Believe in Love Page 2

  Jett puts his hands on his hips. “Keanna, talk to me.”

  My nostrils flare. Can’t he see I’m late as hell? “Go. Away.”

  He shakes his head, standing there all stubborn and sexy, bare chested in the freezing cold. “You’re being an idiot,” I say. “A good boyfriend would just leave me alone.”

  “Maybe,” he says, once again blocking me as I try to slip around him. He takes my shoulders in his hands, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “But a fantastic boyfriend would figure out what’s bothering his girlfriend and try to make it better. I like to think I’m much better than a good boyfriend.”

  “You know what’s bothering me?” I shout, louder than necessary. He flinches, but keeps his hands on my shoulders.

  I grit my teeth together. “My stupid ass final bothers me. College in general bothers me because it’s too hard and I have no idea what I want to do with my life.”

  His eyes soften, but I’m so pissed, I don’t care. I swing a finger toward my car. “My stupid car is stuck in the mud so I hate it, and I hate this driveway and I hate this house and I really hate being woken up too early by a stupid baby that cries for no damn reason!”

  “Keanna, you don’t mean that,” Jett says softly. His fingers slide down my arms, and when he tries to take my hands, I yank away violently, fixing him with a stare.

  “Yes, I do mean it. I mean all of it. And if you don’t want to join the long list of shit I hate, you’ll get the hell out of my way. How are you going to feel if I fail my final because you made me late?”

  “Baby, the class starts in forty-five minutes and it takes fifteen to drive there.”

  I grit my teeth. He doesn’t realize the plan for today is to get there an hour early to study, because if I don’t study, I’ll fail and if I fail, I’ll waste my parent’s tuition money and I’ll be an utter failure at the easiest possible part of college there is.

  “I don’t feel like talking right now, Jett. You need to leave.”

  He steps forward, tilting his head. “Not until you start feeling better.” He runs a hand down my hair, a gesture that usually turns me to putty in his arms, but right now I’m just too furious to care. I let the chill in the air turn me as frozen as my heart feels right now.

  “Baby, I know you’re stressed, but you’re going to be fine. I promise. You know this stuff because we studied it all night.”

  “An exam is a lot harder than studying on a futon,” I mutter.

  He shakes his head. “You’ll ace your exams. Both of them. I promise.” He grins. “If not, you can punch me right in the face.”

  I roll my eyes. “Can I punch you now? Like fifty times?”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Why fifty times?”

  “Because I hate everything!” I yell.

  He frowns. “You don’t hate me. You don’t hate Elijah.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” I say, interrupting him. “I do hate that baby. He ruined my morning. And I’m starting to hate you because you’re ruining my day even more than the baby did.”

  “Keanna, you can’t possibly mean that.”

  He’s right. Deep down, I don’t. But that part of my body isn’t in control right now. Right now, I’m just hot rage and anger and resentment, all bubbling up and boiling over in my heart. “You need to go,” I say again.

  “Keanna, we’re family. Elijah, Becca, Park, my parents and me. We’re all family and we’re here for you. I wish you’d realize that instead of shoving us all away.”

  I press my lips together. I know I’ll regret it, but like I said, the good part of my brain isn’t in charge right now.

  “Yeah? Well my life was a hell of a lot easier when I didn’t have a family.”

  “You don’t mean that,” Jett says, his dark gaze peering into mine.

  I press my palm to his cold chest and push him away. “Yes, I do. My life would be so much easier without all of this crap.”

  Chapter 4

  Jett

  My body wakes up slowly. I yawn and stretch out and roll over, keeping my eyes closed until the sunlight from my window gets bright enough to make me open them. It takes me a second to remember it’s the week of Christmas so work is closed and school is out. Man, it’s rare that I get to sleep in late like this. It feels amazing, even though I do feel a little weird for some reason.

  I sit up in bed and rub my eyes. I think about how cool it would have been to get sponsored by Team Loco last year, if only I’d done better in the qualifying races.

  Ugh.

  I could have gotten out of high school early and then every non-race day could have been sleep in late day. I’ll probably never stop kicking myself for ruining that sponsorship. Dad says there’s still time, I’m still young enough to work hard and find another one.

  I really hope he’s right, because I don’t know what else I’d do with my life without motocross. I guess I’d try to settle down and find a girlfriend—if any girl would have me after the reputation I’ve earned over the years.

  With a sigh, I try to capture the remaining bits of a dream I had just before I woke up. I can’t remember it really—but it felt like I was happy. I had a girlfriend, no—she was more than that. She had chestnut brown hair and the most gorgeous smile, and she was mad at me, I think.

  I guess that makes sense…even in my dreams, I can’t be happy in a relationship. With a sigh, I shake away the feeling and reach for my phone. I have three new messages from three different girls. I don’t even bother reading them because those girls aren’t exactly hot or appealing.

  Before I set my phone down, I stare at the background image. It’s just my dirt bike, the same as it always is—but something feels off. It feels—well, like I’m forgetting something. But I don’t know what. Maybe I shouldn’t have slept so damn late this morning. It’s screwing with my head.

  My parents are still asleep as I make my way downstairs. I don’t bother disturbing them because I’m sure they’re also grateful that our family business is closed all week for the holidays.

  It’s December 23rd, or Christmas Eve eve as my mom always says. It’s also the day before my birthday. Due to some unfortunate timing on my parents’ part, I was born just a few hours before Christmas day. It kind of sucks because people think it’s some novelty to be born on a holiday, or they just get me one gift and say it’s for both events. Lame.

  When I was a kid, my parents would throw me a party in the summer, that way I could enjoy my birthday like a normal kid. Now I don’t really care too much.

  I just want to ride my dirt bike and be left alone.

  So, that’s exactly what I do. The family business has three dirt bike tracks in the lot next to our house. We teach motocross lessons and have races on occasion. I head out to the garage and hop on my bike, then take it around the track for a few laps. When I’m out here, just me and my bike on the dirt, I’m perfect. It doesn’t matter that I don’t have a girlfriend, it doesn’t matter that I’m pretty sure I’m broken and will never be able to find the kind of love my parents have for each other. All that matters is the bike, and the dirt. And the air that’s all around me as I’m soaring over a jump.

  After a few hours, the sun is really beating down, even for December. I head back to the garage and grab a water from the fridge. I hear her footsteps before I see her, and it takes everything I have not to groan.

  Emma Clarke walks like she’s a princess. I know she does it on purpose. No one naturally takes these little prissy steps to announce their arrival. That is not just a girl thing. It’s an Emma thing.

  Emma is hot, don’t get me wrong, but I’m so sick of her. She’s never sick of me, though. She’s always around, always dressed in something slutty and wearing a ton of makeup. She refuses to let me go, and sometimes I fear I’ll end up settling down with her just because there’s nothing else going for me in life. I didn’t get that sponsorship, after all.

  “Hey there,” Emma says, sauntering into the garage. Her blonde hair is pulled bac
k in a ponytail and she’s wearing skin tight jeans with a tank top that shows off how well her push up bra works. I don’t know who she thinks she’s fooling—after having seen those boobs in real life, they are not that big.

  “What’s going on?” I say, ducking into the fridge to get another water.

  “Just wanted to come hang out with my favorite motocross guy,” she says, her voice all flirty.

  She walks up and slides her hand down my chest, even though I’m pretty sure my dirt bike jersey is covered in sweat. “I freaking love your abs,” she says, looking up at me with a desire in her eyes. “You want to go watch a movie in your room?”

  That is Emma Clarke speak for want to go hook up in your room?

  On any other day, I’d probably jump at the chance, because what else is there to do? But today I’m feeling weird. I’m still strung out over that weird dream, I guess. There’s this little flicker in my chest that burns with the pain of having lost something. I just don’t know what that something is.

  “I don’t know, I’m kind of tired,” I say.

  “It’s only two in the afternoon, you weirdo.” She laughs and takes my hand. “You’re not tired! Come on, let’s go get you in the shower.”

  She drags me back to my house. Mom is making a sandwich in the kitchen. “Hi, Mrs. Adams!” Emma cheerfully says.

  “Hello,” Mom says pointedly, looking at me. She’s not a fan of Emma.

  Probably because Emma’s one of those girls out there for motocross fame. As soon as some other guy comes along who’s better than me, she’ll be gone. I give Mom this look like I’m helpless and let Emma lead me up to my room.

  I mean really, it’s not like I have anything else to do. Too bad I can’t stop thinking of that girl from my dream. But dreams are just that—dreams, and this is reality.

  Chapter 5

  Keanna

  My neck hurts. I wince as I try to lift up, but the pain is so bad I just give up and plop back down on my pillow. Well, it’s not really a pillow. It’s a sweater I rolled up into a makeshift pillow. It’s normally pretty cold sleeping in Dawn’s car, but last night I got hot because I’m wearing several layers. Pretty much everything I own.

  “Mom?” I call out, my voice raspy from hours of sleep. She doesn’t reply, so she must not be up front. I honestly don’t know how she sleeps in the driver’s seat of her car. She claims that years of doing it has made it comfortable for her, but I don’t know if she’s telling the truth or just pretending she is. My mother is very good and pretending things are fine when they’re not.

  I sit up in the back seat and rub my neck. Another night sleeping in the car in a parking lot. The car is starting to smell—or maybe I am. I can only get so clean in the bathrooms of department stores and Walmarts.

  After rubbing my neck, I look down at my hands. I have no jewelry. Obviously I don’t—we would have pawned it for cash a long time ago. Still, I can’t stop staring at my ring finger, feeling like something is…missing.

  Weird.

  After stretching a little, I climb out of the car, squinting in the harsh sunlight. It’s cool out here, but not nearly as cool as some of the other places we’ve been. We’re in Texas, I think. Mom and I are nomads. We travel around selling Mom’s crafts at craft fairs or wherever she can set up a table. We never stay anywhere very long, but we usually do have a place to stay.

  But after the car broke down and Mom had to spend eight hundred dollars to fix it, we no longer had any deposit money to find a cheap apartment. So, we’ve been in the car for a couple of months now, the awfulness broken up by one or two nights a week when we can afford to stay in a motel. Now we’re going on fourteen days of not having a motel. I would kill for a hot shower and a shitty cheap mattress right about now.

  I make my way toward the grocery store. It’s not a chain, but instead it’s some small family owned place. The managers agreed to let Mom set up a table near the front doors to sell her crafts. Normally people tell us no if we’re not selling stuff for a real charity, but with it being two days until Christmas, I guess they felt bad for us.

  Mom’s crafts are beautiful though. She makes windchimes from colored broken glass and other materials we find on the streets, in dumpsters, or at thrift stores. It’s rustic and vintage and colorful and rich people pay a lot of money for something they can say was made by a real artist.

  “Took you long enough,” Dawn says, her upper lip curling as she watches me approach. She’s my mom, but she’s Dawn in my head. A long time ago I decided a woman who can’t provide a normal home for their kid isn’t really worth the title of “mom”, but of course I still call her that to her face or I’d get a slap across the cheek.

  “Sorry,” I say, sitting on top of her ice chest as I rub my neck. She has a table set up and it looks quite nice. She’s found clothing racks on wheels to use to hang up the windchimes. They sell a lot better when they’re hanging up and people can see them in action, verses when they’re flat on a table.

  Mom sips a cup of coffee, and I eye it enviously. She groans, then reaches inside her pocket and hands me a five dollar bill. “Go get something to eat,” she says. “There’s a little café inside the grocery store. Pretty good coffee.”

  I brighten, because we haven’t had real food in a while. Stale pop tarts and granola bars do not count as real food in my opinion.

  The grocery store is really cute. It has a country store type of vibe, I guess. There’s a little café in the corner, with places to sit. It’s not terribly cold outside, but I order a coffee and a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit and sit at a table waiting for it to be ready. It feels nice being inside a real building. I’m so sick of sitting outside selling stuff with Dawn, only to go back into a car at night. I say a little prayer that we sell enough things today to get a hotel tonight, or maybe on Christmas night. That would be nice.

  The food is totally divine. I have to force myself to eat slower than I want to, otherwise I’d down my breakfast in two seconds flat and be wishing I had more. I can tell that people around me are avoiding me like they would a creepy homeless person. Sadly, I guess I am homeless, but I’m not creepy. I’m not addicted to drugs or alcohol. I’m just poor as hell.

  With a sigh, I stare at my left hand as I sip what’s left of my coffee. I’ve never had a ring before. So why does it feel like I’m missing one?

  I shake my head. Ugh, that’s so weird. Then my hand goes up to my neck and slides across my collarbone. I don’t have a necklace, either, but it almost feels like maybe I dreamt that I did. It’d have a heart on it. I think. I’d like a necklace like that, if someone special gave it to me.

  A wave of stress rolls over me. Stress like I’ve never felt before—not the normal worries of where we’ll sleep or what we’ll eat—but stress like a normal person would have. School, work, family.

  Heh.

  What is wrong with me? I shake it off and head outside, where Dawn is selling a beautiful piece to an older couple. This one took her hours to make, using wire-wrapped colorful glass and stones. That thing also had a price tag of eighty dollars on it.

  She thanks the customers and then beams at me. “I sold the big one!”

  I give her a high five. “Does that mean we’ll get a hotel tonight?”

  She scowls. “I thought you wanted an apartment.”

  “I do,” I say, blinking. “I definitely do.”

  “Well, apartments need money, and we won’t have any if we spend it all on stupid hotels!”

  I frown. “But—Mom. Some places only charge twenty dollars a night. I know they’re shitty, but I could really use a hot shower and a real bed.”

  “Sometimes you’re so ungrateful,” Mom says, shaking her head. “We only need about a thousand dollars more and we’ll have enough for those low-income apartments we found a few weeks ago, baby. You have to pay the first and last month’s rent up front, but then monthly it’s only three hundred dollars. You can’t beat that. So, we’ll just tough it out a little longer
and hope these people want to buy our stuff for Christmas presents, okay?”

  I nod even though I’d rather cry. If we didn’t move around so much, we could have a home. A real one. “Okay.”

  “Good,” Mom says, rolling her eyes. “All I want for Christmas is a daughter who won’t be grumpy all the damn time.”

  And all I want for Christmas is a roof over my head, if only for one night.

  But I don’t say that out loud, of course. I just rub my thumb across my ring finger and wonder why it feels so empty today when it’s been empty my whole life.

  Chapter 6

  Jett

  Something is definitely wrong. I can’t put my finger on it, and there’s a chance I might just be going crazy, but something feels off. Like this isn’t supposed to be my life.

  It’s dark, and the TV has been on a straight Netflix binge of some stupid show Emma likes but I can’t for the life of me figure out why. The characters are bitchy, and they’re not even that hot. The sole purpose of the show seems to be taking advantage of men every chance they get.

  Maybe it’s because I haven’t been watching the show that my mind is wandering around, wondering why I feel so weird. Beside me, Emma clears her throat. When I ignore her, she does it again.

  “Uh, hello?”

  “What?” I say, looking over. She’s relaxed on the couch in my living room, her feet in my lap. I hate when she does this, but I’m not a jerk so I don’t ever make her move her stupid feet.

  “It’s like really late,” Emma says, sitting up a little. She leans forward so her boobs are on display and then she does her classic pout face.

  “You want to go home?” I ask.

  She rolls her eyes. “It’s late,” she says, emphasizing the last word. “Your parents are already in bed.” She folds her arms across her chest. “So why haven’t we gone to your bedroom yet?”