Page 82 of Wanting What’s Wrong

One

Jenna

M y heart is breaking. My boobs are aching. I’m an eighteen-year-old lactating virgin.

Unpack that.

“It’s only for a year.” My older sister Renae bounces ten-month-old Morgan on her hip, her chubby fingers tugging at my hair as I bite back another deluge of tears. “I promise, you will always be the best auntie. You saved my life taking care of her. I’ll never be able to repay you.”

Sweet Morgan. The product of a less-than-ideal relationship my sister had with an old high school flame who quickly beat it out of town to California as soon as the pregnancy test turned up with two pink lines.

“She saved me too,” I mutter through shaking lips as Morgan’s hand moves to the neckline of my t-shirt, pulling, as that tingling, burning ache in my nipples nearly brings me to my knees .

“I gotta take this assignment, sis. And you cannot stay here.” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at the chaos of the small rental house my mom and her boyfriend call home.

“I’ll be fine,” I lie as the pain in my chest is overridden by the throbbing on the left side of my face where Mom’s boyfriend-slash-supplier left a reminder for her that no matter their relationship, she still owes him money.

“You are not fine . This place is not fine .” She seethes, raven black hair slicked back into a tight bun, her fatigues crisp and clean. Morgan starts to fuss, her eyes on mine, telling our secrets.

The cubicle of a living room is strewn with beer cans and filth.

Coming back here after the calm order of Renae’s on-base apartment has cut me to the quick, but she’s gotten her new, dream assignment in France as an air traffic controller for the Army base there, and what am I going to put on my resume for a job that pays enough to afford my own place?

Babysat my sister’s kiddo since she was an infant after graduating high school, then when sis had to leave for two months of security training, I decided to comfort nurse and holy shit, you know what?

Comfort nursing turned into the real deal.

My body responded like it found its calling. Now my tits are heavy, I have to double up on the nursing pads inside my bras, and I’ve been secretly pumping to relieve the pain and pressure. So if there is a job for someone with milk-making at an Olympic Sport level, I’m your girl.

I stare at the fist-sized hole in the blue-painted drywall next to the open front door. Summer sunshine streams through the dusty, musty air of the house.

It’s a not so gentle reminder of Roger’s preemptive strike before he landed his next punch on my left eye socket when I tried to get in between him and mom.

My stomach rolls, nausea curdling the Oreo Milkshake I had for our goodbye lunch dessert, sharing it with Morgan. A guilty pleasure I enjoyed sharing with her as her stand-in-mom.

“Come on.” Renae’s voice takes on that motherly tone. “I know you’re still packed from coming back here from my place. Grab your shit. I’m taking you to Cal’s.”

The world stops spinning.

Cal.

Six foot seven. Green eyes. Wears a cowboy hat like it’s X-rated. Walked me to school every day for a month when the mean girl crew turned their focus on me.

“I can’t—” My mouth turns drier than my bank account. “When did you talk to him?”

My curiosity is like a candle flickering in the darkness, quickly igniting the heat of a nuclear core meltdown downtown in girltown.

“Yesterday. He asked about you before I could even get to the point.”

“I never answered his letters. He probably hates me.” I scuff the toe of my knock off Birkenstock on the corner of the cracked linoleum square of the foyer as my mom’s voice seeps from down the hall, yelling about someone hiding her foil and lighter.

Renae shakes her head. “Nope. No hate. He’s back settled at the ranch.

You’re going there.” I open my mouth to protest, but narrows her eyes, giving me that hard, big sister stare.

“I’m not debating this. You are going. You are not staying here.

I won’t sleep, I won’t be able to function knowing you are here with—” She releases one hand from where she’s holding the baby to wave it in an arc around the shabby disaster of a room.

“Now, get your shit. I’ve got two hours to get to the plane, and I’m dropping you off where I know you’ll be safe. He’s expecting you.”

It’s ironic that she’s right that I’d be safe there, considering he’s just been released after spending six months in prison for domestic assault. I know he’s not dangerous. Well, at least not in a way I need to worry about .

My mom concocted the abuse story, complete with self-inflicted bruises. But, Cal had a couple old convictions and even with his pricey attorney, the judge gave him six months.

See, Mom wasn’t too fond of him trying to bring some order to her chaos. The boy she made a pact with in seventh grade, that if they weren’t married by their thirties, they would marry each other.

I don’t think he had any intention of keeping that pact, but when they had a serendipitous meeting in Vegas, it took a night of tequila and my mom laying out the sad state of her life for a man with a white knight complex to ride in and save her.

I knew he was released last week. I knew I should have answered the letters he wrote while he was away. But my behavior while he lived with us was less than polite. In fact, if you take the word brat and multiply it by infinity, you’d be half way there.

“Fine.” I feign irritation. “Let’s go. Can’t be worse than here.”

An hour later with my eyes still burning from the final goodbyes with Renae and Morgan, I trudge up the long dirt path to Cal’s family’s ranch house, my boobs drenching the inside of my bra.

I did a quick pump before we left, but it barely took the edge off. Now I’m one breath away from leaking through the triple pads and announcing to the man that was my step-father that his virgin step-daughter is a lactating princess.

I didn’t even bother to say goodbye to my mom, whose bedroom door was closed and had in so many words blamed me for Roger’s fist meeting my face.

My heart felt compressed in my chest, my boobs were leaking, the baby that had been my only bright spot for months was leaving, along with my sister who was my best friend and safe place in this world.

I didn’t have the emotional capacity to take on my mom’s shit too.

I take one long look at the outside of the house before lugging my suitcases up the stairs, my backpack full of my pumping gear and a few of my favorite Manga books tugging my shoulders back as I take the three wooden stairs up to the home where he grew up.

He told me stories about it while he lived with us for those few months, but this is better than I’d pictured.

It’s not quite Yellowstone, but it’s somewhere between a log home and a farmhouse.

It’s sturdy and warm, with thick pine pillars that support a weathered wood second story porch that runs the length of the low-slung two-story ranch.

There’s what looks like two additions added after the main house, with metal roofs and white siding.

It’s an odd contrast, but it’s homey in a quirky way, and the fact that it’s not perfect makes me love it even more.

Before I raise my hand to knock, the door swings open and the impossible happens.

He’s even better looking than before.

And bigger.

So, freakin’ huge.

Six months in prison has created a new hardness around his green eyes.

His wide brimmed straw cowboy hat sitting perfectly on top of his dark hair.

The off-limits dad vibes he had before have multiplied in the thicker musculature that covers his body, the lines deepening in his forehead as he lets out a low growl.

The invisible fire tickling around my toes shoots up like the Space Shuttle into my belly, exploding around my hips, before settling down between my legs in a panty-soaking finale that nearly takes my feet out from under me.

Cal.

The air leaves my lungs in one big whoosh.

He fills the doorway like it was carved for him alone. He’s six foot seven, wide as a damn barn, wearing a black T-shirt and faded jeans. His massive mitt of a hand tips then removes his cowboy hat as I note his beard is thicker than it used to be, jaw locked tight.

His spring grass-green eyes settle on mine, softening before they drop to my cheek.

And every part of him turns hard. All the parts I can see at least. My imagination does a damn good job of filling in the rest.

"Your mom’s boyfriend do that?"

I nod as he grits curse words between his perfectly white teeth.

His mouth flattens to a hard line. "This all your stuff?"

I shrug my backpack, and nod and he steps outside to grab my suitcase, replacing his hat on the tousle of dark waves, lifting it like it weighs nothing. That familiar, grounding strength centers me. I follow him inside, legs shaking.

The house is cool and clean, bright with summer afternoon light. Smells clean with just a hint of that nostalgic scent that only old houses have.

"Granny wants to meet my stepdaughter," he says, jerking his chin toward the back door. "Truck’s out back. We’re going to the shop."

My heart stumbles. "The shop? Now?"

He glances back, jaw ticking. "She’s been running it while I was away. It’s getting to be too much. And she asked specifically to meet my step-daughter. I don’t say no to Granny."

The air between us crackles. He doesn’t say ex-step-daughter. Doesn’t act like I’m not still part of his family somehow. I knew Cal would never disappear from my life, no matter what happened between him and Mom and no matter how hard I tried to make him go away.

He motions toward my backpack. "You bringing that?"

My cheeks flame as I nod.

He doesn’t say anything, just closes the front door, guiding me with a brush of his hand on my shoulder toward the back door, then swings it open, the heat of the day adding heat to my cheeks.

I remember his truck well. A lifted older Ford F250. Diesel. Steady, rumbling, strong.