12. Jake
12
JAKE
What the hell am I still doing here?
I should be home in the apartment above my grandfather’s garage, alone and focused on both my looming book deadline and the next move to convince him I’m serious about being a responsible adult.
Even if he doesn’t pick up my movements on his camera doorbell, I have no doubt he’ll know what time I get in and guess that I was at a bar. It’s not like I have a curfew, but I do have trust to rebuild.
Instead I’m on my third pint of water and watching Iris in all her dive bar glory.
Skylark’s mayor has fully embraced her fun era. At the moment, she’s holding court near the pool tables, and I bite back a groan as she tosses her hair over one shoulder and smiles at the two guys vying for her attention.
There was a moment during our duet when she grinned at me so openly, and it was like basking in sunlight on an early spring day. Or how I used to feel catching a buzz. The lights seemed brighter, the music richer, and the whole world more vivid as my worries faded into the background.
Only I couldn’t ever stop at a buzz, and the repercussions of a blackout or fierce hangover weren’t worth that first wave of pleasure.
Right now, I’m sober, just like I’ve been for the past twelve years. While I might nurse a beer in public to avoid questions about why I’m not drinking, I’ve learned the hard way that alcohol and I do not mix.
Iris’s friends left thirty minutes ago, but she got pulled back to the stage with a group of middle-aged women who kept referring to themselves as the Bunko Babes, whatever that means. They needed backup for the Stevie Nicks song that would close out the karaoke portion of the night.
Hard to say whether it’s the music or the margaritas, but Iris managed to shrug off her usual uptight manner—the one I find ridiculously appealing. She sang, shook the tambourine someone handed her, and twirled her heart out. It’s a wonder she didn’t knock one of the other ladies off the stage. She has a sweet little singing voice, but my girl has zero coordination.
My girl? What the hell am I thinking?
I’m so lost in thought, I don’t notice Iris making her way to the exit until I see her duck out the front door.
“Hey, Byrne, you want another round?” somebody calls out.
“Nope. I’ll catch you later.” I wave and scoot past people, following the woman I’ve been trying to watch over all night into the darkness.
The quiet is almost jarring after the raucous noise of the bar, and crisp evening air stings my lungs. Iris is halfway down the street, and I jog to catch up with her. When I’m three feet away, she spins and holds up her hand. That’s when I notice the mini canister clutched in her grip.
I stop in my tracks, hands up, palms out. “Seriously? You’re going to pepper spray me?”
She seems to consider that for a moment, and I’m a little offended it takes her so long to come up with an answer.
“I’m being careful.” She tucks the Mace back in her crossbody bag. “Why are you following me?”
“Where’s your car? You shouldn’t be driving.”
“I don’t need you to drive me home.”
“Come on, Iris. The town’s mayor can’t have a scandal like a DUI before the election, even if you are running unopposed.”
For a split second, wide-eyed disbelief seems to swirl in her dark gaze, like she’s a deer caught in headlights. It’s gone just as quickly, and maybe it was a trick of the dim evening light because she laughs and rolls those big eyes toward the starry sky.
“Are you joking? If I’d known what a few hours at Tony’s could do for my reputation, I might have become a karaoke-night regular before now. It’s embarrassing the number of people who were happy to admit they misjudged me.” She frowns and tilts her head like she’s revisiting those conversations. “I should have paid more attention to how I’m perceived before now.”
“You’re fine just the way you are, and you gave the fun nay-sayers a quick uppercut tonight. The belle of the karaoke bar.” I hold out my hand, palm facing up. “But hand over the keys because you still shouldn’t drive.”
“I’m supposed to believe you’re sober?”
“Scout’s honor.”
She gives a throaty laugh. “You were never a Boy Scout, Jake.”
“Maybe not, but I am sober. I had half a beer at the beginning of the night, which is my limit these days.”
She opens her mouth, and I know she’s curious and doubtful. I was the king of beer pong the summer we spent together. Instead, she shakes her head, almost like she’s trying to rid herself of any desire to know the man I am now.
It’s a shame, because this version of Iris consumes me, and I don’t have time for that right now.
“I walked to the bar,” she says. “I live a few blocks from downtown.”
I glance up at the street signs under the streetlight’s glow, realizing the direction she’s headed. “Did you buy the Maple Avenue house?” I ask, and she stumbles back a step.
“How do you remember the Maple Avenue house?” Even though we’re alone on the street, her voice is just above a whisper.
“I remember everything about that summer,” I tell her.
“Me too.” Her delicate brows furrow. “Mostly I remember how it ended, especially for my brother.”
She holds up a hand to prevent me from answering the implied accusation and begins walking again. “It doesn’t matter anymore. What’s done is done. Water under the bridge.”
A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. How many clichés can she throw at me, and which one of us is she trying to convince?
“I didn’t buy the Maple Avenue house,” she says. “I rent a duplex a block from that house, and I’m walking home, so you don’t have to worry about me getting behind the wheel. Thanks for singing the duet with me, Jake. It was…” She almost grudgingly continues, “Fun.”
“I’ll walk you home.” I fall into step with her. If Iris can’t see how obvious it is that I’ll use any excuse to spend time with her, I won’t reveal myself. Not yet.
“You’ll have the money for that house someday,” I offer. She loved that Denver Square—the epitome of charm and practicality, perfect for a first-time homebuyer looking for character and comfort. Its classic brick facade and a welcoming front porch, framed by sturdy columns, invited teenage Iris to picture long afternoons reading on the outdoor swing. “You’ll be able to scoop it up when it comes on the market.”
She shakes her head. “It went up for sale right when I moved back. But I used my savings on something more important than the dream of home ownership. And renting means I’m not so tied down.”
The words make it sound like a good thing, but Iris wanted roots the way kids who feel the hard tug of them crave freedom. I can’t imagine anything that would be more important to her except…
“It was Nick, wasn’t it? He needed to be bailed out of something.”
Her step falters, and I instinctively place a steadying hand on her lower back. We were close and flirty while singing the duet, but this moment feels more intimate than anything we’ve shared, even that long-ago kiss.
“He owed some people money,” she admits, like it’s not a big deal.
Maybe it’s the darkness, or the fact that she doesn’t have to pretend with me, but I’m still surprised she shares the truth. Surprised and satisfied. It isn’t only my grandfather’s trust I’d like to regain.
“You used your house fund to bail him out?”
“And to send him to rehab. That was part of the agreement. He claims he went once before, but I don’t believe it. Where would he get the money?”
I clear my throat. Although my gaze remains straight ahead, I feel deep in my bones the moment she realizes it. A shiver passes through her.
“You and my brother keep in touch?” There’s a hint of condemnation in her voice.
“It’s been a couple of years, but the last time I saw him, he asked for help. I gave it to him.”
“I guess we’re both idiots.”
“You’re not an idiot, Iris. You want to take care of your brother. I wanted to help, too.”
“Then you shouldn’t have let him take the fall for something you did. That’s how it all started. He wouldn’t have gone to that camp and been subjected to the abuse he suffered. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten so messed up.”
I want to argue that Nick was troubled before I came into his life, but I don’t disagree with her about where the blame lies. It might not be factually accurate, but if the false narrative gives her some hope and comfort, I’m okay with being painted as the villain.
“I’m sorry for what happened to him, which is why I paid for rehab. I also offered to pay for school if he could stay clean.”
“Right. It’s so easy for your family to throw around money. Being rich solves everything for the Byrnes.” Her voice trembles.
“Hardly,” I whisper. I follow her to a brick duplex’s front door and reach for her, frustration pounding through me at seeing her earlier exuberance so dimmed. “Come on, Iris. You know?—”
She rounds on me, swatting my hand away. “I don’t give a crap about some house I imagined myself living in when I was a kid. I’m not setting down roots in Skylark. I have bigger plans, Jake. I’m not the same girl I used to be.”
She bites down on her lower lip, and I hate the pain I imagine she’s causing herself. I hate the pain I’ve caused her.
“I know. You’re a thousand times smarter and stronger. I was a dick back then, and I’m sorry for what happened to Nick. For not protecting him. And for letting you down.”
“Am I supposed to believe you’re not a dick anymore?”
The question is posed so matter-of-factly, I nearly laugh. “Not as much of one.”
Her shoulders relax at my answer, which feels like a win at this point. She unlocks the door and steps inside, gesturing for me to follow. Given that I half expected her to slam it in my face, I don’t have to be asked twice. Or even once.
A lamp glows on an end table in a modest living room with art prints on the wall and a stylish gray sofa with a couple of mismatched throw pillows. There’s a lived-in warmth to the uncluttered space, which seems fitting for Iris, who turns to face me.
“What are you doing here, Jake?”
“I didn’t want you to walk?—”
“Why are you in Skylark vying to take over your grandfather’s foundation?”
My back is to the front door I’ve just closed. A draft seeps through, the whisper of cold air that sneaks through my thick flannel somehow unsettling. It makes me feel exposed, a reminder that I can’t let my guard down. Only, I want to with Iris. She doesn’t let just anyone in, figuratively or literally I’d guess. I want to see her softer side and entrust my secrets with her.
“It’s a family foundation,” I remind her. “I’ve gotten involved with some of the charities we support out of the satellite office in Austin. The work is…gratifying, to say the least. Mikey would have loved it. He would have been the obvious successor. Maybe I’m doing this as a way to honor his memory.”
Maybe I’ve lived half my life trying to assuage the guilt of not being able to save him.
I wait for her to laugh in my face like my mother did when I told her about my plan. Like most everyone who’s known me for any length of time would. I haven’t given the world much reason to believe I’ve grown up from the smart-mouthed kid trying to shirk responsibility at every turn.
I feel raw under her scrutiny even as the urge to sway toward her hits me like a wave. I don’t know how anyone resists her pull, fun or not.
“You can’t know what your brother would have done with his life,” she says. “From what you told me years ago, he wanted to write books.”
I shift and look away, not wanting her to guess the truth of what I really do these days. She always saw me way too clearly. “He loved reading and storytelling. Escaping with books until he found other ways to escape. Ways that caused a lot more harm than good.”
She draws in a sharp breath. “Just like Nick.”
“You understand why I need to do this, Iris. I have a plan.” Excitement courses through me as I think about the possibilities. “I want to develop the property the foundation owns in the foothills into a camp and retreat center. A place that could really help people, not the wilderness camp hellhole where Nick and I ended up.”
“Have you told your grandfather?”
I make a noncommittal sound in my throat.
“How will he know you’re serious if you don’t share your plan?”
“Would he believe me given my history?”
“I believe you,” she says softly.
Christ, this woman is going to bring me to my knees.
My smile catches us both off guard. It’s not the usual one I toss around to make people feel at ease. This is different. It’s me showing her…well,…me. I want her to know this moment—this smile—is just for her.
“I still need to prove he can trust me. It’s the same with you. Which is why whether you try karaoke or dancing or painting yourself blue and streaking through the town square, I’ll have your back.”
She stares at me, and her eyes fall to my mouth. Yeah, whatever kind of fun she wants to have, including that kind, is good with me.
“Tell me what you want, Iris, and I’ll give it to you.”
Her pupils dilate until I can barely make out the golden rim around her dark eyes. She moves toward me, or maybe I lean into her. Either way, we’re so close, I feel her warm breath on my chin. I’m dying to claim her mouth, but I need her to say the words. I need to know we both want this.
“I want you to ask out Jodi Moore,” she says on a rush of breath.