Jovi stares at me.
“What?” I cross my arms over my chest. There’s something invasive about the way his eyes pore over me.
“You know.” He smirks, but it does little to diminish the sadness in his chestnut eyes. They’re darker than I’ve ever seen them,like deep wells of familiar grief. “Just looking for the bits of truth you like to scatter about in your bullshit.”
My mouth twitches with a deep desire to scowl at him, refraining only to deny him the satisfaction. We’re way past pretending we can’t see through each other’s veils of crap tonight.
“Fine.” I release my arms to my sides in a show of surrender. “It’s too soon, okay? I thought I would find it comforting to be here tonight, in their space, but I was wrong. I don’t want to stay in this house alone.”
Jovi nods, biting the left corner of his bottom lip the way he’s always done when he’s thinking. There's something annoyingly comforting in seeing something I recognize. Something I still understand. Even if it's something about Jovi.
Turning, he starts for the door. “Come on.”
Desperate to get out of his house and its suffocating walls, I follow him. “You don’t have to take me to the airport, Jovi. It’s almost two hours away.” And I don’t think I can spend two hours stuck in a small space with him, nothing to focus on but the two of us.
He reaches his truck and opens the passenger side door. “I’m not taking you to the airport.”
I stop short of climbing inside. “Then where are you taking me?”
“My place.” He gestures for me to keep moving and get in. “Don’t fucking overthink it, Liz. I have a guest room. It’s on the other side of the house. We won’t have to cross paths at all until you get your flight squared away and actually have to leave for the airport. At which point, we both get back in this truck. No Ubers.”
“I can stay at a hotel.” I’d rather stay at a hotel. They have housekeeping, a skill I’m almost certain Jovi hasn’t acquired. And also, there's no Jovi.
He shakes his head at me. “Shut up and get in the truck, Liz.” Then he walks around the hood to get to his side and climbs in the driver's seat, leaving me only one option if I wish to continue this conversation.
And I do.
“Who made you the fucking boss around here? What, you think because you’re in charge of the business, that somehow makes you superior to me, the court-appointed homemaker?” I rant at him from the second I plant my ass in the seat until I’m yanking the door shut and clicking my seatbelt into place.
“You’re ridiculous.” He starts up the truck. “I’m not bossing you around. I’m taking care of you. Because you’re rattled and it’s making you irrational.” He shifts into reverse, then turns to stare at me point-blank, never hitting the gas. “I’m doing it for Lena. And I’m not going to stop. So, suck it up, accept it, and shut up." He rolls his eyes, letting out an audible sigh. "Or keep arguing. I don’t care either way.”
“That’s dirty business,” I grumble, sinking into my seat and folding my hands in my lap to keep from fidgeting. “I can’t believe you brought Lena into this.”
He snorts in response and starts driving.
Two counties over ends up being over an hour-long drive. This time of night, the roads are fairly empty, making the journey oddly serene given neither one of us says a word the entire way. I can’t tell if I’m caught in some pocket of peace among the grief, or I’m totally zoned out, too exhausted to feel anything anymore.
Maybe it’s a little of both because I find myself coming out of a lulled state of dozing when the truck gently jerks to a stop.
“We’re here,” Jovi mutters. His voice is so low and so quiet, I can’t help wondering if I was asleep for a while and didn’t notice.
“You left a lot of lights on,” I mumble, taking in the large structure in front of me.
Jovi’s home is a massive two-story house complete with at least one balcony within view, a fancy tile roof, and a separate three car-garage attached to the house by a covered walkway. And windows. A lot of fucking windows.
“Wasn’t me.” He grabs the handle and opens his door to get out. “Casey must have gotten scared. Big house freaks her out sometimes at night.”
He’s out and the door shuts before I can respond. Part of me thinks he did it on purpose, to force me out of the truck before I can think twice about my decision to spend the night here.
Regardless, I get out of his truck when he shows up at my side and swings the door open. I have questions. Starting with, “Who’s Casey?”
“My girlfriend.” He makes a face. “Sort of.”
“How is she sort of your girlfriend?” I ask.
We make no effort to enter the house. We’ve made it out of the truck but haven't moved past standing here.
Both of us lean against the hood, having this conversation, neither of us so much as facing the front door. “She’s living with you,” I point out when he doesn’t respond to my initial question.
