Fueled Obsession 4 by Heartley Amanda

Author:Heartley, Amanda [Heartley, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Heartley Publishing
Published: 2015-02-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight — Jack

Mr. Jernigan drove me to the funeral home and together we made the final arrangements for my mom. I’d secretly hoped that I wouldn’t have to think about any of this but, of course, she’d made no plans for herself and the folks at Redemption Road had given me the time off to take care of everything. I didn’t want to tell them that I didn’t want to think about it—how bad would that be? Pretty bad, I suppose. But I had my reasons for not wanting to deal with this by myself. What I felt about Nellie—how I’d dealt with her—was to keep her at a distance. I never got too close because I’d have to feel, to think and to process all of that. I hated that shit, and I hated the fact that she died right when I was starting something good in my life. She’d always fucked up everything. Now she was gone and I was still pissed at her. God, I was a fucked up mess.

For the first time in my life, I was scared. Sure, I’d been dangerous before—crashing into trees, almost overdosing a time or two, running from the law—but these threats didn’t compare to the anger I felt now. I didn’t trust my own emotions on anything, and rightly so. Look what had happened with Mollie. I’d blown my chances with her by deliberately pushing her away. Any normal person would have said to the girl they cared about, “Thanks for the help.” Not me—I practically pushed her into Dylan’s waiting arms. That bastard! I ought to go kick his ass, just for the hell of it. I never did call that punk ass bitch back the other night.

“Jack, what do you think?”

“I’m sorry. What did you ask me?”

“Could you give us a minute or two?” Ferris smiled at the funeral director and soon we were alone. “How are you doing?”

Oh fuck, here we go. Someone else wants me to feel something. “I’m fine. I just—my mind wandered off. Listen, is there any way you can do this? I’m sure whatever plans you make will be fine, and I don’t care about the money. Whatever it costs.” I leaned forward with my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. I rubbed my fingers through my hair and remembered that I’d cut it all off. All I wanted to do was go for a long ride with a bottle of whiskey—and maybe I still would after all this funeral shit was done.

He placed his hand on my shoulder. “I’m here to help you manage your affairs, but I’m not going to make these decisions for you, no matter how much you pay me.” He removed his hand, looked me firmly in the eye, and in his deep, gravelly voice he added, “It’s not about the money, you know. It’s about you. If I do all this for you, you’ll regret it down the road. You’re not the man that Charles DuBois and others might think you are.

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