Author's Note: Let me know what you think -- I'm trying desperately to figure out what I want to happen with this story without it turning into a soap opera. Any feedback is sincerely appreciated! -Jac
Jordan's POV:
The day was awkward to say the least. My head throbbed and my stomached ached. Woody spent the day trying to talk to me, but I was convinced that we had talked enough last night. I just wanted to make it through today; I wanted to make it through today without remembering and without hurting Woody. I wanted to regain some of the tact that I had lost last night; I had come to California to escape. I had come to California to begin to mend myself, but I found myself caught in some bazaar situation that is only supposed to happen in the movies. Woody wasn't supposed to follow me, and I wasn't supposed to let people know that deep down I resented my mother for scarring me in so many different ways. I was supposed to mend and forget. That's probably how I had gotten myself so messed up.
We stood out on the boardwalk. Woody and I didn't talk; we just watched the waves crash on the shore. It was cleansing; it was hypnotic. For three hours, I forgot that the rest of the world existed. I always ran to the ocean when I began to spiral out of control.
I began to think about Haley. In his drunken stupor, he had told me that I might be good for him. I wanted to argue the opposite; both of us had enough baggage. The thought of merging our baggage made me cringe, but life had taught me that somehow the most messed up people always managed to find each other. If they didn't . . . well, I would be out of a job.
I began to think about Cal. He wasn't what I expected; he didn't seem to fight into the classification of 'good Midwestern boy,' but I often didn't expect Woody to act as he did. I expected Woody to be glad that I was gone; I didn't expect to find his haggard form sitting in the corner of my hotel room. Woody would surprise me, but this afternoon, something about Cal scared me. I wasn't good at reading people, but something about Cal was definitely wrong. At this point in my relationship with Woody, I don't think that it would have been right for me to ask if Cal was always so scattered and manic. Those family secrets were personal; my mother's secrets were personal. When those secrets are exposed, so many people get hurt. Everyone that I loved got hurt.
"Jordan, are you hungry?" Woody asked.
"I don't know," I replied. Hunger was the furthest thing my concerns. I was much more concerned about how I would deal with Woody and Haley . . . and Haley and Woody. I was beginning to think that I had just started a power struggle. Woody wanted me home . . . I didn't know where home was . . . and Haley wanted me back to work. California only seemed to be complicating my already out of control life.
"Remember last time we were on this boardwalk," Woody said. I didn't want to remember; all my memories seemed too painful right now, "Home is right behind you . . . you came here to bring me home."
I had forgotten that, but his words brought back the memories. I had come to LA to bring Woody home. I missed him; I called in sick and hopped on a plane. I don't remember thinking the plan through; I missed him.
"I don't know where home is anymore," I replied. I was convinced that I had said that only in my head, but my ears heard the words.
"Why is it that everyone that is lost comes to California?" Woody asked, "There must be millions of people running around these streets trying to find themselves. Cal is looking for a bigger stage, I came here to define my relationship with Annie, Haley is running from God knows what. Next time, let's run to Texas or Florida."
I hadn't expected a ranting reply. Something must be on his mind.
"Someone hates California," I commented.
"I hate it because I know you are going to stay after I go," Woody replied. I'm positive that he did not intend to say that.
"Only until I can help Haley close the case," I replied.
"How long, Jordan? Max made me promise to take care of you while he was gone. I can't do that if you are in California and I'm in Boston," Woody replied. I was surprise that Dad would seek Woody out after all the trouble that he was in.
"A few weeks. That should give the dust enough time to settle in Boston," I replied. He was holding my hand.
"Jordan, they want you home," Woody said, "I want you home. I wouldn't have missed my court marshal for just anyone."
"You did what? How could you possibly that stupid? Renee is going to have a hay-day with that," I yelled at him. People were looking. We were standing face to face; it was like the last few weeks had just faded away.
"Jordan, Garrett handled it . . . I'm suspended for a few weeks. It's just a slap on the wrist," Woody replied trying desperately to calm me down. People were still watching us, but I didn't really care.
"Don't you dare put your job on the line for me again; I'm not worth it," I hissed as I began to walk away. Woody grabbed my wrist and pulled me back to him.
"Shut up," he said. His arms were wrapped around me; I was too tired to continue the fight, "Jordan, I love you . . . the job isn't important. Right now, you are a lot more important than Renee and her tirade against your family."
I didn't know what I was supposed to say. Last night when I told him that I only ran to protect him, he yelled at me. He accused me of flying across the country to shack up with Haley. I wasn't sure what he would say if I told him that I ran because I was sick of hurting the person I loved.
"Woody, don't say things you don't mean," I replied.
"Jordan, you talk too damn much," Woody replied. I had never been accused of that before.
He slept next to me in bed that night. He complained about the mattress. He complained about how I hogged the sheets. The 'L-word' was not mentioned again. We just fell into a comfortable banter. Isolated from the rest of the world, Woody and I could function like a normal 'couple.' I wondered what would happen to Woody when Haley and the Firestarter were thrown into the mix. Woody made it very clear that he was not leaving California without me. Part of me didn't want him to . . . part of me was ready to throw him on a plane and tell him that it was for his own emotional well-being. I was beginning to see just how long a few weeks might feel like.