Chapter 22 #2
“You know…” He starts and I don’t want to hear this, but I guess I don’t have much choice.
“I’ve been stressed for months about how I’d cope with having a deep emotional connection with someone else when I know nothing about how to do it right.
Yeah, I got my rocks off, but I never got serious with any female on purpose, never led anybody on.
I saved getting deep for whoever I was gonna be with.
And I watched you on that concrete basement floor with a thin blanket and shitty pillow not only pissed I couldn’t keep you warm, couldn’t protect you.
I was up all night looking at you, feeling things I’ve never felt before, remembering things about you and me over the years, and wondering how the fuck I’d do right by you when I’ve got zero experience with relationships.
But after that little stunt you just tried to pull, I’m sensing I’m already better at this relationship shit than my fuckin’ fated mate, so I guess you just never know how these things’ll go. ”
My heart is pounding really hard right now. Too hard. I need air. I need a cigarette. I need space, away from Jason.
Scents hit my nose. Ivy and Amie.
Jase obviously smells them too by how he cusses under his breath and rubs his eyes, looking exasperated. And exhausted.
They’re standing at the door together, surveying the scene of Jase sitting on the floor in a pose of defeat with books all over the place and with me standing in front of him with my arms folded over my chest.
I widen my eyes and they show they’ve caught the vibe because Amie mouths, “Later,” grabbing Ivy’s hand. Ivy blows me a kiss and they go.
“You know what?” I say, “You don’t get to turn all this around on me and make me feel guilty.
” I turn my back on him. “You’ve made it very clear you didn’t want my attention the last few weeks, at times being downright nasty to me when I really didn’t deserve that.
And now because I smell a certain way I’m supposed to just open my legs for you? ”
When he doesn’t answer, I look over my shoulder. He’s grinding his teeth.
My eyes hit the wall clock. It’s nearly four o’clock. I usually close at five on Saturdays, but I can’t do any more people-ing today. I want to go home and take a hot bubble bath. Lose myself in a book while I shame-eat the rest of the box of cookies and the three remaining giant muffins.
I guess I’ll check in with my group chat and the petition tomorrow to see what progress has been made.
I shut down my computer, return Thinner to its shelf, wash the three dirty coffee mugs by the coffee station, gather the two baked goods boxes into my “I’ve got no shelf control” book bag, and move around the space, turning lights out.
He’s picked the books up from the floor and put them back on the shelves. They’re out of order, but I’ll fix that tomorrow.
He’s by the door, holding it open when I grab my purse and loop it over my shoulder.
I steel myself against the hurt in his eyes and the emotions trying to penetrate, and walk a few paces past him before waiting for him to clear the closing door so I can lock up.
He goes outside. I follow and am about to get into my car when his hand presses against the window.
“I’ll drive,” he says.
I’m too emotionally spent to fight about this too, so I mutter, “Fine,” and let the keys dangle from my finger. He takes them.
I get in the passenger seat, putting my seatbelt on as he starts the car.
Memories swim through my mind of the last time I was in the passenger seat beside him. He was driving me home from Grey’s. I was drunk and threw up on him.
Ugh, I was so mortified.
But the next day when I emerged with my shame along with rubber gloves and cleaning supplies to clean up the sick I knew would be all over the middle console, I found my car squeaky clean.
He not only drove me home because I was drunk, he took his vomit-soaked shirt off and carried my crying, drunk self inside and set me down in the powder room, telling me to wash my face while he poured me a glass of water and found me some headache pills.
“Sleep on your side, Kiddo. Yeah?”
“I’m sorry I puked on you, Jason.”
“Go on. Wash your face and take those.”
“You’re a good guy. The best guy.”
“Go on, Bailey.”
“The best guy ever,” I added. “I wanted to… to talk to you about something. But now’s probably not the best time.”
“I need to get back. Run home and shower, then rush back to watch Grey’s house for him. You good?”
“Oh. Um… okay.”
He could’ve left that mess for me to deal with, but he didn’t do that.
That was one of the many things I used to love about Jason.
How he always went above and beyond for everyone in the pack.
He wasn’t doing it for me because it was me.
He would do it for anyone in the pack. I knew by the smell of my car the next day that he drove it all the way to the carwash in Drowsy Hollow and cleaned it as well as vacuumed it and sprayed that spring meadow spray they sell out of the vending machine, which was infinitely better-smelling than vomit.
He was certainly annoyed that I threw up on him, but he took care of me the way he takes care of everyone around here. Because that’s who he is, who he’s always been.
All this doesn’t change where things are at now. It just leaves me all the more crushed. Because I vividly remember every single reason why I fell in love with him. And it still doesn’t change the fact that it feels like my heart is slowly being crushed under a grinding heel.