The Someday Jar by Allison Morgan

Author:Allison Morgan [Morgan, Allison]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-07-06T22:00:00+00:00

eighteen

It’s several hours later, long after midnight, and I lie in bed, listening to Evan snore. I blink away tears into the darkness, my skin crawling with all sorts of emotions. Anger. Resentment. Hope.

He did call. Many times.

Twenty minutes later, I tiptoe downstairs with hopes that a cup of hot tea will ease my nerves.

Moonlight slips through the shutter slats, lighting my way into the kitchen. Already I feel better with the cool tile against my feet, preferring the calm, constant hum of the refrigerator to Evan’s snoring.

A shadow sneaks toward me.

Oh, God. Oh, God. A chill snakes up my spine. There’s an intruder in the house. An intruder!

It’s getting closer.

In a knee-jerk reaction, I dart toward the silhouette and thrust my punch into the darkness, smacking my fist hard into the flesh with a loud thump. Ouch! That felt like concrete.

He groans.

I raise my fists again, wishing our largest kitchen knife wasn’t buried in the dishwasher.

The man grabs my wrists.

I start to scream.

“Shhh, Lanie. It’s me,” Wes says.

“Wes? You scared me.”

He releases me.

I bend over and catch my breath while he flips on the stove’s night light.

The dim glow does nothing to conceal the fact that he’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of jeans.

“You’ve got a hell of a punch.” He rubs his chin.

“I’m sorry.” I squeeze and release my hand, growing stiff with pain, convinced that should my broker career not pan out, becoming a fighter is not a viable second choice. Cool air blasts my face as I open the freezer and fill a Ziploc bag full of ice cubes. “Here.” I offer him the bag.

“Thanks.” He nods toward my clenched fist. “Why don’t you put it on your hand?”

“It hurts like hell.”

“I bet.” He rests the bag on my knuckles. Ice slides around my fingers and the coolness is instant relief.

“Do you always punch your houseguests?”

“Only those who prowl around at night.”

He laughs. “Sorry, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither. Want a cup of tea?”

“Sure, but I’ll get it. Keep that ice on and go sit.”

“Thanks.” On my way to the couch, I peek toward the stairs, wondering if Evan woke from the commotion, but I neither see nor hear any sign of him.

A couple minutes later, Wes silences the kettle at the hint of its whistle. “Here you go.” He hands me a mug.

Shirtless. Did I say that already?

“Thanks.”

“You okay?” I sense he doesn’t mean my hand.

“Yeah.” I set the ice on the table and blow on my tea. After a few moments, I say, “Not really.”

“You know, your whole face lights up like a Christmas tree when you talk about the jar. I can tell it’s really important to you.”

“It is,” I say, grateful for his objectiveness.

“Tell me the story.”

“What story?”

“There’s always a story. Tell me more about the jar.”

“Well, it’s the typical poor-me scenario of my dad leaving when I was fifteen, causing all sorts of abandonment and self-worth issues. Blah. Blah. Blah. Before he left, Dad bought the jar while visiting Cabo San Lucas, said it reminded him of me when he saw it.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.