Chapter 24
Lauren
By Tuesday night, Kevin’s house already felt wrong.
His boots still by the back door. Coffee mug in the sink. Sweatshirt over the chair in the bedroom. The TV couldn’t hold me. The book couldn’t either. I ended up on his bed, flat on my back, staring at the ceiling. His pillow still smelled like him.
Didn’t help.
My phone rang at nine. Kevin, right on time.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey. How was your day?”
“Good. Boring. How’s Chicago?”
“Cold. Hotel’s nice, though.” He paused. “I miss you.”
My chest tightened. “I miss you too.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Same time?”
“Yeah. Same time.”
We hung up. After that, the house felt too quiet.
Kevin had texted earlier in the day. Dave at Fairview Auto looked at it. Ordered the part, comes in Thursday. He’ll have it done same day. I’d stared at it for a second, thinking he’d actually done it for me, and feeling deeply grateful.
It was just a house, a bed, a few nights. My body wasn’t buying it.
I fell asleep in his bed wearing one of his shirts. Woke up Wednesday for my shift feeling like I’d barely closed my eyes.
Wednesday, the bar stayed busy enough that I didn’t have to think much. Jackson and I got through the rush without saying much. Pour, serve, wipe, repeat.
Until after closing.
He was wiping down the bar. I was restocking the beer fridge when he asked, “You heading out, or you want a drink first?”
I should’ve said no. Should’ve gone straight home.
“Yeah. Sure.”
He poured bourbon for both of us. We sat at the bar. Lights low, place dead quiet. It beat going back to Kevin’s house with all the lights off. Our knees kept getting a little too close under the bar. Every time Jackson leaned in to say something, my stomach dropped.
I hated it.
“How’s Kevin?” he asked.
“Good. He’s back Sunday.”
“You talk to him today?”
“This morning before shift.” I took a sip. It went down easy.
Jackson went quiet for a second. “You miss him?”
“Yeah.” I looked over at him. “Is that weird?”
“No. It’s good. Kevin deserves somebody who misses him.”
He tried to play it off and missed by a mile.
“You okay?” I asked.
He looked down at the glass in his hand. “Long day.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No,” he said. “It’s just the one I’m giving you.”
I should’ve let it go. I knew that. Kevin was out of town, the bar was closed, and Jackson had that look on his face like one wrong question might get me too close to something he didn’t want touched.
Still, I stayed.
“Something happen?” I asked.
His mouth moved like he almost smiled. It didn’t make it. “Nothing you need to carry.”
“That usually means yes.”
“It means I’m tired.”
“Jackson.”
He looked at me then, and the room got too still around us.
“Don’t,” he said, but there wasn’t much force in it.
My phone lit up between us.
Kevin.
The screen threw white light across the bar. Jackson looked down. Then at me.
I saw Kevin’s name and still looked at Jackson first.
“You should answer.”
I stared at it too long. I wanted Kevin, but not with Jackson’s knee against mine and his name on my screen. What made me feel sick was how badly I wanted to answer him later, when I was alone.
I let it ring.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
It went to voicemail.
Jackson looked away first, and it felt like he’d handed the whole mess back to me to hold.
“Why didn’t you answer?” he asked.
He knew exactly what I’d just done, and so did I.
“I’ll call him back,” I said.
I couldn’t do Kevin’s voice with Jackson sitting that close. Couldn’t make myself.
Neither of us said anything. He stayed right there. So did I.
I should’ve grabbed my phone and my jacket and gone home. I stayed on that stool anyway. Nothing happened, and I’d still let Kevin’s phone ring because I couldn’t hear his voice with Jackson’s knee against mine.
The bar didn’t feel like a place to sit anymore. It felt exposed.
“I should go,” I said finally.
“Yeah.” He still didn’t move.
I kept my hands wrapped around the glass so I wouldn’t do anything stupid with them.
I snatched my phone and jacket. Kevin left a voicemail. I didn’t play it.
I drove back to his house gripping the wheel with bourbon burning my throat, climbed into his bed, and stared at the ceiling again. I could still feel how close Jackson had been sitting.
Felt sick.
Still there anyway.
My phone buzzed. Text from Kevin: You okay? Tried calling.
I typed back: Sorry, was in the shower. I’m good. Talk tomorrow?
He answered fast: Yeah. Sleep well.
I sent it and felt like shit right after.
I flipped the phone facedown on the nightstand.
The house felt too big without him. Like I was knocking around in somebody else’s life.
But tonight at the bar, with Kevin calling and Jackson sitting right there, I’d reached for the wrong kind of company. I felt less alone sitting there with the wrong man.
Wednesday night was slammed from seven to ten, and by the time Jackson locked the door at eleven, my feet were killing me and I just wanted to go home and pass out.
Except Kevin’s house was empty, and I didn’t want to deal with it.
Jackson started wiping down the bar in those circles he always did, counterclockwise, and I should’ve grabbed my jacket and left. Instead, I said, “Can I get another one of those?”
He looked up. “Bourbon?”
“Yeah.”
He poured two without measuring and slid one across to me. I sat down on the worn stool. We didn’t talk for a while. Just drank in the quiet. The bar was dark except for the light over the register, and honestly, it was kind of nice. Better than that empty house.
I kept thinking about Kevin. He’d call around midnight, like he had every night since he left. Three more days and he’d be home and I could stop feeling like this.
“How’s Kevin?” Jackson asked.
“Good. Coming home Sunday.”
“Sunday,” he said.
“Yeah.” I took a drink. The bourbon burned going down and warmed my chest, and I liked it.
Jackson was staring at his glass. His jaw was tight, his shoulders tense, his whole body wrong.
“You okay?”
He looked up, and his eyes were raw in a way he hadn’t let me see before.
“Melissa called last week.”
Oh fuck.
My stomach dropped. The ex-fiancée. The one who destroyed him.
“What’d she want?”
“To tell me she’s engaged.” He laughed, but it sounded awful. “She told me I wasn’t enough when she left. Literally said it. ‘You’re not enough, Jackson.’ And I guess she was right because she found someone who is.”
Jesus. I could see it all over his face. And I wanted to tell him she was an idiot, he was plenty.
“That’s bullshit. You’re plenty.”
His eyes locked on mine and the air changed. Got heavy. I couldn’t look away and I should’ve.
His gaze dropped to my mouth and stayed there. My heart started pounding.
Oh fuck.
“Lauren—”
“Don’t.” I wanted him to shut up. I didn’t want him talking us out of this.
He leaned in slow. Giving me every chance to stop it.
I didn’t stop it.
I met him halfway, and his lips hit mine, and holy shit.
His lips were so soft, the kiss so perfect and wrong, and I still got lost in it.
My eyes closed, and it got more desperate.
Messier. I grabbed his shirt with both hands because I needed something to hold on to.
He made this low, hungry sound in his throat, and his hand went to the back of my neck. Pulled me tighter. Kissed me harder.
I opened my mouth for him.
His tongue slid against mine. I tasted bourbon and Jackson and wanted more. His other hand grabbed my waist and squeezed, and I gasped into his mouth, pressed closer. My brain shut off and my body took over.
He pulled back just enough to breathe. His forehead pressed against mine. We were both panting.
“Kevin would—”
I kissed him again before he could finish. Hard and desperate because I couldn’t hear Kevin’s name.
But I was thinking about Kevin anyway — in Chicago, texting me constantly, trusting us.