InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 6: Shameless ❯ Her Reason ( Chapter 21 )

~~Chapter 21~~

~Her Reason~

 

 

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University of Maine—Orono, Maine.

Six And A Half Years Ago.

December 5, 2058.

Jillian, age 17.5Years Old.

Gavin age 22.5 Years Old.

 

 

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“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Positive?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Absolutely positive?”

 

Gavin heaved a sigh. “Yes.”

 

“You're lying.”

 

Casting his roommate a decisive glower, Gavin growled and reached over the snatch the framed picture of Jillian out of Brandon's greedy hands. “I'm not lying,” he bit out, stuffing the photo into his underwear drawer.

 

Brandon snorted and rolled his eyes, crossing his meaty arms over his chest and drawing himself up to his full height. He was still a good five inches shorter that Gavin—a fact that never went unremarked, at least in Gavin's mind. Brandon Sutherland thought that he was the big man on campus, and Gavin figured that maybe he was. Captain of the football team, top honors student in the University of Maine School of Science, Brandon was the premier running back in the Atlantic 10 Conference as well as front runner for the Heisman Trophy. There was little doubt in anyone's minds, especially Brandon's, that he was going to play professional football. “She says you are.”

 

“I'm not her boyfriend,” Gavin grumbled. “Get out of here, will you? I've got to study.”

 

Brandon laughed, flexing his biceps then clasping his hands as he performed what he called, `The Pectoral Shuffle'. “Not her boyfriend; just her bitch.”

 

Gavin didn't bother to respond to that. Digging a textbook out of his backpack, he flopped into the chair at his desk and set about ignoring his irritating roommate.

 

“It's true, you know,” Brandon went on, raking his fingers through his sun-streaked blond hair. “All she has to do is bat her eyes at you, and you jump . . . not that I blame you. She's da-a-amn hot . . .”

 

“Shut up, Brandon,” Gavin stated flatly.

 

“Bet she's wild in bed, isn't she? It's those long legs of hers . . . I'd love to get a-hold of her sometime—sink her the Brandon-Sutherland-Long-Bomb, if you know what I mean.”

 

“She's seventeen,” Gavin pointed out quietly, clenching his fists so tightly that he could feel his claws sinking into his palms, one by one. “You know—jailbait.”

 

“Oh, come on!” Brandon pressed. He didn't know just when to leave things go. “You can't possibly tell me that you're not fucking her every time she comes up here!”

 

Gavin shot out of his chair and caught Brandon by the throat, shoving him up against the wall. “You don't talk about her like that!” he snarled.

 

Brandon—the ass—simply laughed, grabbing Gavin's wrist and feebly tugging on it in a mock effort to gain his freedom. Gavin's fingers tightened. “Okay, okay,” Brandon choked out between chuckles. “No harm; no foul, right?”

 

It took everything in him to make himself let go. Brandon rubbed his neck but didn't stop grinning like an idiot. “I don't see what your hang up is, man . . . Jillian's hot for you. So she's not quite legal . . . do you really think she'd tell her daddy?”

 

“I know her daddy,” Gavin growled. “It doesn't matter whether or not she'd tell. Her father and my father . . . work together. Anyway, it's none of your business, don't you think?”

 

“Yeah, yeah . . . you know, Gavin, as sweet as it is that some girls stay virgins till the day they marry, the same can't really be said for a guy. If you're fumbling around on your wedding night, you'll look like a damn fool. You don't want to look like a damn fool, do you?”

 

He refused to answer though he could feel his face explode in a wash of crimson flames as he kept his gaze trained on the blur of words in the textbook that he wasn't really reading. Grabbing an ink pen out of the coffee mug on his desk, Gavin shook his head and tried to block out Brandon's voice.

 

Grabbing an apple out of the bowl in the center of Gavin's dresser, he wiped it on his shirt and bit into it with an obscenely loud crunch. “You can't possibly believe that a prime piece of ass like your little friend is still a virgin, can you? I mean, come on, Gav! A girl that looks like her? She's been popped; I guaran-damn-tee it.”

 

Gavin's pen halted over the paper, and he clenched his teeth together until his jaw ached. “Get out of here, Brandon. Just get out.”

 

Brandon chuckled and pushed himself away from the doorway. His laughter carried back to Gavin as he sauntered down the short hall toward his room. “Whatever, Gavin, but don't forget.”

 

“Forget what?” Gavin called back, thankful that his annoying roommate had finally given up.

 

“Shelly'll be here in ten minutes or so.”

 

And that reminder only served to make Gavin grimace.

 

 

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Jillian flipped her hair back over her shoulder and rapped on the door, giggling with the anticipation of seeing Gavin a day sooner than she normally did. Smoothing the skirt of the cream colored sweater dress she'd bought earlier in the week, she knocked again and waited.

 

She'd gotten out of school a day early this week—teachers' in-service day or something of the sort. It hadn't taken much to sweet-talk her father into letting her come up to visit. It never did. Gavin had been a friend for so long that Cain trusted him completely, which was both a blessing as well as a curse since Gavin took it to be his responsibility to make certain that Jillian behaved herself completely—not a bad thing, but when it was becoming harder and harder to ignore the proximity of Gavin's body beside hers at night, it often made her want to scream.

 

In the beginning, it hadn't been so difficult to talk Evan into bringing her up to see Gavin. Using various excuses, most of them being that Evan had gigs up near the university, they'd gone up to see Gavin most every weekend during the last school year. When Evan moved to New York City, transferring to Columbia University to get his degree in music theory and appreciation, Jillian had to resort to telling her father the truth: that she wanted to go visit Gavin. Cain had simply nodded when she asked—begged, actually. His normal line of questioning revolved around whether or not she had homework, and she did, but she assured her father that Gavin would help her with it. He always did. With an indulgent little smile and the prerequisite, “Drive carefully, okay?” he'd let her go, and she'd packed her weekend bag, thrown it into the back seat of her pastel pink Chrysalis Buzz convertible—her sweet sixteenth birthday gift from her sister, Bellaniece—and she'd set off on the hour long trek from the Zelig estate on the outskirts of Bevelle, to Orono, Maine, where the campus of the University of Maine was located.

 

After what seemed like forever but was likely only a few minutes, she heard the click of the ancient padlock that Brandon insisted on keeping on the door. “Hey, baby! What a pleasant surprise,” Brandon greeted, flashing his infamous California boy smile as he lounged casually against the doorframe. “You look good enough to eat . . . can I have a bite?”

 

Giggling softly, she wrinkled her nose and shoved Brandon away playfully when he leaned down to kiss her. “Is Gavvie here?”

 

Brandon sighed and shrugged off-handedly, scratching the center of his chest in an almost idle way. “Nope, can't say he is.”

 

Undaunted, Jillian followed Brandon into the dorm, veering off to the left, heading for Gavin's room. “So why are you here on a school night?” he drawled.

 

Jillian smiled. “No school tomorrow,” she told him. “I came up early to surprise Gavvie!”

 

“Surprise him, huh?” Brandon mused. “If you really want to surprise him, you should go meet him.”

 

“Oh?”

 

He nodded. “Yup. He's at Burrow's Pizza House—with another girl.”

 

Jillian slowly turned around to frown at Brandon. “What do you mean?”

 

Brandon chuckled. “Well, you know . . . He meets with her all the time—at least, he does when you're not around.” He shot her a sly grin. “Kind of like he's cheating on you, wouldn't you say?”

 

“Gavin . . . wouldn't . . .”

 

“Yeah, but you know Gavin. He—” The ringing telephone cut Brandon off, and he held up his index finger to tell her that he'd be right back before he jogged down the hallway to his room.

 

Jillian bit her lip as she glanced around the familiar surroundings. `That . . . that can't be . . . Gavin wouldn't . . . would he . . .?'

 

Of course he wouldn't. He was Gavin, after all. Gavin told her everything, and he would have told her if he was seeing someone . . . wouldn't he?

 

She grimaced. Hadn't she talked about something similar on the phone Evan while she was driving up to Orono?

 

“Denise Saylor broke it off with Darius Stern, did you hear?” she'd asked as she carefully buffed her claws.

 

Evan snorted. He'd been out of school for over a year, but between Jillian and Madison, he was entirely up to date with the juiciest dirt from home. “What happen? She finally figure out he's been fucking around on her?”

 

“You knew about that?”

 

“Shit, Jilli . . . everyone knew about that . . . everyone except Denise, apparently . . . and she cried for an hour after she banged me, begging me not to tell her big, dumb jockstrap.”

 

“Darius isn't a jockstrap, Evan,” Jillian pointed out and made a face, “and you know better than that.” She was referring to the idea of going after another guy's girl more than his propensity for sleeping around, and he knew it, too.

 

“Oh, hell, no lecture! She flashed me her tits at the movies a couple years ago. Before I knew it, she was on her knees sucking me off and fingering her pussy while I sat back and enjoyed the show. I barely got a condom on before she took a ride on the Heaven Express in the middle of the movie. Good thing it was one of those thrillers . . . no one thought it was strange that she was screaming her damn head off . . .”

 

“You're horrid,” Jillian said in a tone that lacked any viable conviction.

 

Evan chuckled and covered the receiver. “In a minute,” she heard him say though his voice was muffled by his hand. “Let me see those tits you've been bragging about, baby . . .”

 

“Ugh, you know, I think I'll let you go,” she said when he uncovered the phone.

 

“Nah, she'll wait. She can't get enough of me, you know.”

 

“Uh huh . . .” she drawled dubiously then sighed, deciding that Evan was absolutely unredeemable but in an entirely endearing sort of way. “You know, it'd be so much easier if men were just up front with women. You are. At least no one can say you're not.”

 

“I am, sure,” he agreed. “Girls know it's just sex, and they're fine with that, but I'm the exception, not the rule. I'm one of the few who doesn't give a fucking rat's ass about something permanent, and they know it. I'm the fun guy . . . with the big, fat, fun cock.”

 

“Oh, my God . . .”

 

“That's what they say, Jilli . . .”

 

She bit her lip and glanced around Gavin's bedroom. Everything was orderly, almost anally so. He tended to be so obsessive about the way things were arranged. Scowling as her eyes lit on the desk where the framed picture of her normally stood, she bit her lip and let her gaze sweep the room once more. The photograph was nowhere to be seen.

 

“Well, you know . . . He meets with her all the time—at least, he does when you're not around . . .”

 

Jillian frowned. `Burrow's Pizza House . . .'

 

Hurrying out of the dorm room, Jillian ran down the hallway toward the stairwell.

 

`Gavin wouldn't . . . he wouldn't be seeing someone; not like that . . .'

 

He wouldn't, right? He'd tell her if he was. He was Gavin; of course he would . . . Gavin told her everything . . . didn't he?

 

`He'd tell me . . . We're best friends. If you can't tell your best friend something, then who can you tell?'

 

 

Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was off as she wandered across the campus to the small pizzeria near the student union. Absently noting that some of the guys she passed would smile or turn to watch her pass, she grimaced when the first flakes of snow started to fall.

 

Burrow's Pizza House was starting to get busy when she stepped inside. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light inside the restaurant, and she blinked quickly as she looked around.

 

It didn't take her long to find him. Sitting in a booth at the back of the restaurant, he was leaning in close, whispering to the girl beside him. The bottle blonde was staring up at him with an entirely worshipful expression on her face, completely engrossed in whatever he was saying to her.

 

He sat up a little straighter and grabbed a slice of pizza. The cheese strung out before finally pulling apart. It snapped back and stuck to his chin, and Jillian couldn't contain the little growl of indignant rage when the girl wiped his face with a cheap paper napkin. He blushed but didn't try to get away from her. Widening her eyes into one of those expressions that Jillian had seen other girls of her acquaintance use on unwitting boys, the girl leaned in closer, saying something that made Gavin smile.

 

A foreign emotion surged in her; one that she didn't fully comprehend. Anger, certainly—how dare that girl touch her Gavvie's face? But the feeling was darker than that: infinitely more painful. Twisting her stomach, erupting in an ache so deep that she thought for a moment that she was going to be physically ill, she shook her head, narrowed her eyes—tried desperately not to believe what she was seeing. Gavin shot the girl a shy little grin—one that Jillian tended to believe was reserved for her, alone—and he inclined his head to say something to the girl. It was lost in the din of the restaurant. She laughed, strategically laying her hand on Gavin's forearm, and while he blushed a little darker, he didn't try to pull away. `Wh . . .? But . . .' Shaking her head in an effort to deny what she was seeing, she backed up against the door, unable to take her eyes off the oblivious couple.

 

“Do you want a table?”

 

“Huh?” Jillian uttered, casting a cursory glance at the girl—the restaurant's hostess—who had spoken.

 

“Do you want a table?” she repeated.

 

“I, uh . . . no . . .” Jillian shook her head, swallowing hard as her mind slowed to a crawl. “I just . . .?”

 

The hostess turned to follow the direction of Jillian's gaze. “Oh . . . Gavin and Shelly? They're cute, aren't they?”

 

“They . . . come here a lot?”

 

She didn't seem to notice Jillian's upset, and she nodded. “All the time. We've started holding that booth for them on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but they come in all the time.”

 

“Oh . . .”

 

“Are you waiting for someone?”

 

Jillian gulped at the innocent question. Was she waiting on someone? Sure . . . she'd been waiting on him for the better part of her life. “I . . . I thought I was . . .” she muttered. The girl—Shelly—held up Gavin's soda. He leaned forward and sipped through the straw. Jillian had seen enough. Careening around on her heel, she shoved the glass door open and stumbled outside. Wrapping her arms over her stomach, she hunched her shoulders, hurrying away from the restaurant and across the campus to the parking lot outside Gavin's dorm where she'd parked her car.

 

She had to get out of there. She had to put some distance between herself and what she'd seen.

 

Ignoring the strange looks she was garnering as she dashed her hand across her eyes and kept moving, Jillian waved away a tissue from a guy who stepped into her path.

 

The memory of Gavin's lopsided, shy little grin flashed before her eyes, and she winced, breaking into a jog as she tried to get away from the sounds of laughter. Unsure whether the noise was all in her head or not, she felt as though everyone who saw her knew. They'd known all along, and they were laughing at her: the stupid little country girl who didn't know better than to fall in love with her very best friend . . .

 

The car door wouldn't open. Hands dampened by the tears that she'd wiped away, her fingers kept slipping off the smooth handle. Unleashing a frustrated growl, she dashed the back of her hand over her eyes and wrenched the handle. It finally, blessedly popped open, and she slipped into the driver's seat. Shaking her head miserably, she heaved a tumultuous sigh, gripping the steering wheel and letting her forehead drop onto her bent wrists as a loud sob choked her. She felt as though her heart was breaking; shattering into a hundred thousand pieces. The pain that twisted her stomach felt like a razor-sharp knife, unmercifully shredding her soul from the inside out.

 

`Why, Gavvie?' she repeated in her head, waiting for answers that just didn't come. Snow clung to the windows, a thin veil that protected her from the prying eyes of passers-by. `I thought . . . I wanted to believe . . .' Trailing off as the unwelcome feeling that she was a complete and utter fool ebbed over her. `I . . . I want to go home . . .'

 

Sniffling loudly, she fumbled in her purse for her keys, jamming them into the ignition as she swatted furiously at her eyes. The engine started up with a low hiss of air and gasoline, and she flinched when frigid air blasted her tear-streaked face. She couldn't see to drive, and she swallowed hard as she switched the heat control from vent to defrost. She couldn't make it home like this. `Evan . . .' she thought suddenly, the sound of his name offering her a level of calm that eased her pain.

 

Still the tears rolled down her cheeks unbidden, and she craned her neck to the side, wiping her cheek on her shoulder as she fished around for her cell phone. Dropping it into the docking station on the dashboard, Jillian had to say Evan's name four times before the voice recognition system registered the number she was asking for. Hitting the intercom button that switched the car speakers from radio to cellular, she choked out a quiet sob as she fished for a tissue in her purse.

 

“Hey, Jilli . . . did you make it okay to Orono?”

 

“Evan?” she squeaked as she turned on the front and rear windshield wipers. “Are you busy?”

 

“Never too busy for you,” he assured her, his tone dropping into a soothing timbre. “Tell me what's wrong.”

 

“Nothing,” she lied with a wince as more tears spilled over. “Everything . . .”

 

Evan sighed softly. “You want to tell me about it?” he coaxed.

 

“I just . . . Gavin, he . . . I want to go home,” she said.

 

“All right. Calm down . . . maybe you should have Mom come get you . . .”

 

“No,” she bit out, wiping her tears away once more as a stubbornly determined expression filtered over her face. Jamming the car into reverse, she blinked to clear her vision and pulled out of the parking space.

 

“Where is Gavin?” Evan asked cautiously.

 

“Gavin . . .” she repeated, closing her eyes for a second while she willed away the pain inspired by the simple mention of his name. Drawing a deep breath, she negotiated the intersection at the exit of the parking lot. “I wasn't interrupting anything, was I?”

 

Evan snorted. “Keh! Just a paper I have to write on Renaissance music.”

 

Jillian smiled half-heartedly at the complete disgust in her brother's voice. “And your girl?”

 

“My girl?”

 

“The one that was there earlier.”

 

“Oh, her . . . I fucked her and she left with a smile.”

 

Jillian rolled her eyes, smiling despite the pain that nagged her deep inside. “I'll bet she did.”

 

Evan sighed again. She could hear the creak of the chair he was sitting in and knew he was tipping back in it with his ankles crossed over each other atop the desk near his window at the family's condo in New York City. “So . . . tell me what Wonderboy did?” he finally asked as she turned onto the highway that traversed Bangor, Maine and ultimately led to Bevelle.

 

She sniffled, fishing another tissue out of her purse to wipe her eyes with one hand while she tightened her grip on the steering wheel with the other. “He's seeing someone,” she admitted. “He's been seeing someone.”

 

“Wait . . . you are talking about Gavin, right?”

 

She nodded, hating the ugly surge of anger that gripped her yet again. “Yeah.”

 

Evan was silent for a long second as though he were trying to make sense of it, himself. “He can't be,” he insisted. “Gavin can't even talk to his own shadow, let alone another girl.”

 

“I saw them,” she admitted, rubbing her forehead as she tried her best to suppress the images that just wouldn't leave her alone. “She . . . she was touching him—his face, and he let her.”

 

Evan sighed. “I'll talk to him, Jilli. Don't get all upset.”

 

“No,” she blurted, shaking her head quickly. “No.”

 

“What do you mean, no?”

 

She straightened her spine and shrugged. “No . . . That'd be humiliating, wouldn't it? No . . .” With a heavy sigh, she bit her lip and wiped her eyes again. “I should have known, you know? When he came back from Montana, and he was so different . . . Of course he wouldn't want a stupid little girl like me. God, I'm so stupid!”

 

“You're not stupid,” Evan growled. “Don't you ever think you are. Gavin's stupid, you got that? If he's too damn dumb to know what's right in front of his face, then he's a fucking idiot.”

 

And why did it hurt to hear Evan put Gavin down, too?

 

“I . . . I don't want to talk about this anymore,” Jillian said weakly. “I just want to go home . . .”

 

He sighed, and Jillian didn't doubt for a moment that Evan would rather be heading the other way to rip Gavin a new one. “Don't give up, Jilli. Maybe it's not what you think.”

 

She didn't reply. Letting her temple fall against the doorframe, she stared at the darkening sky, at the snow sticking to the cold glass only to linger for a moment before liquefying and slipping down the window. The pain deep inside her hurt more than anything else ever had, and every time she remembered the image of Gavin and Shelly, the pain grew a little worse, cut a little deeper. As much as she desperately wanted to believe that it was all a misunderstanding, she couldn't. The two had been too close, too familiar, and the look on Shelly's face had been too awestruck . . .

 

Panic surged inside her: vicious, ugly, uncontrollable. She couldn't stand it, could she? She'd never be able to smile and pretend that she was happy for Gavin. In all the time she'd known him, the idea that he'd find someone else just hadn't really occurred to her, had it? So sure that he would be her mate one day, Jillian hadn't stopped even once to consider that he really didn't believe or want that for himself. `Selfish,' she realized as another pang tore through her. `Selfish and stupid . . . and . . . naïve . . .'

 

And there it was. Recalling every single time she'd ever told Gavin that he was going to be her mate; that it was all just a matter of time, she whimpered, closing her eyes for a moment. Gavin—strong, reliable Gavin—he'd just never had it in him to hurt her . . .

 

That made it all the worse, didn't it, and as much as she wanted to be around him, maybe it was time to let him go, to grow up and stand on her own two feet . . .

 

But why did it have to hurt so badly?

 

 

-OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO-

 

 

Jillian stared at the cell phone in her slack hand with a dull sort of disbelief writ in her expression.

 

She wasn't sure what to make of it. To be completely honest, she wasn't sure what to make of anything anymore.

 

Shifting her gaze around the tidy living room of the Zeligs' New York City condo, she couldn't help the completely disjointed feeling as she tried to comprehend how she'd gotten there.

 

In the days that followed her unceremonious return home, she'd been unable to process everything she knew. Waking up in the mornings only to discover that the dreams she had of spending endless summers with Gavin Jamison were nothing more than the comfortable oblivion of sleep, she'd forced herself to get out of bed, forced herself to go through the motions of being alive.

 

Insofar as she could tell, Gavin had to have been seeing Shelly for awhile. His roommate had implied as much, and the girl in the restaurant had, too. All in all, the knowledge left Jillian feeling like even more of a stupid little girl. The day after she'd found out about them, she'd thrown her cell phone into the pond. Unable to consider trying to face him, she'd opted instead to tell her father that she'd lost the phone, and he hadn't done more than stare at her somewhat curiously when she'd suggested changing her number, as well.

 

Her parents didn't ask questions, and while she was a little upset that they didn't, she was thankful, too. Gin and Cain made a habit of letting their children know that they could and should tell them things, but they rarely pressed for information that wasn't forthcoming. Jillian supposed that they figured she'd tell them when she was ready. Trouble was, she wasn't sure she'd ever really be ready to tell anyone.

 

It still hurt.

 

She was lost. Her focus had been completely altered; the thought of her future used to make her smile seemed frightening now. Trying to convince herself that she didn't need Gavin Jamison was nearly impossible. She'd spent too long believing that it was only a matter of time; that surely by the time she graduated from high school, he'd have admitted that he wanted to be her mate. Never once had she thought that she'd really need to find a job. Marrying Gavin and starting a family . . . those were the things that she'd truly believed.

 

Evan had called her on Wednesday to tell her about a model search he'd heard talk of. “If nothing else, you can hang out with me a few days,” he'd explained, “and who wouldn't want to hang with The Heaven? Besides . . . you're gorgeous! You've got the height, the looks . . . the rack . . . you could totally be a bitchin' model—a supermodel, even!”

 

She'd never really considered doing any such thing. Madison, who had been over visiting at the time, had smiled and said that Jillian should try it.

 

Gin and Cain had taken her to New York City. Since Jillian was technically underage, one of her parents would have to sign the consent forms for the model search. They'd spent the entire day on Friday waiting in the posh office of Entice! magazine, and the photo shoot they'd done had only taken about fifteen minutes. Head shots, the photographer had said they were.

 

Gin and Cain had gone over to visit with Jillian's oldest brother, Sebastian. Bassie and his mate, Sydnie had moved to New York City about a year ago to set up another office for their Youkai Special Crimes unit. After considerable debate, it had been decided that they'd rather have the main office in a bigger area such as New York City, thereby keeping a little distance between the family's domain in Bevelle and the more unsavory characters that were often involved in the cases.

 

Evan was at an afternoon class.

 

Jillian was alone, having just woken up from a fitful nap when her cell phone rang. It was Milla Cantese, the representative she'd met at the model search. She wanted to tell Jillian that she'd been contacted regarding a modeling job for Dima jeans. Jillian still wasn't sure whether or not the call had been a hoax, but she'd written down the information about the assignment to discuss with her parents.

 

So lost in thought when the door opened and Cain and Gin stepped inside, Jillian didn't even notice until her mother kissed her temple.

 

“Oh, Mama,” she began, blinking to clear her scattered thoughts.

 

“Something wrong?” Gin asked as she eyed Jillian and sank down on the sofa beside her.

 

“Nothing's wrong,” Jillian insisted, pasting on a weak smile solely for her mother's benefit. “Ms. Cantese called.”

 

“Ms. Cantese? You mean from the model search?”

 

Jillian nodded. “She said that Dima wanted me to model their jeans for one of their summer ads.”

 

“Really?”

 

Jillian shrugged, gaze falling back to the phone in her hands. “I suppose I could do that, couldn't I?”

 

Cain sighed. “Is that really what you want to do?”

 

She shrugged again. “I guess so . . .”

 

“That's so exciting!” Gin exclaimed, giving her daughter an exuberant hug.

 

“Let me make a few phone calls,” Cain drawled. “Maybe Ben knows someone who can represent you—at least in this.”

 

Gin hopped up to follow Cain into the study just off of the living room.

 

Jillian sighed and set the phone onto the coffee table as Evan breezed into the condo. “Hey, baby! Welcome to The Heaven!” he said, dropping his book bag onto the floor and holding his arms out wide.

 

Jillian giggled despite her bleak thoughts. Evan sauntered over and scooped her up, settling down on the sofa with Jillian on his lap, her head tucked neatly under his cheek. “I got a job offer,” she ventured.

 

“Yeah?”

 

She nodded. “Dima jeans.”

 

“Swe-e-et,” he intoned. “My baby sister, the Dima jeans girl!”

 

“It's just one ad,” she corrected. “I suppose it'd be all right.”

 

“Better than all right, Jilli. Gotta be better than modeling brighty-whities.”

 

Jillian smiled, remembering that Evan had, indeed, modeled men's briefs at one time. The ads were amusing to her, partially because in all her life, she couldn't recall having ever seen Evan in any such things before, and partially because not one of the actual ads that ran in magazines and newspapers for months actually showed his head: just his crotch and the aforementioned stark white underpants. “Did you ever tell Daddy you did that?”

 

Evan wrinkled his nose. “Hell, no! Call it a part of my teenage rebellion.”

 

She shook her head and closed her eyes, grateful for the modicum of comfort she derived from her brother. “How did you get permission, then? They said that Mama or Daddy have to sign releases for me to model.”

 

“I got my ways, Jilli; I got my ways . . .”

 

“If they ever find out, they could sue you.”

 

He shrugged. “Hell, they were just glad they found a guy that they wouldn't have to stuff a sock down his shorts to make him look like he had a decent sized wang.”

 

Snapping her mouth closed on her retort, she sat back long enough to cast her brother a suspect glance. “Do they really do that?”

 

He grinned. “I don't know . . . they did give me this cup-thingy though . . . something about smoothing out the ridges . . .”

 

Giggling softly, Jillian snuggled against her brother's chest once more. She adored the fact that he invariably tended to say things that made her smile, even when she didn't particularly feel like doing it. “Smoothing out the ridges, huh?” she repeated.

 

“Yep . . .”

 

“Was the cup big enough?”

 

“Sure . . . it was stretchy. I still have it if you want to see it . . . guess they didn't want it back after the shoot.” Smoothing her hair back out of her face, Evan sighed and kissed her forehead. “Come to think of it, they didn't want the underpants back, either. They're probably in the drawer with the cup . . .”

 

Jillian broke into a wry grin.

 

“You know . . . Gav called me earlier,” he slowly stated, his tone noncommittal.

 

Jillian's back stiffened for a moment before she willed herself to relax. “Oh?”

 

“He wondered if I knew where you were. Wanted to know if everything was all right.”

 

She swallowed hard. “What'd you tell him?”

 

Evan shrugged. “Nothing much . . . you asked me not to, didn't you?”

 

“I suppose I did.”

 

“You ever going to talk to him?”

 

“There's nothing really to say,” she lied, closing her eyes and burying her face deeper against Evan's chest.

 

Evan's snort bespoke his disbelief at her claim. “`Remember yesterday? Walking hand in hand? Love letters in the sand . . .'”

 

Jillian tried to smile at Evan's uncanny knack of reciting lyrics to fit whatever he was trying to say to someone—in this case, very old lyrics from the old heavy metal band, Skid Row. “There never were any love letters in the sand,” she murmured.

 

“You miss him, though. I know you do.”

 

She didn't try to deny it.

 

Heaving a sigh, Evan wrapped his arms tighter around her and gave her a little squeeze. “I don't know, Jilli . . . maybe this is good for you. I mean, think about it. You've been hammering dear ol' Gav over the head with this mate shit for forever, and he still don't get it, and while I, personally, think he's a fucking idiot, you've never really tried to look at other guys, right?”

 

“Evan . . .”

 

Evan shook his head to silence her. “I'm not saying you have to date every guy that comes along, but it wouldn't hurt you to check into what's out there, so to speak. If you're still convinced that Gavin's the one after awhile, then maybe you could go look him up.”

 

“Maybe,” she agreed, her tone reticent at best.

 

Evan chuckled. “Smile, Jilli. You break everyone's hearts when you don't.”

 

“Smile . . .” she echoed, managing a reasonable facsimile as Evan kissed her forehead once more. `I . . . I can try . . .'

 

 

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A/N:

 

`I Remember You' written by Dave `Snake' Sabo and Rachel Bolan. Recorded by and copyrightedto Skid Row on the album Skid Row, 1989. Atlantic Records.

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Reviewers

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xiamurgodx:

`Anything for Gavvie . . .' she told herself . . . even if it meant breaking Jillian's heart all over again . . . I got sort of confused on that sentence. Is Jillian talking about herself, or was is she talking about breaking Gavvie's heart again? Anyways, great chapter and thanks for sharing your stories with us readers.

 

She's talking about breaking her own heart … lol, and you're very welcome.

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MMorg

Lennex ------ InUyAsHaRlZ ------ nish04 ------ Kyasumi ------ OROsan0677 ------ Acheronlover ------ vvkimbo07 ------ Usagiseren05 ------ BladesoftheValkyrie ------ sweetsauve ------ leeksandmisosoup (There is actually a family tree posted on all the Purity pages of my website: http://www.suericfanfictions.com/purity.htmand I'm glad you're enjoying the story!!) ------ Hitomeshy ------ inuluver313

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Forum Reviews

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Final Thought fromGavin:

Shelly …?

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Shameless): I do not claim any rights to InuYashaor the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~