I shake my head, moving fast in the direction of the bathroom, feeling my heart struggle to keep up with what my head already knows. This isn’t going anywhere. He’s my friend, and that’s all he wants to be. It’s all I should want him to be, and kissing him back was a terrible fucking idea, no matter how much I wanted it.
I splash some water on my face, glad I didn’t wear any makeup because it’d be smeared all over my face now. How am I going to climb out of this sinkhole I’ve fallen in?
It was just a number to him.I know that, but it doesn’t make it sting any less. It’s not just a number to me, even if it’s the game we’re playing. This isn’t a game I want to play anymore.
When I get back to the table, Sara’s in the booth next to Dylan, and she passes me a shot with a knowing look, telling me she saw us. Jack has taken my seat next to Ellie and is asking Macy something without giving Chad a second look.
I tip the shot back, grimacing at the burn it leaves down my throat before washing the taste away with my lukewarm beer.
This sucks.
Jack bumps my leg under the table, and I will my smile not to fall while reminding myself that we’re just friends. It doesn’t matter how great that kiss was.
I once made fun of Jack for not having any friends who were girls, but now I understand why. He’s just so damn likable, it doesn’t matter how hard you try to fight it. Jack makes it way too easy to fall for him.
“Can we talk?” he asks, lowering his voice, and I shake my head.
“We don’t need to talk about anything. It was just a kiss to help your bruised ego,” I try to joke, making light of the situation.
His jaw tics, and he runs a hand through his hair, tugging on the chestnut strands. “My ego is fine. I think we should talk.”
“We’re here to celebrate your win. What just happened was no different than me kissing Nate for a dare, so let’s not make a big deal out of it,” I say, grabbing my beer.
“Got it,” he says, turning away from me, but it feels a hell of a lot more like Jack’s pulling away from me. Maybe distancing myself is a good idea.
It’ll make it hurt a lot less when the game is over.
CHAPTER 27
Jack
“Stop it!Stop it right now, please!” I watch as Momma tries to push Dad away. I hold onto the trim of the doorway as he backhands her, and she falls to the ground.
Why is he doing this? He shouldn’t be hurting her. Momma says we don’t ever hit people.
“You don’t talk to me that way, got it?” he yells at her, the sound of his voice echoing like thunder throughout the house.
“I’m sorry, baby. I love you, just not in front of Jack. Please, baby. He’s just a boy,” Momma pleads, getting up to try and hold his face in her hands.
He laughs, and I don’t understand why he’s laughing. “Why not? He should know what love looks like. What being a man is like.” Dad turns to me with a smile on his face. This . . . isn’t what love is? Love is when Momma makes cookies and lets me lick the spoon, or when she tucks me in at night. Cheering for me at hockey practice and my games. “Son, this is what love is—pathetic and useless,” he says, casting a look at Momma. “You’re better off without it at all.”
I look at Momma to see her nose bleeding. She mouths at me ‘I love you.’
“Don’t look at her, Jack. She’s nothing.” He pulls a gun out of his pants that looks really similar to the one I was playing with outside earlier, but his doesn’t have the orange tip on it. He holds it up to Momma’s head and she cries harder.
I don’t like this.
I feel the tears starting to fall because I don’t want to see Momma cry again. It makes me sad. I wipe my nose on my sleeve. “But I love you?”
“You shouldn’t.”
I jolt out of sleep with a start, the smiling expression on my dad’s face as he held a gun to Momma’s head still haunting me thirteen years later. I wipe my hands over my face, noting my shirt is sticking to the cold sweat lingering on my skin.
I get up, kicking off the blanket I’m tangled in on Al’s couch. I use their kitchen sink to splash water on my face, but it does nothing to ease the chill haunting my bones. I feel . . .empty.
That night was five months before he tried to kill her and I had to call the police.
I’ve never forgotten what he said to me that night, but what hurts the most looking back is knowing I could have done more to try stopping him, and I didn’t.
