22. Adair
22
ADAIR
I zoom in for a better look at the picture on the social media profile I found of the woman who’s definitely Jack’s sister. Sarah Banner has blond highlights and more of a fair complexion than Jack, but they have the exact same dark eyes. She’s wearing a cable-knit sweater and riding boots, standing next to the sign outside a local winery.
I rewrite the message five times, telling myself it’s a bad idea with each new draft. It’s short —well, as short as I can make an explanation like this —and to the point. I’m telling myself it’s a terrible idea, and I’m even agreeing with myself… all the way up until I tap the send icon.
Fuck. I feel like I swallowed a rock. I break out in a sweat.
This was a terrible fucking idea. I shouldn’t have messaged her. I even told myself it was a terrible fucking idea. Why, why didn’t I listen to myself?
Why would I listen to advice from a dumb bunny?
I frown at my screen. Maybe it won’t matter. Since we’re not connected on this social network, she might not even see the message. Or maybe she’ll roll her eyes with the same derisive attitude as Jack and delete it without a second thought.
I’ve just about talked myself off the ledge when I make the mistake of pulling up the app again.
She read the message. I check to see if she’s blocked me. She hasn’t.
I feel sick.
Aside from sending Sarah that message in the first place, my other mistake was doing it on a weekend. Jack and I are just hanging around at the house, stuck inside as an icy rain pelts the windows. I jump a little bit every time my phone chimes with a notification.
After the fifth or sixth time —all false alarms, just updates about the upcoming book convention —Jack scowls at me. “What the hell is your issue?”
It’s a bad combination: I’m irrationally —as far as he knows — nervous as hell. He’s been grouchier than usual for the past few days —ever since I brought up his sister in his workshop, I realize, my spirits sinking.
“Nothing, nothing,” I respond, my words tumbling out at once too quickly and too late. “Really, nothing. I’m just —I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Sorry.”
Jack gives me a dark look for another minute or so. I fight to keep my face from showing the panic that’s churning in my lower belly.
T he next several days are agonizing. I mute my notifications, but I’m filled with an anxiety so strong it leaves me swallowing down nausea every time I glance at my phone. The longest damn week of my life drags by, and… nothing happens.
Once I finally get to the point where I feel like I can breathe again, I feel a little stupid. I’ve been jump-scaring myself for no reason. I can rest secure in the knowledge that Sarah probably either still hates Jack’s guts or thought the message was some sort of weird scam or something. Better yet, whatever was making Jack all pissy seems to have evaporated, too. Whether it was my miscalculated attempt to raise the issue of his sister with him or something else unrelated to me that was bugging him, he seems to have grumped and glowered it out of his system.
Things also start looking brighter when I realize the money I’m saving is really starting to add up. Sitting on the sofa after dinner, I blink at my phone in surprise when I pull up my bank account to check the balance. I guess it makes sense, since I’m saving most of what I make, but I’m not used to seeing real money in there yet. Sure, there’s stuff like my phone, gas and my e-reader subscription, but I’m not paying rent or utilities anymore, and that makes a huge difference.
I frown to myself. Should I offer to cover the wifi bill? Or buy groceries? Jack hasn’t asked me for anything, but I don’t want him to think I’m taking his generosity for granted. I should ask him.
“What do you mean, what do I want you to cover?” His forehead creases.
“Well, I appreciate not having to pay rent, but I feel like I definitely ought to chip in for electricity, or food at least. So what do you want me to pay for?”
His expression darkens. “I didn’t ask you to move in because I needed a fucking roommate to cover the bills,” he says in a tone of voice like I offended him.
“Um…” I’m not sure how to answer. “I didn’t say you did.” After the words leave my mouth, I realize that probably sounded snottier than I intended. Whoops.
I stick a finger in my mouth and worry at a hangnail. Jack uncrosses his legs and sits up. With an annoyed sigh, he takes hold of my wrist and pulls my finger out of my mouth.
“No,” he says.
Just no . Like when he tells me come . Like the way you’d command a dog.
I frown at him as a hot flush of embarrassment creeps up my cheeks. “What, are you gonna squirt me with a water bottle if I don’t listen?” I’m realizing I sound snarky, but oh well.
A flash of something dark flares in his eyes, so quickly that I might have imagined it. “Of course not,” he says, his voice low and even.
I exhale out the tension that had crept into my shoulders, glad that my being a bit bratty isn’t going to come back and bite me in the ass. Looking down at my hands in my lap, I see there’s just a trace of that hangnail left. I go to take care of it.
“Don’t even think about it.”
His voice has gone sharp. It catches me by surprise as his hand circles my wrist again. “What?” I ask.
“Don’t go back to chewing on your fucking finger again. If you act like an untrained puppy, I’m going to treat you like one.” In the time it takes me to blink, he’s leaning over me, his other hand around my throat. “And if you misbehave, you’re getting a shock collar. Don’t try me.”
I should really, really know better by now. But I open my mouth anyway. “ That escalated quickly,” I fire back, rolling my eyes. I’m tweaking him and I know it.
“Not yet it hasn’t,” he growls. I can’t hold back a little grin in the knowledge that I got under his skin.
“You expect me to believe you’d really go out and buy one?”
To my surprise, he releases me with a bark of a laugh. My relief is short-lived, though, when he spins on one foot and walks away from me. “No,” he says, without turning around or elaborating.
Shit .
Jack roots around in the closet by the front door for a little bit, muttering to himself. When he walks back, he’s holding a small box. He narrows his eyes as he looks at me.
“I already did.”