At the Stars(57)

Jake snorts a laugh. “I caught her fucking my best friend.”

My hand freezes on his. “Oh. That...”

“Sucks.”

“Yeah.” I was gonna say that, but it didn’t seem quite appropriate.

He snorts a derisive laugh. “It did. Told him to end it before it killed my dad, but we were never the same with each other again. And a year later when Mariana and I had a fight and I threw it in her face that I knew, she had me out the door.”

I put my fork down. “Oh. Jake...” I wrap my fingers around his hand, looking for some comforting, non-awkward words. The last several years have taught me sometimes there’s no such thing, so instead I keep on squeezing his hand.

“It’s cool. Really. I landed on my feet.” He squeezes my hand back, but his smile is off-center.

I want to believe him. Part of me does. I hear strain in his voice, though. The frustration at the unfairness that was handed to him. I guess it helps that he’s had time to cool down. Me, I don’t know how I’d deal. My mother got overwhelmed and took a permanent vacation, but at least I know she tried to be there.

Even if the whole world is out to drag you down, you should trust your family loves you.

His kitchen is old school. One light hanging over the eat-in table, kind of a thing. The stark, yellowish lighting casts dark shadows on his face and makes his eyes look haunted. Or maybe that’s the memories.

I crunch on a piece of bacon. Hoping to lift the mood, I say, “Wow. This is great. I never know how to get it crispy like this.” Actually, I don’t even usually eat the stuff, but we’re at an uncomfortable pause in the conversation and it’s so clear how gloomy we both feel. I want to go over there and put my arms around Jake but he’s got a few of those “Keep Out” vibes spurting from his aura like when we first met.

I feel like I need to proceed with caution. I take another bite. “Do I taste maple flavoring?”

Now he looks really tired. I think he’s caught on that I’m avoiding whatever it is that he wants to say. “I really do need to tell you—”

“Are you sure?” I jerk my arm and my fork clatters to the floor.

Now he looks even more frustrated. “It’s important. You need to know that—”

“Okay.” I hold up my hand again. “But is it like, life or death, someone’s going to die tonight if we don’t talk about it?” My hand shakes. “Could we talk about it over breakfast?”

He smiles slightly. “This is breakfast.”

Deep breaths. “Breakfast for breakfast.”

I think I see the moment when he’s figured out what I mean. He gives me a crooked grin. “You want to stay here tonight?”

“Yeah.” I stand and grab the plate he’s already pushed away, most of the food uneaten. I can understand. The food was so good, but the topic makes it hard to be hungry. I throw a cover on the leftovers and toss them in the fridge.

There are a few pictures tacked up with magnets there. An old family photo and a birth announcement. One of two teenaged boys with their arms around each other. I stop for a moment, touching the corner of the old family photo. “Are these your parents?”

“Yeah. My mom right before she got sick, and my dad. Me.” He points. “That’s my sister, and my stepmother of course is holding her. She was born after I left, so it’s the only picture I have.”

“Who’s that?” I point to the two boys.

“Me and my best friend from high school.” He draws a circle with his finger around the collection of pictures. “Everything I left behind.”

I frown. “It’s funny. I didn’t take any pictures when I left home. I saved one of my mom, but the rest felt like nothing but painful reminders.”

“It helps me remember,” he says. “Why I left. Why I can’t go back.”

Oh, Jake. The tight lines around his mouth, and the hollowness in his voice, are so hard to take. Something squeezes tight around my heart. “Come on. We’ve had an awful lot of heavy. Why don’t we go to bed and have one more good night together before the world crashes in? If you really think you need to tell me something before our relationship can move forward, then fine. One more night first, though.”

He nods and pulls me forward, jerking his head toward the hall door. “You tired?”

“Exhausted. But. I was thinking you could make love to me first.” It feels good to say those words and mean them.

He kisses me, sweet and careful and so soft I want to actually push him to do it harder. He seems so edgy though, and pushing him doesn’t seem like the right thing. We get ready for bed in near silence, and explore each other in the dark. Hands and lips and tongues slowly beg each other for things we can’t say out loud.