, and I can't force her to see it. She's wrong and by tonight, I'll be on my way home. I'll be gone.

I pull into a gas station on the edge of town, the one across from Jordan's favorite diner. I message Javier, assuming the kids have already woken him up. They have. He answers immediately.

If I swing by his place in an hour, he'll drive me, with the kids in the back seat, to Jordan's so I can pick up the camper. A dead, listless disinterest for the thing spreads through me. I don't even care. I should give it to Roberta, because I can't even be bothered with putting out an ad to sell the damn thing. I'm itching to cut my ties, and head out. But I can't leave it in Jordan's back yard.

Roberta's it is. I send her a message next, asking if she's around this morning. She doesn't answer right away, and I need more coffee, so I jog across the highway to get a cup.

I head for the counter to sit on a stool and the waitress, the same from the other day smiles warmly at me.

"Black coffee, and lots of it, hon?" she asks?

"Yes, ma'am." I nod in gratitude as she fills up my cup and take a big swig, ignoring how it scorches my tongue. About half-way through my cup the door opens again and the waitress calls out a hello.

"I was wondering where you were," she says. "Your man beat you here today."

Oh, no. I sit up straight and roll my shoulders. I won't be a coward and pretend I'm not here, or ignore her.

Jordan is staring at me. She's had a rough night, it's clear, and she stands as if an iron rod is jammed down her spine, nailing her to her floor. And it's the only thing keeping her on her feet. I ache to change how she feels, how she looks, what she must be going through. There has to be a way to make this right.

She half-spins and takes a seat several spaces away. "We're not actually together, Marge. Can I get the usual to go?"

Marge sends a blistering glance my way—she knows something happened between us and she blames me one hundred percent. Then she pats Jordan's hand. "Sure thing. Won't be five minutes."

Jordan fidgets nervously a moment, gets up, and goes through the door marked restroom. I'm fighting whether or not I should try to talk to her. Will I make it worse? Surely not. She must not have seen my car parked across the road and stopped in for a quick breakfast on her way to work. Why does she want to stay here so badly?

This town...I finish my coffee, now cool enough not to scald my throat...is hell on Earth.

Marge walks the length behind the counter from the kitchen, coffee carafe in hand. She pauses in front of me. "Let me guess. You think she's guilty. You think her ex-husband was right to kidnap that baby."

I prop my elbows on the counter. Technically, I don't owe her an answer. She thinks she knows me, imagines that I took another man's side of the crime and broke things off with Jordan. I owe this woman nothing. And yet, I can't stand to have someone put me on the same level as that shitbag.

"No, ma'am. I know she's innocent."

She hmphs. "And yet, here you are, breaking a sweet woman's heart. You don't deserve her."

"You're right about that." I can't deny the truth.

She motions to my empty cup. "This one is on the house, since it's the last coffee you'll have here."

Fuck me. This waitress is brutal and it's not even eight in the morning. I can't get out of this entire fucking town fast enough. How does Jordan stand it? Constantly being judged, and watched. Talked about, debated over. She must know people still wonder what happened to Trey and Emma. They must ask themselves if she hit Emma and forced Trey to run. Small minded, cruel hearted shits. Except for her supporters like Marge, but who are just as quick to judge.

I deliberately pull out my wallet and set down a five. "Then this is your tip for my last coffee here."

Jordan pulls up short at the corner of the counter. I hadn't noticed her come back from the restroom, but she must have heard what I said.

"Marge, if my pancakes aren't ready, I'll just take a coffee," she says. "I don't have much of an appetite, anyway."

"The cook was boxing your breakfast a minute ago, he should be done." She gives me a side-eye sharp enough to slice my skin. "It's on the house this time, hon."

"Don't be ridiculous." Jordan sets a few bills on the counter and shifts nervously, waiting.

Disapproval hangs like a fog around her, but Marge heads to the back. I stand. I approach Jordan carefully, afraid to startle her. God, I don't want to hurt her anymore. What I should do is grab her and make a run for it.

Like Trey did with Emma. Shit, shit, shit.

"Jordan..."

"Keep walking out the door, Cole."

All right. She doesn't want me in her life.

You aren't the man for me.

I almost walk past her. "Come with me. We'll figure this out." I take her arm.

She shrugs to make me let go. "You sold me out to Brandon, after what he did to me. You believe his word over mine? Forget it."

"Hey!" a man shouts, angry. The cook is storming from the kitchen, Marge on his heels. "Out of my place right now, or I won't be calling the cops."

"I'm going." I hold my hands and back through the door. "I'm going."

The world is a blur until I make it back to my car, as adrenaline pumps through my veins. I hit the steering wheel. I made it worse. I opened my mouth and managed to make it worse.

I toss my phone on the seat and start the car. A message beeps. Sighing, I grab it to check.

Roberta: swing by early this morning if you want I'll be at the lake all day

Fine. I'll go to Roberta's. I start to calculate how many minutes it will take me to point my car towards California and leave this town for good. Too many minutes. Damn it.

*** How long will he keep walking out of her life...? Thanks for reading! ***