“Looking for booze. If we’re going to survive a weekend together, we’re going to need lots of it. I’m officially adding it tothe list of things to be mad at Clancy about. Why oh why would they leave us stranded together without alcohol?”
I swing around to face him. I was hoping this wouldn’t come up until later, but a big part of recovery is radical honesty and owning your shit. “That’d be because of me.”
“You?”
“Yeah. I’m in recovery.”
“Oh. I had no idea.”
“My fault for not opening all staff emails with that.”
“Forget it. We don’t need alcohol.” He smiles awkwardly. “We’ve got plenty of food, right?”
I nod. “Yep. Fridge and pantry are stacked. I have a hunch Sammy helped with the shopping, though.” Jackson frowns, so I open the pantry door. “Welcome to diabetes central.”
He squints as he takes in the shelves filled with every type of junk food imaginable, from Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups to Sour Patch Kids, Oreos, three different flavors of Doritos, Pop-Tarts, and every variety of candy bar known to man. He makes a quiet humming sound as he snags a packet of Jalapeño & Cheddar Doritos, opens the bag, and plops one into his mouth.
“Sammy is officially my favorite Benson,” he says, crunching loudly.
“Mine, too.” I grab as much junk food as I can take in my arms and head into the living room. “Come on. We need to talk.”
I dump my haul onto the coffee table and settle on the armchair. So of course, he has to perch himself on the end of the sofa, physically as far away from me as he can possibly get. I can’t help but sigh, all our bench progress washed away.
“Let’s start with our fight,” I say.
He drops the bag of chips into his lap and sinks back into the couch. “I guess I owe you an apology.”
“You guess?”
His head snaps, green eyes landing on me. “Don’t be a dick. I’m trying to be nice. You have this unique talent of being able to infuriate me like no one else.”
“That your idea of being nice?”
He closes his eyes and rubs his temple a few times. His eyes flutter open, and with genuine sincerity, he says, “I’m sorry for how I reacted to the news about my home getting destroyed. I was shocked and upset, and I took it out on you. That was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”
“I accept your apology.”
“That’s it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re just going to accept my apology without making me suffer?”
“Correct.” Well, partly correct. I pick up the M&Ms, rip open the packet, and pop a handful into my mouth. “What was the game plan with the to-do list?”
He winces like I struck a nerve.
Good. I have no intention of letting him off that lightly. I’m a pretty forgiving guy and can overlook a lot of things, but that onestung.
“I guess I wanted to freak you out. Overwhelm you with everything that needs to be done in the hopes…”
“I’d fuck off?”
His head bobs up and down, left and right, like it can’t make up its mind whether to indicate yes or no. He settles on, “Maybe.”
“Do you still want me to go?”
He averts his gaze. “Maybe.”
