Chapter Thirteen
Thirteen
Abby
Jack is quiet when we pull out of the bar, his head leaning against the passenger window of his car as he watches the lights pass by outside.
I’m trying to rationalize why I would offer him an out to leave the bar, but I can’t seem to come back with anything other than I didn’t like the look on his face when Ian and Lila were questioning him.
There was defeat in his eyes, and all I could think about was how he looked when he told me how much this sport means to him, what it would mean for him if he were to lose it.
Has he told any of that to his sister? To Ian?
Or is it just me?
“Thank you,” he says after a little while. “For getting me out of there.”
“Who says I wasn’t just really ready to go home?”
“My mistake,” he says, a small smile on his lips.
“Do you want to talk about the game?”
He shrugs. “You saw it. We almost lost.”
“But you didn’t,” I point out.
“No thanks to me.”
“You’ve really got this whole martyr thing down, you know that?”
He whips his head over to look at me. “What?”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I get where you’re coming from, but you’re still getting to play. Your coach could have just benched you for the rest of the season. Forced you to go ahead with the corrective surgery. But he didn’t.”
“You think I’m being a baby about this,” he says, only slightly accusatory.
I glance over at him, frowning. “I think you’re getting in your own way about this.”
“Huh.” He’s looking down at his lap now, his brow furrowed and a frown on his face. “I hadn’t really thought about it like that.”
“I’m not saying that you shouldn’t be bummed by all that’s happening. I’m sure anyone in your situation would be. But you have got to stop blaming yourself for every little thing that happens. It doesn’t seem like anyone else on your team is doing that, so why are you?”
“You really know how to grab a guy by the balls, you know that?”
I roll my eyes. “You wish.”
“Maybe. You know I—”
My phone starts to chirp between us on the middle console, the screen lighting up the small space as it shrieks incessantly. My eyes flick down to the screen, and upon seeing who it is, I immediately reach between us and silence it.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
Jack perks up. “Was that your dad?”
“What?” My knuckles tighten against the steering wheel. “How did you know?”
“I saw the caller ID.” He cocks his head. “Why is he calling you?”
I consider brushing it off, making him think it’s nothing, but that doesn’t seem fair after everything he’s shared with me. Plus, it might be nice to vent to someone who won’t baby the shit out of me after.
“He calls me almost every day,” I tell Jack. “Texts me a lot too.”
Even from the corner of my eye, I don’t miss the way Jack tenses. “Why?”
“Why else?” I shrug as I press on the brake to stop at the red light. “He blames me for everything. Thinks I should do something about changing the public perception of him.”
“What a crock of shit,” Jack snorts. “You don’t owe him a damned thing.”
And deep down, I know he’s right about that, I do, it’s just…
I squeeze the steering wheel, keeping my eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Sometimes it feels like my fault,” I admit.
“What? Why? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I was fucking born, wasn’t I?” I huff. “Seems that was enough.”
“Abby…”
I tense as I prepare myself for the same level of pitying commiseration I’m used to from Ian and Lila, so what comes out of Jack’s mouth next takes me by complete surprise.
“That’s fucking stupid,” he finishes.
I can’t help it; a short laugh barks out of me. “What?”
“Your dad is a grade A douchebag. It’s not your fault he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. He’s just a sad old man preying on you because he knows you have a big heart.”
I press my lips together. “And how would you know I have a big heart?”
“Because I’ve watched you with Ian, and with Dee—hell, even with me lately. You may act like a feral cat sometimes, but inside you’re a big ole marshmallow.”
“Are you calling me soft?” I ask indignantly.
He shakes his head. “No. I’m saying you were forced into this role where you think you have to be hard all the time, but you really don’t. You can lean on other people sometimes.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” I say bitterly, feeling a little shaken up by his very correct assessment of me.
“I mean, that’s fair,” Jack says. “But I know you’re the type of person who would put your own needs aside for the sake of someone else’s.
I know you’re the type of person that would help a guy she barely tolerates just because she was the only one who could at the moment. That’s plenty of information for me.”
I feel my traitorous eyes start to well up, trying to keep them on the road but chancing a glance at Jack all the same to find him staring intently at the side of my face.
“What sort of things has he been texting you?”
I have no idea what prompts me to do what I do next, but I can feel myself reaching for my phone to unlock it, opening the text message thread between me and my dad and silently handing it over to Jack so that he can peruse.
He’s quiet for a moment, concentrating intently on the messages in front of him, but after a little bit, he scoffs loudly, shoving the phone back in my direction.
“This is bullshit, Abby, you know that, right? Fuck that guy.”
Fuck that guy.
He doesn’t offer me solutions, doesn’t tell me what he thinks I should do about it—just clearly states how fucked it is on my behalf.
I didn’t realize how badly I needed that until this very moment.
“I know it is,” I admit, my throat getting a little tighter. “I should block his number.”
“Why don’t you?”
He doesn’t say it like an accusation, more like he’s genuinely curious.
“Because…” I let out a sigh. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”
“I’m over here basically risking my whole arm just to finish out a season on my own terms,” he says. “Who am I to judge?”
“I guess…” I shake my head. Even in my thoughts, it sounds stupid. “I guess I keep hoping he might change. I guess there’s a small part of me that hopes one day he’ll want to actually know me.”
I feel a tear slip down my cheek, praying Jack can’t see it in the darkness of the car, but when I set my phone back on the middle console, I jolt in surprise when I feel his hand cover mine.
“That’s not stupid,” he says. “He’s your parent. Of course you want better from him.”
My first instinct is to wrestle my hand away, but there’s something about the warmth and weight of it that feels…nice. So I allow it to continue, even while being so unsure what the hell it means.
“But he won’t,” I say, my voice sounding all wrong. “I know I won’t be getting anything better from him. I know that. I just haven’t been able to take that step of completely cutting him off yet.”
“You will when you’re ready,” Jack says. “You’re too strong to let him beat you down forever.”
I want to ask how he could possibly know that, how he could determine that I’m strong when he knows so little of me—but is that really true?
I’ve known Jack for months and months now, and even while I’ve been doing my best to keep him at arm’s length, it’s clear that he hasn’t been doing the same.
In fact, it seems like Jack has done nothing but try to get to know me, despite my best efforts.
I thought I had to keep him away because of who he is, because I thought he was just a friendlier version of my dad, just another womanizer, but now…
Now I’m not so sure that’s true.
“Thank you,” I manage quietly.
Jack squeezes my hand before he finally lets go. “It’s nothing.”
But it’s not nothing. Not to me.
I sneak one last glance at Jack, watching the lights from the street outside illuminate his face, making the angles and planes of it all the more enticing, and I realize all at once that I might actually be attracted to flirty, not-so-flighty Jack Baker.
And I have no idea what to do with that.
We’re both quiet on the walk up to the apartment, no doubt both mulling over all the embarrassing conversations we keep seeming to have lately. I still don’t know why I told Jack everything I did back there in his car, but truthfully I feel…better. Telling him.
I know I’ve talked about it with Christine, but there’s something about talking about it with someone who has no real investment in the matter and hearing them validate you that makes you feel better about a situation.
I know Jack didn’t have to say all that stuff he said—he could have easily just brushed me off or given me the popular answer of just block him—but instead he placed faith in me to do those things on my own. When I’m ready.
I don’t know why that matters so much.
I don’t know why it matters so much that he said it.
I fiddle with my keys at the door, looking for the one that opens it, taken by surprise a little when Jack’s voice is suddenly right there in my ear, his head peeking over my shoulder.
“You’re using the key chain,” he notes.
I feel my neck flush, turning my keys over in my hand to show off the ugly little armadillo. “I mean, it was a gift.”
“A terrible one,” Jack laughs.
My cheeks are on fire now, because I’m wondering if it’s stupid that I put it on my key chain. Maybe he never meant for me to use it. Maybe it’s silly that I did.
“I can’t remember the last time someone got me a present,” I admit, my voice barely above a murmur. “Felt wrong not to use it.”
I can feel Jack’s eyes on the side of my face, and there’s no way he can’t see the way I’m blushing.
“It really is so ugly,” Jack says with a soft chuckle.
I let it lay face up on my palm, rubbing my thumb across it. “It is.”
“Not like you,” he murmurs.
My eyes snap up to meet his, my mouth parted in surprise. “What?”
“Shit.” He takes a step back. “I don’t know why I said that.”
“What did you mean?”
“Just that…” He rubs at his neck, his throat bobbing with a swallow. “You’re kind of beautiful, Abby.”
My breath catches, my eyes going round. I try to laugh it off, but the sound comes out wrong. “You mean in an Ian way, right?”
“No,” he says seriously. “In a you way.”
My heart thuds in my chest, making me feel off-kilter. Twenty-four hours ago, I was barely on board with the idea of being friends with Jack. Now? Now I’m staring at his mouth while he calls me beautiful. How the fuck did we get here? I have no idea.
All I know is I’m feeling vulnerable, and he’s right there, looking like he does and saying all the right things, and it’s just been so damn long, and—
“Can you just…Can you be still for one second?”
Jack looks confused. “Still?”
“Just…Don’t move,” I tell him, feeling like I might be losing my mind but feeling myself turn toward him just the same.
I swallow around the growing lump in my throat, staring up at him.
He’s only about six inches taller than me, but he’s so broad that his entire being seems to eclipse me, blotting me out.
I have the wildest fantasy of letting him wrap his arms around me, wondering what that would feel like.
Wondering if it would feel as nice as it sounds.
“Abby, what are you—”
I press up on my toes, holding his gaze. “You can tell me no.”
I’m praying he doesn’t though. This might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s also the first thing I’ve done in a long time that was reckless or spontaneous. I’ve spent so long keeping my nose clean, making sure I didn’t cause any waves—I’m due for one stupid thing, right?
“Abby,” Jack breathes, his pupils blown.
I lean in a little closer. “Shh.”
It’s barely there, when my lips find his, and Jack is still, so still, like he’s afraid of spooking me if he moves.
But after just a second, I feel the slightest brush of his lips as his hands cautiously move to cup my elbows, and there’s the smallest, softest sound in the back of his throat when I lean into him fully, my chest meeting his front.
“What are we doing?” he murmurs against my mouth.
I shake my head, nipping at his lower lip. “I don’t know.”
I can hear Lila’s voice in my head from so many weeks ago, telling me to live a little—and while I don’t think this is what she meant, I feel exhilarated all the same.
It’s definitely a bad decision, and some part of me knows that deep down, but it doesn’t stop me from grabbing the lapels of his jacket and tugging him closer.
He stops me, pulling back to look at me, his brows turned down and his eyes serious as he studies my expression, no doubt looking for any signs of hesitancy on my part.
“Abby, are you sure about this? I didn’t think—”
“Don’t ask me if I’m sure,” I tell him. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine, but don’t ask me if I’m sure. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to.”
His eyes collide with mine as he searches them, his lips pressing together and jaw working subtly as he considers.
I can’t say how many seconds pass while he comes to a decision, but suddenly there’s a burning look in his eyes, and his entire expression softens, and his plush mouth mutters the words:
“Fuck it.”
Then his mouth crashes against mine.