9. Jack
Jack
I’m in a mood, and I don’t know why. My body feels heavy and my brain keeps slipping into the same useless, negative loops.
Why won’t my father like me.
Why did my uncle hit me.
That I’m not good enough for Silas. That’s why he doesn’t want to be with me, and he never will.
It’s that kind of mood.
I haven’t been right since my last fight in Vancouver. Fighting was my outlet and my whole body is screaming for another hit. Not literally, but close enough. It’s the only time I feel something that isn’t disappointment. Let my fists break a jaw or a eye socket? No problem. Anger gone.
But now that Silas, and the beating I took in Vancouver have taken away my outlet, I don’t have anywhere to put the rage. It’s stuck under my skin, crawling like a thousand ants, begging for release. And I’m so frustrated I can barely think straight.
I stomp into the kitchen, and I see Hale is home early, and Silas is already feeding him. Hale’s halfway through his plate, that boy can’t wait when it comes to food.
Silas hands me a coffee and I drop into the seat next to Hale, wincing as a sharp pain shoots up my ass and into my back. I frown into my cup and take a quick peak at Silas, who’s standing there all fucking gorgeous with a small smile on his face and one eyebrow raised.
“Fuck off.” I mumble, frowning into my cup.
He huffs a laugh and turns back to the coffee maker, and I take in the god that is Silas, his long hair tucked under a backward cap, shirt stretched across his chest like it’s committing a crime.
My eyes trace the tattoos peeking out from the edges of the material, a dark, intricate map running down his arms and climbing the column of his neck.
Fucking dick.
“Huh?” he turns, eyebrow raised.
Shit. Did I say that out loud?
“Nothing.”
“Sure, Jack.”
“Pretty sure you called Silas a fucking dick, Jack.” Hale pipes up, dobbing me in.
“Shut up, Haze, and watch your mouth.” I flick a glare at him, and he just laughs, and goes back to eating. The little shit.
I go back to sulking into my mug and my thoughts move again to Silas. Every time I’m around him, I get this heavy mix of absolute awe for the man and an absolute need to punch him square in the balls. He frustrates me, and then he makes my whole damn body sing. I crave him. I need him.
He makes the rest of the world fade, and he’s the only person who can make the static in my head disappear.
I know I’m falling for this man, if I’m not already gone for him, and that’s the part that’s driving me insane. I have to keep my mouth shut about it.
He tells me I’m his, that he owns me, but I know he doesn’t feel the same way I do. He told me himself.
His exact words were, “This between us, Jack…It’s casual. That’s it.” And then he bent me over the couch and fucked me senseless, leaving me too wrecked to even think straight.
As I said, fucking dick.
When I look at him, every wall I’ve spent a lifetime building suddenly feels so useless. The man makes me feel something. Something I was told I wasn’t ever allowed to have.
His touch is the only one I can tolerate on my skin, the only one that doesn’t make me flinch. I want to keep feeling that.
I want more of it.
My frown deepens at my thoughts, and I grind my teeth, forcing myself to look away from him and focus on Hale beside me.
“What’s on the agenda for today, Haze?” I ask, keeping my eyes firmly on Hale and not on the behemoth standing watching me with a frown on his face.
“School. I have math today. Love math,” he mumbles around a mouthful of cereal.
And… that’s all I get.
“How about you?” Silas’s words force me to look back at him.
“Nothing. Just work,” I snap.
Silas leans over the counter bringing his face closer to mine. “I don’t think you should go back full time so soon, Jack. Your body’s still healing.”
I lean back in my chair and glare at him. This beast of a man can fuck off if he thinks he can tell me what to do.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, grabbing my jacket off the back of the chair. My bruises might be gone, but my ribs are still not fully healed; proven when I struggle to get my arm through the sleeve without wincing. I force it anyway, and Silas sees it.
Fuck.
“Right. You’re indestructible. I forgot,” Silas says, voice flat, dripping with dry sarcasm.
“I said I’m fine,” I snap back, zipping my jacket up with a sharp tug. “Stop wrapping me in bubble wrap, Silas. I’m not broken.”
“Watch me,” he fires back, his easygoing charm completely gone, replaced by that stubbornness that drives me insane. I know I’m stubborn, but he takes the damn cake. And I know I’m picking this fight, I just don’t know why.
All I want to do is go back to bed, because as much as I hate to admit it, Silas is right. My ribs hurt. He was gentle last night, not pushing my body too hard, but it hurt then, and it hurts now.
But I’m not telling him that.
“I’m still breathing!” I throw my hands up, frustration boiling over. “As I said, Silas. I’m fine.” I punctuate every word with a finger pointed directly at him.
I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I’m committed now, and I’m too far in to back out.
Silas stares down at me, his jaw working overtime on those perfect teeth of his, and then his shoulders drop just a fraction. His anger bleeds out of him, replaced by that quiet intensity that hooks into me deeper than any fight ever could.
“You’re driving me insane, dove. You know that, right?”
Shit. He used my nickname, but I can’t deal with this right now.
“Then I’ll leave,” I say, turning and walking out.
I get into my truck, tears burning behind my eyes, and I rub at them angrily. What the hell did I just do? I picked a fight for no reason at all. With Silas.
Shoving it into drive, I head to the café.
* * *
It’s not overly busy today. A few customers are seated, and I’m grateful, because my ribs are screaming at me; every breath feels like grinding two fractured bone ends together, a neat little souvenir from the beating my father and uncle sat ringside to watch.
As much as I hate to admit it, Silas was right.
I should’ve stayed home. But because I’m a stubborn idiot, here I am making coffees for people when all I want is to go to bed, take some painkillers, and sleep.
The bell above the door rings, and I look up.
My body goes cold the second I see the two men who walk in. The plate in my hand freezes mid-air as every muscle locks tight. Terror floods through every inch of me. I’m on my own right now, Finn’s training a small group of kids, and Silas is at PalMerc.
I have no one. They knew that, a dark voice whispers in my head. They always know.
They sit at a corner table and pick up the menus, acting like they’re here for a business lunch. They glance over at me, and I would swallow, but my mouth is dry, and my feet won’t move.
One of them raises a hand.
I know I have to walk over. They know I can’t make a scene, not with other customers here. Forcing my feet to move, I grab my pen and pad, each step making my stomach roll, bile sitting thick at the back of my throat.
I reach their table, and they smile at me.
“Good morning, Jackie.” That name sends chills tearing straight through my body.
I nod, my voice having completely abandoned me.
“Good to see you, Son,” my dad says with a smooth, sickeningly warm smile.
It’s as if the fucker hadn’t watched me get beaten half to death in a bloody ring, as if he hadn’t left me broken in the dirt to die
My uncle ignores the greeting entirely, still looking down at the menu in his hand.
“Two coffees. Black.” My skin crawls when he speaks. He doesn’t even look up at me, just keeps studying the laminated page like it deserves absolute, undivided concentration.
My dad keeps looking at me, then turns his body slightly in his chair.
“I have to say, it’s a real shame it takes a public spectacle to finally catch you, Jackie.
Five years is a long time for a father to miss his boy.
We had to come all this way just to make sure you were still breathing…
though looking at you right now, with those bruises barely hiding under your collar, I’d say you’re doing a piss-poor job of looking after yourself. ”
His voice is smooth, almost gentle, almost sounding concerned. But I know better. My skin crawls, and my ribs throb at the memory.
“We miss you, son,” Dad adds softly, leaning back in his chair with a sickening display of paternal warmth, twisting the knife with that gentle tone he uses when he wants to hurt the most. “I’m was so disappointed when you ran, Jackie.
Family doesn’t just abandon family because of a little disagreement.
But I suppose you always did have a flair for dramatics.
Running off, playing shopkeeper like a child hiding from his responsibilities. ”
I walk away, saying nothing because I’m terrified that if I open my mouth I’ll throw up right on their polished shoes, and plant myself in front of the espresso machine.
My hands brace against the edge of the stainless-steel counter, knuckles white from the grip.
I force air into my lungs, but they feel raw, my throat scratchy and thick, every breath an agonising drag.
I can hear my uncle’s voice cutting straight through the dull hum of the café, followed by my father’s easy, melodic laughter. Chatting as if everything were completely normal. As if they hadn’t just invaded my sanctuary.
The ring on my finger feels heavy, like an anchor dragging me straight to the sea floor. How can he sit there acting like nothing happened? Acting like he didn’t have anything to do with her death.
I make the coffees, my hands shaking so badly the porcelain rattles against the saucers as I walk them over. A heavy hand clamps down on my arm as I place them on the table causing me to stop dead.
“Good to see you, nephew,” Ray says, his tone a low, velvet purr.
I turn my head and look down at him. His smile is pure, razor-thin cruelty. “Told you I would see you again.”