“More than anything, I wish I could barge in and take over, giving Jersey no choice, but I wouldn’t be the man I am if I ran roughshod over her, Britton. I have too much respect for people, especially women, to take their choices away from them. Can you understand and appreciate that, darlin’?”
“I do. I promise, I do. But I don’t want to go to her place without you and vice versa. When I get settled, I don’t want to have to relocate so I’m gonna stay right here until you talk to her.”
She’s adamant, and I know when she gets something stuck in her mind, there’s no talking her out of it so I nod and shut her door before looking at Splicer who reads the look on my face and nods in response.
It’s a damn good thing we’ve learned to silently communicate with each other since this is going to be a long talk because I’m sure Jersey’s going to be emotional. She’s been a damn mess since we figured out Britton was in trouble.
The moment my knuckles rap against her door, she swings it open. Her eyes are rimmed red, and she looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks. “Is she okay?”
“That depends on how you look at it,” I answer. I don’t want to lie to her, but I’m not sure sugarcoating it would help either. Jersey wears everyone else’s emotions on her sleeve, and while that kind of empathy can be a strength, it can also be a burden.
“What does she need, and what can I do to help?” Jersey asks, giving me those puppy-dog eyes that can make any man melt and do just about anything to keep her from crying.
I’m a sucker for women and have a hard time telling them no when they look up at me like that. I swear it must be something they master during their formative years, because every woman I know has it down to an art form.
“Here’s the problem, Jersey. She’s having a hard time deciding where to stay,” I tell her, buying myself a moment to gather my thoughts so she doesn’t feel pressured to say yes if she really wants to say no. “She insists that both of us stay with her. It doesn’t have to be here, we can all stay at the clubhouse if you prefer, but she refuses to get out of the car until we make a decision.”
She snickers and shakes her head. “She’s so damn hardheaded sometimes. She’s trying to kill two birds with one throw of a pebble.”
I roll her words around in my head, smiling as I echo them back to her, only this time, using the correct saying. “Kill two birds with one stone?”
I know what she meant, but she’s twisted the saying just enough to give me an opening, and I take it. I tease her, hoping to keep her talking, because most days, she’s quiet as a mouse and keeps to herself.
“I’m not good with phrasings. I always end up mixing them up and turning them into my own version,” she explains. “Britton has to correct me all the time. But yes, that’s what I meant.”
“Can you explain that a little more, Jersey? Why would she do that?”
“Because I’m socially awkward around other adults,” she explains. “It’s easier for me to be around kids than grown-ups. I understand them better because they say what they mean and don’t tiptoe around people’s feelings.”
“And tiptoeing around people’s feelings is a bad thing?” I ask, lifting my brows. It’s human nature to try not to hurt someone when you can avoid it—at least it is if you’re a decent person.
“It can be. I have a hard time reading people when they don’t say what they mean and cover it up with platitudes. I never know if they’re making fun of me or being genuine. Britton is trying to force me to interact with people our age while surrounding me with people she trusts.”
“So you think she wants you to open up and start trusting the people she trusts? Is that what you mean, Jersey?”
“In a nutshell, yes,” she replies.
“You’d have to actually be there for that to happen,” I say, giving her a reproving look. “You never join in on the club’s activities, even when you’re invited.”
“Because people confuse me, and Britton’s the one who keeps me grounded when I start to feel overwhelmed. Plus, she explains things in a way I can understand.”
My inner turmoil stems from the fact that she’s the one we’ve entrusted to help shape and mold our young children’s minds. How can someone who admits to being socially awkward teach our kids to face the things they don’t want to or aren’t comfortable doing?
“Jersey, you need to make a life for yourself outside of your friendship with Britton. You know that, don’t you?”
“That’s what I’ve been told,” she mumbles. “We were working on it before she took off.”
This is the most I’ve ever spoken with her, and I wish I hadn’t waited so long. She’s desperate to find a place where she belongs—a place where she can be accepted for who she is, with no strings attached.
“The clubhouse it is,” I decide. “Pack your things, Jersey. You’re moving in temporarily.”
“Wait!” she hollers, throwing up both hands trying to stop me. “I didn’t agree to that. I’d be more comfortable if the two of you stayed here in her room.”
Leaning forward just enough to avoid intimidating her, I say, “And that’s the problem, isn’t it, Jersey.” I make sure it doesn’t sound like a question, because it isn’t, it’s an accusation. “You don’t put yourself out there unless it’s in an environment where you can hide, right?”
“Are you patronizing me?” she asks, planting her fists on her hips.
“No, I’m giving you a few hard truths. They may sound cold, but that’s not my intention. You need to be pushed out of the box you’ve locked yourself inside of, Jersey. It’s time to start letting some of those walls down. I’ll send a prospect over in the morning to help you move your things. Expect him around eight.”
