Chapter 8
Kevin
I got to Jackson’s bar at seven with a fresh ankle wrap and coffee I still hadn’t touched.
I’d told Lauren I’d check her ankle first thing. Medical follow-up. Standard protocol for a grade two sprain.
That’s what I told myself.
The front door was unlocked. I stepped inside and heard voices upstairs. Jackson’s and another one I didn’t place right away.
Then I did, and my stomach locked.
I took the stairs two at a time.
“Get her out of here before noon.”
Bill Taylor stood in the middle of Jackson’s apartment with his arms crossed, a coffee carrier on the counter beside him. Jackson was by the window, hands in his pockets, jaw set.
Through the open bedroom door, Lauren sat on the edge of the bed. A bandage cut across her forehead. Her eyes stayed on her hands. Her shoulders were pulled in, like she was trying to take up less space.
“Dad, she’s hurt, man.”
“I don’t care. Insurance won’t cover this.”
Same tone, same kind of man, turn her into a problem, then act like it was just life.
I was seventeen again, standing in my father’s study with a duffel bag at my feet. My mother crying in the hall. My father’s voice, flat and finished.
You made your choice. Live with it.
Two months in my car. Jackson’s parents told him to stop helping. He brought me food every night anyway.
Lauren didn’t look up. Still staring at her hands, shoulders pulled in tight.
Still trying to make it easy for them to get rid of her.
When she finally lifted her head, it was with that careful blankness. Hurt, embarrassed, pretending she wasn’t either.
No.
“I can go,” Lauren said, too quick.
“No,” I said.
She looked up at that.
“She can stay with me.”
Bill looked at me. “Kevin.”
“I’ve got a basement apartment. Furnished. She can stay there.” I kept my eyes on his.
“Convenient.”
“No. Necessary.”
I stepped closer as I said it. Close enough that he had to deal with me.
Bill didn’t move, but he felt the distance close.
Jackson shifted behind me, but I didn’t look back.
“You sure about that?” Bill asked. His tone dipped, almost sarcastically polite. He knew exactly what he was implying. That story had been around this town longer than I’d been back.
“I’m sure.”
Bill watched me.
Nobody spoke. He stood there like he had time to wait me out.
“That’s not a solution,” he said.
“It is,” I said. “You just don’t like it.”
Bill’s mouth hardened.
“Or you want her close.”
Jackson’s gaze flicked to me. His face tensed.
Bill looked between us, then gave a short nod. “Alright.” He picked up his coffee. “Jackson, we’ll talk later.”
He left.
The apartment stayed quiet after the door shut.
Lauren pushed herself up carefully and tested her ankle. She winced. “You really don’t have to do that. I’m not moving into your place like this.”
“She’s not limping out of here just to make this easier on him,” I said. “You’re coming with me.”
Her hands stilled.
“It’s not about what he’s trying to make it.” I picked up my bag. “That ankle needs watching for the next couple of weeks.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“Kevin, you don’t have to,” Jackson started.
“I know,” I said. “I’m doing it anyway.”
He looked away first. His jaw tightened like he had more to say, but he crossed to the closet instead and pulled out a duffel.
“I’ll help carry her stuff down.”
Lauren’s gaze flicked between us, my face and Jackson’s jaw, like she’d just realized what she’d stepped into.