Chapter Eighteen ADAM #2
She worries those pretty lips and I can’t stop staring at them. For a second, time rewinds to the last kiss we shared. It was more of a brush. She was late for some brunch with her sorority friends. It was an I’ll see you later kiss. Only the moment never came.
Had I known it was the end, I’d have held on longer.
The rest of the night, I refrain from saying anything else stupid and catch up with my friends while Jackie trades beer for bourbon, mostly ignoring me.
Perfectly trained for any social situation by her mom, Jackie immediately leans into conversation with Mell and Amber, Luke’s wife. I catch snippets.
“Childhood sweethearts?”
“That’s the official version.” Amber takes a swig of her beer and grimaces. “Our families don’t know he hated my guts, and I couldn’t stand him, for a long, long time.”
“So how did this happen?” Jackie laughs and points to Amber’s wedding ring.
“His meddling grampa, that’s what happened,” Mell chips in excitedly.
I tune back into conversation with Theo and Luke, conscious I’m being rude.
“I’m having some issues with my new mechanic. She’s a pain in my ass,” Theo replies with a scoff when I ask him about his garage.
“Why don’t you fire her?” I ask.
Luke snickers, “Yeah, Mr. Boss Man. Why don’t you send her packing?”
It’s obvious I’m missing something, and before I get to needle him, a popular country song kicks in and has all the girls hollering, hauling Jackie to the dance floor. She doesn’t hesitate, and I don’t know if it’s the glass of bourbon she wiped clean or an excuse to get away from me.
With Mell out of earshot, I turn to Ethan. “How are you adjusting?”
He’s always been the quiet one out of all of us. Star athlete, got a college scholarship, then got drafted straight to the NHL, until a shattered kneecap ended his career.
“Never liked living in the city,” he says. “I’m not missing much.” But he sure as hell misses the game.
At the bar, Rusty lines up three shots, nodding to a group of men leaning over a tall table in the back. The girls raise their glasses in their direction and down the drinks, slamming them against the bar.
“You worried about that?” I ask Ethan and Luke, nodding toward the group, a bunch of guys we went to high school with.
Luke’s grin is a bad sign, and I wish I hadn’t asked. “We are not worried.” He pats his chest, looking adoringly at his wife. “Your friend Jackie is the single one. Free to do whatever and whoever she pleases.”
There must be something wrong with this ginger ale, because it tastes bitter when I take another gulp.
“Look at them,” Theo butts in. “So mature, being friends after things didn’t work out.”
If only that were true.
Grinding my teeth, I turn my back to the bar. I don’t appreciate the direction of this conversation. “It wasn’t exactly my choice to end things.”
“Whatever you did, fix it, because she seems like a nice girl.” Ethan finally decides to speak.
“Why do you assume I did something?” But all I get is a shrug.
“Oh, dear,” Theo clutches his pearls. “Another round of shots.”
I’m the last person who should say anything. I turn in my chair and glance at Jackie. She seems steady enough, but I keep her in my line of sight, just in case.
Another song has the girls skipping with excitement. Those shots did their job, and I see Jackie letting go for the first time in years, arms in the air, swaying.
“Uh-oh.” Theo leans back, smirking like he’s getting ready for a show.
One of the guys who sent them the shots approaches, and Patrick’s on his feet before I can react. There’s no need for me to make a scene. Her guard is casually strolling toward the bar, leaning on the counter, his stare poised on the guy.
I’m relieved for a beat until Patrick’s eyes lock on me, giving off the air of a very disappointed big brother.
She’s a grown woman, I have no claim—
“Not a chance in hell.”
The fucker just put his hands on her, bending down to whisper in her ear. His hand skims her waist, and she tilts her head to listen, eyes glazed, smiling.
Reason disintegrates under the force of the compulsion to act.
I’m on my feet, storming straight for the dance floor. Jackie’s in no state to be sweet-talked by some guy who’s been leering at her all night.
“Finally,” Luke and Ethan say at the same time, clinking their beer bottles, but I ignore them.
My sole focus is on the place on her waist where he’s got his fucking hands, pulling her closer. I’m across the room in seconds, my shoulder wedging between them.
The guy takes a step back, brows drawn together. “Hey, man, we were having fun.”
Rage is flowing just under my skin. “What you are is done. Move along.”
His fists clench, and I brace myself for an old-fashioned bar brawl, but Patrick clears his throat nearby. “Trust me, you don’t want to do that,” his voice cuts in, with a practiced calm.
Whatever is going through his head in the seconds he ping-pongs his head between us is enough to turn him on his boots with a dismissive wave.
Jackie’s still rocking with the music as she leans in, her manicured fingers trailing over the buttons of my shirt. “Why did you make him leave?” she whines. “He was nice. Weren’t you the one who said I should loosen up?”
I’ll show you nice.
“He was getting too close. We need to be careful.”
She huffs. “You sound jealous.”
Jealous? The fire coursing through my veins doesn’t even come close to the definition. I’m damn feral. But it’s not something I can tell her.
“I’m only thinking about your safety.” And the fact that that guy had his fucking hands all over you.
Her palms glide around my neck as she keeps swaying. “Mm-hmm. Sure, big guy,” she purrs, plastering herself to me, and my heartbeat kicks into overdrive. Another part of my body is reacting too, but she’s drunk, and even though she might still be attracted to me, she wouldn’t do this sober.
I’m not blind. Her reactions when we’re close, or I touch her, are familiar, like muscle memory.
I’m so used to looking at her that I have every flicker of emotion mapped out.
And right now? The hunger in her gaze, the faint blush blooming at the base of her neck, and the way her touch lingers—it’s killing me.
“Let’s get you to bed.” It comes out rough, practically a growl.
Head lolling back, hanging off my neck, Jackie looks at me through heavy lashes. “Promise?” Those round, blue eyes are a sledgehammer aimed straight at my self-control.
Fuck me.
Surprisingly, she lets me lead her to the truck without fuss, her small hand nestled securely in mine. She doesn’t protest even when I lean over to buckle her up.
“Such a gentleman,” she snickers, trying to smother a smile.
I plant my hands on the seat, our noses almost touching. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I was thinking,” I say, the words rougher than I intended, and the air shifts in the cab.
But then her drunken laughter fills the silence, and it unceremoniously lands me back in reality.
The drive back through the forest is pitch-black, lit only by our headlights and a scatter of stars punched into the clear night sky. Tipsy Jackie doesn’t seem to care, mumbling the song from the bar.
“You’re so different here,” she says suddenly. “With them.” Her voice drifts, loose and dreamy, in the quiet cab.
I have to be. Ever since I left this place, I’ve learned to curate every part of my life.
From what I wear, to the way I handle myself in rooms full of people who expect a mirror of themselves.
I can’t let slip that I’m different from them.
Embarrass myself. Sometimes it feels like I’m split cleanly in two.
“It’s different here,” I say instead. “Easier.”
“I feel guilty, you know,” she blurts, the words tumbling out of nowhere.
My pulse kicks up a notch. On the steering wheel, my knuckles turn white. “About what?”
“Leaving like that.” Her voice is so small I barely catch her words. “And for what Blanca said.”
My breath catches for a second, but I force myself to stay focused on the uneven dirt road. “She’s an asshole,” I say evenly. “At least she’s honest about it.”
“It’s all nonsense. She has no idea what she’s talking about,” Jackie keeps rambling, her words slurring slightly, completely unaware how they slice through me. “I never told her…I should’ve at least talked to you before moving.”
The words balance on the tip of my tongue, but she wouldn’t have said anything if she’d been thinking straight, so I force my voice to flatten. “I’ve gotten over it.”
She hums, unconvinced, then turns to stare out of the window.
“Tonight was…good.” It’s all she says later when I hold the door open for her, and she beelines for the stairs to my bedroom.
Lying on the uneven air mattress in my mom’s sewing room, I’m unsure how to feel. Even if she might not remember it in the morning, it’s the first apology I’ve ever heard from her.
I wonder if we’ll ever have an honest, sober conversation. And if it would make a difference. The circumstances haven’t changed. I can’t rewrite where I come from or my family’s lineage.
Somewhere along the way, I forgave her already, even when I still pretended I didn’t. Even when I was holding on to anger like it was going to protect me.
The problem is, I’d let go of everything if she gave me any sign she’d changed her mind.
And I don’t know if that makes me hopeful, or if I’m so blinded by her that I’m setting myself up for more heartbreak.