Page 12 of Jagger
I was able to head home a little earlier than usual since Dad called Matt out on arriving too late to help with the cooking. I giggled at the expression on my brother’s face when Dad stood up from the table and said, “We cooked, you clean, son.” As soon as Mom and Dad turned to head into the living room, I stuck my tongue out at Matt, and then ducked when he balled up his napkin and threw it across the table at me. The shot went high, flying about three feet over my head.
“Mom, Molly’s being a brat again!”
“Wow, the amount of whine in your voice is a lot more impressive than your aim, big brother,” I mocked with a grin. I pushed back my chair and stood, only to have Matt lunge around the end of the table and grab me around the waist. I shrieked loudly, trying to get away as my butthead brother began tickling my sides, knowing full well that I cannot stand to be tickled. I returned the favor by tickling his neck, which was so sensitive that he started begging for mercy within a millisecond. It was a scene we’d played out many times during our childhood and beyond because we were mature that way. I figured we would only stop once we were old enough for one of us to break a hip or something.
“Children, do I need to put you both in time out?”
We both froze mid-tickle and looked to where our mother was standing, hands on hips and brow arched, staring us down with the very toughest “mom face” she could muster without laughing. This, too, was part of the routine.
“She started it,” Matt grumbled good-naturedly.
“I wouldnever,” I protested in the most over-the-top Scarlett O’Hara impression I could muster, complete with a hand raised to clutch my non-existent pearls.
Matt snorted and started clearing the table. I said my goodbyes, assured my dad that yes, I was leaving the rest of the chocolate cake for him and mom to finish, and headed back to my place.
I hadn’t realized that the ringer had accidentally gotten turned down on my phone until after I got home and saw the missed call and a text from Jagger. His voicemail message was short and to the point, just saying he was back from the ride and for me to call him when I was done. The text was pretty much the same thing.
I immediately called him back, only to get his voicemail this time.
“Hi, Jagger. I’m sorry I didn’t hear my phone ring earlier. I’m home now, so feel free to call me if you have time. Otherwise, just text me to let me know where to meet you at tomorrow night.”
I put the phone on the charger, after double checking the ringer volume, and got things ready for my workday tomorrow. I packed my lunch – turkey club wrap, chips, and an apple – and made sure I had my laptop and everything else I would need packed in my messenger bag. I’d graded some papers Friday evening and had entered the grades in the online gradebook, so I double checked that I had everything in the bag so I could return the papers to the kiddos in the morning.
I’d just washed my face and brushed my teeth before getting into bed, wearing another of the shirts I’d swiped from Brad at some point, when my phone chimed. I picked it up from the bedside table and saw a text from Jagger apologizing for not getting back to me earlier. He asked if I could meet him tomorrow evening at seven, at an Italian restaurant not too far from his bar. I loved Italian food, and this particular restaurant was a favorite, locally owned place with the best food ever. I confirmed, then asked how his ride was. He responded with, “It was great. We’re all hanging out at the clubhouse for a while, then I’m going to head home.”
He'd mentioned the clubhouse in our conversation at the bar and had explained that some of the members lived there, but most of them, including him, had their own places and just kept a room to “crash in if they partied too much”. I’d wondered how often that happened but hadn’t asked.
It was almost eleven, and I had to be up at five-thirty in the morning, so I told him I needed to get some sleep.
“OK, Angel. Goodnight and sweet dreams,” he texted back. The smile was still on my face when I fell asleep.
When my alarm went off the next morning, I was still smiling. My smile lasted through the morning, even though the day seemed to drag on. It lasted through recess, when Brad cornered me to pump me for more details about Jagger and his nether regions. It perked up even more when a text came through around one-thirty from Jagger, just telling me he was thinking about me and was looking forward to seeing me tonight. I’d responded that I couldn’t wait.
My smile finally fell from my face during school dismissal at four o’clock, when Ethan Morgan’s mother walked up to me as I was releasing the kids who were being picked up by their parents. Ethan was one of my favorite students so far this year, and his mother wanted to give me a few books that she was donating to our classroom library, for which I was extremely grateful. She was a beautiful woman, with long brown hair and a sweet smile. She was pregnant, about five or six months along if I had to guess, and I knew that Ethan was less than thrilled that he was getting a sister instead of a brother.
Mrs. Morgan didn’t cause my smile to disappear, exactly. It was the sight of her husband, who apparently wanted to meet me but had gotten a call as they’d stepped out of their car. She’d gestured toward the parking lot, and the man in question saw her and gave her a quick, distracted wave before turning around to continue his call. For a split second, when I’d glanced over at him, I’d convinced myself I was wrong. When he turned his back to us and I saw the now-familiar skull and flames emblem on his leather cut, I knew I wasn’t. It was Jagger, and I tried to control my horror as I looked at his sweet, pregnant wife and his little boy who I absolutely adored.
Chapter 4
Jagger/Cole
I was getting worried. It was seven-fifteen, and Angel wasn’t at the restaurant yet. That wouldn’t bother me much, except she hadn’t responded to either of my last two texts this afternoon, or the one I sent five minutes ago asking if she was on her way. Her phone went straight to voicemail both times when I called, like it was turned off.
I was kicking myself in the ass for not insisting on her real name, or her address so that I could check on her. I had no idea if she was just running late, had a flat tire, or had run into some kind of trouble, and I fucking hated not knowing.
I picked up the phone to try to call her again, and a text popped up before I could hit the call button. Relief flooded me, until I read the message.
Angel: No, I’m not on my way. I would think it’s obvious that I’m not coming.
What the fuck?I tried calling her and got her motherfucking voicemail again.
Me: Pick up the phone and talk to me, Angel. What’s going on?
I waited for a response, then tried to call her again. Voicemail, again. And she didn’t even have a greeting which gave me her name or let me hear her voice. Just one of those automated things telling me the number I had reached, yada, yada, yada.
Angel: What the hell do you think is going on, Jagger? I have no interest in seeing you again. I’m sure you can understand why.
I looked at the phone in shock, unable to believe that my sweet Angel had typed that. I hadn’t heard her curse before, for one thing. What the hell was going on here?
