“You know, love songs aren’t just about love. They’re about beauty and hope.”
“Hope,” he scoffs, and for some reason, it makes my chest ache.
“Yes,hope. Hope is what keeps us going when everything else falls apart,” I start. “When the world is dark and crumbling around us and the loss of it all feels like too much to bear, hope is like…” I pause, searching for the words. “Like food for your soul. It’s the fuel. It’s a lifeline. People need it.”
He doesn’t answer right away, maybe considering if my words are true or just some fairy tale. Wishful thinking and pretty words, like the lie of a love song.
“That sounds nice and all, and honestly, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but that hope of yours is going to break you one day,” he says dryly. “Trust me.”
I purse my lips, deflated as I try to think of something to say to soften all those hard edges. I let the silence stake its claim over us.
Maybe some things are better left alone. Maybe some people are, too.
I follow the curve of the road away from campus to downtown, thinking deeply about love and loss and all the things in between. How sad it would be to live in a world without believing in the things that bring us the most joy.
“You really don’t believe in it, huh? Love and all that,” I ask softly.
He takes a deep breath, as if wavering on how much he’s about to share.
“I’ve just… I’ve been through it. It’s a rigged game. One person always walks away bleeding way more than the other, and it’s never worth it for the one who bleeds.”
I chew on my lip, trying hard to not say what I’m about to, lest I push him further than I need to. But the unfiltered version of me always speaks the loudest.
“So that’s what you lost? Not just hope, but love.”
His eyes snap to mine, guarded once again. “Who said I lost anything?”
My heart skips a beat at the depth in his eyes. At the chink in his armor I’ve knicked. I tear my eyes away from his, focusing on the road.
“I’ve been through loss before,” I tell him. “I know what it looks like.”
He studies me before his head tilts back onto his headrest, the silence between us thick and pressing. I almost regretpushing him, almost wish I could pull the words back into my mouth. But then I realize the most important truth of all: everyone has a story. Everyone has a hurt they’re running from, a scar they guard like a secret. He’s not any different, he’s just wearing it more boldly than others. His silence isn’t empty. It’s proof.
I don’t know what hurt him, and maybe I never will. Maybe I don’t need to. Maybe I can just help him let go of it so he can stop suffering the way he is.
I probably shouldn’t be bothered with cleaning up people’s messes, but for a reason I can’t explain, I feel like I’m supposed to help him. I feel like I need to know this man in a way I never have, and I can’t escape the grappling need to be there for him. To help him shake whatever it is that’s holding him under water. To help bring back that smile I once saw from behind the counter of a café.
Or maybe this has nothing to do with him at all.
Maybe this is for me.
Maybe this ismyredemption, giving life back to where it was stolen.
The car ride was tense in a way I hadn’t intended, so my plan is to work double-time to skate right over that part of the day. Personally, I only know one place that can help with this—my favorite hole in the wall, Brigg’s.
I grab our six shots off the wooden bar top, balancing them strategically between my fingers. I give a quick smile to the bartender as a ‘thank you’ and carry them carefully to the high-toptable where Jake is sitting. Clear liquid sloshes over the brims of the heavily poured glasses, dripping down my fingers. I place half of them before him and set the others aside for me, wiping my hands on the back of my jeans.
“That’s a lot of alcohol before five o’clock,” he says with a grin.
“Time is an illusion.” That gets me a breathy laugh, and I smirk in my victory. “Tin Man, meet Oil,” I tease, gesturing to the table as I explain the game. “So, the rules are you take all three shots, back-to-back, and then you have to make a guess. Two are water, one is tequila. If you get it wrong, you have to buy the next round.”
“Okay,” he says with a chuckle, shifting in his seat. “But how doyouknow which is which?”
I shrug. “I just know.” He narrows his eyes at me, his hands still folded in his lap. “Just trust me,” I say encouragingly as I lift a tiny glass between my finger and thumb.
Jake grabs a shot from the table, raising it to match mine. “To…” I pause as I think of something to cheers to. When I find it, my eyes soften, and a cynical smile tilts my lips. “To stupid fucking love songs.”
Jake smiles back at me in appreciation, as if to saythank you for not judging me in my moment of defeat. I smile back knowingly, realizing I want to learn all the different ways Jake Cooper smiles. I tuck the thought away safely, mentally promising to never visit it again.
