15. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Silas
I wake up to the sounds of Jackie rustling around the kitchen. When I open my eyes, I see her leaning against the counter, staring over at me as she spoons a mouthful of cheerios into her mouth. She doesn’t look embarrassed that I’ve caught her staring at me—watching me while I’m sleeping.
Actually, she looks worried. That crease is back, wrinkling the bridge of her nose.
“Good morning,” she says, in a tone that’s way too serious for Jackie.
Five hundred bucks says I’m the reason behind the lack of usual cheeriness in her voice. The events of last night are slowly coming back to me; hazy and pock-marked, but still—I get the gist of what went down: the fact that I got fired… that I’m broke again and dependent on Jackie. Which I hate. Also: that I made an ass of myself in front of Steve. I stormed off like a five-year-old. And passed out like a wuss.
I have no idea how I got back here. Definitely don’t remember walking back. I don’t remember anything after Steve tackled me down by the stage area.
“Why do you drink like that?” Jackie asks.
Her eyes still look worried, and I wince. I don’t like that I’m the cause of that look. And I hate that I’m the focus of attention; right off the bat, first thing in the morning. But I can’t deny that her annoyance is validated this time, given the state I must have arrived back in last night. It can’t have been pretty.
“Sorry,” I tell her, “about last night.”
Her expression doesn’t change, though. She’s still watching me with that concerned look on her face .
“Do you drink every night?”
I pull myself to a sitting position, sliding my legs over the edge of the pull-out bed.
“No,” I say. And I don’t feel bad about lying because my drinking habits are really none of her business.
“Well, it kind of seems like you do.”
She’s like a dog with a bone, this girl. Even first thing in the morning.
“I just apologized. Drop it, Jax.”
I scrub my hands across my face, stretching my neck against one shoulder, then the other.
“It’s not about that,” she says. “I’m just worried that—”
“It won’t happen again,” I cut her off. “I overdid it last night, that’s all.”
She looks like she wants to say more. But I win because I give her an even more intense look that makes it clear I don’t want her to say more.
“Do I have time to shower before we leave?” I change the subject.
I’m wearing the same clothes I had on last night and even I can tell I smell like hell. Pretty sure I look like hell, too.
“I’d like to be pulling out in about half an hour,” she says. “So as long as you’re fast, then go for it.”
“Cool.”
I get up and Jackie takes a last spoonful of cereal before turning toward the sink. I notice I don’t have my shoes on, despite the fact that I’m wearing every other piece of clothing from yesterday. And when I glance around, I spot them on the step by the door, neatly lined up, side-by-side. Definitely not how I would have left them if I’d pulled them off before collapsing on the couch in a drunken stupor. Which means Jackie must have taken them off and placed them neatly by the door. And for some reason, that sends a pang of guilt straight through my chest.
She’s treated me with way more patience than I’d have for some cranky bastard who crashed my carefully planned summer. She’s so goddamn kind, and as much as I say it drives me crazy, it also makes me want to cry with relief: that she never lost that sweetness. Because that’s what always made her stand out.
It still is.