28. - Jason -
Chapter twenty-eight
- Jason -
J ason stared at the liquor cabinet and slugged back another glass of water. Even with his pounding headache and hangover sweats, he wanted to drown himself in another bottle of booze. His hands were shaking from the deteriorating effects of alcohol, from the restraint he barely had a handle on even as they itched to open the cupboard. But he was self-aware enough to know that, in this state, more alcohol was a slippery slope.
Last night, Corey had insisted on watching as Jason stitched up Kayden’s wound in the kitchen. Once she’d realized Kayden’s life wasn’t at risk, it had basically become a show and tell. She had asked questions, asked him to slow down as if Kayden was a cadaver in a science class. She hadn’t even shied away as the thin needle had pierced through his thick skin over and over, weaving the dissolvable stitches into a webbing that would allow the gash to heal on its own.
His shaggy black hair completely covered the bandage over the sutured wound. Any remaining scar would also be covered, making him and Kayden indistinguishable once again.
The two of them had spent the night curled up on the couch together, before going to her room. Jason had finished the entire bottle of whiskey before dragging himself up to bed. He couldn’t ignore the screaming in his head that told him this was his fault and that it could have been much worse. Kayden had literally just told him that he was willing to pull out, and Jason had shut him down hard. He knew Kayden would never agree to let Jason keep doing this without him, to keep risking his life, yet he had told him point blank that he would continue with or without him.
Kreig’s move also confused him. Their relationship had been symbiotic from the start. With the landmine for the transport truck, Kreig’s plan couldn’t have been to secure the opium without payment. They had upped their EP team by fifty percent since the Kovack incident, and he was glad they had, because without the extra manpower, yesterday could have ended a lot differently.
Jason put the shaking glass down on the kitchen counter and noticed he still had some crusty blood caked under his fingernails.
That was how Kayden found him, still compulsively scrubbing his hands even though the blood was most definitely washed away. Kayden rounded the island and turned the sink off, taking a towel and drying his hands for him.
“Thanks,” Jason mumbled. “How’s your head?”
“Pounding. How’s yours?” Kayden nocked his chin towards the empty whiskey bottle on the counter.
“Pounding,” Jason parroted, averting his eyes from the concern in Kayden’s.
Kayden squeezed his shoulder, opening a drawer in the island and pulling out a bottle of Extra Strength Advil. He took two himself and handed another two to Jason, who dry swallowed them, the large pills catching in his dry throat as his Adam’s apple bobbed. Kayden’s animosity from the day before seemed to be buried deep below the surface, but Jason could still see it there in the tight set of his jaw .
“I’m going upstairs to keep sleeping. Corey’s room is too bright. We need to get some real blinds in there. Just let her know for me. I didn’t want to wake her up.”
“Sure.”
Jason’s attention turned back to the alcohol cupboard as his brother left him standing in the kitchen, alone once again. He kept staring, his mind unravelling, the pull becoming strong enough that his heart started racing. Though he should probably go train to sweat the booze out, his discipline was slipping. He could black out for the rest of the day, hole up in his bedroom, numb, until he felt ready to put himself back together again. His concern was that he wouldn’t be able to find all his pieces if he went that far.
He lost track of time, standing there spiralling, his self-hatred bubbling up like blood in his mouth from a punctured lung, making it hard to breathe around the ache. He knew what he needed to turn his brain off, but his coping mechanisms were just another knife that dug into his wounds, soothing and harming in equal parts, a vicious cycle that he couldn’t seem to escape.
Instead of drinking, Jason decided to do the next best thing—something just as toxic.
He walked away from the kitchen and down the hall to the closed door. Then he opened it, stepping into her room.
Corey looked up at him sleepily, blinking her eyes open. He released a breath, already feeling lighter, wading out from the hellscape of his mind just from being in her orbit. He raked his eyes over her naked body, just barely covered by the cloudlike duvet. Her cinnamon hair was wild around her face, freckles flashing at him from across her nose.
“How are you feeling?” she asked him, a slow smile spreading across her face.
He ignored her question. “Do you want to go to the garage with me? I need to work on a bike.” He waited for her rejection, hoped for it. He deserved it. He’d been fucking with her for so long, culminating in the beautiful disaster of the other night.
“I’d love to.” She beamed at him and sat up, stretching her arms over her head and lengthening her spine like a cat. The blanket fell away from her and her perfect breasts arched out towards him, the blush of her nipples blending smoothly with her tanned skin.
He couldn’t look away—the bite marks around her neck were a beacon. Maybe she thought he was Kayden.
“Alright, get changed. I’ll make you a coffee and meet you in the front hall.”
Turning away from her in the bed was a challenge. She was so fucking alluring in her post-sex, post-sleep haze that it was like a physical assault to his system. His stomach still somersaulted every time he looked at her and heard nothing. It was a sweetness he was having trouble denying himself.
But he made it out of her room and to the kitchen, starting up the espresso machine and pulling a sweatshirt hanging from the barstool over his naked torso. He made a coconut milk latte and put it in a travel mug, bringing it to the front hall with him. He had gone through his usual steps of outfitting with his knife holster, gun holster, boots, and leather jacket before she even made it to the front hall.
She was in matching grey sweatpants and a sweatshirt, mirroring his own outfit. Even though he’d ordered her a whole closet full of clothes, and he knew Kayden had taken her shopping numerous times, she still ended up in one of their sweatshirts a majority of the time. That did something to him, fueling a possessive desire to get his hands all over her.
He passed her his old leather jacket, which had somehow become hers now—just another splinter of himself burrowing into her. She pulled her arms through and then put her sneakers on before he handed her the mug.
She took a sip and groaned. This girl really fucking loved coffee.
“Thanks, Jason,” she said after another sip.
“I wasn’t sure you knew who you were agreeing to spend the afternoon with.”
“I mean, I figured it was you, but I saw your back when you left my room.” She looked at him sheepishly. He had been topless, and she would have seen his marred skin. That familiar anger blistered.
“I was surprised you asked me,” she whispered, like she didn’t want to go there but couldn’t help herself.
He deflected. “Kay needs to recover. If I leave you at home with him, that will not happen.”
She blushed furiously at his assumption, his correct assumption. Those two couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It wasn’t jealousy that he felt over that. It was something else, something very much like longing, and he didn’t want to think too hard about it.
“No helmet?”
“No, we’re taking the Rover.” He scanned his thumbprint to call the elevator.
“You going to tie me up in the back seat again?” she said with a cheeky grin and an elbow to his ribs as she walked into the waiting elevator, like it was some inside joke they had and not a reference to her literal kidnapping.
He was willing to play along with her, if only to keep himself from falling off the precipice of his depression for a little while longer.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He forced a grin, following her through the doors and pressing the button for the underground.
“Oh, yeah. Then you can take me to the dog park and flaunt me off, show everyone how much better your dog is than theirs. You’re lucky I’m housebroken, or you’d be cleaning my piss out of all your expensive rugs.”
He barked out a genuine laugh at her crassness, dripping in fake honey.
She gave him a half-smile that was more like a smirk. “Or maybe you’re into that? What do they call it… golden showers?”
“No, I’m not into anything like that.” He laughed again, walking her out of the elevator and into the underground .
“Good, because I honestly don’t think I could pee on someone. Well, actually, I could think of a few people I’d piss on, but it definitely wouldn’t be for their pleasure.” There was a sharpness in her eyes, like she was picturing exactly who she wanted to degrade so badly. The possessive creature in him reared its head up at the prospect of hurting someone who’d hurt her.
“Tell me who.” The words were out of him before he could stop himself.
“Ugh, it’s a long story.”
He didn’t push, just walked her around the SUV and the taped-up square hole that she’d made in the metal, and opened the passenger door for her.
“Oh, is he a gentleman?” she teased.
A predatory smile took over his face. “Not even close.”
She bit her lip, and he closed the door in her face, needing to pull back. The tinted windows helped sever her gravitational pull.
Jason’s phone connected to the Bluetooth when he got in, and he put on an album before reaching an arm across the back of the passenger seat to reverse out of the parking spot and exit the underground. He drove the Rover along the city streets, the skies having cleared up somewhat after the storm from last night.
It was a few songs before she spoke again. “What album is this?”
“ Hell Finds You Everywhere .”
“Ha, that it does. I like it. Can you get it on my phone for me?”
He nodded his head in confirmation, and she pressed the Seek button on the console, restarting the song that had just ended. He turned his focus away from the road to lift an eyebrow at her.
She blushed. “I can change it if you want. I just like listening to songs on repeat.”
“It’s fine. I do too,” he said, and returned his focus back to the road.
“Sometimes I just listen to one song for hours. Like when I’m running, I just put one song on and listen to it over and over again. The consistency helps my brain turn off. It cancels out all the noise. I think because I know what’s coming next, and it just gets better the more times I listen to it. I can pick up more in the music arrangement or the lyrics, and then I know what to expect and get the anticipation of my favourite part. By the hundredth time in a row, it's like it’s downloaded right to your brain.” She pulled her heals onto the leather seat and wrapped her arms around them, hugging her legs to herself. “I don’t know, maybe I’m not explaining myself right. I know it’s weird.”
“No, I get it. I can fixate on songs too.” He enjoyed listening to her talk, all her thoughts spilling out through her mouth, her plush lips shaping them into words that he could hear with his ears and not with his mind.
When the song ended for a second time, he reached out and started it again—for her, but also for him. The lyrics were a healing salve, and the low vibrations of the guitar followed the cadence of his pulse, calming him. Cleansing him.
He drove the Rover into the industrial park where their garage was located. This time, he let her open her own door, but walked her into the gritty atmosphere of the workshop. It was his safe space, just as much as the gym was. This was another place where he could yield to the meticulous focus required to execute his passion.
He switched the overhead fluorescent lights on, and they flickered to life, casting a cool glow over the space. The industrial garage had concrete floors, worn smooth by years of use. The air smelt faintly of oil, gasoline, rubber and metal—a familiar and comforting scent for him, from all the work that they’d done in here.
There was a set of large, metal roll-up doors which lead to the outside. He could open them to let in the natural light, but preferred them closed to maintain the privacy and focus of the workspace.
Several motorcycles dominated the center of the garage in various stages of disassembly. The bike he’d be working on today was up on a hydraulic lift, its engine exposed. He needed to inspect the wiring. There was another bike propped up on a kickstand that he’d removed the seat from to put onto the bike he’d be working on. He would need to switch out the suspension, too.
Along one wall was a cluttered workbench covered with an assortment of tools—wrenches, screwdrivers, pliers, torque wrenches, and power drills neatly arranged on pegboards. There was an assortment of motorcycle parts, from chrome handlebars to carburetors and tires, stacked in labeled bins and on shelves.
Jason’s phone connected to the speakers in the space, and he let the music continue from the car. He needed music, always had it playing. It helped him regulate his mood. His brain was naturally attuned to respond to rhythms and patterns. Constant music helped him satisfy his neural circuits. It was the same with working on a bike and working out, the only two other things that brought him out of his mind and into his body in a way he struggled to do on his own.
The girl beside him was quickly becoming the fourth item on that list.
He made his way through the littering of metal shavings, rubber fragments and spilled grease. It likely looked chaotic, but the clutter was purposeful to him. He had everything catalogued in his mind. She followed him through it to the worn leather couch by the far wall, and she took a seat.
He motioned to the fridge. “There are drinks and snacks in there if you want anything. Help yourself.”
“If by snacks you mean raw broccoli, I’m fine, thanks.”
He grunted, because she was right. He did keep cut up raw veg to snack on.
She gestured to the bike that was lifted. “Is that the one you’re working on?”
“Yeah, it needs rewiring, and I need to switch some parts out.”
“I know a lot about cars, but I know nothing about motorcycles. I’d never even been on one until Kayden took me. ”
“The mechanics are very different. You can watch while I work.” If it went anything like the stitches, he was sure that she’d be following closely, asking questions and for demonstrations. It seemed she was eager to learn anything and everything. No piece of information was too insignificant.
He understood that. It was self-preservation, the thirst for knowledge bred from having only yourself to rely on.
He got to work, losing himself in the metal tapping against metal, the whir of the drill and the hum of the air compressor. Eventually, Corey made her way off the leather couch, crouching beside him while he worked. As expected, her questions were continuous. She asked so many questions, he just started describing everything he was doing as he went.
He worked for hours, fixing the suspension, finishing the performance exhaust system, and running the air intake system to ensure its efficiency. His hands had finally stopped shaking. He took every part he added to the bike from other bikes he had purchased. They were all Frankensteins, a motley crew of expensive bikes and expensive hardware, mixed and matched to make an even more high-performing bike. He already had upgraded wheels on the bike from earlier. The only thing left was to fit the custom grips and then a paint job. He’d paint it red, like they always did.
Jason dropped the drill he was holding and grabbed a towel, wiping his sweaty, grease-stained face. She passed him a bottle of water from the fridge and took one for herself, sitting back down on the couch. He joined her, twisting the cap off and chugging back the entire bottle.
She was staring at him when he brought the empty bottle away from his face. “What?”
“His name is George Martosh.”
“Whose?” Maybe it was his hangover still clouding his brain, but he wasn’t following.
“One of the men I want to piss on,” she said seriously.
He laughed, but then caught himself, thinking that she might take it as him laughing at her, which was not the case .
She didn’t get angry, though. Instead, a grin pulled at her lips. “I want to do so much worse to him than that.”
Again, Jason didn’t push. He hated questions being asked about his own past, knew what it felt like to be asked for information he didn’t want to speak out loud. The more he gave voice to his history, the more real it became for him. The less he thought about it, the less he spoke about it, the more he could pretend it hadn’t happened. He could pretend that he hadn’t failed everyone so miserably, so unforgivably.
“He was my third foster father. Well, you probably know that, since you have all my records. The first two were fine. There were a lot of kids in the home, and they didn’t really have enough money for food or clothes for us, but it was fine. We all got by. They didn’t want a teenager, though.” The amusement was gone, her shoulders hunching.
“I was excited when they handed me over to him. With only one other boy living in the house, I was going to have my own bedroom. I needed to change schools, but I didn’t really have any friends anyway, so it didn’t matter. Most kids don’t want to be friends with foster kids. We stuck together. I thought it was going to be my fairytale ending.
“When I met him, he was big and burly and strong looking, and I thought, this is it—I’m going to get a dad. But he got creepy really fucking fast. He was so touchy. At first, I didn’t understand. I tried to ignore it, but then the other kid, Michael, he thought it was a green light to do the same. It all spiralled out of control, and it was fucking hell putting up with both of them touching me, making comments, demeaning me. I was just a little girl.
“I tried to complain to my school. When I told the guidance counsellor, he just told her I was seeking attention. They bought it. Or maybe they didn’t, but they sure as fuck didn’t do anything about it. Just left me in that fucking house. ”
She wasn’t looking at him as she spoke, staring off at a spot on the wall, her voice fluctuating between cold and detached, to quick and emotional, likely reliving everything she was telling him.
“He got more handsy as the year went on,” she continued, pulling at the hem of her sweatshirt sleeve. “Then one day, he broke into my room and pinned me on the bed. He had his pants off, and I really thought he was going to fucking rape me. I scratched the motherfucker’s eyes out and broke my hand punching him in the face. That’s when I got the violent outbursts note in my file. Nothing in there about it resulting from an attempted rape. So fucked up.
“I got transferred to another house after that, but it’s hard to shake the feeling of his hands on me, even after all these years.”
She blinked, coming back to the present moment and finally looking at Jason, who’d been watching her carefully, his teeth grinding together hard enough to strain his jaw.
“Anyway, I heard that Michael died from a drug overdose. I thought good fucking riddance to that little perverted prick, but then I realized that George was probably assaulting him too. Which kind of makes me feel sick, because he was in that house for a lot longer than I was. So yeah, I’d do a lot worse than piss on him if I ever saw him again.”
“That man is a monster. People who abuse children should fucking die.” The venom in his voice was a familiar tar.
She grinned at him like it was the first time someone had actually validated that idea to her. “Right? I think I’d torture him first, though. Little fourteen-year-old me needs her revenge. And who knows how many other children he’s touched? Fucking pedo.”
“Have you told Kayden this?” He had to know. Not that there was competition between the two of them, but he just needed to know what this meant. He wanted to kill that fucker for her.
“Eh, not in so many words. But I think he knows the gist of it.”
Now that she’d established that she was willing to talk, that she didn’t need to repress her story to keep functioning like he needed to, he had to ask. “Who’s the other one?”
“My ex. We fought a lot, and he was always really controlling, but I let him take too much. I didn’t have any friends, couldn’t have my own money, and then things started getting physical. That only escalated, because the first time he hit me in the face, I hit him back harder. Violent tendencies and all.” She waved her hand in the air like it was just an irritant and not an abusive relationship she was describing. “I convinced myself that because I was beating him up just as badly as he was beating on me, it was fine. I mean, I thought I really loved him. But upon reflection, it turns out he was actually a piece of shit. Surprise, surprise.”
“What was the last straw for you?”
“He locked me in our room for a few days. I got fed up, so I finally left. Then I was on the streets, which has happened before, but it was just a few days this time. Then you found me. Or I guess… I found you.”
They were sitting very close together now, his left leg and arm pressed against her right leg and arm.
“Seems like you don’t have a very good track record with men,” he murmured, running through the list of all the violations he’d committed against her himself.
“Yeah.” She gave a sardonic laugh through her nose, the puff of air hot on his skin. “Well, it wasn’t just on him. We were a toxic combination, like two drugs that shouldn't be mixed. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m poison too.”
“No, I haven’t noticed that,” he said seriously. His face was so close to hers that he could feel her every breath, the movement from her long lashes fluttering.
Their lips were milometers apart.
It would be so easy. To add himself to the list of fucked up men in her life. Fuck, he was already on that list, if he was being honest with himself .
He almost did it. Almost kissed her. He could swear she leaned in.
Against his better judgement, he was falling for her too quickly. He could see it happening like an out-of-body experience, watching from somewhere high above as he tumbled through space in an uncontrollable descent towards her.
He tore his face away from hers. He couldn’t. It was too dangerous for all of them.
“I’m done here,” he said, standing up from the couch. Her eyes shuttered before he realized the impact his words would have. He softened his voice. “What do you want for dinner?”
She looked at the stupid plastic watch on her wrist. “Oh, Jesus, it’s been all day. I didn’t even realize the time passing.” Neither had he. He’d been so wrapped up in keeping his hands busy while having her in the garage. He was starving.
As if on cue, her stomach grumbled. “I’ll eat anything. All I’ve had to eat today was rabbit food.”
He reached his hand out for her to take. “Let’s go to the grocery store. I can’t eat takeout again.”
“Yes, chef.” She wrapped her fingers in his and he fought his response to the contact, pulling her up from the couch.
He could hear the TV from the front hall as they brought the grocery bags in.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to be watching TV with your head!” Corey yelled out to Kayden, picking up her pace to get to the kitchen. He heard his brother’s hearty laugh and then the sound shut off, Kayden coming to meet them in the kitchen .
“That’s when you’re concussed, which I’m not. It’s just a scratch.” He wrapped her up in his arms and she visibly melted into him.
“How’s your scratch doing?” She brushed Kayden’s hair from his face.
“Healing, getting itchy, which is a good sign.” He kissed her temple. “How’d it go today?”
“Good. Jason is an excellent pet sitter, took me outside, gave me water. He forgot to feed me, though,” she pouted.
“Oh, no, where do I file the complaint for animal cruelty?” he laughed again.
“It’s fine. I already charged him with the cheese tax.” She lifted one bag up, shaking it, before placing it on the counter and pulling out the array of fancy cheeses Jason had chosen at the counter.
It had been an incredible experience to walk through the grocery store after years of ordering online to avoid the noise. He had taken his time to pick the produce he wanted, in peace. The peace had only been disturbed by Corey, who had started whining after he’d spent fifteen minutes picking out the perfect tomatoes for pasta sauce.
Not wanting to waste time with a shower, he washed his hands and face in the kitchen sink. He was starving too, and feeling a little shaky from it. He brought out one of their big pots and put the water to boil, while Kayden and Corey unpacked the rest of the shopping bags.
Connecting his phone to the speakers and putting on some music, he got out the onions and garlic, chopping them up for the sauce. Normally, he would roast the tomatoes first, but he decided to just use a cast iron to speed things up. Then he got to work peeling the shrimp.
The water boiled, and Corey poured the pasta in. Kayden had the sauce going on the stove, breaking the tomatoes up with a spatula.
“I didn’t take you for someone who liked divorced dad rock,” Corey teased as a Creed song came on.
“It has its moments.” Jason smirked at her, catching her humming the words to the song .
He tossed more butter in the pan he was tending to and mixed the shrimp in. His mouth was watering from the glorious smell of the pasta sauce. Kayden pulled the sauce off its burner, and Jason shovelled the shrimp into the saucepan. Corey gave a stir to the pasta and scooped one noodle out on the wooden spoon, blowing on it before giving it a nibble. She looked so fucking cute, Jason couldn’t stop his grin.
“Al dente or soft?” she asked.
“Al dente,” he and his brother replied in unison.
She turned the burner off and carried the pot over to the sink. He’d already put the strainer in there, and she drained the pot.
“Oh my god!” she screeched.
“What happened?” Jason asked, panicked that she’d burned herself.
She grabbed the big wooden on the counter and held it up to her mouth.
“ I tear my heart open, I sew myself shut! My weakness is that I care too much! ” She belted out the opening words of the song that had just come on into the spoon. Kayden was laughing so hard that he doubled over.
Corey pulled a clean spatula from the drawer and tossed it to Kayden. He caught it and joined in her shenanigans, duetting all the lyrics with her, screaming the chorus into their respective kitchen utensils as they jumped around like they were on stage.
Jason felt stuck between rolling his eyes at how juvenile it all was and getting his own fucking utensil.
“This one’s for you, Jase.” Kayden said, pointing at him. “ I’m drunk and I’m feeling down and I just want to be alone. I’m pissed ‘cause you came around, why don’t you just go home? ”
Corey scream-sung the rest of the lyrics and he finally caved, grabbing the tongs from the counter and finishing a full performance with them, using a fucking kitchen utensil as a microphone like he was a kid.
When the song ended, Corey was holding the counter with one hand and her stomach with the other, gasping for breath between fits of giggles. Tears lined her bright eyes. He was laughing so hard his abs actually ached. And it awed him that joy had survived somewhere inside of him he thought was long dead.
It was so much better than whiskey. He imagined this might be what an opium high felt like, and if so, he could understand why people got so damn addicted. This was euphoria.