by Owner
When I finally finish my shift, I head back to Ned. Capacity of the bar has thinned out considerably, with a few desperate souls still clinging to the evening. He points to the side of the bar. “Looks like your nerd friends waited too.”
“Shall we join them?” I ask. Then, out of frustration, or pure reflex, I say, “You’d fit right in.”
“Hey, I’m only looking out for you. Dateless on Valentine’s Day and all.”
“Okay, pot. We both know what color we are.”
“Hey, maybe your mystery kisser will swoop in and rescue you, finish the job.” He gives me that dazzling smile he assumes I can’t resist.
Why did I ever tell that story in front of him? “Shut up,” I say. Because right now being kissed by Mr. X is about the only pleasant thing I can imagine.
He sighs, defeated. I can tell he knows something is wrong. He’s trying to lighten things up. “We’re a match made in heaven,” he says holding his arms open to me.
I walk right past him, leaving his arms in an empty air hug. “Let’s go.” He follows me out, and we walk down the street to “Dan’s” since I’m not allowed to drink at my bar. We spend the next hour drinking and talking about Emily. Ned wants us to take charge of Sophie’s birthday party. Most of the plans have already been made. But the day of is most important. We talk about the best way to keep Emily’s stress down.
“We’ll each be in charge of a kid,” Ned says as he leans back in his chair. His glossy eyes tell me I should have served him a snack with all those drinks. “Eric will take little man, you can take Sophie and I’ll take James.”
I’m fine with everything he says as long as Emily will agree. That way she can concentrate on the kids without completely freaking out. If we can pull this off, she might be able to work toward getting back a little piece of herself. A small part of me worries this could backfire and she’ll get angry because we think she can’t handle it.
“What about Sage?” I ask. We have only spoken once since she found out about her grandmother’s will. I let her chew me out on the phone, blaming me for everything. Yes, this was a big turnaround for Rose. I’m probably partly responsible. But Rose has never done anything she didn’t want to. I never persuaded her into any decisions. We’ve just had some long, in-depth conversations about life. I’m sure Sage hates the thought of that. After her rant, I said, “Call me when you’re done acting like a prissy bitch. I can help you through this, Sage.” Silence. That was three and half weeks ago.
“She can’t stay,” Ned answers. “She’ll make her appearance, drop of a gift, the usual.” He shrugs.
“You still going to that work party with her?”
“Yeah, it’s the night before.”
“So you can come through for her, but not the other way around?” All these years I’ve tried to keep my mouth shut about how Sage takes advantage of Ned. It’s the one area I manage to show some restraint. It’s getting harder.
“Basically.”
When we’ve practically closed down the bar, we both agree Ned is in no shape to drive. We walk back to my car, so I can drive him back to my place. Even at this hour, the streets are still alive with people. I love that about my town. But the alleyways of downtown are dotted with homeless, so the carefree atmosphere is tainted. We hand a couple of the more aggressive drifters a few dollars when they approach.
In the car, Ned stares out the window. “Sorry, Jax.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m such a loser, riding bitch and having to be taken home with you.”
“What are friends for,” I laugh.
He turns from the window. “That’s not exactly what I was looking for.”
“I know.” I pause, letting him stew. Then I say what he wants to hear. “You’re not a loser. We’ve all been there, and at least you didn’t get behind the wheel. Besides, I love seeing you loosen up. And I do accept that I’m a little responsible. As a bartender, I should know better.”
He holds up a finger. “Uh, mixologist.”
“Right.”
We don’t talk for the rest of the ride. At home, Brady is in his room asleep. Travis is on the couch with the television on.
“Hey,” Travis says sitting up as we enter. The volume is all the way down, leaving the house peaceful, still.
No matter how loose Ned seemed tonight, his expression is now hardened and homed right in on Travis.
“Don’t get up,” I say. “Ned’s going to spend the night. He…” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ned’s head snap to the side, stopping my words. I turn to find him glaring at him. He must not want Travis to know why he’s staying. I wouldn’t want to bruise his ego, but I’m glad he stopped me for another reason. Travis could take that news badly given his own situation.
“You want to crash here, man?” Travis says pointing to the couch. “I can sleep on the floor.”
Before Ned can answer, I grab his wrist and pull him down the hall. “We’re good, thanks.”
When I ease the door shut, Ned says, “Thanks, I didn’t want to bunk with Shawshank out there. I can sleep right here.” He points to the ground next to my dresser.
“It’s fine,” I say, then begin tossing my over-abundance of pillows to the floor. “It’s not like we’ve never slept in the same bed.”
“Yeah, but one of us was usually already asleep.” He runs his fingers through his thick hair, watching me as if he’s trying to decide what to do.
“What about when we camped in my backyard?” I say. “That time we were all awake.”
“Freezing our asses off.”
We both smile at the memory, yet a hint of awkwardness floats between us that’s never been there before. “I’m going to brush my teeth. You decide.”
When I return, I find him lying on the bed, his jeans and t-shirt still on. I’m wearing sweat bottoms and a t-shirt.
“I promise to keep my hands to myself,” he says, patting the open spot.
I climb in next to him and give him a quick look over my shoulder before I turn my back to him. “Good.”
“But my other parts have a mind of their own so no guarantees,” he says.
I smile as I reach up and turn off the lamp. “I trust you.”
In the darkness, I wait for my eyes to adjust, wondering if he’ll want to keep talking. After a moment, he says, “Why, because I’m such a fucking nice guy.”
I can’t see his face, but I hear the tone, annoyed, maybe hurt. “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothin’” he says, sounding as if he’d swallowed a spoonful of cough medicine.
The bed moves, I feel him turn toward me, his hand lands on my arm. “I know there was something wrong with you tonight.”
It’s not like him to ask, so either he’s extremely concerned, or he wants to keep me talking. “Yeah. I could tell by the way you looked at me.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
His voice is so soft, comforting. I almost give in, but I’m not ready to talk about this. He and Emily are so close, he might share it with her, and I don’t want more disappointment . “Not really. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He pauses, his hand moves up and down on my arm. It’s not in a sexual way at all. It’s very sweet, but something stirs inside of me. A warm haze floats along my body. Then he says, “I need to ask you something, so I’m just going to come out and say it. Are you pregnant?”
My arm flinches forward, away from his hand. “No!” I fling my hand back, smacking him in the gut. “Why would you say that?” I turn around so we’re face to face. The light from the window is enough so I can make out his face. He doesn’t appear to be joking.
“I don’t know.” Now he looks terrified, the look he gets when I’m about to beat his ass.
“Yes you do.” I glare at him. “You think I’m getting fat or something?”
His eyes shoot away from mine. “Yeah, that’s it. You have been looking a little pudgy lately. Is that wrong to say?” He fin
ds my eyes again and smiles the way an innocent boy would.
I lift up on one elbow and examine his expression. Something is definitely being left out of this conversation. “What the hell is going on with you?”
“I could ask you the same question,” he shoots right back.
“Fine.” I flip back over.
“Fine.”
I can’t sleep now. I’m confused and frustrated. Why does Ned always find a way to piss me off? I get that he’s worried about me, but this makes no sense. I stare at my digital clock, watching the numbers click over one by one. When I’m sure Ned is asleep, I scoot my body back toward him, nestling in. Even if he’s annoyed me, this position is too comforting. I need to be close to someone, another body next to mine. Or, it’s possible I just need Ned. I really don’t know. I shut my eyes, try again to fall asleep, crooked in the curve of his body, as his arm wraps around me.
“I really want to help you, Jax,” he whispers.
“You are.”
CHAPTER 18 - NED
I wake alone in Jax’s bed, remembering what an idiot I was last night. I drank too much, had to be driven home, called her fat, and asked if she was pregnant. Nice work, asshole. I should have drunk more so at least I wouldn’t have the memory of that nightmare. My body is stiff, as if I’d slept in the exact same position all night. My arms stretch, reach out to her pillow. My hands clasp around it and bring it to my face where I inhale the scent of coconut. Jax’s shampoo. I lie a moment on her pillow, not sure if she’s coming back. My mind goes back to last night. Not the awkward, insulting conversation, but the end. When she’d assumed I was asleep, scooted closer to me. I had put my arm around her, but I’d also held back. It felt too good. That thought rattled around in my brain a while as I summoned the strength to get up.
Damn, sleeping in jeans all night. I sit up, then adjust myself before grabbing my cell to check the time and messages. It’s only seven-twenty. I’m working from home today, so I’m not stressed for time. I’m more concerned about Jax. She was upset last night. Had my big mouth made it worse?
It’s been a while since I was in this room, so I take a minute to check it out. Her guitar propped against the wall in the corner brings a grin to my face. As does the desk, covered in fliers for different events: charity drives, the homeless shelter, a new tattoo shop, and band nights. Tons of band nights. You’d think memories of her dead-beat dad would make her hate music. But it’s the exact opposite. She used to sing for us when we were in high school. Not really for us, actually. She’d just be singing when we were around.
My brain scans backwards, and I recall the last time I heard Jax’s beautiful voice.
When James was in the hospital, we’d planted ourselves outside the room for whenever Eric and Emily had to go somewhere or needed a break. Usually we went in together because neither of us wanted to be alone in that room. But one time, I must have been in the bathroom or getting some crappy coffee or something. Because I came back and Jax was gone. I eased the door open to James’s room to find Jax sitting on the bed, holding his hand. I’m not even sure I remember the song, but I’m sure it was something from Aerosmith. She sang it so softly, so sweetly. I stood in the doorway, watching, listening. James blinked awake a few times, smiling at Jax. I was proud of her in that moment, but when she came out, I didn’t say anything. I probably even made fun of her. Why don’t I ever tell her that shit? I never tell her anything.
My stomach grumbles, then lurches. I make my way to the bathroom with still no sign of Jax. A quick piss and a mouth rinse before trekking down the hall, the cold wood floor soothing beneath my feet. I hear faint music coming from the living room as I approach. Brady sits on the couch eating a bowl of cereal over the coffee table.
“Hey, man,” he says when he sees me. The television is on a music channel, but the volume is low. At least he has some common courtesy.
I nod and continue on toward the kitchen.
“She’s not here,” he says behind me, mouth full of something crunchy.
I stop, turn on my heel. The all-American farm boy smiles and says, “Want some Pops? This cereal kicks ass. Mama neva let us have sugah cereals.” In case I wasn’t sure who he was talking about, he adds, “My real mama, back home, I mean.”
“Right,” I say, taking a seat. “I figured you weren’t talking about Jax.”
“So you want me to get ya a bowl?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.” I’m actually feeling a little shitty and food would probably help. But if Jax isn’t here, then I don’t want to prolong this any further. “Do you know where she went?”
“Yeah, they went down to that food pantry over on LaSalle.”
“They?”
“Her and Travis.” Brady lifts the bowl, which now has only milk in it, to his lips. When he sees me watching, he decides not to slurp it down like the hick he is and sets it on the table. “She takes him once or twice a week so he can get in some of his community service hours.”
I shake my head, hold back a damn, as air expels from my lungs. Maybe this shouldn’t piss me off, but it does. Jax helps people. Great. But why this asshole with a record? I notice I’m giving the bowl of milk the death stare as I contemplate this, when I hear the kid speak up. “Why do you hate my bro, man? He’s a good guy. Just give him a chance.”
I look up, feeling sorry for him. “I don’t hate him. I just don’t trust him. Not with Jax anyway. She doesn’t know how to not trust.”
“You can trust Travis. He made a fucking mistake, dude. It happens.”
This side of Brady emerging catches me by surprise, his accent lost in the attitude. “Yeah? And what was that mistake?”
“You don’t know?” I fail to stop the disappointed look on my face, which makes him smile. “So, Jax didn’t tell you. Guess you two ain’t that close after all.”
I think back to last night, glad I can recall the details of the evening. “I know it has to do with alcohol.” I decide to throw out my guess. “It was drunk driving wasn’t it?”
Brady’s expression tells me I’m right. “You don’t know the whole story, man.”
“Then tell me.”
He gets up with his bowl. “If you want that, you’re gonna have to talk to my brother. I’m late for school.”
“Great.” I lean back in the chair, wondering if I should drop it or go to the pantry. I stay seated, listening to Brady rinse his bowl and place it in the dishwasher.
He passes back through the living room, stops in front of me. “I get that you’re looking out for Jax, but me and my brother…we care about her too. And Travis isn’t going to do anything to mess up her being our friend.”
I admire him speaking up, looking out for his brother, so I’ll say what he wants to hear. But that doesn’t mean he’s convinced me worth a shit to trust Travis. “Got it, man. I appreciate that.” I get up and follow him down the hall.
When he gets to his doorway, he says, “I’m glad you’re starting to be cool about this. If the girls trust him, you should too.”
I stop in Jax’s doorway. “Girls?”
“Yeah, Jax and Sage.”
●●●
Days later I’m sitting on Sage’s couch waiting for her to get ready for this masquerade of a client party. I’m still not sure why she needs me. I heard what she said—that her boss’s husband hit on her—so I guess she’s looking for a little protection, a deterrent. But why me? There’s a ton of guys that would go through worse just for a shot at Sage. It’s because she comfortable with me. I am the nice guy, the dependable one, the fucking predictable good time Charlie. Except, of course, for that one night. But neither of us counts that.
For the fourth time, I hear her yell, “I’ll be ready in a minute.”
Her house is a mirror image of herself: beautiful, but not overly confident, conservative, yet makes a statement. As I glance around the room, nothing is out of place. Clutter or excess would never be used to describe this space. I sit on a modern, olive-green sofa th
at’s much more comfortable than it looks. I lean over and examine the dark wood coffee table. It’s square-shaped without a scratch on it. Mine looks as if a prisoner in solitary marked off weeks of confinement.
I stand when I finally hear her heals snag across the carpet. The first thing I notice are the legs attached to those heels—toned, tanned, and a mile long. Her dress is short and black. Part of the top is covered in some silver sparkly stuff. Even though it’s being held up by some little straps, the neckline is not low. I appreciate that she never needs to show off her perfectly sized rack. Using the word perfect makes me want to punch myself in the face. It sounds pathetic. She gleams a smile, throws back her long blonde hair. “You look beautiful,” I say.
“Thanks. You, too.”
I couldn’t look any more basic if I tried. With my black slacks, long-sleeved blue shirt, and unruly hair, I’m a cross between the Kohl’s catalog and a bad yearbook picture. I say “Thank you” anyway.
Since I’d arrived, I wanted to ask her about Travis, but I don’t want her to think I’m jealous. Especially because I’m not. I wait until the car ride over, when we are both facing forward.
“So why didn’t you ask your new boyfriend to this thing?” This is probably not the best way to start the conversation.
She glances over, eyes shooting down her nose. “To whom are you referring?”
“I hear from a reliable source that you have begun your own prisoner rehabilitation program.”
“Very funny.”
“Seriously, are you dating this guy?” I’m trying to convince myself these are the words of a concerned friend, but the word pussy keeps flashing in my mind.
“We’re friends; that’s all,” she says and turns her head forward. “For now.” I look over and see the corners of her mouth turn up.
