Chapter 14 #2
“Cora still here?” I ask.
“Nah. She split.” He rolls to his side, flicks a cigarette out of his pack, and lights it. “This sucks.”
“It sucks big fucking balls.”
“Thank fuck we don’t have to do anything today.”
“Not sure I’m leaving this couch.”
“We could get more blow.”
My eyes narrow, and just that minuscule action hurts. “Don’t even joke about that, dipshit.”
My body slumps into the cushions, molding to them, uncaring about sustenance. My lids turn heavy, and my eyes flutter closed.
The tinny sounds of the broadcast filter in. Commentators. Blown whistles. Referee calls. And the familiar products hawked during commercial breaks.
Gillette Atra Advantage. Sometimes a little advantage goes a long way.
America’s truck. Built Ford tough.
Miller Lite. Tastes great. Less filling.
I jerk awake, disoriented, not even realizing I’d dozed off. The football game plays on, and I’m still bleary eyed.
“Shit, did Jax leave?” I ask.
“Haven’t seen her,” Remy says.
I’m about to get vertical and wake her when she appears.
We share a commiserative look. Jax is clearly not her spry, chipper self either.
She heads into the kitchen for a few minutes then wanders back to where I’m splayed on the sofa.
She stands behind me, her fingers gliding into my hair.
That’s the best thing I’m going to experience today.
I tilt my head and meet her tired gaze.
“I’m splitting. I’m probably dead meat,” she says softly.
I nod, hoping she’s not in trouble. “Call so I have proof of life.”
She plants an answering kiss to my forehead.
A while later, Remy splits and I take a blissfully hot shower, washing off the sweat, smoke, and debauchery of the past twenty or so hours.
I catch myself whistling and break into a grin. It’s Jax. I can’t stop thinking about her—and I mean everything about her. The things I knew before carnal knowledge, and the things I know now.
I want it all. Her mind. Her body. Her affection.
I’ve never been more aware of how selfish that idea is, since I’m not exactly boyfriend material. But I’m already consumed by her. The heroin comment was legit. She’s a certifiable drug. The more I’m with her—talking, dancing, kissing, fucking—the more I crave her.
I’m a little worried she hasn’t checked in, especially knowing she spun some story to her parents so she could crash at my place last night. Maybe she went home and took a nap.
When night falls and I still haven’t heard from her, I punch in her number.
Her father answers.
“Hello, Mr. Hall. It’s Mick Callahan. Is Jacqui there?”
“She’s unavailable,” he replies curtly.
“Will you tell her I called?”
“No, I won’t.”
What the hell?
“I don’t know what happened yesterday evening,” he continues, “but you were the last one I saw with my daughter, and I have a strong hunch she was with you—and not this imaginary friend—all night.”
“Well, sir—”
“Frankly, you don’t impress me. You’re a garage mechanic, and a few years older than Jacqueline. This leads me to believe you’re taking advantage of my daughter.”
What the fuck? I pinch the bridge of my nose and keep my voice level. “No, sir, I’m not.”
“Here’s the thing, sport. What’s your life plan? Do you have one? Jacqueline does, and I intend to help her stick to it. She’s got a bright future if she keeps her head on straight, which would include avoiding guys exactly like you.”
A shot of adrenaline surges through my veins. I have plenty to say to this dick, and yet—he’s not wrong. “Maybe you’re right, Mr. Hall.”
“No ‘maybe’ about it, pal.”
What a condescending motherfucker. My pulse ratchets up another twenty notches, and I force my jaw apart. “Guess there’s not much else to say other than goodnight.”
I hang up without waiting for a response.
The pacing begins, my thoughts rioting faster than my feet. The impulse to break something, punch my fist into a wall, find a shred of physical release pulses through my blood alongside this trapped anger. The sheer frustration of it all. The underlying truths.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” I roar into the silence.
What a patronizing asshole. “No ‘maybe’ about it, pal.”
Nothing I said would have changed his mind, but I can’t fault him for trying to protect Jacqui. In his eyes, I’m just some loser, going-nowhere mechanic. He doesn’t know the first thing about me—or my dreams or plans.
“What’s your life plan? Do you have one?” He may have asked the question, but he had zero interest in the answer. I’m sure he thought I didn’t have one, not the kind with any merit or good enough for Jax.
Fuck him.
But fuck me too…because Jax does deserves better than me.
I’m only going to disappoint her. I’m a temporary stop on her road to greatness and shouldn’t stand in her way.
A good man wouldn’t, and despite how fucked up I am, it matters.
It’s why I try my damnedest to be a good man.
And yet, even though I’m sure it’s the right thing, there’s nothing in me that wants to let her go.
I’m nothing if not a walking contradiction.
I need to split, take a drive, something.
The fucking walls are closing in on me, the familiar claustrophobia returning.
I’m still in Oakland instead of on the ocean.
Working on cars versus pursuing mariner jobs.
Stuck in a daily cycle of the same shit, different day—and living at my mom’s house at the age of twenty-two.
If there was ever a sign I needed to get my ass in gear, Mr. Hall just hit me upside the head with it.
Regardless of what I want, it’s clear what I must do.
I don’t see Jacqui until she’s unavoidable, which is Monday at work.
Not like I had a choice. I couldn’t call her, and I’d never end things over the phone anyway.
That’s just chickenshit and disrespectful.
And even though I’d rather yank hairs off my nut sack than have this conversation, it’s not fair to leave her hanging.
I’m not even sure she knows what went down with her father.
The Chevron closes, and I’m the last man out. A tense, frustrated man with an anchor weighing down his chest. This fucking sucks.
I light a Marlboro and force myself to walk next door to the Self-Serve. Jacqui’s parked in the chair, looking like an angel. And with what’s about to go down, that makes me the devil. Especially when my swift scan catalogues the worry etched in her face. It smarts more than I’d like to admit.
“Hi,” she says, voice raspy. Has she been crying?
“Hey,” I answer, not meeting her gaze. Keeping my distance, I lean against the door jamb and take a few pulls off my cigarette.
“I tried to call.”
It’s work, but I school my expression into something neutral. “We had a game yesterday and a bunch of us went to Jeremy’s after.”
“I missed you.”
It’s a knife to the heart. My battered heart. Maybe my dead heart. The one Jacqui seems to penetrate, possibly resuscitate. I nod, trying not to give those words any real estate in my fucked-up brain while grasping for the right ones to say.
“Look, my dad is an asshole. I heard what he said to you. It’s not true—”
“All of it’s fucking true.” Acid laces my tone, despite not meaning to sound so harsh.
She stands, bracing her hands on the desk, those amber eyes shimmering. “No, Mick. It’s not. I see you. What little part you let me see, I see.”
My head shakes decisively. “Jax, I’m no good for you. Or anyone.”
She clears the desk, moving toward me. “Don’t do this. Please.”
“Don’t.” My pointed glare stops her. I drop my cigarette butt to the cement, stomping on it and grinding the embers to smithereens.
“I care about you. I want you. And I think you feel the same.”
My gaze spears hers. “I do fucking want you. More than I should. That’s not enough—and I’m…” I stall. “You deserve better.”
Her hand reaches out, then falls to her side. “You’re perfect for me,” she whispers, defeat in her voice.
Goddamn it. Her words are kryptonite—she’s kryptonite—but I’m not weak. I shake my head, staring into her eyes, willing her to hear the message. “You don’t know me. I’m only going to disappoint you.”
She falters, deflates, and I detest being responsible for it. “You deserve happiness, you know.”
Jesus ever loving Christ. My fingers curl around the back of my neck, my lips pressing into a cynical smile. Happiness…what a fucking joke. “We’re back to that shit now, are we? Some people find happiness and others don’t. It’s probably not in the cards for me. Just move the fuck on, Jax.”
Her hurt expression is a dagger to the chest. “Is this why you warned me? No commitment. No complications. Is that what this fucking is?”
I don’t answer as we face off, gazes tensely locked. This is the right thing. For her. And for me. Even if I’m a total asshole for doing it.
Without warning, she advances.
I thwart it, pinning her arms against her sides. “I’ve got to go.”
Before losing my nerve, I turn and walk away.