"Even though I'm seeing you with my own eyes," she says softly as her flip-flops hit the gravel and she walks into my arms, "I'm just having a hard time believing you're really alive."
I engulf her, pull her as tight as that pregnant belly will let me, and lay my cheek on the top of her head. My voice is gruff with emotion when I tell her, "Believe it, sis."
We stay like that for several long moments until I feel Wyatt's hand on my shoulder. I lift my head and turn to find him looking at me with respect and appreciation. I've talked to him a few times on the phone as well these last several weeks, and we've talked about the sacrifices that had to be made while working undercover.
Andrea is the first to pull away, and her eyes are shining with happy tears that she unabashedly ignores as she smiles at me. "I hope you packed a lot of clothes so you can stay for a really long visit."
"Got nowhere else I need to be," I tell her.
And that's the sad truth.
"All those years," Andrea murmurs as we sit on her back deck the next morning, watching the waves roll in. It's just dawn and the sun is peeking over the horizon. She found me out here about twenty minutes ago, and we shared our coffee together as we watched the sun rise, turning the sky pink, orange, purple, and then blue. "And I never knew you were undercover."
"Isn't that the point?" I say, my tone matter of fact.
"Well, of course," she admits freely. "But I was FBI. I should have known. I'm trained to know those things."
I reach over and pat Andrea's knee to commiserate. I had told her last night the long and involved story about how I became an ATF agent, and what led me to go undercover. She knows that I joined the ATF with the sole purpose of infiltrating Mayhem's Mission, so she was purposely kept oblivious to it all.
"Did you love her?" Andrea asks, and the question should feel awkward because we've not been close in years. I absolutely could not let us be close because I never wanted Zeke or anyone in that club thinking they could use Andrea against me if things went south.
But her asking me if I loved her isn't awkward, and I answer her with brutal honesty.
"No," I tell her softly. "But I cared for her a great deal."
The "her" is Jacqueline Martin, a woman I'd dated for several months while I was working the oil fields in eastern Wyoming. It was good money and I was able to work on my criminal justice degree at night. I was close friends with Jackie's brother, Darren, who was a local deputy sheriff. It sort of naturally happened that I started dating her and, because she and her brother were close, we all hung out a lot. While I wasn't in love with her, I cared about her deeply.
When she went missing, it hit me hard, but it hit Darren and his parents harder. She was a dental hygienist and had gone to work one morning, left at her normal time, and never made it home. Three months after her disappearance, when the local law enforcement ran out of leads, a miraculous turn of events happened. The ATF showed up with some loose information they had about a notorious biker gang known as Mayhem's Mission, who were suspected of numerous criminal activities, one of which was sex slavery. There was some consideration thrown around that Jackie could have been kidnapped by them.
"I can't tell you how that made me feel," I tell Andrea as we stare out over the ocean. She knows I'm talking about Jackie's disappearance. "But there I was... sitting with a degree and no real direction in life, and I just knew... when Darren told me about the ATF's involvement, I just knew that I had to join in on it."
"You thought you could save Jackie?" Andrea asks.
"Not really," I admit with a heavy heart. "I had accepted that if she'd been taken, she was probably long gone from the area. But I hoped I could find answers that could lead to her. More than anything... I wanted to bring them down."
Andrea turns her head and looks at me. "All those years of your life... committed to that one cause."
"Wasn't easy," I say as I reach out and take her hand. We both turn back to look at the ocean, and it fills me with some measure of peace. "I had to get on with the ATF first, and because Darren had always kept me involved with the investigation of Jackie's disappearance at the local level, I was no stranger to it when the ATF got involved."
"Was it your idea to go undercover?" she asks softly, and I sense the hesitation in her voice. She's asked the question, but I can tell part of her doesn't want to know the answer.
"Yeah," I admit to her. For a woman I didn't love, but did care for, I hatched a plan to try to achieve justice. "I presented it to them and offered to do it. I had to take their entrance exam and make the cut as an agent, just like any other. But after my initial training, I immediately went undercover."
"It's when you relocated out to Jackson, Wyoming," she says in remembrance. "You told me you wanted to be a motorcycle mechanic."
"Well, that was sort of the truth," I say with a chuckle.
She's silent for several moments, but then she gives my hand a squeeze. "I'm proud of you, Kyle. I honestly cannot imagine the horrors you've faced. And I know that you had to sacrifice yourself to get the job done. You ever want to talk about it, I'm here. You want me to mind my own business, it's done. I'm here for whatever you need."
I squeeze her hand back in grateful acknowledgment, and my lack of words tells her clearly I'm not ready to talk about any of it.
Except, well... maybe one thing.
"I met someone while I was living in Maine this summer," I say in an abrupt change of subject.
Andrea sits up straight in her deck chair and turns to me. Her eyebrows are aimed high as she gives me a smirk. "Really? Tell me all about it."
I shrug. "I was in hiding. Using an alias. Couldn't be truthful with her."
"Not exactly the right time to get involved with someone, right?" she asks.
I laugh, because damn if that wasn't the entire problem. "She got under my skin," I admit to my sister. "Just kept pushing at me, and finally... well, I just sort of went with it."
"What's her name?" she asks, and I hear that dreamy, romantic tone in her voice. Wyatt admitted to me last night after Andrea went to bed and we were sucking down a few beers that she was operating on pure hormones these days, which means whatever emotions she was feeling were intensified.
"Jane," I say softly, and I'm truly surprised that it hurts as much today to think of her as it did two months ago when I walked out of her life.
Andrea settles back in her chair, and I release her hand. I slouch down, propping my feet up on the railing that runs the length of her back deck.
"Tell me about her," Andrea prompts me.
And while I have no desire to ever tell Andrea about the horrors of my life while I was in deep with Mayhem's Mission, I'm oddly okay with spilling my guts to her about Jane.
Maybe because I have nothing to lose at this point.
"She's an artist," I begin my story. "A good one at that. Mainly watercolors. I have one of her paintings in the backseat of my car. No clue where I'll end up settling, but that will be the first thing that gets hung."
Andrea smiles, her tone sounding dreamy again. "I can totally see you with an artist. I bet she's quirky, isn't she?"
"So quirky," I admit with a sad smile. "But she also reminds me a little of you."
"Of course she does," Andrea says with a huff. "I'm fabulous, after all. Tell me more."
And I do.
I tell Andrea every bit of it.
The initial and swift attraction I tried to fight.
The way Jane pursued me in that incredibly sweet way, inching her way under my skin.
The attempt at friendship when we both knew that would never work.
Vaguer details about the intimacy we developed.
Shamefully admitting to Andrea that I never intended to make anything permanent with Jane and that I used her.
And finally, the self-hatred I've been bearing these last eight weeks that I brought danger into Jane's life and almost got her killed. I admit to my sister that I couldn't get out of Misty Harbor fast e
nough after all of that went down. Jane rightfully reacted badly to being attacked in her own home and then finding out that I'd been lying to her all along. She had every reason to push me away, and when she did, I took the opportunity and ran. I let the government hide me away, and I tried to put her out of my mind.
"You are so totally gone for this girl," Andrea murmurs when I finish.
"I am. But I fucked it up too badly," I tell her. "Ruined it."
"You don't know that," she offers helpfully.
"I do," is all I say. I can recall with keen detail the look on Jane's face when she found out the truth about me, and it wasn't even the entire truth. She didn't know about any of the bad stuff.
"You don't," she pushes back at me. "You haven't even had a meaningful conversation with her to know that. You absolutely cannot assume you know her feelings just based on that one interaction after it all went down, at a time, which I'll remind you, must have been incredibly stressful for her."
"What are you saying?" I ask guardedly, trying to keep any hope from filtering into my reasoning. It's self-preservation, really.
"I'm saying that you need to go to her and talk," Andrea says as she turns to look at me. She shifts in the chair, reaches out, and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Kyle... you deserve something good. She's the thing you deserve. But you're going to have to go after it."
CHAPTER 27
Jane
"I'm already so sick of pumpkin spice and it's only been out one week," I lament quietly to Christa as I make a pumpkin spice latte at the espresso machine.
Christa snickers as she wipes down the counter. "I told you... come October 1st, people seem to just go rabid for the stuff. But don't worry... in another month, you'll be sick of peppermint mochas."
I'm sure that's true.
The morning rush is over, and I look around the small coffee shop where I've been working as a barista for the past month. It had been my hope to get a teaching job when I'd moved to Boston, but I'd not had any luck yet. So I was doing what I could to make ends meet, working at this boutique coffeehouse during the day and painting by night. I'd set up an online shop to sell my art, but it's been tough getting it up and running. I haven't quite figured out yet how to get visibility.
"Any plans for this weekend?" Christa asks as she leans a hip against the counter. I finish off the pumpkin spice latte and hand it across the counter to the customer, who doesn't even give a simple "thank you." I've found that people in the big city aren't nearly as friendly as in Misty Harbor, and I think that's because everyone is just in too much of a rush to get places. I've been completely overwhelmed by this transition from small town to big city life, but it was something I had to do.
There was simply no way I could stay in Misty Harbor after Kyle blew my heart apart. Everything I always equated to happiness in my hometown was stripped away when he left, and I felt completely disconnected. That warm, settled feeling that kept me tied to Misty Harbor was gone, and it was because it was the place where I fell in love and then was left far behind.
Granted, I know I reacted harshly to Kyle that night. I was completely wigged out by being attacked, and I'd felt completely deceived by him. But then the person who is always my voice of reason sat me down and gave me a strong talking to.
Miranda had finally said to me, after another evening of listening to me vilify Kyle, "Jane... get your head out of your ass. The man was a fucking undercover agent who infiltrated a dangerous biker gang and he was in hiding. Don't you think that's something he had a right to keep secret from you?"
I'd stammered and tried to argue with her, but she held her hand up and I snapped my mouth shut. Then her eyes softened and her voice was uncharacteristically kind when she said, "I know your heart is broken. Maybe his is too. Ever think of that?"
And well, no... I hadn't thought of that. I was too mired in my own misery.
So it was all Miranda's fault that I started to think hard about it. About how unlucky Kyle and I were in our timing, and how things might have been different with just a slight change in circumstances.
Then that got me thinking of a change in circumstances, and I realized that I couldn't sit back and wait for happiness and love to find me again. I had to go out and make my own way, because one thing was for sure... Kyle wasn't coming back to Misty Harbor. That was one thing he had been honest with me about from the start.
The move to Boston saddened my parents, because they not only lost me, but also Miranda as well. No way she was letting me go on my own because, in her words, "You need protecting, Janey. You're too naive."
This was true.
Miranda got a good job bartending and makes way better money than I do. After we split rent and utilities fifty-fifty, she has money left over to do fun things with while I have enough to get maybe one cup of pumpkin spice latte if I was so inclined to drink one.
"Hello?" Christa calls out to me, and I blink my eyes rapidly, realizing I'm staring at the empty counter space where the customer had been waiting for his latte. "Earth to Jane. Come in, Jane."
"Sorry," I say as I focus in on her. "What were we talking about?"
"I asked if you had any plans for the weekend, Space Cadet?" she says with a grin.
I give a small laugh back. I hit it off amazingly well with Christa, and we're a lot alike in our humor. "Um, by plans do you mean do I intend to splurge on Velveeta Mac and Cheese over the powdered Kraft?"
"Those were most definitely not the type of plans I'd been asking about," she says as she wrinkles her nose. "But I'm going to go see a friend of a friend of a friend who plays in a band Saturday night. Want to come?"
If I'd let my conscience answer for me, I'd tell her I most certainly didn't want to go. I was far more comfortable hiding out in my small apartment when Miranda was gone for the evening bartending. While I had hoped to bust out of my box a little by moving to the big city, I'd become even more introverted due to how overwhelming everything was. My monstrous plan to leave little Misty Harbor behind to find my happiness wasn't quite panning out for me.
And who was I kidding? I really missed it back home. I mean, I really, really missed it. I missed my mom and my dad, and my students, and my little house that overlooks the lighthouse and ocean. I missed knowing everyone and receiving friendly smiles and being able to walk safely down Main Street at night.
But I had to push past that. That was what I left behind to seek something better for myself. So I square my shoulders and tentatively ask Christa, "Is where they're playing far from here?"
"About three blocks," she says with excitement. "So you'll come?"
"What's it cost to get in?" I ask, mentally calculating whether I can even afford to do this.
"We'll get in free since we know the band," she says confidently.
"You mean the friend of a friend of a friend?" I ask with an eyebrow cocked.
Christa laughs and waves a hand at me dismissively. "Relax. We'll get in and it will be a blast. Think Miranda will want to come?"
This was an odd invitation as Christa and Miranda don't get along all that well. I think Miranda is jealous that I've developed a friendship with Christa, and Christa is just plain intimidated by Miranda.
"She's got to work," I say, knowing that will immediately put her at ease.
And yup... I see her shoulders relax and lines of tension ease from her face as she lies to me, "Well damn... that sucks. I bet she'd be a lot of fun to hang out with."
I snort. "Only if you want to make sure she doesn't strip on the stage with the band or throw up on you at the end of the evening."
"She's wild, huh?" Christa asks, but I know she's already suspected this about Miranda, who blatantly and aggressively hits on any single-looking man when she comes to hang out at the coffee shop.
"She's wild alright," I say fondly, because I love Miranda just the way she is. With no other customers to attend to, I decide to replenish some stock items, so I turn for the swinging pass-through door that leads to the back stora
ge. "I'm going to organize for a restock. You good out here by yourself?"
"Yup," she says cheerily. "Got you covered, so you can take a break from the pumpkin smell."
Chuckling in agreement, I head into the storage room and begin to work. Most of the coffee materials are purchased in bulk, so I line up large bags of coffee beans and jugs of flavored syrup, mentally calculating which bottles and canisters I'll need to fill up front. I grab some plastic-wrapped tubes of coffee cups and the accompanying lids from another box. I do all of this while letting my mind wander and wondering if I'm really doing the right thing for myself by being here.
This has been an adventure for me, and not one that I've enjoyed overly much, but something positive has come from it. I've grown over the last few weeks as I've learned to exist in a very different atmosphere than what I'm used to. There's a doubtful part of me, however, that wonders if I truly needed this type of growth. Wasn't my life damn good back in Misty Harbor?
The answer is clearly "yes" BK.
Before Kyle.
After Kyle, things were complicated, and maybe I'm just running from painful memories.
"Do you want Chinese or subs for dinner?" Miranda asks as soon as I walk in the door.
I'm starved, so the answer is easy. "Chinese."
"Shrimp lo mein, pot stickers, and hot and sour soup," she says in confirmation, proof we are the best of friends because she knows my Chinese food preferences.
Still, I can't afford all of that, so I tell her, "Just lo mein."
Miranda ignores me. She'll order everything I like and she'll pay for it, claiming that she wanted to have some too.
"I'm going to go put on some LuLaRoe and take my bra off," I tell her, which is unnecessary really since that's my habit every evening. I get in my comfy clothes, we eat dinner together, and Miranda heads out to her bartending job.