Chapter 17 Jason #3
He grunted but turned it off. There was an awkward moment as they both waited for the other to take the first step.
Finally, Jason gave in and started down the dock.
It felt weird to be walking in tandem without holding hands.
They’d taken plenty of walks together as a couple.
Down a catwalk as the prom king and queen.
Across college campus with him carrying both their schoolbags.
Escorting her from his frat house to her car.
It was unnerving how quickly they fell into sync.
He was still in tune with her, despite his attempts to play his own song.
They ambled past the old cabin ruins and started up the hill.
Tiffany had trouble navigating the terrain with her flimsy canvas sneakers, but slapped away Jason’s hand when he tried to help.
God, she could be so stubborn. At this rate it was going to take hours to get back to the cabin.
At least she’d put away the knife, since she needed her arms to keep her balance on the increasingly steep slope.
Finally, they reached level ground. Tiffany continued to stick to his side like a bur, careful to never walk ahead or fall behind.
“You’re acting weird,” he said. Even stranger than not walking hand in hand was Tiffany’s prolonged silence.
She always had plenty to say, opinions she enjoyed sharing with anyone who’d listen.
He’d initially been drawn to her strong likes and dislikes, as someone who, until recently, didn’t have any of his own.
Her laugh came out high and sharp again, like the chirp of a forest animal. “I’m acting weird?”
Jason shook his head. “I don’t understand you. Or maybe I understand you too well.” Tiffany’s picture-perfect world was crumbling. She’d had a near-death experience. She’d never had anything more stressful than a chipped nail challenge her status quo, and so her normal composure was falling apart.
Her lips clamped together in a grimace. “I don’t understand you at all anymore.”
He felt an unwelcome flash of guilt, and his teeth gritted.
Couldn’t she see their split was good for her, too?
Maybe she wanted more than her parents’ life and didn’t know it.
And if she did want that cookie-cutter existence, there were plenty of guys out there who’d be happy to give her the fairy-tale marriage she imagined.
She was so smart and gorgeous that she could have any guy she wanted.
“Why is it different this time?” Tiffany’s question wasn’t a demand, but spoken with genuine curiosity. As if she was asking about tomorrow’s weather. “We’ve fought before. Why are you making it so hard? Making up was always the best part. It made us appreciate what we have.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t know. I need time to figure things out.”
“How much time? Like a month?”
He stared at her. Could you give an existential crisis a deadline?
“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about going to therapy.
” He pinched the bridge of his nose. His dad would love that.
Dad believed that “real” men took action and didn’t waste time talking about feelings.
Ironically, Coach Ackerman didn’t realize he was likely the reason his son needed therapy in the first place.
“Two months? Three?”
That dark, molten feeling in Jason’s belly started to rise. The storm was returning, and he stubbornly tried to shove it down. “This isn’t a negotiation. This is my future. My mental health.”
Tiffany rolled her eyes. “I get it. You’re getting cold feet. We’ve been together forever and the logical next step is marriage, and you’re probably wondering if you should’ve sowed your wild oats while you had the chance.”
“No! That’s not it.” A white-hot pain spiked between his temples.
He felt like he was treading water, his head barely above the surface.
He wanted to scream, like he had the day they’d last broken up.
He’d yelled the way Dad might have raged at him or Mom.
That booming voice might as well have been the voice of God—a furious Old Testament god full of fire and brimstone and dire decrees.
A tone of voice that said, Fear me. It had come out of nowhere and had scared Jason more than it had scared Tiffany.
If he married Tiffany, he was going to become his dad.
Jason’s fingers curled as he fought the urge to lash out. It wasn’t Tiffany’s fault his sense of self was falling apart. He had to stay calm and sensible. Like Patrick.
Jason smiled ruefully at the thought of Patrick, again feeling guilty he’d picked a fight with him.
Patrick was the best of their merry little band of horror fans.
It was astounding how stoically he carried on after what had happened to his sister.
Jason needed to ask how he’d rebuilt his life after Clare’s death, and take notes.
“I see. You just don’t want me anymore. I’m not good enough for you.” Tiffany’s pout rudely interrupted Jason’s thoughts. He recognized that look. That was his cue to say, No, of course not, and assure her how wonderful she was. They’d followed this script many times before.
“Tiff—” He halted, which forced her to stop walking, too. His shoulders sagged with the weight of the truth. “You’re perfect. But not for me. Not for the person I’m becoming. Or I think I always was. I wish you’d see that.”
She opened her mouth to protest. He cut her off with a hand gesture, too tired to argue and feed her craving for drama. “This is your opportunity to start fresh, too. I’m sure your perfect match is out there.”
As if on cue, a twig cracked in the darkness ahead of them.