Chapter 3 #2
An icy chill ran through me that had nothing to do with the swing of the open door as the other customers filed out, supplies in tow. A wayward flurry of leaves skittered across the floor toward me. I watched them skip across the wood, almost in slow motion.
The store was empty again.
But I still couldn’t breathe.
My list crumpled in my grip.
“Joe?” The man behind the desk greeted me.
I recognized him briefly from the other occasions I’d come in to purchase tools for the farm, but I didn’t know his name.
He didn’t wear a name tag, and I hadn’t known how to ask him what it was, or even if I should ask.
Everyone in town knew my name because of Jason. Which meant now it was awkward.
“You okay?” he asked.
I steeled my expression, locking everything down as tight as it could go. I supposed it made sense he was concerned. I was kinda just standing there. Unfortunately for me, the drive into town and the hunt for prices had only made the sick pit in my stomach grow.
I had less than two months to get my house livable.
Even if I had the money to do it—which I didn’t—it felt like an impossible feat.
The task was so daunting for a moment that I couldn’t breathe.
I left without a word. In a daze, I swayed back into the street.
Driving was a bad idea right now with how fuzzy my head felt, so I bypassed my truck in order to look for somewhere safe to recoup.
As I walked, this sluggish feeling weighed my limbs down.
Made me feel like I was made of molasses.
Everything felt too bright and like too much all at once.
And every breath was more labored than the last.
It didn’t matter that it was sunny out. That the air was crisp. That Main Street was as bright and colorful as always. Adorable buildings populated with friendly faces. Personality etched into every brick building and ivy-covered lattice.
I was cold.
So cold.
And the world was nothing but a blur.
The few townies wandering down the sidewalk waved at me like I was an old friend even though I’d never talked to any of them. I waved back, with a jerky arm motion. The list in my left hand felt sweaty now. Cramped. Everywhere I looked there was an audience waiting to ogle me.
Nowhere was safe.
Everything was so bright. Had it always been so bright? So loud? So much?
I just…I just needed a second.
Just a second to get my head screwed on straight.
That’s it.
Except thinking about “screws” nearly sent me over the deep end again. Because screws reminded me of the project-from-hell. And my mom’s face. And the weight of all of that was just…I couldn’t—
Everywhere I went there were people.
The bookstore wasn’t safe. They were hosting some sort of meet-and-greet with a local author, and a gaggle of elder-ladies in matching “Montgomery Smut Club” shirts were chatting so loudly I didn’t even approach the store.
The bakery was no good either.
All I had to do was push the door open to recognize the need for retreat.
My cousin, Baxter—Mom had made sure I knew I had family out here before moving—was chatting away with a sunny smile and a counter full of the most delicious smelling pumpkin bread in the world laid out in front of him. He spotted me and beckoned me closer.
“Joe! Your apples were a hit. Best tarts I’ve ever made,” he said.
He was always friendly. Just like everyone else here.
And normally, it was nice, even on the days I wanted very little to do with people, too overwhelmed by how much I knew I could mess up each social interaction without even having to try.
But right now, the last thing I needed was to struggle through a conversation.
I just wanted to be alone.
I didn’t want to be rude. Mom had taught me better.
Instead of actually entering the bakery, I shook my head. Quickly, I escaped out the door and down the sidewalk out of sight. I’d apologize to Baxter later. When I could get my mouth to work. But for now…for now, the concern on his face was the least of my worries.
Eyes lingered on me as I stumbled to the only other space within walking distance that felt familiar.
The grocery store.
My apple stand.
It was blissfully quiet inside. It seemed the crowds of Belleville had finally offered me a reprieve.
I wandered to the back, as far away from the glass at the front and its cheery painted-on sales as I could get.
Didn’t want anyone to see me. It felt second nature to hunt down my apples.
Looking at them made me feel marginally better.
Not enough to get a solid breath in, stiff and shaking as I was.
I didn’t do this often.
In fact, I could only recall doing it once.
After we’d visited George in New York for Christmas one year, and I’d suspected his boyfriend at the time—Brendon—was hurting him.
We’d gone home and made the “We Hate Brendon Club” after that.
All of us were desperate to do something to help George, even if that something was simply being there for him when he ultimately let that relationship go.
The cookies were great too, at the meetings. But even sugar couldn’t heal the fear we’d all carried over George. At least until he’d broken up with the bastard himself and moved home for good.
This wasn’t nearly as terrible as that.
That’s what I tried to tell myself.
Tried to man-up and force these feelings to fade like I had when I’d been able to drive into town earlier. I told myself that freaking out was a waste of precious time. I had so much to do, every minute counted. I needed a battle plan.
But more than that, I needed money.
Money.
I didn’t know how I’d get it—but I needed it. I told myself I could figure it out. That I was stubborn as an ox. That I was strong.
But it didn’t matter, because the damn feelings kept sinking their claws deeper, deeper, deeper.
And my chest was heaving.
And I still couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t breathe—
I couldn’t—
“It’s fine, it’s fine—” I choked quietly, fingers biting hard into the wooden display. Hard enough it rattled and one of my apples nearly came free. “Stop acting like such a—”
“Joe!” Jason’s voice was about as startled as I felt. “Hey, buddy. Sorry about the last time you were in. I wasn’t at my best—you know how it gets! Changing of the seasons and all that. Can be a real doozy. Is there anything I can help you wi—”
No, no, no.
I jerked around, stiff and awkward. This time, I really did knock an apple off the display. It hit the ground with a thud I felt all the way in my bones.
He was the last person I wanted to see. I’d been an idiot not to anticipate that he would be here.
And there Jason was, having just come out of a door labeled “Staff Only” with a pink coffee tumbler that read World’s Best God Uncle in hand. He paused, lingering just in front of the doorway, dark eyebrows climbing high.
“I’m fine!” I said way too loud to be anything but fine.
Up, up, up, Jason’s eyebrows rose.
No, no, no.
Jason had an expressive face.
The kinda face that told you everything he was about to say before he said it.
Handsome too, in a gangly Peter Parker kinda way.
Except…middle-aged. And with stubble. Dark circles that made him look perpetually tired.
And these pale eyes that reminded me of summer rainstorms, closer to gray than true blue and just as fraught.
His expressions were clear even when his motivations weren’t.
And right now, Jason was concerned.
Jason was a talker.
And the last person I wanted to see me vulnerable like this. Not when he already thought I was inept. The apple at my foot felt like a bad omen.
“Hey,” Jason’s voice went softer than I’d ever heard it. He sat his tumbler down on the floor. Rising back up, he held both long-fingered hands up in a placating manner. Like I was a spooked animal and he was trying to approach without getting bitten.
He took a careful step forward.
I backed into the stand, sending another apple plummeting to its death. This one rolled farther, past Jason’s beat-up sneakers until it hit the vent beneath the other produce stands.
“Hey,” he said a third time. Another step. Just as slow. Blue eyes meeting mine, his brow lowered in a serious but kind way. “You’re okay,” Jason promised.
I wasn’t okay.
Of course I wasn’t okay.
Everything I’d worked for was falling apart. I was at the bottom of a pit. No ladder. No way out. Stuck. Everywhere everyone was happy and celebrating—and my world…my world was ending, soon enough.
Worst of all, Jason was going to think he’d been right to pity me.
That I was weak.
Instead of bolstering my confidence, that thought caused the last of my walls to crumble. A wet noise escaped me. Waterworks I hadn’t even known I’d been fighting off spilled free. A tear dashed down my cheek, then another, and another.
And still, I couldn’t breathe.
Face hot.
Heart pounding.
“Oh, Joe.” Jason’s voice remained honey-sweet.
He crossed the last of the distance between us, hands hovering uselessly in the air until suddenly they weren’t anymore.
He was right there. Toe-to-toe with me. Half a head shorter, those blue eyes meeting mine.
Not scared. Not patronizing. Not pitying.
Not the way I expected them to be.
Jason looked at me like he saw me.
And that was the scariest part.
Because secretly, deep down, I wanted his help. I wanted to give in. Didn’t want to do anything on my own ever because it was so much.
“Sweet baby, come here.” There was a hand at the back of my neck now, yanking me into Jason’s shoulder.
I could’ve resisted.
I didn’t.
Shame coursed through me at the show of weakness, a few more tears slipping free and landing on the green of Jason’s sweater.
“That’s it,” he urged, giving my nape another squeeze, tighter this time, collaring me. “I’m here.”
Of their own accord, my hands found the hem of Jason’s sweater, digging in and pulling till the fabric wheezed along with my lungs.
I didn’t know how to feel about being called sweet.
Didn’t know how to feel about the fact that Jason had called me a baby of all things.
Didn’t know how to feel about the horrible, awful thought I’d just had—a thought I already told myself could not be true.
I couldn’t want this.
I didn’t want this.
I’d been trying so, so hard not to feel this way. To be strong, and serious, and everything I’d never had a chance to be back home.
When Jason was around, it was almost too easy to let go of that. He wanted to carry me.
Especially now.
And I didn’t understand why.
I was a stranger. I didn’t matter to him. Wasn’t family. Wasn’t his friend. I was just some guy he’d spied on, who’d been dodging him ever since.
He had nice hands. Strong. Lean. And I could admit…as ashamed as I felt about accepting it, the hug was nice too.
Jason was nice. I didn’t understand him. Didn’t understand him at all. Why he would do this when I’d been so grouchy with him. Why he acted the way he did. Why he wouldn’t leave me alone.
I don’t know how long I cried—folded into him stiffly, my hands in his shirt, shoulders shaking, lungs threatening to give out on me entirely.
Ten minutes maybe?
The most pitiful, shameful ten minutes of my life.
And Jason held me the whole time.
At some point, his free hand had come up and begun rubbing my back.
These steady strokes that made me feel like I was falling apart all over again.
When my sobs quieted, he didn’t stop rubbing my back.
The movement was soothing and the weak part of me didn’t want it to end, so I didn’t move, even though I’d left a giant puddle on his shoulder and my spine was crunched so that I could fit against him.
“There, there,” Jason patted my back. “Get it all out.”
I huffed, but didn’t complain.
One last sniff, and I felt ready to run again. Ready to leave the grocery store and never come back—ever. Sure, that’d make my apple drop-offs tricky, but I could manage it. Maybe I’d send Jordan? Or Patrick. Maybe Baxter could drop off my groceries for me from now on? Maybe I’d become a hermit—
Maybe.
I tried to pull back, to escape—but Jason wouldn’t let me.
As if he could sense my desire to bolt, his hand on the nape of my neck tightened.
Heat washed through me, hot and sticky and impossible to ignore.
It pooled beneath my legs, made my knees go weak.
Made my breaths shallow for a new reason entirely.
More confusing feelings.
“What happened?” he asked in that same throaty, gentle voice. “You wanna talk about it?”
“No,” I bit out.
He’s going to tell everyone.
By this time tomorrow, there won’t be a single place in town where people aren’t laughing at you.
Just that thought was enough to send a few more hot tears searing down my cheeks. I wanted to be self-sufficient, dammit. And here I was— God.
Fuck.
“I’m not going to tell anyone,” Jason promised, reading my mind like a fucking witch. Again.
Weirdly enough, despite the way I’d just been panicking, I wanted to believe him.
Maybe it was the skip of his heart, not nearly as steady as his hands. Or maybe it was his voice, commanding and sure. Maybe it was the fact I still didn’t feel like he pitied me—despite what I’d just done, and the puddle I’d left on his shoulder.
Or maybe it was the hot-pink mug staring at me from where he’d left it on the floor next to the two bruised apples I’d sacrificed during my fit. It was the kind of mug only a man who was truly confident in his masculinity would carry around.
I wanted to believe him, and yet I still ran.
I yanked out of his grip in a jerky fashion and pulled away as fast as I could. Jason watched me go like he always did, his hands falling uselessly at his sides, eyes stormy.
“Joe,” he said my name quietly. “You don’t need to run from me,” he repeated. It wasn’t a plea so much as it was a promise. A promise to lend an ear if I needed it. A promise to support me if I let him. A promise to help me.
It was too much.
Too much.
I couldn’t stomach it.
Not one bit.