Chapter 29
Kevin
I checked out of my own house on a Monday and into the Fairview Inn the same afternoon.
A couple stood ahead of me. She was tucked into his side while he talked about some restaurant he’d found downtown.
“Oh, and the girl at the front desk said there’s a great little bar. Hayes’ something.”
“Hayes’ Bar,” I said before I could stop myself.
They both looked at me. She smiled. “You’ve been?”
“Yeah.”
The elevator opened. I let them get on first. She stayed pressed to his arm while he hit three. His hand sat low on her back like it had lived there awhile.
“Is it good?” he asked. “The bar?”
“It’s good.”
The doors opened on two, and I stepped out. I could still hear them laughing together when the doors shut and carried them up.
The hallway felt a mile long. Beige walls, brown carpet, brass numbers.
Every door looked exactly like mine. I walked to the end and stopped at 214.
The card reader beeped. The lock flashed green.
I pushed the door open, dropped my coat on the chair by the window, and stood there in the dark for a second before I turned on the light.
The room looked exactly the same as when I’d left that morning. Bed made. Curtains closed. Everything where it belonged. I’d been making beds with hospital corners since I was twelve. Jackson used to make fun of me for it.
I went over and pulled the curtains tighter.
Bathroom first.
I splashed water on my face, then dried off with the towel, which was basically a washcloth pretending to be a towel. The mirror sat right there under the fluorescent light. No place to hide in lighting like that.
I looked like hell. Dark circles under my eyes.
Jaw locked so tight the muscles stood out.
Hair I hadn’t done a damn thing with that morning.
I looked like my dad after Mom left, same face pulled tight, that shut-down look that made you stop asking questions because you already knew you weren’t getting anything.
I shut off the light and got out of there.
I came back with peanut butter crackers and a Coke from the vending machine, set both on the nightstand, slid my clinic badge into my wallet, and sat on the bed. I ate the crackers one at a time, then flattened the wrapper over my knee and folded it in half.
My phone was still in the pocket of my coat on the chair. Hadn’t moved since I got back from the clinic. I’d seen fourteen patients that day. Every one of them got the right diagnosis, the right dose, the right follow-up. My hands never shook once.
They never did.
Trina asked if I was okay that morning. I told her I was fine. I straightened the stack of charts on her desk before I answered, and she caught that too. She looked at me the way people do when they know you’re full of shit but are nice enough not to corner you about it.
Good. I didn’t need that.
I ate another cracker. Took a drink of the Coke. Too sweet. Barely cold. Still counted as food.
I didn’t turn the TV on. The only sound in the room was the air conditioner clicking on.
My phone buzzed in my coat pocket.
I looked at the chair. My coat hung over the back of it. Could’ve been the clinic. Could’ve been Lauren. She’d called four times that day. I hadn’t answered any of them.
Could’ve been Jackson.
I was off the bed before I even thought about it. Phone in my hand. There was a fresh crack across the corner of the screen from when I’d dropped it in the parking lot on Sunday.
One missed call and a voicemail.
Jackson.
I sat back down on the bed with the phone in both hands. My house keys were on the nightstand next to the white plastic key card. His bar key was still on my ring. I rolled it under my thumb.
I hit play and put it on speaker. I couldn’t deal with his voice right in my ear.
“Kevin.” His voice was rough. A pause. I could hear him breathing through it.
“I know you don’t want to talk to me. I get it.
I just…” Another pause. “I’m sorry. I fucked up.
I know that doesn’t fix anything, but I need you to know I know.
When you’re ready, I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere. I just… I miss you, man.”
It cut off. The room went quiet again.
I set the phone on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. There was a water stain in the corner over the curtain rod.
I missed Jackson and wanted to throw my phone at the wall. The feeling kept shifting — Lauren’s mugs all over my kitchen, anger at both of them, wanting them back anyway. One of them still had her lipstick on the rim. I still hadn’t washed it.
What kept getting under my skin wasn’t knowing what they still were to each other when I wasn’t there.
Jackson on my couch with his boots kicked up on the coffee table.
Once he got comfortable, he always shoved them off halfway.
I knew exactly where they landed on the rug.
Both of them in my place. The noise. The mess.
The way it turned into something before I even realized it was happening.
I tried not to say it to myself that plain.
Didn’t matter.
I still loved both of them and couldn’t stop. Wanting them was one thing. Being shut out was another. I couldn’t even hold onto being mad. I was too busy missing them. Like some asshole who could get hurt the exact same way twice and still walk right back into it.
I picked the phone back up and hit replay. Not for the apology. For the end.
Jackson again, same words and pauses, that rough spot when he said I miss you, man.
I listened to it with my eyes shut. Wanting to hear it a third time pissed me off more than the apology did.
My chest cinched tight. I knew the feeling.
Couldn’t name it. My hands looked steady. My knee wouldn’t stop bouncing.