Saving Moxie

Happiness

"You have until tonight." Hearing Jack's voice on the phone made me want to throw up. His cold deadly tone sent shivers up my spine with a renewed sense of fear. "I have a friend that wants to meet you so look presentable." He chuckled into the phone like a true villain. "I'm watching the house, Mox. I know you're there. I know James is there. I always thought you two would end up together."

"Leave me alone."

"Don't try any funny business, either. You're not smart enough to get away with it. Remember our deal?" I could almost smell the alcohol on his breath.

Feeling a strong sense of panic, I ripped the phone away from my ear and ended the call before handing the phone to Jamie, hoping my arms weren't shaking.

"Was that Jack?" He asked slowly, anger burning in his voice. I shrugged, shooting him an empty smirk.

"Of course. He just said something about wanting me to meet someone. You know Jack."

"Do you think it was Dax?"

"I doubt it. I've already met him, remember?"

"How could I forget." His tone was angry but his eyes showed a fullness I was slowly starting to get used to.

He made me a cup of coffee, just the way I like it - as black as my soul, and brought it to me while I stood by the window peering cautiously through the blinds to the street where I knew my father was watching. Was he even actually out there or did he just have a goon watching the place for him? Jack was never the type to get his hands dirty directly when it came to me, but I had never tried to run away for this long before. We weren't safe here. I couldn't keep Jamie safe unless I left.

As Jamie's hands wandered down my hip, fingers splayed, I snapped away from his warmth, pulling my t-shirt as far as I could to hide myself. He took in a sharp breath, shook his head to clear his impure thoughts, and leaned back in the chair with a sigh. s****l tension between us was something I was starting to get used to. Now though, it was bothersome to me. I knew Jamie had this positive outlook on our future now, but after talking to Damien, it just solidified what I knew to be true: I had to leave.

"I'll get ahold of Damian and let him know Jack has the number."

"It's okay, Jamie. Really. He's just getting frantic because he owes people money and I haven't bailed him out." I sighed. "He'll give up eventually." Not.

He nodded, motioning me toward him with his finger. The worry still was heavy on his face, but I could tell he was trying to ignore the situation for my benefit. I knew this wouldn't just go away.

A week ago, someone had left a dead cat on the porch. I had walked into it on my way out to sit on the porch and drink coffee with Jamie in the morning. I had made it my own personal goal to fit as many of my 'normal' visions of our perfect future together into whatever time we had left.

A few days after the cat incident, someone cut the break lines on Jamie's car. Thankfully, we had been especially careful since all of this started, so he caught it before we even left the driveway.

What would they do next? Was it even safe to go outside anymore? The last week had been amazing and everything I ever dreamed. I knew I would never be able to have a wedding with him or raise babies together and I wanted to cry at the injustice of it all, but I could live with the short time we'd had so far together.

Placing my cup on the coffee table in front of Jamie, I moved to straddle him like I had so many times in the past few weeks. My hair hanging loose around my shoulders in stringy waves. It was hanging forward, hiding my face, except for my eyes, which I held shut tight as if this moment would end in and instance if I opened them.

"I just want you to know that every time I picture myself happy, you are there." I said softly, running my nose along his forehead, taking in his smell one final time. I had been saying little things like this for nearly a week now; saying goodbye to him in the most subtle way possible.

I sighed, forcing my body to pull away from him, trying to push down the emotions burning behind my eyes. I grabbed my jacket, pulling it around me.

"Where are you going?" Jamie's voice cracked. "We're supposed to be staying together. It's not safe-"

"I'll be back." I said slowly, masking the lie with a purr. I wouldn't be back. "I just have to run to the house real quick and grab something."

"I'll come with you."

"Jamie, please, I can walk across the driveway by myself."

As the door closed behind me, the emptiness in my chest grew to a dull ache. Unless I left, Jamie would never be safe. I was a fool for thinking I could have a happily ever after with everything I had done in the past. If I had just left weeks ago like I should have, everything would be okay. If I had just taken my bag and ran before things got serious, maybe Jamie wouldn't be collateral damage.

I would do anything to keep Jamie safe.

My father was a drunk. Not the kind of drunk that got mean and beat his wife or had affairs, but the kind of drunk that was genuinely a better person despite the alcohol. At least, that's the way my mother had always described him to me. My father had died in a car accident when I was a toddler and of course, it was one of the few times he was completely sober. He would never drive if he had anything to drink, so his license was virtually unnecessary since he was normally drunk if he was awake. She always told me that the one morning he didn't wake up and get drunk at ten in the morning was the day that he died. My father was the type of drunk that would be trashed by dinner time and dance with my mother while she made dinner. He was the type of drunk that would wake up in the morning after fighting with her and make her breakfast in bed. "It was never very good," she would tell me, "he would always manage to burn the eggs, but those were always the times we were the happiest".

Now I understood why he burned the eggs. It wasn't because he was drunk, it was because his mind was so overloaded by the fight. The memory of my fight with Moxie came to mind and her teasing about how I burnt the eggs. My mom always told me I was just like my father, but instead of booze, I was drunk on life.

My father - though I didn't know him other than through stories my mother would tell me when she especially missed him - was a good man. He was raised by a wealthy family who had absolutely no goals in life, but he loved my mother more than anything in the world. I never thought it was odd that she was a single mother who didn't need to work to the pay the bills and always had room at the table for an extra setting. She was kind and the mother hen of every sad child in the neighborhood. Especially Moxie. Out of all the kids in the neighborhood, she loved Moxie the most. It wasn't until Mom died that I realized my Pops had taken care of us even after he could no longer be with us.

My mother always told me he had been taken from her too soon and without any warning, but that she could never quite move on to find a love like his even in her loneliest moments. Maybe that was why she understood so well how I felt when I lost Moxie. I didn't know which was worse: having your love be gone and knowing you could never see them again because they had died or knowing that person who shares your soul is out there and that you have no idea how to get them back.

Maybe that was why I held on to hope, even if it seemed irrational to everyone else in the world.

With what was left of my fathers trust fund and my mother's life insurance, I had plenty of money to make a few small investments: paying off my childhood friend's house when their mom got sick, investing in a few rental properties in town for a passive income, and help to get a good friend's business off the ground (with the promise that a position would be left open at all times, which was fine with Jen, of course). All investments meant to prepare for Moxie coming back. After starting my own construction business, I had plenty of money to invest in attempting to find her. It was then that I made the decision to become an Investigator. If there was even a chance I could find her, I would try.

After months of waiting for any kind of information on where she was or what kind of trouble she was in, I came up with much less than I had expected. It was as if she didn't even actually exist.

Planning and reality are very different though - I learned that quickly when Moxie actually showed up. She was dirty and much skinnier than I remembered and the yellowish bruise on her cheek told me she hadn't been in a safe place for a while. Regardless of how broken she looked, her barb-wire attitude could fool anyone except me.

Everything had seemed to fallen into place exactly the way I expected it to. So where was Moxie now?

I tried to call her cell multiple times, but always got the voicemail almost immediately. I didn't know if she had tossed it when she took off, but I had searched the entire studio for it and came up empty. She had to have taken it with her but why? I could try to run a location on the phone, but would it put her in danger? I had no idea what kind of situation she was in now. I knew if Moxie took off, she had to have a good reason. I tried her phone again, but only reached the message that she had recorded when we were still in the phone store setting it up:

'You've reached Moxie! If you're hearing this, let's be honest, I probably won't call you back. Leave a message if you want to waste your breath!'

Hearing her voice made tears spring to my eyes. Where could she be?

I knew now where her old apartment was that she shared with Jack, but the landlord said it had been vacant for weeks. I was tempted to stop by and see if they were squatting, but I knew a slumlord would make sure to keep people out if they didn't pay their rent. It was all a money game.

I had checked everywhere: her room, the park, the craft store she occasionally would go to when we were kids, her mothers gravesite, and eventually the tattoo shop.

"Oh, Jamie, honey... she's gone." The way Jen said the words made my heart drop to the floor. The pity in her eyes made it hard to breathe.

All this time, I had told myself that she was staying with me this time. All this time I had convinced myself that she cared enough to stick around. I shook my head in disbelief.

"She wouldn't leave. She didn't leave me again."

"Jamie..."

She couldn't have left again. She was opening up, laughing again, she was happy with me. Why would she go back to Jack? We had a plan! If I had known she would take off again, I would have refused Damien's ideas and hopped on a plane to Timbuktu if it meant we could be together!

There was turmoil in Jen's eyes as she watched me go from angry to utterly lost, my throat growing tighter with every passing moment.

"Here. I'm going to give you an address. I can't promise she's there." She said slowly, letting the words sink into my foggy mind as she scribbled something out on a piece of paper. She extended her hand to me silently, a knowing look passing between us. Jen's husband was a criminal informant that Damien and I had worked with for a couple of years now. It was a silent understanding that Jen would keep her ear to the ground but when she randomly came up with information, we didn't look a gift horse in the face. "Don't ask how I got the information because I won't tell you."

"It's a start."